Myself and Cathy were walking up the Royal Mile in Edinburgh when we met one of those happy-friendly-pathblocking-guranga types, who wanted to share the beauty he had found with us in exchange for a small donation. Nope, thanks.

- Well how about a penny for luck then?
- Nope, sorry.

It didn't dawn on me till a little later that I'd automatically responded to a request for a penny with a denial. Automatically! I don't feel guilty if I respond automatically when someone asks me for money (which I tend to do), but a penny? Yeesh.

Anyway, what I did do was ask him if there was anything I could do for him other than give him money. I was expecting, in my own cynical way, him to make a bit of a face and say well, hmm, money...



- Sure! he said. Milk!
Ywa?
- Milk would be great. We use it to make curd. Thats what I was going to buy anyway.

It dawned on me that I knew absolutely nothing about this guy or what he was doing, other than that he'd asked me to say guranga for no reason. It turns out he lives in a monastery outside edinburgh with 19 other people from all over europe.

What do you do out there?
- We meditate most of the time. We're trying to become completely at one with god and the world.

I guess thats apart from when he's making curd, and path-blocking. But I gotta say, I was ashamed at my ignorance. Here's a guy who's given up his worldly possessions and travelled far from his home, who spends his waking moments searching for something higher, a better way of existence, and trying to spread the love. I blocked him completely. Well, right up until he asked me for milk. I went and got him some and he was thrilled.

---

When I was travelling in Cuba oh so many yonks ago there was a guy walking along in front of me who dropped a piece of paper. I picked it up and called him back and we got chatting; he was an optician. He was full of chat, where was I from, etc. etc. I was a wee bit wary because in Havana, at least at that time, you couldn't go ten feet without someone looking to scam the tourist. He asked was I from Miami - no - good - he mimed kicking an invisible person up the arse. That's Miami, he said. Ireland - Oh, oh, the Shannon! He proceeded to tell me that every morning on the radio there is a song about the Shannon and his mother cries. (At least I think this is what he was trying to tell me).

Anyway, we moved along, we were heading the same way. Eventually he got down to brass tacks and asked me if I could do him a favour... uhoh, here it comes... would you buy me some milk for my kids, he said. Milk is very expensive here.

Spotting a recurring theme?

I bought him some milk - how could you say no - and then he transformed into my own personal tour-slave. He showed me a couple of things I was looking for, including a particular market - where I was so bad at haggling that one of the stallowners took pity on me and actually threw extra stuff into the bag. As a final favour he brought me to where I could get the best rum very cheap for Granddad - a slightly shady deal with his friends in some dusty suburb - I ended up paying half the price of a good bottle of rum for a very very bad bottle of rum. He was scamming me, but I did notice a very apologetic look on his face, and I went along with it. I've never had to ask anyone for milk.