Train travel across long distances likely means sleeping in a compartment. Depending on the class you choose this may mean a compartment for two, four, six, eight or more bunk beds. I have sometimes been assigned compartments by gender, sometimes not. I have been placed with other foreigners and/or locals. The top bunk has added privacy but agility is a must and ample headroom for sitting up is not guaranteed. The lower bunk is the most accessible to all. And it may be the only place for those sleeping above to sit up straight, thus becoming the communal couch throughout the day.

Habits and routines need to be adjusted accordingly. But fortunately my experiences have all been with those who in the evening, regardless of age, nationality, or gender, were happy to sleep. Train travel, perhaps because of the swaying movements is notably soporific.

This short-lived communal living arrangement lends itself to courtesies of which I have seen few, if any, exceptions.

One of the distinctions I have noted between English and Asian conversation is our use of the words “yes” and “no”.

I recall a shop in Japan, where I was looking for a particular item. I could not locate it and asked a saleswoman who spoke some English for assistance. Trying to keep things simple, I said something like “You do not have brushes?” shaking my head for emphasis. She said “Yes.” I waited expectantly for her to show me where they were, but she remained with a lovely smile. Confused, I asked again, “You do not have brushes?” She said “Yes, we have no brushes.” In a country known for its emphasis on politesse, it seemed a perfect way to avoid ever having to saying no.

Of course this is the most logical. She is affirming the response to my question, but I am accustomed to someone confirming by reiterating. The conversation would be more like this. “You do not have any brushes?” “No.”

Years later while visiting a small city in Vietnam I wandered into an English class. Their level was quite advanced and they were practicing conversations. The teacher was delighted to have a native speaker join in. I spent a few hours enjoying their enthusiasm and progress. I also shared, to their amusement, my idiosyncratic use of “yes” and “no”.

Arriving in Moscow, I went directly to a hostel I had booked in advance. The female dorm room contained seven beds. My roommates were all Russian and a few of them, for a time, were living there.  It did not seem to be unusual. Two others, in their teens, were auditioning at a school for the performing arts. They lived hundreds of miles away. Some of the women spoke a few words of English, others not at all, or at least made no effort to do so.   I often met one young woman smoking a cigarette downstairs, and upstairs drinking champagne. She had already been there a few weeks, maybe months, I do not recall. She said she was working in the area. I did not ask more.

The respect for each others privacy and possessions was clear. The women mostly kept to themselves, but the ambiance was nonetheless welcoming.

The kitchen was the common area where the guests gathered to cook, eat, chat, relax.  I was the sole American and based on stereotypes, I was, mostly, good naturedly teased by a man of Eastern European origin. He was in town to compete in, according to him, an extremely serious ESP (Extrasensory perception) contest.  He spoke of his grandmother’s gifts and talismans that had been passed on. He did not win. Based upon his faulty assumptions of me I was not surprised.

While my days were spent exploring I was back in the evening for some rest before venturing out for an evening meal. I would enjoy watching a zaftig older woman cooking bountiful food. Her diminutive husband seemed pleased. A sharing of goods took place as others would gather around the same time.

I stayed only three nights, prior to taking a train on to other cities, but the array of faces and personalities linger still.

Inis Meáin, also known as Inishmaan, is the least populated of the Aran Islands. The number of year-round residents hovers around 160. I arrived by boat from Inishmore. Unlike the horse-drawn carriages which awaited their arrivals, I was the sole passenger to disembark on this tiny land mass and the pier was void.

I had the name of the B&B I reserved, but foolishly forgot to note anything more. Despite the mere 9km square expanse, the narrow roads were many, leading off in a multitude of ways. Sheep in the adjoining pastures exhibited little interest or concern.

I chose this island for its tranquility, intact Irish culture, and lack of automobiles, so I was surprised to see a pick-up truck drive up a short time later. There were three young men wearing construction attire and I asked them for some guidance. They kindly offered to give me a ride.

Arriving off-season I was one of only a handful of visitors. Destinations were easy to choose. There was the grocery which doubled as the post office, the boutique, and the pub. It was the cherished locale during my all too short stay. The men gathered in the early evening and appeared content to sit side by side with barely a word between them. When they did speak it was a pleasure to hear Irish, their native tongue. A newcomer, she had lived there twenty years, shared some gossip. It was only a matter of time, I suspected, before all secrets were told.

The sea is never more than a short walk away. In an attempt to circumnavigate the island I scrambled over stone fences, the rain fell, the waves swelled along the rocky shore.

Lying off the west coast of Ireland are the Aran Islands. The largest, Inishmore, boasts a few ancient forts. The owner of the B&B recommended I visit Dún Dúchathair, locally known as the Black Fort, on my first day, a few miles away. I walked toward the harbor and followed the coastal road. She had given me a fairly good idea of the route but when I saw a man working on his truck, looking very much at home, I decided it best to clarify the path.

The natives in lands I travel to do not often speak English. Although Irish is still spoken here, I had to remind myself that I need not formulate a simpler means or hand gestures to convey my thoughts. My words were immediately understood and the response, floating on a lilting accent, was equally clear.

He added to his directions the caveat that the winds on top of the cliffs could be fierce. It was wise to take care.

Arriving at the fort a desire to look over the edge down to the sea was tugging at me, but I kept a prudent distance. A powerful gust almost knocked me off my feet; I was glad to have heeded his words.

The sea extended on, the view was sublime, the remnants of the ancient structure were marvels of humankind.

I made my way to the pub back in town. I ordered a pint and was soon invited by locals to discuss world affairs.

The other evening, while partaking in a weeklong arts workshop, I and a fellow participant were invited to share the blazing fire of a glassblower. He was winding down the evening with an element he knew well. A welder, a man in his seventies, soon joined us.

Our discussion was made up of disparate threads.

The welder came from a small steel town in Pennsylvania. He and his buddies, while still in their teens, would go to dances with the intention of getting close to the girls. One week, unaware, they headed to a Mennonite community. After paying an admission fee, they entered the dance hall. He was told, along with his friends, that a pillow was to be kept at all times between him and the girl. The boys had not pooled their sparse resources for such little reward.

Their request for a refund on their entry fee was denied. Disappointed and poorer still they headed home.

The pleasure of sitting by a fire listening to tales told is all too rare.