Since I'd planned on being in my hometown for a month, I decided to try reversing some of the damage I'd done to myself in Amsterdam. So, I signed up for a membership at the local gym.
Biking home from a workout one day, I noticed a man on the opposite side of the road coming from the opposite direction on his bike. He was staring at me. I looked back at him, then did the customary look away momentarily before checking if he'd stopped looking. He hadn't. Feeling agitated and uncomfortable, I began to glare at him. I even muttered to myself, "What the fuck is this guy looking at?"
Approaching parallel, our heads nearly at ninety-degree angles, looking at each other from opposite sides of the road, he suddenly broke the awkward silence, "How's it goin'?"
I met his friendly smile with a look of shock, "How's it goin'?"
He kept his eyes locked on me, smiling as he pedalled. "Great day, isn't it?"
My hackles retreated, and not a hint of defensiveness lingered in my voice. "Yes! Yes, it is."
Parallel and about to cycle out of each other's lives, he continued, "Have a good one!" He was still smiling as he turned to look straight ahead.
Making use of my hung-open jaw, I called back after him, "Thanks! You too!"
Simple, right? Common sense? Two people briefly sharing space - why wouldn't we greet one another? Well, it wasn't so straightforward for me.
See, I'd spent the last couple of years in Europe, where, with so many people packed into a small part of the world, strangers rarely acknowledge each other, let alone greet one another.
In fact, when I initially arrived in my first port of call, Glasgow, I greeted a guy passing Matt and I on the footpath, and he got in my face. Matt stepped in and explained I'd just come from Canada, where people say hello to everyone, and I didn't mean any harm.
"You better watch yourself Wee Man!" he grunted as he walked. I remember being so confused by his aggression simply because I said hello and asked how he was.
I should explain for the non-Canadians reading this that when someone in Canada asks, "How's it goin'?" they don't expect you to tell them how you're feeling. Oddly enough, the appropriate reply is, "How's it goin'?" Peculiar, yes, but friendly. Certainly not something to be met with aggression.
Over time, I'd apparently begun to lose that Canadian friendliness, however, probably to avoid further confrontations. Also, most people wouldn't even respond, so I stopped trying.
This man, riding his bike in the town where I was born and raised, was acting how anyone in the area would. And in doing so, he'd reminded me not only of where I was at that moment but also of where I was from. Something so simple and natural to him was like a big bear hug to me, welcoming me back home.
I felt silly but also excited. My legs began to move faster as I raced through the neighbourhood, smiling. "I've been in Europe for too long", I laughed. It felt so refreshing!
Now, I'm sure some of you might be thinking, "I've been to Europe, and people were very friendly", or, "I live in Europe, and it's friendly enough." That's fine. I'm not commenting on your experience, only my own.
Sure, people are friendly when they're making money off you, when you speak their language fluently, or when you're one of them. However, as a foreigner lacking local language skills, not integrated into society, and walking past thousands of strangers on a daily basis, my experience has been that few, if any, will greet you in passing.
I'm not saying all Europeans aren't friendly to strangers, nor am I saying all Canadians are. I'm just saying, on average, friendly interactions with passersby are far more common in Canada.
And I was reminded of that on that particular day, and it felt good!
Needless to say, my time back in Canada with my family was really healthy for me. I was biking around, eating home-cooked meals, working out, and socialising in a more civilised manner. Also, without all the noise and light pollution, admiring starry skies with crickets chirping in my ears each night.
My sister's wedding was a lot of fun. I was the MC, so my microphone skills from Amsterdam came in handy. Of course, after my duties were complete, I did manage to get very drunk, dry hump the priest on the dance floor, then throw up on the front steps of the hall at the end of the night. But aside from that, it was a good time.
As my time there was coming to an end, I began looking for flights. Having chewed through most of my savings by then and having very little left, I was worried a flight in high season would cost more than I could afford. However, by some stroke of luck, I found a direct, one-way flight from Toronto to Amsterdam in late July for two hundred dollars!
My Father is the one who picks me up and drops me off at the airport when I visit. It's always been that way. This time, though, as we approached Toronto, he was a bit sceptical of my travel plans. "So, your passport expires in one week?" I confirmed with a nod and a grin. "What happens if they don't let you on the flight?"
A valid question, and one I'd put considerable thought into already. You see, for the first time in quite a while, I felt happy. After Anna breaking up with me, Hayden passing away, saying bye to Chevy, and living an incredibly unhealthy lifestyle, Amsterdam began losing its lustre. I was enjoying feeling healthy again and wouldn't have minded continuing with that type of clean living.
"I'm not too worried about it, Dad. If they let me on the flight, I'll go back for the summer and make some money. If not, the flight didn't cost much. I'll just take the hit and stay in Canada. Maybe head out West and work in the mountains again."
Dad raised his eyebrows, pushed his lips together in a false smile, and nodded slowly. His standard reaction when he thinks an idea's silly but decides not to say anything.
Instead of dropping me off at the front, Dad stuck around in case I needed a lift back. While I dealt with some luggage confusion, he snuck over to the currency exchange counter.
We hugged goodbye, and he handed me thirty Euros. "That's all I could get with the cash in my wallet. Hopefully, it'll keep you going until you start making money again."
My Father would give another person the shirt off his back, even if it meant he'd freeze. He seems to get a thrill out of giving people things. Once, my youngest sister casually mentioned they had to buy a new pump for their pool because the old one was toast. Dad turned up at her house the next day and dropped off a bag. Inside was a new pool pump.
I guess that's where I got my generosity from, making myself broke while helping others. From slipping money under sandwiches bought for people on the street to buying rounds of drinks for other travellers, my own bank account always took a back seat to someone else's needs. Well, it runs in the family, and I was on the receiving end this time. And boy, did I need it.
Although I'm sure he knew, I didn't tell Dad that the thirty Euros he gave me was all I had to my name by that stage. I knew I'd have money within twenty-four hours of being back in Amsterdam, but I wasn't sure where I was going to sleep. Dad's generous gift was enough for a dorm bed and a bite to eat that first night. I thanked him, wiped the tears from my eyes and headed to my gate.
Along with walking the airports before flights, I also wait until the last minute to have my boarding pass scanned and walk through the gate. I've never understood why people love lining up so much. Once the staff scan your boarding pass, you end up in a line anyway while people squeeze into the flying sardine can, frantically trying to find the perfect place for everything before taking their seats. It's chaotic and, quite frankly, annoying, so I always wait until the absolute last minute to minimise my exposure to such nonsense.
That day was no different. I was the last person to approach the counter. A Dutch woman glanced at my passport and looked up at me in shock. "You know your passport expires in one week, right?" I nodded and smiled. "And you know it's supposed to be valid for at least six months, right?" More nodding, more smiling. "Okay, well, I hope they let you into the country when you arrive. Good luck!" She laughed and handed my passport back.
That month helped me work on the most important part of communication: smiling. It's the universal language. No matter how difficult things get, offering a smile is a reliable way to diffuse a situation and let the other person know you mean no harm.
A month before, sad, jaded and unhealthy, that interaction could have gone very differently. I'd lost my smile along with my sense of self and would have most likely given off an unfriendly vibe. That may have resulted in her refusing me to board the aircraft. But, after reconnecting with my roots and having some of the friendliness from home rub off on me, I was relaxed, confident and, most importantly, happy. That energy can be felt by others, encouraging them to want to help us. Happiness is endearing, and a smile is contagious.
At Schipol Airport, I headed to Customs. As a single guy travelling solo with a passport about to expire containing stamped evidence that I'd overstayed my Schengen days and wasn't permitted entry at that time, I knew I was in a tricky position. The potential consequences? A fine, maybe a ban from the Schengen, and the next flight back to Toronto at my expense, which I certainly couldn't afford. It was a gamble, but I felt okay with it all. Something told me it would be alright.
You know, those moments when the impending danger of your situation has zero effect on you, and you just keep going forward anyway? Rare moments, for sure, but they do exist. Well, that's what I was experiencing, and it was time to roll the dice.
A staff member directed me to the middle lane. The other lanes were full of couples and families. Mine, however, consisted of solo travellers only. I was last, with three others in front of me. I watched as each one was pulled aside for further questioning.
"Here we go," I mumbled to myself. I approached the window and smiled.
"Passport."
Still smiling, I handed it over to the stiff across the counter. Twenty seconds later, I was walking toward the baggage carousel with my freshly stamped passport.
It was all working out beautifully. As I approached the train, I could almost hear the horseshoes up my ass clinking together. I looked at the ticket machine. Six Euros. I figured that would be the difference between eating and not that day, so I rolled the dice again and stepped ticketless onto the train.
I sat down and pulled my phone out to text Chevy out of habit before remembering he was already gone. So, I slid my phone back into my pocket. Just then, two older women entered the car. They were checking tickets. I was already smiling when they approached me.
"Hello, can we scan your ticket please?" They were very friendly. One had a scanner, the other a machine to buy tickets.
I looked up at them with a big smile, "I'm sorry, I don't have a ticket."
The lady with the machine stepped forward, "That's okay, you can buy one. It's six Euros please."
My smile increased, "Oh, I don't have any money. If I did, I'd have a ticket." I added a dash of cheek to my smile to make light of the situation.
The lady with the ticket scanner took over, "Okay, we're going to have to keep one piece of your identification until you can pay for the ticket then." They were really lovely about it all. "Can you give me your driver's license, please?"
I laughed and turned to face them better. "My license was stolen recently, so that can't happen." There was partial truth in this. An incident in Glasgow the previous year had left me without my driver's license, but I'd acquired another by then. As it was a bit of a process, I wasn't about to hand it over. So, I worded things to make it seem like I didn't have a license.
If the poor woman with the scanner wasn't confused already, she was in for another surprise.
"Okay, how about your passport?"
Using all the charm I could muster to prop up my mouth and eyebrows into a sheepish grin, I told them they could have my passport if they wanted, "but it expires in a week, so I won't be coming back to get it."
The three of us were all laughing pretty hard by then, so I decided to drop a cherry on top, "And I don't have an address, so you can't send me a fine. Plus, I don't have any money, so I couldn't pay it anyway."
The ladies were in stitches. The one with the scanner managed to calm herself down enough to reply, "You seem like a very kind boy and you have such a nice smile. Today's your lucky day. We'll let you go, don't worry about it my dear. Have a good day."
They walked away laughing and muttering to each other as I turned back to the window and put my headphones in. Just before I turned my music on, I gave my butt a little wiggle to hear the horseshoes clink once again.
Not long after, I stepped out of the train station and into the sunshine. My first stop was St. Christopher's to see Allen and book a bed for the night.
"You can just stay at mine if you want instead." He winked, handed me my room card, then walked me to the bar for a breakfast shot of Jäger. "It's good to have you back. Cheers!"
I dropped my pack in the room, headed off with the last of Dad's Euros in my pocket, and began promoting immediately.
It was a dodgy return, but I was back. I looked around, took in a deep breath, and smiled.