In my interactions with people, in particular, when I’ve been traveling, I have found that the majority of people are kind and helpful. Here are a few examples from my travels. 

Japan. My first day in Kyoto and my very first time in Japan, I learned a lot about Japanese hospitality, which I have had occasion to enjoy on many subsequent visits. After a morning visiting a Buddhist temple, it started raining. I went to get lunch in a nearby noodle shop as the rain poured. I didn’t want to run around in the pouring rain to find the correct bus or tram stop to go out to the Conference Center where the International Biophysics Conference was to begin in late afternoon so, while waiting to be served, I asked in the shop for directions to the bus stop. 

Although he had already finished eating, a kind man who overheard me and spoke English insisted that he drive me to the conference center after I had eaten. Another man insisted that I take his umbrella – there was no refusing. As I was just getting into the car about half a block away, the waitress from the noodle shop ran up to me, soaking wet, to return the money I had left on the table for her as a tip – there is no tipping in Japan.

West Bank. On occasion, I have enjoyed the hospitality toward guests that is such a strong part of Islamic tradition. When I worked for a year in Israel on sabbatical (1980-81), I had wanted to visit the location of the capital of the northern kingdom of Israel that was captured by the Assyrians around 700 BCE when the southern kingdom of Judea managed to hold them off. Adjacent to this location was the only remaining village of Samaritans, who were so despised by the Israelites and later by the Muslims, which I also wanted to see. However, to get there it was necessary to drive through the town of Shechem (aka Nablus). My parents were visiting for several weeks while I was on sabbatical, and they were with me as I drove north from Jerusalem. As I was driving in Shechem, I sensed that it was not entirely safe, so I continued driving through town going north to Lake Kinneret (Sea of Galilee). 

However, a few years later, I was in Israel to give some lectures. I was alone with a rental car, so I figured there was less risk. I drove from Tel Aviv, with the objective to get to the top of Mount Gerizim, where I would find the Israelite ruins and the Samaritan village. To do so required driving through sprawling Shechem. In those days before GPS, I easily got lost at the base of the mountain. 

The license plate of my rental car showed it was from Eretz Israel, i.e., from Israel proper and not from the West Bank where the local cars were licensed. Knowing that it was not entirely safe to drive around in that particular car, against my natural impulses, I immediately stopped the car and asked an 18-yr-old walking by for directions in English, so I would not be mistaken as an Israeli. 

The young man insisted on jumping in the car and showing me where to go. His English was not good, my Arabic was nonexistent, and each of us spoke just a little Hebrew. I did shake my head “yes” perhaps too many times because he asked to stop for a minute on our way up Mount Gerizim to make a telephone call. We then went up to see the Israelite ruins and the Samaritan village at the top of the mountain. 

When we descended Mt. Gerizim and approached the place where he had joined me, I asked if he wanted to be left there. He insisted “no”, saying things that took me a while to understand. I figured that he had been so kind, I didn’t mind taking him anyplace else in Shechem he wished to go. So, we drove a bit east out of Shechem and went into the refugee camp of Askar. The adrenalin levels in my blood rose as we entered Askar, but I had by then understood that I had accepted an invitation to lunch at his brother’s house prior to him making the phone call in the morning. 

Driving into Askar, we crawled slowly through a crowd of people who did not appear at all happy to see me there – no smiles, just some scowls. As it was a warm day, the car windows were down. We finally stopped and were surrounded immediately. He leaned out the window and started talking loudly in Arabic to the people, who finally retreated enough that we could get out of the car. He said something to two 14-yr-olds, which I interpreted to mean that they should make sure nothing happened to the car. 

I did not roll up windows nor lock the car but simply picked up my daypack and followed him into his brother’s modest house. His family greeted me warmly. Fortunately, his sister was an English teacher in Shechem, so she could provide translation for most of the three hours I was in their home. 

After obvious exchanges of personal information, we discussed politics at their insistence: in short, they had another brother who was currently imprisoned by the occupying Israelis following some ill-defined event, and they would not answer when I asked exactly what their brother did. They also claimed that they could live in peace with the Jews, but they were not willing to grant that there should be two countries: Israel and Palestine; this was entirely consistent with the charter of the Palestine Liberation Organization that the Jewish state of Israel had no right to exist. As women were not permitted to eat with men, our translator could not remain with us as we ate, so I was taught a few words of Arabic as our pastime then. 

After our visit, the 18-yr-old was to accompany me safely out, but we found that my car tire had been punctured by a nail on the drive into Askar camp. So, they – not me, as I was not permitted to dirty my hands – put on my spare tire, and the young man directed me to a shop where I could get the puncture repaired (for $5!). By then, it was getting a little late, and we all knew that it would be dangerous for me to be in the West Bank after dark. He refused to get out of the car until we were already outside Shechem on the road towards Eretz Israel. I did have to navigate a couple villages in the West Bank after dark and the Israeli soldiers at the border were very surprised to see me and asked questions, but that Palestinian family did ensure my day was safe and interesting.

Machu Pichu to Cuzco. One time I became quite ill from food I purchased from a vendor beside the train tracks in a small town on my way back to Cuzco from Machu Pichu. I was traveling alone, so the desk clerk at my hotel in Cuzco went out of her way to help me. I was scheduled to leave the next day to travel by train to Bolivia, but I was unable to get out of bed. She took my ticket, went to the train station, and obtained a refund for me. She also made sure I got water and a little food that was safe to drink and eat. [In some other blog, I should explain how I ended up as the only person in Machu Pichu.]

Oaxaca to Mexico City. In 1976 I was in Oaxaca, Mexico, but I needed to get back to Mexico City by the following day – a Monday, as I was scheduled to give a lecture at the University of Mexico. From my trip down to Oaxaca, I knew that returning on the train was highly unreliable. So, I went to the local bus station Sunday night to catch an overnight bus back to Mexico City. It was total chaos with hundreds of people scurrying about with dozens of buses pulling in and leaving every few minutes in an area covering roughly a square city block. There was no organized plan that I could detect, and at that time, my knowledge of Spanish was more limited than it was later. With my rudimentary Spanish, I asked many people for help, but nobody seemed to know much. 

Finally, a man – some might describe him as a peasant or campesino – with his family, some partially full cloth sacks, and a cage with a couple of chickens indicated he needed the same bus. I continued to inquire with no success as he and his family disappeared from sight. In about ten minutes, he returned, and we ran to where he had put his family and goods on a bus that was just closing its doors. We managed to step over multiple bags and animals sitting in the aisle of the bus (well, just chickens as other animals were tied to the top of the bus). Someplace in the middle of the night and the middle of nowhere, that family left the bus, as did others along the way. It was not a very restful night but, with the kindness extended by a man who didn’t have much else to give, I did arrive in Mexico City and did give my lecture as scheduled. [I did not take a photograph, but you can get an idea of the bus from the picture I took many years later in Guamote, Ecuador.]

Klein Karoo, South Africa. One time, my wife and I were hiking at the southern extreme of the Klein Karoo, specifically Garcia Nature Reserve, ~15 km north of Riversdale, South Africa. Upon completion of our hike, we found that the car would not start, and it was parked such that I would not be able to try jump-starting by pushing down a hill. We had not seen anyone for a few hours, including on the little-used road nearby. So, we decided we would have to hike to Riversdale. Fortunately, after walking ~30 minutes on the road, the first passing car stopped. The young black couple picked us up and drove us to a car repair shop in Riversdale, admonishing us that it was dangerous for us white people to be walking along that lonely stretch of road, especially as night was approaching. The shop owner said he would take care of getting the car back to the shop and finding the problem, as we arranged for Budget Car Rental to get us another rental vehicle delivered from Cape Town on the following morning. We spent the night in Riversdale at a pleasant B&B.