Normal Human Behaviour

I've always been fascinated by the Space Race (I'd weep at episodes of From the Earth to the Moon, and not just at Tom Hanks' hangdog face.) And because rooting for the underdog is a big part of our culture (FA Cup giant killers, voting Lib-Dem) I always felt a bit sorry for the Soviets. They started so well, but their kit wasn't as snazzy as the pesky capitalist Americans. Still, first satellite in space: Soviet. First dog in space: Soviet. First woman in space: Soviet (I learnt that during my encyclopaedic primary years, and although I probably can't spell Valentina Tereshcova without googling it, it's a fact that's never left me. I think it was from one of those card-mounted coin collections from the Esso garage.)

So, with all this cosmonautical respect going round, you can imagine I was pretty chuffed to meet Gagarin during my visit to Hungary in February.

OK, so not Yuri Gagarin, but the next best thing. A guy who carries his (nick)name for generations to come.

There's probably a video clip about how I met this other Gagarin over on the project blog at www.kolontark.blogspot.com (scroll down to clips 4 and 5, I reckon.) I've got to admit, as so often happens with me, there's an initial feeling, tempered by the Holy Spirit kicking in and saying: "hang on a sec, let's think about this, let's see what God's got to say about it." Because when I first saw him, he was on a cigarette break, and I guess the regular clean-living PSHE  part of me had its radar up and triggered the thought "these cigarette breaks are not that occasional, are they? This guy chains it. And if the red sludge particles don't kill me, probably the nicotine exposure will."

But Gagarin was the only person I met who gave me somewhere to stay. It was his automatic response. Which was a whole lot different to mine. And he and his girlfriend Marianna took me out to that late lunch/supper thing. (Gagarin had a very liquid lunch, but there I go again, focusing on the differences.) And shared their story. And he translated on the spur of the moment, and looked after my rucksack, and researched train and bus timetables, and treated me to bizarrely delicious fruit syrup cordials and biscuits, and didn't mind being interrupted again with my last-ditch negociations with the Hungarian Red Cross.

It's like in the Old Testament, when David's brothers are being checked out for their kingship potential. Samuel himself thinks it must come down to their physical toughness (it was a bit like the NFL scouting combine: in his mind he's imagining how fast they sprint, what their vertical leap is.)

But the LORD said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The LORD does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.” [1 Samuel 16:7]

He was the man of peace God showed me, the one I should stay with, who opened his home to me. He identified with travelling, squatting, being a citizen of the world. After all, he'd driven the tour van for the Hungarian Vegetarian Anti-Drug Punk Band that Marianne had been the lead singer for. He'd driven that van all the way to Birmingham. I wish I'd been there first time around.

I said a lot of "thank yous" to Gagarin during my few hours with him, but each time he shrugged it off with this phrase:

"Not thank you. Just normal human behaviour."

Generosity. Open-heartedness. Flexibility. Spur of the moment kindness. Support. Involvement. Hospitality.

Normal human behaviour? Did anyone just hear the clunk of a gauntlet being thrown down?