The Outsider

It struck me on my flight down from Fortaleza to Rio yesterday that I was, once again, the only 'foreigner' on the plane. And as I pushed my trolley bag down the aisle past row after row of six-abreast seating, 12 eyes in each examining me from head to foot, it became clear beyond doubt. Being tall, blue eyed, and rosy cheeked with a brush of hair, could only mean one thing to my observers: I was not the issue of the Brazilian gene pool (varied as it is), though I doubt there was any cognoscenti present to pin me down to the West of Scotland.

This conclusion was reinforced as I took my place in seat 13D and the stewardess tapped me on the shoulder, bending low to whisper in my ear in her native tongue, 'Do you speak Portuguese?'.
'Sim,' I said, confirming the fact.
'Good, because this is an emergency row and only Portuguese speakers can sit here.'

All this about being the only foreigner is not new. Two streets back from the front of Copacabana, where I sit writing now, the same is also true. As it is on my flights in and out of Egypt, and during my sorties around any Cairene block. So, in a similar way, was it true when I arrived from the 'Sooth' in the remote Orkney Islands 30 years ago with a suitcase in my hand on a cold damp day to begin three years of life among people who greeted me every day with 'Whit like?', which I had never heard before and have never used since.

So, why, I fall to wondering? Why do I end up always being the outsider? Is it because in Arran, all those holiday years ago, I had no one of my age and gender to chum about with among the families we joined which allowed me to spend many very happy days off the leash on my bike, drinking goats-milk milk shakes out by the sawmill near Brodick Castle, or fishing balls out the burn on the golf course, or climbing the hills to Corrie Lochan, as well as letting me keep my head stuck, without distraction, in my books, whether sitting on a deck chair on the beach or snuggled up in my sleeping bag with a torch in the mothy, cupboard bedroom under the eaves of the farmyard cottage which we rented for the month?

Is it in the energy I get or the engagement of my curiosity that comes from observing different cultures and different functionalities in different places right down to the design of the street furniture or sink taps? And did you know that if you were to go into the gents at any time of day, but particularly after lunch, in any office in Brazil, you'd find a line of men at the wash-hand basins furiously flossing and brushing their teeth with their toilet bags set before them? It's the single biggest cultural difference I've noted in this country, and must make it tough to make a living as a dentist.

Or is the whole thing just a deep seated desire to be different, or to escape (at least be classified as 'whereabouts unknown', if not 'AWOL' - I'm still too good a boy for that!), or simply have something interesting to talk about or write about. Or, maybe, it's an outright inability to fit in where I belong or came from? Take your pick, because I can't!

Whatever it is, it's a fact, and I'm lucky that, in the main, Dd comes along with me and is similarly engaged. After just a few months of knowing each other, I asked her if she fancied coming to Israel for a couple of weeks, and I was so happy on our very first morning there when she scooted across the grass in front of The Ron Hotel on the Jaffa Road to take in the view of the ancient walls of Jerusalem, calling out over her shoulder,'This is amazing!' And not many brides willingly undertake 12 hour bus journeys through the Sumatran jungle only two days after taking their vows in the East Neuk of Fife!

So, whatever the reason, there it is. Done because there must be something in it that I like, and also done with increasing resilience and a deepening pleasure over the years. Goodness knows what will happen when age begins to wither me, but hopefully some technological wizardry will help me keep going as, one thing's for sure, there ain't nothing like it!

PS
Today's date was the day we traditionally set off for Arran at the start of the Paisley Fair.

PPS
And the day thirty years ago when Larry and Brenda Gillum from Colorado picked me up as a hitchhiker on the highest highway in the States up in the Rocky Mountains, thus beginning a 30 year friendship that has seen us meet up in various parts of the world, and given us great mutual reward.

PPPS
The shot has no conscious link with the narrative. I just wanted to keep my hand in at writing, even if the piece is published here unpolished.