Pass the Passport, Maybe (Thanks J)
My new boyroommate has done a lot of traveling. Mostly within Central Europe. He was shocked to find out I've never left the country. I'm always shocked to hear that other people have. Guess I have no sense of wanderlust, because a part of me is absolutely baffled at what would inspire someone to go someplace where they won't understand things. Of course, I come from a different place than most, since I want to understand much more than I'm able, whereas I suppose most people find a way to understand anything they want.
Yet a tiny part of me is curious. I think it's from living in San Francisco, a major city. In South Florida, nobody travels. I mean it - you honeymoon in Disney and then take all your vacations in Key West. If you have relatives there, you go to New York once every few years, but you hate how busy and crowded and dirty it is. But in major cities, people go places. Like to other major cities.
I'm tempted. My friend told me to start out slow - go someplace where they speak English, at least. Like London. I might be able to do London. I read British Glamour. I like the song Here Comes the Sun. I ate a scone once. I even know "chips" are really french fries.
Except, remember on The Real World, London how hard it was to figure out the front door of their apartment? And what if I got lost trying to take the Tube somewhere, and the people there were like the kids I went to high school with, and gave me wrong directions? Plus, I don't really like fish all that much.
Okay, not London. What about Paris? Every girl is supposed to want to go to Paris, right? I could be like Sabrina, and come back beautiful. I could acquire a cute, French accent. Supposedly they teach English in the schools there. So what if there are no anti-smoking laws?
Well, here's what I imagine.
1. I would arrive.
2. Day one - would not leave hotel due to not being able to figure out fancy lock on hotel door. Convince myself that's okay, because I can "adjust to time difference" and finish reading airplane book and magazines.
3. Day two - would figure out lock and venture around lobby of hotel. Spend at least four hours people-watching in lobby before going back to room, depressed that I can not understand what anyone is saying. Before going inside room, cry in hallway for half hour at not being able to figure out lock on door from outside. Console myself with thoughts that the people walking by who give me strange looks will never see me again, so it does not matter that I cried in front of them.
4. Days three and four - stay in hotel room, scarred from last time I left. Call my brother and cry about how hard it is to be somewhere I don't understand what's going on around me and how much I hate myself for not being able to learn new languages and learning disabilities really suck.
5. Day five - embarrassed that I'll be leaving soon and will have to face Americans who will ask what I did in foreign country and don't want to have to admit "nothing," force myself to leave hotel. After writing out on two pieces of hotel stationery diagram of door lock, complete with step by step instructions.
6. Walk three blocks to left of hotel. Find cafe. Say, in my best, yet awful and improper French, "I'm sorry, I do not speak French; do you speak English please?" only to have people laugh at me and ignore my request for water. Cry.
7. Try to walk three blocks to my right to get back to hotel, only to find myself in very seedy area, sun has set, and now I am hopelessly lost. Pull out diagram of door lock to see if stationery has hotel phone number, only to realize I can not figure out how to use pay phone. Spend night sitting in a curb. Pigeons poop on my head multiple times. When I get back to my hotel, find I've lost my precious diagram and spend 20 minutes outside door trying to unlock it.
8. Finally get inside and to to take shower to wash off bird poop, which has congealed into my hair overnight. Can't figure out complicated shower, wash hair in sink. Lay on bed and cry myself to sleep.
9. Arrive back in the States after being fleeced by a cab in Paris to take me to airport, where I am most proud that I got it down to a solid ten minutes to work the lock on my hotel door. Frantically run to Borders to write down sightseeing places in Paris to lie about to people when they ask where I went while abroad.
It might not be as bad as that, but keep in mind that I don't drink wine or coffee, and don't like cheese. You can survive on Evian for a few days straight, right? And they'll let pb&j sandwiches through customs, right?
Yet a tiny part of me is curious. I think it's from living in San Francisco, a major city. In South Florida, nobody travels. I mean it - you honeymoon in Disney and then take all your vacations in Key West. If you have relatives there, you go to New York once every few years, but you hate how busy and crowded and dirty it is. But in major cities, people go places. Like to other major cities.
I'm tempted. My friend told me to start out slow - go someplace where they speak English, at least. Like London. I might be able to do London. I read British Glamour. I like the song Here Comes the Sun. I ate a scone once. I even know "chips" are really french fries.
Except, remember on The Real World, London how hard it was to figure out the front door of their apartment? And what if I got lost trying to take the Tube somewhere, and the people there were like the kids I went to high school with, and gave me wrong directions? Plus, I don't really like fish all that much.
Okay, not London. What about Paris? Every girl is supposed to want to go to Paris, right? I could be like Sabrina, and come back beautiful. I could acquire a cute, French accent. Supposedly they teach English in the schools there. So what if there are no anti-smoking laws?
Well, here's what I imagine.
1. I would arrive.
2. Day one - would not leave hotel due to not being able to figure out fancy lock on hotel door. Convince myself that's okay, because I can "adjust to time difference" and finish reading airplane book and magazines.
3. Day two - would figure out lock and venture around lobby of hotel. Spend at least four hours people-watching in lobby before going back to room, depressed that I can not understand what anyone is saying. Before going inside room, cry in hallway for half hour at not being able to figure out lock on door from outside. Console myself with thoughts that the people walking by who give me strange looks will never see me again, so it does not matter that I cried in front of them.
4. Days three and four - stay in hotel room, scarred from last time I left. Call my brother and cry about how hard it is to be somewhere I don't understand what's going on around me and how much I hate myself for not being able to learn new languages and learning disabilities really suck.
5. Day five - embarrassed that I'll be leaving soon and will have to face Americans who will ask what I did in foreign country and don't want to have to admit "nothing," force myself to leave hotel. After writing out on two pieces of hotel stationery diagram of door lock, complete with step by step instructions.
6. Walk three blocks to left of hotel. Find cafe. Say, in my best, yet awful and improper French, "I'm sorry, I do not speak French; do you speak English please?" only to have people laugh at me and ignore my request for water. Cry.
7. Try to walk three blocks to my right to get back to hotel, only to find myself in very seedy area, sun has set, and now I am hopelessly lost. Pull out diagram of door lock to see if stationery has hotel phone number, only to realize I can not figure out how to use pay phone. Spend night sitting in a curb. Pigeons poop on my head multiple times. When I get back to my hotel, find I've lost my precious diagram and spend 20 minutes outside door trying to unlock it.
8. Finally get inside and to to take shower to wash off bird poop, which has congealed into my hair overnight. Can't figure out complicated shower, wash hair in sink. Lay on bed and cry myself to sleep.
9. Arrive back in the States after being fleeced by a cab in Paris to take me to airport, where I am most proud that I got it down to a solid ten minutes to work the lock on my hotel door. Frantically run to Borders to write down sightseeing places in Paris to lie about to people when they ask where I went while abroad.
It might not be as bad as that, but keep in mind that I don't drink wine or coffee, and don't like cheese. You can survive on Evian for a few days straight, right? And they'll let pb&j sandwiches through customs, right?
Labels: Anti-Foodie, Balls, City Livin, Ejumakashun, Fantasy, Florida, LD Strikes Again, Overthinking, People watching, Pounding the pavement
posted by Green at 2/10/2008 10:34:00 PM
8 Comments:
My experience has been that the bad things that happen on trips make the best stories. Suffering from explosive diaherrea while in China, and almost shitting my pants by Mao's tomb (longer version available on my blog) is a story that continues to amuse hoards of fascinated (bored?) people.
This comment has been removed by the author.
Green, seriously. I can tell you with 100% authority because I am currently living in Germany that there are many, many people here who speak English and in circumstances where we have trouble communicating, hand signals usually do. But, I am like you in the respect that I am afraid to go outside the base gates without the Navigon, the German dictionary and a Valium. I'm afraid to try out the German that I do know for fear I say something completely farcical! Let me say about the UK, there were plenty of times on my honeymoon in London and Edinburgh when I couldn't understand their English, but most people are very kind to travellers. Just GO! Somewhere, anywhere. Try out Canada for a baby step. You won't regret it.
I personally don't even like travelling more than a couple of days in the US!
:-) I don't know about Europe but I noticed that, in my recent trip to Korea (after 10 years), most public restrooms (first encounter being in Narita Airport, Japan) have bidet toilets. Felt like an idiot as I couldn't figure out how to work the damn thing. Once I did, though, I was in bidet heaven....
Ridiculous, from a European point of view. Yet, thanks for interesting insights.
I have the perfect solution for you: Bali. Everyone speaks English and there are only four names. Boy or girl, your first born in Wayan, 2nd is Made, 3rd Nyoman (everyone says Man) and 4th is Ketut. If they have 5, they start over. And it's a tiny, tiny island so if you get lost...well you can't get lost!
Beard
This was soooo funny! yet so foreign to me, as my little French-Canadian self had lived on 4 continents before turning 25... I have a serious case of Ze Wanderlust :)
If you do decide one day to give traveling a go, my recommendation would be to see if couchsurfing.com is for you. I've hosted about two dozen people over the last year, and although most were seasoned travelers, I was happy to be there for the barely-English-speaking French couple who wanted to buy a van, or the Dutch girl who left her bag on the bus and would have been left stranded. She did cry, but she didn't cry alone in a hotel room.
It's a great way to choose who you stay with and get a better insight into the culture you're visiting - hell, you could probably find an American with a learning disability in Paris, who could understand your confusion and show you the city in a great, not-too-intimidating way. And know all the cafés where they speak English with a smile.
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