dancingthroughchaos

‘If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaky feeling that love, actually, really is all around’ – Hugh Grant as PM, David in Love Actually (2003)

One of the great benefits of frequent travel is the almost infinite opportunity to people-watch.

Perhaps I’m just nosy – I like to think of it as curious – but individuals, couples and families all offer interesting insights into relationships and cultures as they mingle in the international soup of an airport.  Just this week, I was ensconced in terminal 3 at Heathrow, waiting for my gate to come up on the board, and was treated to a kaleidoscope of interactions that rendered newspapers, magazine, a kindle and my own phone, completely redundant.

A dad of Indian ancestry was the first to cross my line of vision.  He was intent on scrolling through his phone while a small daughter fiddled with the edging on his wife’s beautiful sari.  He was then entreated persistently by another daughter, who looked to be about seven or eight.  They weren’t speaking English and my lack of Urdu or Hindi was an impediment to understanding the details, but I completely understood the request.  There is a tone or pitch, effective in any language which children use when tired, fed up or are feeling the pain of perceived injustice in the sibling ranks.  This young lady was expressing her frustration eloquently.  I remember it well; a universal whine that transcends creed and culture.  It worked like a charm; she got his attention.

A couple of rows over sat a gentleman who looked thoroughly exhausted.  The buttons  on his shirt were clearly under some strain as, with folded arms, he surveyed the throng around him.  His body language conveyed a sense of retreat as he cradled himself, removed from the crowd.  Every now and then, his moustache twitched a little, but otherwise his features remained unmoved.  I wondered whether he was looking forward to a happier homecoming, or embarking on an ordeal that he couldn’t currently face with gratitude.

Another family arrived in chairs left vacant by the first.  At least two teenagers were in this party, swathed in the baggiest tracksuits I have seen for some time outside promotional pictures of a 90s boy band.  Their features had picked up another universal expression: that of the bored adolescent, seething with apathy, determined not to be impressed by anything, or show so much as a smidgen of excitement about their upcoming trip.  The hoods of their hoodies were drawn up to flop over their eyes and they lolled on the seats in a lackadaisical fashion that bordered into rudeness, while munching on large pastries. They remained steadfastly in this posture, thus thwarting the brave attempts of an exhausted cleaning lady to capture rubbish under their chairs with a well aimed brush stroke.  Perhaps she should have aimed a little higher.

I took a break to visit the loos, but even that trip was entertaining.  I picked my way through an extended family with multiple children enjoying their snacks.  This activity included their small brother who was wrestling with an uncooperative plastic fruit box.  On my return I had to navigate multiple chunks of melon and pineapple which had, not entirely surprisingly, escaped impalement on his feeble plastic fork.  No one seemed particularly bothered, and a dearth of responsible relatives resulted in the floor staying sticky and lethal.  I am never quite sure of the protocol for diving into someone else’s domestic brouhaha – best to stay out of it, seems to be the rule of thumb – so silently employed the necessary skills of a medal-winning dressage pony in order to return to my vantage point unscathed and unstickied.

Next to me, a well dressed man in a turban watched end-to-end comedic videos on his phone, clearly under the mistaken impression that his ear phones were sufficiently plugged in to spare the rest of us the inane jingles which accompanied them.  They were not.

I was distracted by the arrival of my husband with a welcome coffee purchased from a well-known chain, but soon looked up to discover a new cast of characters had arrived. These included an American gentleman who carefully placed his back pack on top of his hand luggage before balancing his mobile phone on top of that.  He proceeded to have an animated conversation with his wife.  

Although he was wearing ear buds which prevented us from the benefit of her wisdom, we could, of course, hear his side of the conversation.  Apparently he had been in London on a business trip, during which he and some colleagues had attempted to visit a number of landmarks and historical sites.  It had been a disaster from beginning to end, and he was not impressed.  They had arrived at whichever place of interest it was, only to discover that the booking system had changed.  This meant they did not have either the tickets or the reservations they had thought and consequently, they should come back tomorrow.  Thanks to their tight schedule, this was not possible.  He laughed drily and moved on to another anecdote in which a colleague had persuaded them all to visit a place of interest to her, which involved a considerable amount of walking.  While they went along with it, wherever it was turned out to be either smaller or generally less impressive than her enthusiasm had led them to believe.  Another lame experience.  

Poor man; I hope his welcome home made up for it and that his wife was able to do something useful while her ear was bent by his interminable stories of woe.

We, inevitably were called to the gate just as things were getting really interesting between some newly-weds for whom nuptial joy had temporarily (I hope), left the building.  

The diversity and colour of these encounters are all grist to the mill of anyone who wants to write.  I could easily have spent another hour or so in glorious contemplation of the ever-changing scene before me while gleaning inspiration for a score of stories and characters.  I remain consistently stimulated by the uniqueness of every individual; their capacity for joy, sorrow, and everything in between, regardless of ethnicity or age.  When it comes down to it, we are far more similar to one another than we are different. 

It reminded me of the scene at the end of Richard Curtis’s perennial Christmas classic, Love Actually, which records the comings and goings of a bustling airport as families are reunited or introduced to new friends in a collage of happy interactions as the credits roll.

Whether you are relocating for Christmas this year by air, sea, rail or road, or if you plan to welcome others into your domestic space to celebrate, I hope your festive encounters are equally joy-filled and that you also encounter the One who began it all, not in an airport or metropolis, but in a humble, rural stable.  

Happy Christmas!

Images: Nick Fewing’s; Rob Curran; Anete Lusina; Chris Sowder – all Unsplash

Love Actually (2003); written & directed by Richard Curtis. Distributed by Universal Pictures, Bac Films