Sauna

It’s hard to talk to strangers as a man in his middle age. Not that I found it easy when I was younger, but talking to younger folk now you get a sense of your motives being scrutinised. It’s quite easy to talk to older men I suppose: they usually have quite a lot of opinions they like to share and the odd encouraging “aye” or “totally” is all that’s required to keep conversation churning along. Usually my relatively up-to-date knowledge of football games both local and national provides at least and easy ten minutes in a pub. The nation was gripped by the darts last week. I don’t follow or even understand the rules of darts: I was wary of this potential chat dead end all week, though luckily I didn’t go to any pubs. I feel obliged to learn at least the scoring system for the next time something exciting happens. I can talk with some (unearned) authority on rugby, I have a smattering of knowledge on snooker, tennis, athletics & weightlifting. I draw the line at golf. Utterly beyond the realm of things I can bring myself to care about. Most of the conversations I end up in currently take place in the sauna, an odd little microcosm of the public leisure centre. The sauna has its devotees and I’m beginning to see the same faces there when I stop in a couple of times a week. Mostly older folk, I am lucky to avoid peak times . A sauna is quite a funny environment to make small talk- everybody nearly-naked, breathing heavily and sweating. Conversations make the slightly uncomfortable time pass much quicker though, which I suppose they do throughout life. 

Today the sauna was unusually busy- its only a small little box and at one point there were 7 of us in there. An old man got kicked in the back by a women climbing to the higher ledge and his wife started fussing and tutting about his recent operation. No further medical details were given and he left shortly after but it was an awkward and unfortunate moment. 

There is a group of East Asian ladies who swim and sauna regularly and I have shared the little room with them on a few occasions now. They all seem very sweet, I don’t think they have much English and they chatter away in a language I can’t recognise. I would like to ask them what language they are speaking but I think it would come across as intrusive or nosey or worse downright racist. I’m just curious. I want to find out where they’re from and what they cook from there and where they get ingredients. This part of Scotland is really lacking in multicultural food shops unless you go all the way to Glasgow or down to Newcastle. I sort of fantasise about getting into a conversation with these sweet old ladies -one of whom seems to have more English and translates for the trio- and finding out about traditions and recipes I’ve never heard of. But I would feel rude asking them, so I stare at the ceiling, then the clock, stretch my shoulders a bit and try to get to 20 minutes. They also might have no interest in food whatsoever and eat fray bento pies for dinner every night. These three strangers are doing a lot of heavy lifting when it comes to my desire to make food-related friends. 

Of course the simple fact is that if I don’t talk to strangers I will never make any new friends here. I will be forever asking old school friends to come and visit. On head-nodding terms but no more with loads of people in the gym and the pubs and the football. There are more diverse and interesting people around here than you might think, as has been my experience in a plenty of small towns. I keep returning to the longing for community. The breaking of bread with different sorts of people. I had some generous and hospitable Chinese-American friends in Virginia who used to host the most amazing hot-pot parties. The delicious broths bubbling on their long table with a cornucopia of meats and vegetables to cook in the shimmering red, simmering liquid. A group of friends and acquaintances sharing a new way of eating, those guests who had been before smug in their execution, showing the first timers the etiquette and mechanics of the great meal. I think it might be time to have a hot pot party here. Maybe the ladies in the sauna would have some knowledge of that kind of feasting. Perhaps I will ask them about it in the coming weeks.