Curious Culture

I am not sure if this is a world wide phenomenon, but it is strangely true for South Africa. There is a curious bond that binds complete strangers for a brief but intimate few seconds and then disappears again until a new random opportunity presents itself again for another fleeing moment.

Let me take a step back here and set the scene that for you. I woke up on Sunday morning and decided (ironically, with onset of winter just around the corner) that it would be a good day to get my running regime back into shape. As I live a few hundred meters from the beach front (I can feel your envy), what more desirable setting could you ask for as the back drop to my re-entry to the running world? With my fluorescent orange running shoes laced up, my moisture wicking running shorts and shirt comfortably adjusted, I found myself on that part of the beach where the sand is still firm enough from the pre-dawn high tide to provide a comfortable running surface. The fresh sea air, tinged with a taste of kelp rushed into my lungs as I headed down the beach.

As I ran along I passed one or two other people out walking in the early morning but for all intents and purposes they didnt even register in my mind. Then out of the distance a blue-clad figure slowly emerged running towards me. As this complete stranger passed, it happened. There was momentary eye contact and an almost imperceptive head nod, all part of an unspoken acknowledgement of the brotherhood of runners that we were both part of. We continued on our paths and never saw each other again.

I have experienced this same phenomenon under other circumstances too, and with more regularity. On many of my sporadic bike rides I will pass other cycling enthusiasts. For that split second there is the subtle, yet obligatory, nod of the head or a slight hand gesture indicating that acknowledgment of the fraternity of cyclists.

Other instances in which I have witnessed this strange phenomenon was while behind the wheel my friend Roy’s Land Rover Defender. Barrelling down highways en route to one of our annual weekends of camping and testosterone filled festivity; I occasionally passed other Land Rover Defender drivers. Just as we passed each other there was a quick flick of the headlights, a nod of the head and once again that shared moment of acknowledgment of the secret clan of Land Rover Defender drivers. Note that it was not shared with Land Rover Discovery drivers nor Land Rover Range Rover drivers nor any other 4x4 vehicle that we passed.

What is so interesting, and equally sad, in all of this is that when we pass any of these same bonded strangers in an aisle in the supermarket, or stand behind them in the queue to buy tickets for a movie, we don’t give each other the slightest acknowledgment. We rather hush our voices or avert our eyes. It could very well be the same runner I passed on the beach, or the cyclist who overtook me on a trail, or a fellow Land Rover Defender driver who passed me on the highway that morning, the reaction is the same. Blissful ignorance! It seems that by not having shields in the form of our signifying outfits or our tell-tale equipment with us, that politeness and cordiality becomes too much to ask.