7th September – Wednesday - The Smile

Blood was 5.3 this morning. I’m guessing this is what they call consistent control. I’ve also taken to checking out my profile in the big mirror that’s here in our little cottage, kinda trying to persuade myself “Hey wow, that’s smoother than it used to be...really...”. The point when trying to pull off such self-deception of course is not to focus on any particular “when” element. Smoother than three stone ago, Hellyeah...Smoother than last week...who the Hell knows.

Came across a weird thing yesterday. Well, technically, it’s a thing we’ve known for years, but yesterday it kinda hit me particularly. Social conditioning is weird, isn’t it? I’m socially conditioned to living in London now, where all the stereotypes became stereotypes by virtue of being more-or-less true – you never meet a stranger’s eye, you never indulge in conversation with strangers, cos you don’t know what their deal is and they could stab you, or which is perhaps worse, they could try and be your friend for longer than the fifteen seconds necessary for you to get whatever information you originally wanted from them...and so on. This is a system I instinctively understand, but then I instinctively don’t like most human beings that much.

But here, there’s a whole other social conditioning to learn. Meeting the eyes of strangers on the street is not so much allowed as expected, and you can come off as offensive if you don’t meet the eye of people walking by. What’s more, there’s a whole ritual to be gone through – not only do you have to meet these strangers’ eyes, you have to smile, like you can’t believe your luck that you’ve discovered the place, and that they’ve been smart enough to find it too, and walk your way, to improve your day. It’s also pretty much expected to exchange some words of actual greeting with these fellow Discoverers-of-Amroth. Nothing too effusive, just a “Morning!” or a “Hello”, with the smile, and the eyes, to announce that you’re not a serial killer, and you’re glad to be here, and glad to have had this meaningless little interaction with them, because clearly they are people of discretion and taste – they have to be, they’ve found Amroth.

Incidentally, finding Amroth is no mean feat in itself – you’ve heard me rant twice now that there are huuuuge hills either side of this place. That’s just the walker’s experience. Try driving to Amroth and you discover The Lanes – and yes, they deserve the capitals. Miles and miles of roads as twisty as the human digestive system – and about as wide. We regularly get around by bus while we’re here, and the lanes are wide enough for one bus, and one pedestrian, so meeting another vehicle coming the other way involves either a good degree of negotiation and reversing or – if you’re lucky – a vehicle that can get up onto its tiptoes and scuttle past.

These interactions too involve the same social protocol – everything bows or doffs its theoretical hat to bus drivers, because they live on their nerves round here. Even big lorries (and yes, some people are brave and foolish enough to drive big lorries down The Lanes) back up and find a passing place to hide in when confronted with the local buses. You want a great day out round here – get on a bus and encounter a tourist who hasn’t quite worked out the new social environment they’re living in. We did this a couple of days ago. We were in a bus, going downhill, and we met a woman in a tiny black car coming uphill. Now, bless her, she was still clearly living in a world where drivers going uphill have priority, because when faced with an oncoming bus with potentially dodgy brakes, she simply sat there, waiting for us to get out of her way. The whole busload of us (about twelve people – they’re sort-of sawn-off buses) started grinning and giggling. We’d got a tourist! Within seconds, heads were popping up to see what happened next.

The bus driver gestured to the tourist that there was a passing place.

The tourist gestured right back that he should get into it, if he liked the passing place so much.

The bus driver gestured that he couldn’t get into the passing place. He was a bus! He couldn’t fit! (The degree of mime involved in getting that message across was in itself pretty hilarious, trust me – after all, how would you mime “bus”?)

The tourist folded her arms and sat there, defiantly protecting her right to the right of way.

The bus driver stopped miming, and was heard to mutter darkly under his breath.

At this point, player three entered the arena. Player three was an elderly gentleman with a stick, who made his way to the front of the bus, and said “I’ll go and explain it to her, shall I?”

We all nodded enthusiastically, waiting to see what would happen next. Fair play to the old man, he may have been a diplomat in another life, because after a few minutes of negotiations, the tourist pulled out, and pushed her way into the passing place, though even as she did so, she was gesticulating wildly at the bus driver. The old gentleman got back on the bus, and received a spontaneous round of applause for his efforts. A few minutes later we encountered a lorry. The lorry driver looked up, smiled, touched his forehead, and backed off down the hill till he could slide into a passing place.

See – you either know these things or you don’t.
Wasn’t until I was on a walk yesterday though that I found myself following the social protocol and realising that I actually meant it – I was happy not to be scared of meeting someone’s eye. Happy to smile, because, looking to my left, there was the gorgeous crashing sea and a blue and fluffy sky, so what was not to smile about? And the greeting? Well, why not? For this little parcel of time, we have all discovered a beautiful secret together, so why not acknowledge that, and recognise each other for our perspicacity. So this is me, the cynical git you know and tolerate, saying “Morning!”

Have a plan for today that’s hardly Disappearing-friendly, by the way, but highly taste-bud-comforting. d has made a kick-ass pasta sauce, and that features heavily somewhere in the day. But while we’re here, there’s a thing that has to be done – Pizza at the Pirate restaurant, Amroth. If you’re immune to the wonders of a relatively undiscovered piece of Welsh coastline, and the crashing beauty of the waves, come for the pizza. Just remember to smile as you ask for it!