Wandering the World

Hi – thanks for checking in.

The condo is on the market, and we start a trip tomorrow, so I’ve been busily packing up and storing what few possessions I still possess. I’ve done pretty well paring down, but I’m having trouble letting go of my flatware.

(WMF “Salzburg” – made in Japan. I’ve never found its equal.)

I know it’s an obstacle to enlightenment, this attachment, but I find enlightenment pales in comparison to the hand-feel of a really well-crafted spoon.

The immediate future is clear: California time. Family time – the gathering of the clan, to honor the patriarch’s 80th. Tahoe’s Zephyr Cove, Yosemite, the wine country, Bay Area, LA. After that, starting September first, things get a bit hazy. Esalen? (touch and go – we’re on the waiting list). Europe? (the wine country of France during harvest beckons). Back into the high-tech world? (interesting discussions are underway). Brazil? Australia?

The road divides – many changes are coming. I look for signs and omens in my dreams. Last night it was treasure – gold coins and handfuls of black pearls in a tupperware bowl. Whatever.

On an unrelated note, this is an ocelot from South America, also known as the miniature jaguar. While beautiful, its fur is quite coarse, and the beast has the rank piss-blood odor of a real carnivore. When it buries its face in your neck and purrs, it’s frankly terrifying. It sounds nothing like a house cat – it’s a loud, angry-sounding rumble. Like it smells your jugular and wants to open it up. It awoke in me an ancient simian memory, deep in my lizard brain, of all the eons my kind were hunted by his kind.

I read recently that nearly every culture has some kind of dragon myth. Scientists speculate that perhaps the creature was a device to teach our young what to fear – an amalgam of our three great predators: eagle, snake, and cat. We were a lot smaller, then, and not nearly as clever as we are now. Now we fear different things.

“I have a big favor to ask you, my friend,” the young Russian guy said. “Can you arrange for us to meet some of the American girls?” 

I was working at a kibbutz called Ein Dor, in northern Israel – just west of Galilee.

I’d finished college about a month before. When I got off the plane in Tel Aviv, the gibbous moon with Venus felt like an auspicious and appropriate omen. 

The Jizreel valley was lovely and fragrant, awash with almond orchards in bloom – there were bright pinks and whites as far as the eye could see. They must have been Jordan almonds – the famous river was nearby. 

A kibbutz is a collective community, focused mainly on agriculture – usually 500-1000 people. They began as a utopian movement, and evolved into a key part of the Jewish movement in Israel – notable as one of the few socialist experiments that has worked pretty well over time.

They’re a popular place to take a working break while traveling – typically, they have you work six hours a day, six days a week, in exchange for free room and board and a little spending money. Travelers come from all over the world to do it – it’s a cheap way to see the Holy Land.

As I walked along the Jordan River or the Sea of Galilee, I would sometimes pretend I was a character in the bible. An apostle, maybe. Here I am, the apostle Chris, walking in a holy fashion. I should slow down, maybe. Ommmm. 

It was a fruit-picking day. I was high up in a big grapefruit tree, filling crates destined for market. We’d lean a long ladder against the tree, and climb up. It was unstable and rickety, and everyone got a lot of painful scratches. Once my ladder slipped and I fell, bouncing down through the thorns and branches into the mud. The Israeli crew boss was utterly unsympathetic – he looked like a taller, meaner Moshe Dayan. A former Colonel, he was rumored to have collected human ears in the 1967 war, and I believed it. 

My family was always fond of grapefruit halves with sugar, but this day I learned to eat them like an orange. I ate seven in three hours. So good. I still eat them that way. I’m eating one right now, as a matter of fact. 

“What do you mean, Dmitri?” I asked. He was sharing my tree.

Dimitri was one of several Russian Jews on the kibbutz – he was the one who spoke the most English. Most of them didn’t speak any English or Hebrew yet, so they mostly kept to themselves. They were new arrivals – recently allowed to immigrate to Israel from the USSR. They were on the kibbutz to study Hebrew, in preparation for their new lives. They didn’t look very Jewish – they looked more like Swedes to me. 

“Well, you see, we Russians view Israel as…temporary…like a stepping stone. None of us wants to settle here permanently – we all want to move to America and get rich. The fastest way is to marry an American girl.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I might be able to help, but there’s one condition.”

“What is it?”

“Well Dimitri, I don’t want to offend you, but your group usually smells kind of, um, ripe… to the rest of us. We call it B.O. – body odor. If you want to attract American girls, you’ll all need to start showering with soap and using deodorant. Every day.”

“Every day?” He couldn’t believe it. “That seems so expensive and wasteful. Well, okay, I’ll tell my friends. From now on, we will smell like Americans, not men.” He was a pretty funny guy.   

A couple of days later, I organized a small gathering in my room, and introduced the Russians to some of the Jewish girls from the US. We all hung out for an hour or two. It went okay – no big deal. Everyone smelled fine. A few days later I saw one of the Russian guys holding hands with a chubby girl from New Jersey. They looked happy enough. 

The Russians were ridiculously grateful – over the next few days they treated me like a long-lost brother. We learned that my basic German and their Yiddish were similar enough that we could joke around a little while we worked.  

A few days later they invited me over to their room after work. All the Russian guys were there. Dimitri opened a cabinet – there were at least a dozen bottles of vodka inside. 

“Wow, that’s a lot of vodka. Where did you get it? Did you bring it from Russia?”

He laughed. “Don’t be silly. We wanted to thank you, so we all pooled our money. Gregor took the bus to Afula – there’s a liquor store there.”

I was impressed – that was a several-hour expedition. He opened a bottle, poured some shots into paper cups, and then proposed a toast to me. It sounded genuine. Heartwarming.

I really wasn’t used to hard liquor, but I swallowed my shot to be polite. It gave me a coughing fit. They all laughed. One of the guys brought out a guitar, and started singing an old Russian folk song. He was really good.

“What’s he saying?” I whispered to Dmitri.

“Oh, this is a very old song. Very tragic. A man learns his wife and his brother are lovers, so in a jealous rage he kills them both with a knife, and now he is facing execution in the morning, and he is singing his love and grief….” 

It sounded like a cross between Marty Robbins and grand opera. I was enthralled. 

I recognized the next song – it was “Those Were The Days, My Friend.” (We thought they’d never end…). Turns out it’s an old Russian folk song, too.

I got excited. On impulse, I belted out the second verse in English. They all cheered. We had more toasts, more shots. I brought in some grapefruits to squeeze – I needed a mixer. There was no food. 

Things revved up. They’d sing a Russian song, I’d sing an English one. When they learned that I knew some Beatles songs, they went crazy. They wanted to learn them all. A good time. 

I was game, and tried to keep up. I’m pretty sure I had sixteen shots before I hit the floor. 

The last thing I remember, I was sitting in the corner. Everyone was singing and laughing around me. I couldn’t stand up, or speak – I tried to form words, but only chirpy raccoon sounds came out. It was frustrating – I wanted to keep singing. In the nick of time a friend found me, dragged me back to my room, threw me in a cold shower (with my clothes on), then got me to bed. I missed dinner, and slept for 13 hours. Woke up thirsty, but okay.

Here’s what I learned. When you trade shots with the Russians, the destruction is assured, but not mutual. They have centuries more practice. Trade songs, not shots. 

“Hey, Yank! Yeah, you.”

His tone was challenging and ugly. Snarling. He was pretty drunk – I had just served him his seventh pint. His mates laughed, glad of the entertainment.

“Yes, sir?”

“Damned Yank. Why don’t you go get a job in your own country?”

I was bar tending at a pub called “The Crown” in downtown Oxford. Getting paid under the table – “working black,” they called it. I was surprised how easy it was for a foreigner without papers to find a job. I just wandered around town expressing a desire to work, and got three offers in about an hour.  The idea was to break even over the winter months, and continue my travels in the spring.

Bar tending there was pretty easy – mostly just “pulling pints.” The occasional glass of wine, very few cocktails. The drink prices were awfully high for 1983 – about $5 a pint. I was paid a pound an hour – about $1.65. The Brits don’t tip bartenders, though occasionally an American would come in and I’d make an extra buck or two. I came to appreciate their easy generosity. I later learned that the average American had five times the discretionary spending money of the average Brit at the time.

My favorite part of the job was the big juke box – lots of Pretenders, Thompson Twins, Duran Duran, Joy Division, Tears for Fears, Clash. That song “Ninety-nine Red Balloons” was huge. I sang along as I worked – no one seemed to mind.

The UK laws for pub hours struck me as hilariously bizarre: open 10:30-2:30 and 5-10:30. The idea that a pub was required to close every afternoon, and every night at 10:30, seemed silly. It was a vestige of hard times during WW1, when too many munitions factory workers would start drinking at lunch, and never come back to work. So they changed the hours to reduce absenteeism, but why not change back after the war ended?

“Well, by that time it was a habit – a tradition, like. And once we English have a tradition, we keep it, even if it makes no sense,” one Brit told me with a grin. Over time, the laws have been progressively relaxed.

The pub was in the heart of Oxford. The upper crust came in at lunchtime – the professors and the students – the best and the brightest, and a few spoiled rich kids. The middle classes – shopkeepers and corporate types – came in around 5, usually for a quick pint with their co-workers before heading home to dinner. Around 8 pm the rougher crowd would come in – bikers, drunks, football hooligans, petty criminals, prostitutes. I saw a few fights, but nothing too serious. Saturday nights were a zoo.

Watching the three classes rub elbows at the bar was an eye-opening experience. Actually, it was often kind of sickening. The class system in the UK appeared to be a form of nation-wide mental illness. The subtle and not-so-subtle snobbery, resentment, one-upsmanship, desperation – it was so ugly. Watching people judge each other (and keep each other down) based on their accents felt like pure evil to me.  The Canadians, Ozzies and Kiwis I met felt the same way.

Oxford is a beautiful town. The ancient university there has produced dozens of famous literary figures, scientists, prime ministers, saints, and a few notable villains. As you walk the cobblestoned streets, you frequently come across chatty little brass plaques: Lewis Carol lived in this building when he composed Alice in Wonderland….JRR Tolkien taught Norse history in this building…This is the tree under which Isaac Newton sat when he was struck by a falling apple….This is the dorm room where Margaret Thatcher lost her virginity…. and the like.

On my nights off, I’d often hang out at “The Eagle and Child” pub, across town. The locals called it “The Bird and Baby,” – the gruesome sign showed an eagle carrying off a child, presumably for dinner.  I liked it because it was where J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis drank and read their work-in-progress to one another every Tuesday night for decades. They called themselves “The Inklings” and sat in the quiet and simple back room. I’d bring a book – I usually had their room to myself. A kind of homage.

That winter was brutal. Oxford lies in a large swampy valley where three rivers come together – everything was dark, cold and damp. It drizzled for weeks at a time, there was nothing green, and it rarely got above 40°. My room was cheap and drafty – I slept in all my clothes, inside a sleeping bag, wrapped in blankets. I got bronchitis twice in six weeks, anyway. Luckily, they had universal health care, like any advanced country.

I decided to have some fun with the belligerent drunk. This wasn’t the first time a bored customer had decided to entertain himself with a round of “hassle the Yank.”

‘Well, actually sir, this job is part of my larger job. An assignment, if you will.”

“Whaddyamean?”

“I actually work for the CIA. They sent me over here to evaluate England – the people, economy, natural resources – everything. From my position here at the pub I get a good view of how things work in the intellectual capital of the UK.”

“What for?” He blinked at me through heavily hooded eyelids, weaving a little.

“Well, my government is trying to decide whether it might be a good idea to buy your little country and turn it into the 51st state. It might make a good missile base. I’ve told them that so far, it doesn’t seem worth it. Not at all.”

He roared, and tried to climb over the bar to get at me. Luckily there was a rack of glasses hanging there – not enough room. I just laughed.

Halloween was a festive affair at The Crown. I can’t remember where I got the hat.

After dinner the young German boat captain motioned to me.

“At midnight we will open a bottle of champagne to celebrate the new year – would you like to join us?”

“Sure, sounds fun. Thanks.”

“Just one thing – we’ll be doing it on the bottom.”

He laughed at my confused look.

Joy and I were in Thailand, celebrating New Years with a three-day diving trip to the Similan Islands, about 50 miles off the coast of Phuket. This was our live-aboard dive boat. Nothing fancy, but comfortable enough.

The sand on the Similan Islands is a blinding white – by far the whitest I’ve ever seen. And powdery – the grains are so fine that when you walk on it, it squeaks.  As fine as flour – it sticks stubbornly to wet skin. Large smooth granite boulders and tropical trees made a pleasing backdrop to the beaches.

I learned later that this kind of sand is actually made of fish poop. The fish eat the coral, digest it, and what’s left washes up to form the fine white beaches. Between dives, we explored the uninhabited islands.

The diving was exceptional.

At ten-to-midnight we descended to the bottom – about 60 feet. We sat in a circle, and the captain (pictured here) taught me how to drink champagne under water. Basically, you cover the opening with your thumb, put it to your lips, make a good lip-seal, then remove your thumb. When done, turn the bottle upside down so the air bubble prevents seawater from entering, cover with your thumb, and pass it on. Yes, it’s awkward as hell.

It was cheap champagne, and a little sea water got into it no matter how careful we were. It tasted terrible, actually, but it was memorable. I’ll tolerate a lot for a memory.

Damn, amusement parks are popular.

This is a list compiled by Forbes in 2007. It seems pretty unreliable and subjective to me – in some cases they use gate receipts, in others, guesstimates. For example, if 76 million people come to France as tourists each year, what should the Eiffel Tower’s number be? Just the people who go up the elevator? Or maybe something closer to 70 million? That would make it number one by a mile.

Top tourist destinations, by country:

1. France – 76 million.
2. Spain – 55 million
3. The United States – 50 million
4. China – 47 million
5. Italy – 37 million.
6. United Kingdom – 30 million

Here are the world’s top 50 tourist attractions. Some are breath-takingly awesome, some are cheesy. How many have you seen? I’ve visited 36, so far, but since I’m not that interested in theme parks, my total may not get much bigger. I’ve put a check mark and commented on the ones I’ve visited.

#1 – Times Square √

New York City, NY, USA 35 million. I walked by the Letterman show every day on the way to work, for a while. New York is kind of ugly, but it’s amazing for man-made splendor. I understand there are fewer porn shops, now.

#2 – National Mall & Memorial Parks √

Washington, D.C., USA 25 million. The monuments are surprisingly well done, close together and walkable, and sometimes very moving. NY is a blast, but I actually prefer DC. It’s the politics junky in me. Plus, I have family here.

#3 – Disney World’s Magic Kingdom

Lake Buena Vista, FL, USA 16.6 million

#4 – Trafalgar Square √

London, England, UK 15 million. Great for museums and people watching. Oh, I say – the weather’s crap, wot?

#5 – Disneyland Park √

Anaheim, CA, USA 14.7 million. My first time, when I was four, the seven-foot Goofy bent down to pick me up, and scared me so much I burst into tears. I remember the jungle safari boat where the captain shot the hippo – what a relief! Favorite memory: smoking a little grass on Tom Sawyer’s Island with some fellow DVC chamber singers, 1976. Oh…wow… man….look at all those colors! Now I mostly stick to tequila.

#6 – Niagara Falls √

Ontario, Canada & New York State, USA 14 million. Awesome, almost incomprehensible power – clear, green water, roaring. The American side is embarrassingly seedy and rundown – I’ll visit the Canadian side next time. Plus, they have casinos.

#7 – Fisherman’s Wharf / Golden Gate National Recreation Area √

San Francisco, CA, USA 13 million. Good seals, good crab vendors, great sourdough, great views. Favorite memory: when I was about 20, my dad introduced me to escargot at a pretty good restaurant here. We concluded that with enough garlic and butter,  anything would taste good  – even dog doo. Well, maybe not any thing, but snails for sure.

#8 – Tokyo Disneyland/DisneySea 

Tokyo, Japan 12.9 million

#9 – Notre Dame de Paris √

Paris, France 12 million. Beautiful. Every few minutes, hidden loudspeakers in the rafters go Shhhhhhhhh to quiet the tourists – it sounds like the admonishing voice of a gentle and loving God. My stepson Mike liked lighting the offering candles at all the cathedrals we visited, this one especially.

#10 – Disneyland Paris

Marne-La-Vallee, France 10.6 million

#11 – Great Wall of China √

Badaling area, China 10 million. Easy to visit from Beijing. They should do something big with this – maybe an annual 1000-mile bicycle race along the top, or something.

#12 – Great Smoky Mountain National Park √

Tennessee/North Carolina, USA 9.2 million. Lovely area. Favorite memory: picking and eating fresh blueberries along the roadside. Visit Asheville if you need a break from racists and Republicans, or want some decent food.

#13 – Universal Studios Japan

Osaka, Japan 8.5 million

#14 – Basilique du Sacre-Coeur de Montmartre √

Paris, France 8 million. I love the painters on the square, and the picturesque neighborhoods around here. The quintessential Paris. Wait, so they’re claiming more people visit this than the Eiffel Tower? That is such BS. Stupid list.

#15 – Musee du Louvre √

Paris, France 7.5 million. Probably the greatest museum in the world, though not my personal favorite, even in Paris – that honor goes to the D’Orsay. I’ve probably spent 15 hours exploring over five visits …much more needed. Like everywhere in France, they have wonderful food.

#16 – Everland

Kyonggi-Do, South Korea 7.5 million

#17 – The Forbidden City/Tienanmen Square √

Beijing, China 7 million. Throngs of tourists, but well worth seeing. The Chinese are as different from the Japanese as the Italians are from the Swiss.

#18 – Eiffel Tower √

Paris, France 6.7 million. Ahhhh, Paris. My second-favorite city in the world. Fantastic views from the top. Accordion music can wear on your nerves after a while, though.

#19 – Universal Studios/Islands of Adventure

Orlando, FL, USA 6 million

#20 – Sea World Florida

Orlando, FL, USA 5.7 million

#21 – Pleasure Beach

Blackpool, England, UK 5.7 million. I haven’t been, but even the name sounds seedy – like a used condom.

#22 – Lotte World

Seoul, South Korea 5.5 million.

#23 – Yokohama Hakkeijima Sea Paradise

Japan 5.4 million

#24 – Hong Kong Disneyland

Hong Kong, China 5.2 million

#25 – Centre Pompidou √

Paris, France 5.1 million. The action on the square outside is usually as interesting as the exhibits inside. One guy was playing garbage can lids with a banana. It sounded good.

#26 – Tate Modern √

London, England, UK 4.9 million. Um, I went, but can’t remember a damned thing. Museum overload, perhaps. Or maybe the modern stuff just doesn’t stick.

#27 – British Museum √

London, England, UK 4.8 million. One of my favorite museums in the world, especially the gigantic ancient monuments and stuff. A whole wing just on the Sumerians? How awesome is that?

#28 – Universal Studios √

Los Angeles, CA, USA 4.7 million. Ho hum. I liked seeing the lagoon from “Gilligan’s Island” and the house from “Mr. and Mrs. Smith”, though.

#29 – National Gallery √

London, England, UK 4.6 million. I just remember a lot of stuffy portraits and landscapes. So that’s what William Blake looked like, eh? Shall we have some tea? Oh, I should bloody well think so.

#30 – Metropolitan Museum √

New York, NY, USA 4.5 million. Outstanding. Huge. Free.

#31 – Grand Canyon National Park √

Arizona, USA 4.4 million. It will take your breath away, unless you’re already dead inside.

#32 – Tivoli Gardens √

Copenhagen, Denmark 4.4 million. Cutesy can be fun in small doses. I always enjoy a good garden, though.

#33 – Ocean Park

Hong Kong, China 4.38 million

#34 – Busch Gardens

Tampa Bay, FL, USA 4.36 million

#35 – Sea World California √

San Diego, CA, USA 4.26 million. I was four, but I remember thinking that getting splashed at the whale/dolphin show was pretty cool…

#36 – Statue of Liberty √

New York, NY, USA 4.24 million. See it with Ellis Island. I expected to get choked up at the Statue, and be bored at Ellis Island. What actually happened was the reverse, but you gotta love the Lady.

#37 – The Vatican √

Vatican City 4.2 million. On Joy’s first visit to Italy, we went here first thing. The pope came out and greeted the crowd in 40 languages. An auspicious start to a marvelous trip. Italy never disappoints me.

#38 – Sydney Opera House √

Sydney, Australia 4 million. Yup – it looks just like that. Very cool. A gorgeous city. The bay is shaped like a hand – lots of peninsulas and inlets everywhere. Very green. Cheerful people. Try climbing the harbor bridge.

#39 – The Coliseum √

Rome, Italy 4 million. I’m ashamed to admit that the first time I saw this, I was with two friends. We were tired. We walked in, looked around, and said, “It looks just like the postcards. Let’s go get some gelato.” We probably gave it about 7 minutes. I did better on my next visit. I love Rome, and the Coliseum will richly repay an in-depth examination.

#40 – American Museum of Natural History √

New York, NY, USA 4 million. Lots of good stuff. I especially liked the huge diamonds and emeralds. Every time I see a collection like that, I start daydreaming about how to knock it over. How many men would I need? How much tear gas? No, killing is out. Do we need a helicopter? You comin’, or what?

#41 – Grauman’s Chinese Theater √

Hollywood (Los Angeles), CA, USA 4 million. I know it’s cheesy, but I can’t help it – I love Hollywood. Two words: Humphrey Bogart. ‘Nuff said.

#42 – Empire State Building √

New York, NY, USA 4 million. The views are amazing. Joy’s first time, she loved it so much she spent hours. The staff thought she might be a “jumper” and started following her around with worried faces, but it was just enthrallment.

#43 – Natural History Museum √

London, England, UK 3.7 million. A guard yelled at me for falling asleep on one of the benches in the minerals wing. Maybe it was the butterflies wing. I know it wasn’t the dinosaurs.

#44 – The London Eye √

London, England, UK 3.5 million. Just walked by – didn’t ride it. Does that count? Next time I’ll ride it. I’ve never met a view from a ferris wheel I didn’t like.

#45 – Palace of Versailles √

France 3.45 million. It’s huge and impressive and opulent and, for me, kind of gross. I don’t much like French gardens – too contrived and geometrical, and I don’t like gilded furniture in mirrored rooms. I look at this kind of stuff and think: the peasants are revolting – good for them. The guillotine was very humane, as these things go. In general, the aristocracy deserves no better.

#46 – Yosemite National Park √

California, USA 3.44 million. So many summers, so many happy memories. Remember when parents would let their kids wander unsupervised all day, with bears?

#47 – Pyramids of Giza √

Egypt. 3 million. So…hot…must have water….it must be 109° out here. Oh, look, sweetheart, by that camel…there’s a man selling cold bottled water at a 300% markup. Let’s get four.

#48 – Pompeii √

Italy 2.5 million. Very evocative – gives a good sense of how the ancient Romans lived their daily lives. Turns out they were just like the rest of us, the horny bastards.

#49 – Hermitage Museum

St. Petersburg, Russia 2.5 million

#50 – Taj Mahal √

Agra, India 2.4 million. Don’t die without seeing humanity’s greatest monument to love, if you can help it. It’s the world’s most beautiful building, in one of the world’s ugliest cities. The contrast makes you feel even more alive.

Hat tip: coolrain44.

“Tourists don’t know where they have been. Travelers don’t know where they are going.” – P. Theroux.

Meaning, I suppose, that a true “traveler” has no set itinerary and is open to unexpected experiences and the possibility of personal growth, while a “tourist” goes home with photos and little real understanding of the culture they visited.

Amongst the “wanderlust tribe” and travel writers there has been a long-running debate about the meanings and values attached to these two labels. When contemplating tourists, long-term travelers have an unattractive tendency toward snobbery. Me, too.

There is, however, a grain of truth in the stereotypes.

The stereotype of the traveler:

• journey-focused: the journey is the reward
• travels light
• emphasizes unusual experiences over personal comfort and convenience
• uses local transport
• knows world geography
• is open-minded
• travels cheap
• is open to weird food and unexpected cultural activities
• loves their home country but considers themselves a “citizen of the world”
• is open to the idea that other cultures do some things better than their own
• stays in local homes whenever possible, will camp or use hostels when not
• carries clothes from several countries
• carries a towel and a headband flashlight
• believes in “the brotherhood of man,” and is skeptical of nationalism
• has no itinerary or ticket home
• has Facebook friends from other countries
• tries to blend into their environment, learn some language and local habits
• has traveled solo
• has slept in an airport or bus station more than once
• uses a backpack
• prefers farmers markets and cafes to cathedrals and museums
• reads voraciously about her environment and destinations
• has met strangers – then spontaneously changed plans and spent several days traveling with them
• knows how to say “Hello” and “Where is the toilet?” in several languages
• knows who Paul Theroux, Bruce Chatwin and Sir Richard Burton (not the actor) are
• wants to protect special places from the “Lonely Planet” people

The stereotypical tourist:

• travels heavy – uses luggage
• travels expensively
• travels in jets, taxis and buses
• travels in couples and in tour groups
• stays in hotels
• has an itinerary, limited time, and a ticket home
• is destination and “attraction”-focused
• is closed-minded
• prefers familiar food and toilets
• prefers comfort and convenience
• doesn’t research their destination
• doesn’t know geography
• sticks out and makes embarrassing social faux pas
• makes no real effort to learn from other cultures

…and so on.

As I say, there is some truth to the stereotypes, but I think the debate misses the larger point; all travel is broadening – a growth experience, just as all reading is broadening. Even a trashy novel may have kernels of wisdom and insight. It’s a question of degree.

A few ignorant and obnoxious tourists can give the whole group a bad name. God knows I’ve been deeply embarrassed by ugly Americans a few times, but how many is that, really?

Some travelers are closed-minded jerks. Lots of tourists are open-minded and curious. Perhaps this traveler vs. tourist stuff is just a way travelers try to make themselves feel better about being such lazy, unproductive members of society? The fig leaf of a “quest for transformation” can cover a lot of self-justification.

A two-week vacation to London and Paris to see the tourist sights is far more broadening than two weeks at the family cabin, but it’s also exhausting. People work hard – most of them need their vacation time to be relaxing and rejuvenating. Travel and tourism generally aren’t. We’ve all heard the phrase, “Now I need a vacation to recover from my vacation.”

I have been a traveler at times. I have been a tourist at least as often. Both are good. Personally, I think one is a few degrees more virtuous than the other, because it creates a greater possibility for surprise and growth, but there’s no way I’d miss the tourist highlights.

A lot of the tourist attractions are attractions because they’re just so damned good. Timeless symbols of mankind’s greatest achievements and insights. Just because they’re thronged with tourists doesn’t mean one should skip them as “too touristic.” On the other hand, a few nights in a local’s house and a long ride on a local bus with chickens and goats will probably teach you more.

For several years, Australian nurse Bronnie Ware cared for the dying, in their homes, during their last days of life. 

India is an assault on the senses – especially your sense of smell. Next, though, and in some ways worse, is your sense of hearing.

The NY Times reports that many Indian cities sustain a background noise level of 105 decibels – equal to putting your head next to a leaf blower. At that volume, if an Indian city were a U.S. workplace, OSHA would limit your  exposure to just one hour a day.

Flying into Katmandu, I was seated with the upper crust – a former cabinet minister from Delhi, and an American college professor from Seattle. 

I described some of my disturbing experiences in India to the politician. 

“Are India’s leaders concerned about the population explosion?” I asked him. 

“Of course,” he sighed. “When I was in the government a few years ago, we spent over one billion dollars on a  nationwide ad campaign to educate the people about the tangible benefits of birth control. It made no difference at all – the birth rate remained exactly the same. It was a complete failure. Nothing the government does seems to matter at all.” 

“In that case, where do you find optimism for India’s future?”

“Well, you won’t hear it discussed, but we have high hopes for the AIDS virus. It’s spreading like wildfire in the slums, but the government has decided not to publicize it, or educate the population about it. The idea is to let it run its course, and we hope the population will stabilize that way.” 

I turned to the American professor in disgust. He told me he taught agriculture at UW, and was using his sabbatical in India to teach techniques for growing and processing wasabi, for export to the Japanese market. 

“Do you like sushi?” he asked.

“I love it – it’s one of my favorite foods.”

“Well, that stuff we get in sushi restaurants at home isn’t real wasabi – it’s made from a processed powder and comes in a tube. Japanese consumers prefer the real stuff, hand-made, which is gooier and stringier, and has a fresher, more natural flavor. They can’t grow enough of it in Japan, so I’m helping India get a foothold in the market. Where are you staying in Katmandu?” 

“I don’t know yet. Maybe a hostel.”

“You should stay at the Soaltee Hotel – it’s beautiful building, centrally located, and only about $99 a night. A great deal. That’s where I always stay – you’ll love it. If you’re free tomorrow, I’d be happy to show you around the city. I plan to do some rug shopping.”

I decided to take him up on his offer – after India, I was in the mood to spoil myself for a day or two.

The hotel was indeed beautiful. Big, and elegant. We appeared to be the only guests. 

Everywhere I looked, there were intricate wooden carvings. The staff was efficient and attentive. They showed me to a nice room. A good bed with crisp, clean white sheets. It was heaven. 

About two in the morning a strange noise woke me.  Like a faint scritch, scritching sound, maybe someone’s nervous fingernails scratching across a table. It seemed to be all around me. I reached over and turned on the bedside light. 

The entire room was crawling with large cockroaches. Thousands of them, on the walls, the floors, and all over my clothes and backpack. Even the shadows were moving. There were so many that the white paint of the walls was obscured.

 A big one crawled across my pillow, inches from my face. Shuddering, I brushed him onto the floor, grabbed my tennis shoe and started whacking him, trying to smash him. It had no effect. He walked away, in no rush, and crawled into my backpack. 

I considered getting up and asking for a new room, but I was just too groggy. I assumed all the rooms were the same, anyway. I turned off the light, pulled the sheets up over my head and tried to go back to sleep. I left my nose out for air, but the thought that they might crawl across it kept me awake. I spent the rest of the night viciously hating the UW professor.

Finally, at six, I got up and went down to breakfast.

I checked into a hostel. They gave me a clean private room with bath for $8 a night. I stayed there for a few days – and never saw a cockroach, or a bug of any kind.