I hadn’t planned to be in Kuwait but yet here I was at the tip of the Persian Gulf, guided by the friendly winds that have always ushered me gently through this voyage we call life.

It had just passed 2am and the late night restaurants and cafes were now calling an end to their day. My day and night merged into one like fresh milk poured into a cup of tea. The flight that was to transport me back home was still some hours away, I therefore decided to go on a late night stroll through these unfamiliar lands. Even at this time, the heat and humidity continued to impose itself upon the environment, a sweltering 38 degrees Celsius.

I had no destination in mind and no route to follow, a combination I have always found to be quite fruitful.

 I decided to walk towards the Ocean, having always found comfort and serenity in the vastness of the seas. I walked bare foot across the cooling night sand as I took stock of where I was, acknowledging the preposterous nature of life and the randomness of my own journey which led me here.

I was alone. With most rational people already a few hours into tonight’s episode of sleep. Some lights in the distance illuminated the water in front of me and as I looked on I felt a sense of calm that had been evading me for some time.

As I continued to walk down, I realised my initial assessment of being the sole visitor of this coast had been a premature one. An elderly man dressed in the traditional dishdasha of the Middle East sat cross legged gazing out at the very gulf that I had been transfixed by. As I drew closer, I saw him in a peaceful almost meditative state, with a fishing line as his quiet, steadfast companion.

He saw me and smiled.

 It was an affectionate smile, like the kind a grandparent gives when they gaze lovingly at the family they have nurtured.

 That smile alone was enough to make me accept his wordless invitation to sit beside him.

He began to speak in Arabic, of which I knew none. I began to speak in English, of which he knew none. And yet we somehow we were able to have a conversation in a language which transcended the simplistic nature of words.

He handed me his fishing line and I held on to it for some time until I felt a slight pull, indicating the bait had served its purpose. I never lifted the line out of the water, worried that the introduction of another character to this storyline might breach the peace of the moment. He looked on and his smile had not eased off, it remained, a permanent feature of this mans face and personality.

I sat for 15 minutes then shook the mans hand and took my leave. He didn’t look back as I walked away from the beach, he continued in his meditative state. It was a timely reminder that you didn’t need much to be happy. In this world of fleeting adrenaline rushes, digital convolution and hijacked attention; clear skies, a fishing line and solitude is sometimes all that is needed.

The fisherman meditating on the beach in Kuwait, was a simple man. But a great man nonetheless.