Here’s to you, Rick

Fifteen years ago I toured English cathedrals and abbeys on my own, training from town to town to see as many as I could. It was a glorious holiday. I stopped in Winchester, Norwich, Bath, Romsey, Cambridge, Tewkesbury, Wells, Durham, Ely, Peterborough, Lincoln, York and Durham. My favorite cathedral, and one of my favorite towns, was Salisbury; I even double-backed there to catch a performance of Haydn’s Creation.

On the train from Bath to Salisbury I noticed a good-looking man who, for whatever reason, I assumed was a Yank. I wanted to talk to him but my natural reticence prevented me. For an hour I kept rehearsing opening remarks, but tossed all of them. When we pulled into Salisbury, he got off the train just ahead of me.

What a fool I had been. We might have become great friends, or at least spent a lively hour over a pint.

Sometime later I was talking to my childhood friend Ricky (now Rick). He told me of traveling on a train heading north from London. He struck up a conversation with a solo traveler and they talked all the way to their destinations. That was decades ago. They became fast friends; their families have met and shared weddings and vacations. They are very close and have enjoyed many years of each other’s company – all because Rick took the chance and said hello to a stranger.

I’ve had the opportunity in the last few days to make up for my mistake on the Salisbury train. Stuart and Angie are traveling in the cabin next to ours; we met as the four of us were on our balconies when the Summit pulled away from New Jersey and headed under the Verrazano Bridge and out to sea. We chatted for a bit and then headed inside. They told us they were from York.

Tuesday afternoon I wrote them a note asking if they wanted to get together for drinks or dinner. We settled on dinner, but then ran into them in the Rendezvous lounge and so did both. And what a lovely time we had. They are both very attractive and very charming and of course have that lovely accent we Americans can’t get enough of. We spent maybe three hours together and the conversation was non-stop and varied. I hope we’ll see more of them in the three days left.

We may not become the oft-visiting friends that Rick and his pal became – though who knows? That doesn’t matter. What matters is the reward already paid for a simple hello.

Dishonoring my cynic’s colors, yes, but well worth it. Thanks, Rick, for the inspiration.

 Two views of the incredible York Minster, in Stuart and Angie's home town