It’s a beautiful sunny evening in Amsterdam, perfect for walking, but I decide not to walk back to the main train station.
My attention is scattered, interrupted every second by the crowd, noise, and hustle and bustle of this hectic metropolis on a Sunday in August. I’m heading home to The Hague after a nourishing lunch hosted by the lovely Caroline van Sprang and Sophie Saddington for their book club, Modern Eaters and Readers.
As I walk, I keep recalling the topics we explored in our three-hour conversation, and ideas keep resurfacing for an essay on attention that I’ve wanted to indulge in for a while now. I stop from time to time to jot down notes and words on my phone, seeking shelter from the hectic crowd, trying not to be in anyone’s way. I look up and take a quick photo:
details on a building in Amsterdam
There are two reasons why I enjoy interviewing people for The Flâneurs Project about the places they hold dear.
The first is a desire to record and collect stories, creating an archive of personal recollections from people in different corners of the world, capturing experiences that are both nuanced and raw, much like conversations with friends.
The second is a persistent curiosity about the different ways we pay attention to the world: on the streets, in different cities, to ourselves, to others, and to the world unfolding in front of us.
What we notice and how we notice it reveals so much about who we are and how we live our lives. Beyond “what we see” and “how we see,” I’m curious to explore “how often” we pay close attention.
“Attention, taken to its highest degree, is the same thing as prayer. It presupposes faith and love. Absolutely unmixed attention is prayer” wrote Simone Weil in Gravity and Grace.
Weil is one of my favorite thinkers and writers, who brought the topic of “attention” to the forefront, reminding us that it is a deliberate act and a conscious choice, every single day.
“In Weil’s role as a teacher, we catch glimpses of what she understood by attention. For example, Anne Reynaud, one of her students at Roanne in 1933, recalled that Weil would take the class outdoors and gather them under a tall cedar tree where they would together “seek problems in geometry.” The phrase is telling: rather than “finding the answer,” the students instead looked for problems. Reflecting upon a problem, rather than resolving it, was Weil’s goal. ”- The Subversive Simone Weil by Robert Zaretsky
Our close attention may wander quite often, but if we remain attuned to our thoughts, bodies, and environment, it can find stillness. Its focus might be narrow in scope, but infinite in nuance and depth.
“Attention is vitality” wrote Susan Sontag.
On my way home, hurried and distracted by the crowd, I’m stopped in my tracks by Wil Wiegant’s painted boats, displayed in a covered stand at a small art market on the streets of Amsterdam. I pause and buy four postcards to keep as mementos.
Wil’s stand in the market | wilwiegant.nl
One painting in particular catches my eye—one I haven’t found online but now have as a postcard: The Golden Ship and Butterflies.
There’s something so alluring about that little golden ship.
Wil Wiegent - Barco De Oro Y Mariposas
In recent years, I’ve interviewed friends and strangers from around the world about the places they hold dear and the cities they live in. I’ve always been curious about what they pay attention to while on the move. In the paragraphs below, I’m sharing some of their responses to the following prompt:
Please share a story of a stranger you met on the streets and why that moment has stayed with you.
I met a man on Aldersgate, he was a little lost, looking for the Indian visa processing centre which is not far North, but just far enough from the Tube station to be a little confusing. He was old and handsome in a faded and not entirely tidy way. In his black shoes, smart black trousers held up with braces over a striped shirt and unruly beard he gave me a picture of who I might be in some thirty years time. I gave him directions and watched him walk purposefully and quite steadily off up the road. - Walking in London with Indy
Well, here it comes, the invariable cliché. I met my current partner in Paris– she was smoking a cigarette discussing American literature at L’ecritoire, the hip cafe mentioned earlier. So I couldn’t resist, I asked her for a lighter, introduced myself, and began a conversation that has lasted ever since. Walking in Paris with Christophe Porot
I was about to cross a busy street in the Prati area of Rome. As a woman was in the middle of crossing, the walk light turned red. A car stopped and honked at her, completely unjustified – all the other cars were still stopped. She halted in her tracks, looked the driver in the eye, and gave him the middle finger for a beat of five. She was not going to be bullied, and she was not going to apologize. Whenever someone tells us to move out of the way, that they’re more important or more powerful, we should all channel that woman. Walking in Vilnius with Kerry Kubilius
This story took place in Mérida, one of the most important Roman cities in Spain.I saw an old man in front of an antique store. It happened to be the owner, an archeologist and art history professor.
Engaged in a one hour conversation, it seemed that we were old friends that found each other after a long time. In that hour, I discovered everything about a stranger that spent 20 years in Syria, his lovely French wife, his mother and his pure passion for cooking, inherited from her, different career paths that felt so organic in his life and, of course, what brought us together - a passion for art and history.
I was on an early morning walk with my father in AlShaheed park. We decided to take different directions since each wanted to have a significantly different pace of walking.
As I walked alone, an old lady who was sitting on a bench called me in a way as if she knew me. I trusted her genuine tone and went closer to her. She started shooting casual questions like how am I doing and how things are which got me confused. I truly felt like she knows who I am with her warm grandmother-like tone she was using with me. I wanted to be polite, so I sat next to her to continue the conversation and go with the flow. We had a good conversation for around 20 minutes, I kissed her forehead (it’s a way to show respect towards the elders here), and went on my way.
I continued my walk and went around that same bench again after some time. Her daughter, as I assume, approached me and said something along these lines: ‘I saw you sitting next to her, and I just wanted to thank you for your patience and kindness’. Apparently, the woman has been suffering from Alzheimer’s and she probably mistook me for someone else, or for any possible reason.
When I left I had happy tears filling my eyes, and I was genuinely happy that I took a different direction from my father in walking just so that I could give her hopefully good company. The feeling of being in the right place and right moment, and knowing that I did the right thing, is why it stayed with me. Walking in Kuwait City with Anwar
I have a few favourite memories of encounters with strangers. One was with the Spanish Zorba in Barcelona, who shared a bottle of wine and danced with us after our backpack was stolen. Another one was with a stranger I spent six hours with during a layover in Bergamo when I was travelling alone for the first time. However, the encounters that impacted me the most were actually with the same “stranger.” Walking in Sibiu with Silvia
We astronomers are nomads, Merchants, circus people, All the earth our tent. We are industrious. We breed enthusiasms, Honour our responsibility to awe.
But the universe has moved a long way off. Sometimes, I confess, Starlight seems too sharp,
And like the moon I bend my face to the ground, To the small patch where each foot falls,
Before it falls, And I forget to ask questions, And only count things.
As always, I welcome your stories, notes, and emails. If Wil’s paintings have caught your attention and you enjoy collecting handwritten postcards, send me an email with your address. I have three postcards I’d love to share with my readers.
I loved reading the stories of meaningful encounters with strangers! I'm fascinated by serendipity, and sometimes, when I spot an interesting individual, I even entertain myself by trying to imagine their life story.
Your piece reminds me of the poem The Summer Day, by Mary Oliver:
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention
I loved reading the stories of meaningful encounters with strangers! I'm fascinated by serendipity, and sometimes, when I spot an interesting individual, I even entertain myself by trying to imagine their life story.