> As an afterthought that just occurred to me, I
> realized that my entire experience (and that
> post) is based on life in the USA. I'd be
> interested to hear what some our overseas
> friends' perceptions on this matter are. How
> do cultural difference and "old world" ideas
> about life affect the way strangers interact with
> each other?
>

Here's a Brit's perspective:

I've lived in a smallish town for most of my life. I say smallish, but I am unreliably informed that the population is around the 60,000 mark. So it's actually rather big. To give a qualitative account, it's small enough to not have to dodge many people when walking through the high street on a busy day. With me? OK. With that in mind, I'm probably going to forget about it and go off on my own for a bit.

The public transport thing. It has always been the norm for me, no matter where in Britain I am, to see people thanking the bus drinker on disembarking. Usually it's nothing more than a "cheers" or "ta, mate," but it's still there. As for taxis, I've been at the mercy of talkative drivers just as much as I have sat in silence. I find that in general, handing over cash and saying nothing comes across as a bit rude. There's a tense atmosphere when you're not speaking to the person helping you, so there you go.

OK, back to my location. That home is near Birmingham, the second city. Regular trips into the sprawling grey mass were commonplace, and there is a slight but noticable change of atmosphere in the public. I think it's partially because of mistrust; the bigger the city you're in, the more chance you've got of being mugged. This slight distrust may not cause you to openly frown upon people, but it reinforces the mental wall that you've got for protection against the masses. Ignore, keep your head down, don't make eye contact. Keep going. Obviously, the degree to which this effects you depends on your home life. If you lived in the city, you'd get used to that level of distrust and not notice it. If you'd spent your life living in a cave, a city would probably give you the screaming hairy dab-dabs.

Next, Bath. One of the smallest cities in the country, packed with people. The view from your window is still quaint greeniness and beige buildings, so it looks for all the world like a quiet town. The large student and tourist populations mean that, for me, it's a friendlier place. Everyone who you don't recognise from lectures looks like a tourist, so you feel like you know more people and there's a rather, well, Rink-like atmos to it all. Thank the bus driver, and apologise to the beggar for not having any change rather than just walking past with your eyes averted.

Now, London. One step up from Brum, and insanely big and overpopulated in the central areas. I've only been there a few times. It's difficult to think about the public as anything other than a throbbing mass entity, with everyone going about *their* business and squeezing past you in the process.

I'm also fortunate enough to have other-worldly experience, mostly thanks to the RU. New Hampshire first, then. It came across as "like home, only with American-looking buildings. And the Sun." I didn't get to see many (or any) natives, so I can't really judge the public there.

New York. The origin of all of this. I've been there twice, both times in passing and both times confined to airports. Flying over it was breathtaking, especially the Manhattan area. Enormous buildings. It was all too big for me to even think about what it would be like to walk through during the day. Would I adopt the "head down don't stop don't make eye contact" approach? Yes.

Airports. Those I know about. The airports I passed through (Atlanta, JFK and LGA in particular) had that effect on me. There was too much going on, too many people walking around looking at monitors and not at whatever was in front of them. Never have I heard so much silence so noisy. No announcements. No one telling anyone else anything. Not once did I hear "have a nice day," even. Fortunately, I didn't *want* anyone to talk to me. Because then I'd have had to respond, and that would have singled me out as a British tourist to the entire population of New York who would take my wallet and remove my spleen. But then I missed my flight.

I *had* to talk to someone. The one person at the desk was surprisingly helpful and comfortable to talk to. But at the next desk, I overheard someone else with a very similar problem to mine. Lots of shouting, lots of threats, lots of, well, stereotypical American. Don't take offence, it's just what the telly has always told me. This was when I realised a rather fundamental difference. I was thousands of miles from home, I was alone, I was broke. My bags were on a flight to New England. I was not. The person next to me had missed their flight, too, and from what I could hear that meant that they'd have to wait an hour or two for the next one. And they were livid. I was not. Maybe they had spent their entire life in New York or some other big city, and they'd became used to the detachment that Dagmar mentioned. (Note: all speculation from this point.) They probably didn't see the poor desk clerk as a person. They saw the fact that their flight had TAKEN OFF WITHOUT THEM. And they were damned if it was for any reason other than to explicitly get on their nerves. If the plane had waited for them, I bet the other passengers would have been really annoyed at him. But that didn't matter to him because they didn't matter. (/speculation) I had to wait in the airport for seven hours. It was closed. In that time, I spoke to exactly one person: another Brit who had to wait in the airport until it opened.

What was the point I was trying to make? Dunno. I was just trying to get my POV across about public-on-public action, from my own experiences in quiet towns and New York airports. I'll stop now, because I know your bums are getting sore and you need to stretch your legs a bit.

Matthew