"Isn't life exciting?"

Two weekends ago I visited Bristol and spent happy hours ambling hither and thither. After Sunday lunch we were aiming to wander towards Cabot Tower but not knowing exactly where that was we paused intermittently to map check. On one such pause we were approached by a man who can only be described as a Gandalf - albeit a down on his luck Gandalf. Long wispy white hair and beard growing in every direction, unchecked for decades over pale sallow skin. With aluminium-and-plastic walking stick, heavily stained overcoat and pre-requisite plastic shopping bags he cut quite a figure and one that you'd usually do your best to avoid.
And yet with piercing blue eyes and fierce lucidity he stopped to ask if we needed help before breaking into lecture on the history of Victoria Square where we had just come from. Keen to know where I was from, when he heard Liverpool he broke into another dialectic on the parallels between the two port trading towns and the competition hence. We asked him a little of his story and he described meeting his wife studying drama in the 60s - after studying Classics first mind - and his life as a Bristolian.
He interjected all these little stories with his coined phrase, "Isn't life exciting?"

He was fascinating, endearing and seemingly on the ball, but I couldn't check myself from wondering how much was real. The history I did not doubt, but the talk of his house and his wife - it seems to me we are conditioned largely to ignore people like this. People whose appearance suggests their sanity is going if not gone. He moved with difficulty and he clearly did not bathe as often as most. Most worrying was the state of his teeth, occasionally peeking through behind the beard. One or two spikes left, lost in swollen grey gums.
I could not let go my preconceptions that something must be wrong. I had no desire to be rid of him and was more than happy to chat and let him talk. I wonder how many people indulge him and how many others look away and stride past.
And how strange - to stop and talk to someone on the street for 15 minutes. And strange that it should be strange. I cannot remember having done this in England for years - although it always seems to happen frequently when I'm abroad. Is there something that people respond to when you seem out of your element somehow. You're slightly more in the present, slightly less on auto-pilot, slightly more approachable or in need. Or perhaps just more likely to appreciate it.

I no longer have anyone of his generation in my life. My grandparents are all long gone - and many were gone mentally long before that. To think how much has changed since they were children - how much has been gained and how much lost. How many stories...

"Isn't life exciting?"