Buckingham loved his time working in Yangon and the lively Burmese street culture that surrounded him

Buckingham loved his time working in Yangon and the lively Burmese street culture that surrounded him

Yet there is a limit. Even in the most elaborate hospitality traditions, as in Arabia and Mongolia, the guest has duties too, not just to accept food and shelter in an appropriate manner, but also to leave at the right time and in the right way. Openness always involves risk and trust. It’s no coincidence that hospitality codes are often tied into honour codes that condemn those who transgress them to the harshest of fates. The northern Albanian Kanun code may be more than 3,000 years old, butit still exerts its power. Honour requires hosts to give up their beds and best food to those who visit. Yet when that honour is insulted it leads to blood feuds that can be pursued across generations.

Hello, Stranger celebrates the urban as well as the rural. Even in the vast conurbation of Chengdu, Buckingham eventually finds a kind of “home” within its convivially crowded streets. At the same time, the frantic pace of urban transformation isolates those left behind. Yet his neighbour, with whom he was supposed to share a yard, not only pretended he didn’t exist, she was likely responsible for leaving a bowl of apin – a kind of black magic sludge – on his doorstep. As he concedes, she may have been right to mistrust him, since he was part of the wave of hipsterisation that was taking over the neighbourhood, and from which she was excluded.

There are only occasional references to it in the text, together with a short author’s note at the end

For all the joys of togetherness that are vividly described in this book, Hello, Stranger isn’t simply a paean of praise to having people round for dinner.

Still, for all the cautionary notes that Buckingham sounds, he doesn’t really engage with the difficulties of what it means to connect online. And while there are web-based apps like eharmony traditions of welcoming (couchsurfing for one, although here the online component is only the starting point) I have seen too many people tear themselves apart on social media not to feel that the internet brings out our xenophobia more than it does our philoxenia.

I also got the sense that Buckingham didn’t quite know what to do about the pandemic. Here he recounts the uncertainties of his life in a Bulgaria emerging from lockdown, before defiantly asserting that, “pandemics come and go … if we can only hold on to to this creature need we have for each other then – when the storm has passed – we will be ready to throw open the doors, to reconnect, to embrace and to go on building a shared world worth living in.”

Living with strangers isn’t easy, then

That’s certainly something to hold on to, but as the author himself acknowledges, sickness is also one of the inevitable results of the human desire to live among strangers. And I was struck by how one of the highlights of the book – his description of the joys of hotpot restaurants in Chengdu – is also a description of conditions that are ideal for the spread of pandemics. Sichuanese hotpot is a shared, messy and noisy delight, and emerged within a culture that values crowded intimacy. Viruses but thrive in such conditions of hyper-sociability. Covid spread from Wuhan, another Chinese megacity, and found its most hospitable hosts in communities where life is lived in sociable crowds.

So yes, pandemics come and pandemics go and still humans remain addicted to congregating together. Today though, we are also assailed as never before with detailed knowledge of the costs of this way of living. If there is an ending to this pandemic, the trauma of it will stay with us long into the future. So while Hello, Stranger is a beautiful meditation on the pleasures and pains of a world to which many of us yearn to return, it may also be an elegy for a world that is lost to us for some time to come.

Hospitality to strangers is not simply altruism, it can also be a matter or obligation, respect and dignity. Buckingham recalls an Iranian refugee, Rahim, who he taught in a writing class in Leicester. Rahim invited him to his home for tea, treating him to a spread that must have eaten into his meagre resources. While Buckingham initially felt uncomfortable at accepting this largesse, he learned that “the ability to act as host may have helped him salvage a sense of his own humanity and agency in the face of the inhumane world”.

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