Small acts of (human) kindness

My sister lived in Japan for two years in the mid-nineties, teaching English to junior high school students. I was lucky enough to get to visit. For two weeks, we walked or took the train everywhere we went. This was my first trip out of the country, and I’m glad that it was to someplace so different than home. The language barrier was notable not just in terms of being able to speak it, which I couldn’t, but because I couldn’t read it, either. For the first time in my life, I knew what it was like to be illiterate.

When we stepped off the plane, my dad, younger sister, and I had no idea where to go, or how to ask for help. Absent any other options, we simply followed the rest of the people from the plane. Everyone seemed to be going in the same direction, so we did, too. Eventually, the pathway stopped at a dead end. At least two dozen people all stood facing a glass wall. No one spoke. My dad and I exchanged a nervous look. We waited.

After a few minutes, a train pulled up, and the sliding glass door opened to allow us to board. A-ha! We grinned, and stepped onto the train.

I found that, throughout the two weeks, when in doubt of my surroundings, the keys for working through unusual circumstances were to a) not panic, and b) watch what everyone else is doing and try to follow along.

Walking in Nagahama. (That's me
in the pink.)

At one point on the trip, we were out and about walking along the street when it started to rain. We were both unprepared and unconcerned. We were going places in Japan! A little rain wasn’t going to stop us.

Suddenly, a little old lady came running out of her home, yelling something to us in Japanese and offering an umbrella. We were confused. My sister explained that it is Japanese custom to share umbrellas. If you need one, and see one outside of someone’s front door, for example, it’s okay to take it. When you’re done with it, simply pass it along to someone else, or leave it outside your own front door.

This baffled my dad and me. But, don’t people want their property back? No, my sister said. It’s the culture. Umbrellas are cheap yet useful so people simply share them.

We thanked the lady, accepted the umbrella, and were on our way. What an amazing thing, we exclaimed! Such a simple act of kindness yet it makes so much sense.

Walking in Reykjavik.

Years later, I was walking about in Reykjavik, Iceland. My friend and I noticed some gloves on top of a gate, and I stopped to take a picture. An Icelander walked by and explained that this was Icelandic custom. If you find a lost glove on the ground, you place it somewhere up high, like a gate or a windowsill, so that it's visible and will hopefully be reunited with its owner.

What a lovely, thoughtful thing to be so engrained in one’s culture, I thought. Rather than throwing away a single glove, people will do what is reasonable to try to help its owner reclaim it.

Regional touches like these are one of my favorite things about travel. They are so unique to each culture, yet are united and grounded in universal human kindness. I wonder what cultural touches of human kindness visitors to the States take home with them.