Sound of silence in the quietest of carriages

In Britain, when in doubt, talk about the weather, football or dogs. Except on a crowded commuter train

Sometimes, you just have to stand back and take a look at yourself.

In London, there seems to have developed this weird habit of traveling on a crowded commuter train or underground railway line and pretending the other carriage occupants don't exist. I know this because it happens to me five days a week.

I'm a naturally friendly person, or at least I think I am. If I go for a walk in the park, or my regular weekly swim at our local gym, I always smile at my fellow men or women and give a cheery "good morning" or "good evening".

At the store, I'll always engage in a brief chat as the cashier tallies up my purchases. More often than not it's about the weather, football or dogs.

But this all grinds to a halt when I board the 9.15 from Westcombe Park, where I live, to Cannon Street in the heart of the City of London, where China Daily has its office.

Getting off the train, the newsagent who sells me my papers always has time for a cheery word or two, as do the delightful women who come up with my large cappuccino with an extra shot each morning at Cafe Nero.

Into the office, its a friendly exchange with our two regular and highly efficient security guards, Sean and Alberto, after which it's into the mixture of cheery banter and serious talk with colleagues, including of course Vincent Tan's views on the latest football match and Jiang Shan's latest motoring mishap. Not to mention administrator Alice Chen's ongoing struggles with building maintenance.

So why the dreadful silence on the morning commute?

I see the same faces every day - a postman heading into London, and a couple by whose body language you can tell if they've had a row or not. I've given up trying to crack a smile when I sit down. Maybe it's because people today are glued to their smartphones or tablets, but in another age they were glued to books or newspapers.

Is it the same anywhere else? In Vietnam, a country I know well, everyone from taxi drivers to bus conductors smile and say hello. In Beijing, where I spent a happy three weeks in May, people respond with a smile. Even a dialogue of sorts was established with Beijing's notoriously silent taxi drivers, one of whom thought it great sport to mention the hairs on my forearm.

In Hanoi, I've been in a cab with a driver whose only words of English consisted of the ability to recite the entire Manchester United team lineup of a couple of seasons ago.

Even in Paris, where French rudeness can be legendary, one's fellow travelers on a train or metro greet you with a civil bonjour and a nod before settling down in their seat.

There is, of course, Japan, which in social etiquette terms is a whole new ball game. Back in the early 90s, I spent a month in the Reuters Tokyo bureau and became friendly with a Japanese woman who was a fellow journalist. Educated in the West, she happily agreed to interpret for me in a feature I was doing about Beatles tribute acts in Tokyo. We had a great time, and she reveled in using her English, which she'd learned in the United States, where her father had been a diplomat.

Yet one Sunday I was walking through the park surrounding the Yasukuni Shrine in central Tokyo when I spotted my colleague coming toward me. We passed each other with barely a couple of feet to spare. Not a word was spoken, not a smile or flicker of recognition.

The next day in the office she came up to me and uttered a profuse apology. She had been with her parents and grandparents, and it wasn't culturally acceptable to be seen greeting a foreigner.

Nearly 30 years later, I'm still trying to work that one out. Maybe the crowded 9.15 to Cannon Street is a place to find peace and quiet after all.

The author is managing editor of China Daily European Bureau, based in London. Contact the writer at chris@mail.chinadailyuk.com

(China Daily European Weekly 06/24/2016 page11)