It’s funny how unique circumstances dictate our opinion of a city. I find it’s not the architecture, food, or attractions. When I reflect on cities, I remember the people and those who treated me with kindness help form my opinion of the city.

Vienna

Vienna was the first city I visited in Europe. The grand and luxurious architecture was a marvel to my girlfriend and I. It holds a dear place in my heart. One of character, politeness, and beauty.

That was not the experience my friend had when he visited Vienna as the final leg of a five-city trip with four guys. He obviously didn’t get to practice his German with my two-time waiter at Cafe Mozart who patiently let me practice my German with him. I don’t know why but I can still picture his bald head and jolly smile.

Munich

The stereotype against Germans is that they don’t smile. Yes, they do appear stern from a distance. That’s until I decided to speak with strangers. Even the scary-looking grocery store clerk would give a warm smile at my danke shen. 

Almost everybody turns out to have a warm smile once they are acknowledged. But this story is about a smiling man who came out of nowhere to help.

Did you know there are large machines in these grocery stores to deposit recyclable bottles to get money back? I found myself in the outskirts of Munich trying to operate one of these contraptions and stood there confused, trying out multiple machines and having no luck.

A man in a suit stopped his shopping and came up to show me how to use it. Maybe he pitied me but I thought it was kind of him. As far as I’m concerned, Germans are friendly and kind. 

Budapest

A little further East, I found myself in a post office in Budapest. Whereas German is easier to navigate with English — 'wasser und brot' means 'water and bread’ — I was hopeless with Hungarian.

There, I stood staring at a mailbox with multiple slots. I stared at the Hungarian written above each slot hoping it would change to English if I stared long enough. A small flicker of hope in discovering my superpower was translations.

Seeing the hopeless tourist stand in front of a mailbox, an old lady came up beside me. She spoke to me in what I assumed to be Hungarian. I gave her the same blank stare I gave the post office and smiled like the village idiot.

I showed her my postcard with stamps plastered on it. She looked at my stamps and pointed to a slot. I didn’t think twice. In went the postcards and I prayed for their safe deliverance. I thanked her there and again in my mind when the postcards arrived in Canada. 

Kyoto

For those who love ramen, they should check out the ramen alley located above the Kyoto train station. To this day, the only way I know how to get there is by asking a cleaner to take me there. 

Only knowing the existence of this ramen alley, I wandered through the station trying to locate it on my own. Failing to find my destination in the massive station, I selected my victim in this dire time of need — an unsuspecting cleaner who was sweeping away. 

I asked him for directions in broken Japanese. I hoped a mix of hand gestures and words I could understand would come out of his mouth. Instead, what I got was a confused look. I guess he wasn’t a big fan of ramen? I jest. No one could dislike ramen. 

Instead of waving me away, he dropped his cleaning equipment on the floor and gestured me to follow him. I followed as he met up with some store owners and asked them for directions.

He led me up a side door and up a set of stairs into an above-ground parking lot. We walked across the wide lot into a small service elevator. He pressed the floor number for me, bowed, and walked back where he came. I thanked him for the 10-minute personal chauffeuring and arrived at my ramen alley. 

Tokyo

The high standard of service in Japan is common knowledge. But I will continue to beat away at proving this stereotype accurate with yet another experience.

I don’t eat sushi. Yet I was in a seafood-focused area in Tokyo looking for some deep-fried pork cutlets (tonkatsu). Google Maps failed me so I walked into a Croc store to ask for help. I didn’t have a restaurant in mind. I just wanted to eat tonkatsu and walked into the closest store during the moment of desperation. 

I walked into the Croc store and asked a store attendant where the nearest tonkatsu restaurant. He asked his coworker and she too seemed uncertain. Instead of saying “sorry, we tried, now please buy shoes or get the fuck out” they both went on the computer on the cash register to look up a restaurant for me. 

A customer entered and the store attendant apologized to me as he went to help out an actual customer. But, right after apologizing, he tasked his co-worker to take over and help me. 

His colleague found a place and printed out a map of their location with the nearby restaurant. Then she drew the path I should follow to get to the restaurant. The other attendant returned after helping the customer to chat it over with her and make sure I was well settled for my dinner adventure. 

They brought me out of the store and pointed me in the right direction with their map in my hand. I thanked them, they bowed and I had a wonderful meal at a quaint tonkatsu store run by an old lady. It was filled with chain-smoking locals and I knew I was in the right place. 

I don’t think it’s in the corporate policy of Crocs that store attendants should find restaurants for tourists and print out maps while juggling actual paying customers. I’ll chalk it up to the kindness of those individuals and Tokyo will inherit that opinion I have thanks to them. 

Many years and cities later, these instances stay cemented in my brain. There are many more instances. But these are the ones that come to mind. 

A lifetime’s reputation could be ruined in an instant. But that’s a fear-driven way of looking at the world.

Why not consider how one act of kindness can set a reputation? They say the good shit sticks. Kindness is some good shit.