The Transition Artist

We decided to have dinner in the park. We like to save money and eat well when we travel, so we rode our bikes over to the Hakaniemi Market Hall and decided to take our food to go so we could picnic at Kaisaniemi park, right in the heart of the city. We had only been in Helsinki for a day, but the weather had been perfect since we had arrived, and the long days of sunshine were a welcome change from the gray, rainy weather of Paris.

After a morning run on the nearby island of Suomenlinna and a day full of biking and exploring, we were exhausted and had just enough energy to pass food between us. I let my mind drift a little and started people watching, noticing that there were lots of groups of friends that had also brought little picnics and their champagne out to the park. My eyes finally settled on a middle-aged man in a wheelchair who sat only a few meters away from us. He was listening to his iPod, sipping a canned beer, and looking around; people-watching, too, I assumed. To his left a younger blonde girl sat crosslegged on a blanket with a book in her hands, half reading, half observing the other people in the park. I couldn’t place what it was exactly that drew me to these people, but I couldn’t stop looking at them.

All of a sudden the man in the wheelchair rolled over to the girl on the blanket. Letting one of his headphones fall by his face, he asked the girl in English if she would mind if he joined her. “Oh my god, yeah totally!!!” She replied immediately. As I looked on, I was surprised at her American accent, enthusiasm, and very typically American response, but more surprised that this man had suddenly asked this girl if he could join her and she immediately said yes. I can’t explain what it was that made this interaction suddenly the most interesting thing that I had seen that day, but I was so glued to their exchange that I didn’t even notice that my boyfriend had asked me the same question a few times already and I, without turning, had only replied, “hold on..”

My brain was swimming, asking questions and crafting potential answers to them. Why did she say yes so quickly? I asked myself. I wondered if maybe the girl lived there. Maybe she comes to this park a lot and she’s seen this man before… And maybe, since she probably lives in Helsinki, she’s learned that it’s safe and culturally normal for strangers to come strike up a conversation in a park. Yeah, maybe they’re just friendlier here! After all, I‘ve heard that Scandinavians have a better sense of community… I rationalized. Or maybe… Maybe it’s been a while since she’s met new people here, and she was happy to speak English with someone.. But.. without any hesitation? I let my brain run this question and response loop for a few minutes before realizing that it was also quite possible that this girl was just a friendly American who didn’t mind a conversation with a stranger, whether she lived in Helsinki or not.

After only a brief, maybe 10-minute conversation with the man in the wheelchair, the girl stood up and waved to someone who was walking down the path towards her. Her friend came to give her a hug and smiled and nodded to the man in the wheelchair. The girl started collecting her things and wished the man in the wheelchair a good rest of his evening and told him that it was nice meeting him before walking away. I sat still pondering the exchange, now feeling somewhat sad for the man in the wheelchair who was alone again, though I couldn’t quite figure out why. Why should it matter to me? What did I care? 

As I reflected again on the questions that popped into my head when I was watching the exchange, I realized that all of them were about the girl. I heard her quick, positive response and realized that, though we’re both American, I don’t think I would have responded the same way. After living in a big city where talking to strangers is uncommon and somewhat negatively regarded, I’ve become so accustomed to individualism and coldness toward strangers that I would probably be somewhat suspicious of a stranger that approached me in a park, despite the fact that I’ve made a few friends that way back in the States. Nevertheless, I still felt a little ache of sadness as I watched the man in the wheelchair look around again, leaving the one headphone that he had let drop before his conversation dangling; sad because I didn’t want him to be alone; sad because I had only put myself in the place of the girl, but forgotten to ask a more important question: What led this man to talk to a stranger in a park? 

When we had packed up our picnic and gotten back on our bikes to ride back to our apartment, the man was still there, still sitting alone with the beer in his hand, maybe looking around, maybe staring into space. I glanced back one last time as we rode off, half hoping to see him talking to someone again, taking a chance on another person, but he hadn’t moved. As we rode past him, a sudden pang of guilt rose inside of me. I looked away.