An amusing Kazakhstan anecdote culled from my very first serious conversation with Alexandra von Maltzan

This seems like a good story; so I thought I'd retell it. It came up long ago when Alexandra and I, who had only just met, were discussing the question of whether or not a man should hold open the door for a lady...

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Here's you another example [I said to Alexandra], from Kazakhstan and my recent adoption saga. (It's a bonus anecdote since it didn't make it onto my blog with the rest of the adoption stories.) As a young Southerner, I was taught that gentlemen in crowded public transit (on the rare occasions when public transit is available) yield their seats to others when there aren't enough seats to go around. Standard order of priority, as I was taught in childhood, is:

1. Old people, the handicapped, and pregnant women.

2. Ladies who are trying to keep up with small children.

3. Other ladies, including young women who are, so to speak, old enough to be "out" -- not that we have debutantes anymore, but still you can tell the difference between a girl and a young woman.

4. Adult men.

5. If there are still seats left, the well-mannered teenaged boy may sit down. (Which is a joke since "well-mannered teenaged boy" is very close to a contradiction in terms, but we parents do our best.)

At any rate, such a concept seems absolutely unheard of in the C.I.S. (former Soviet Union, that is), or at least in Kazakhstan. But, in harmony with your suggestion of being civilized for my own satisfaction even if it bemuses those around me, when in Kaz I still yield my seat on the ubiquitous buses as I was trained to do back in the South of my childhood. My two newly adopted daughters (18 and 13) think this is very strange and fascinating, but they get a kick out of seeing me stand up and offer my seat to a stranger, and watching the expression on the stranger's face.

But the anecdote I want to tell is specifically for your sake, because you'll enjoy it more than most people. On one hour-and-a-half bus ride to a remote little village, the bus filled up, and then a woman flagged down the bus. I got up and offered her my seat, drawing as always plenty of stares, and then as the bus jounced along I stood there in the aisle bracing myself with one hand and holding with the other hand a parcel I happened to have with me. And then a different lady who was sitting a row behind where I was standing leaned forward and tapped me on the arm to get my attention (which is also not done), smiled -- and offered to hold my parcel for me.

So I think you're right that thoughtfulness can elicit thoughtfulness in return, even where a local code of manners fails to encourage it.