Random Thoughts

A while ago, I promised a glossary of terms I’d learned. Fuck that. I’m finishing up my 12^th week of gallivanting. As you might imagine, by now I’ve spent enough time studying the people (both of the local nation, and of the travelers within it), to make some very insightful, if wholly judgmental observations. Sounds fun, doesn’t it? Let’s go!

The most obvious comment I can make is that Brits, as a general rule (we are generalizing here, aren’t we?) fucking suck. Let me footnote this as saying that everyone I’ve met from Leeds is especially cool, however. I’ve never been there, but the people there make it sound like an Austin, Texas. Minus the hot southern girls, and great food and climate.

Ok, enough lauding. That’s not my aim here. Hell, I just posted a story about shitting myself, so I’d say it’s high time for me to lash out at my fellow mankind. Brits suck. They run around, singing their tired-ass, stupid songs... LOUDLY, they’re all wasted by late afternoon, and they all travel in groups of like 16 people. And when they’re not telling you how fucking amazing London is (even though they live 20 minutes outside), they’re waxing wistful about their most recent sexual conquest, which just so happened to be about four months ago. Here’s me giving my look of utter wonderment.

Forgive me if these musings tend to seem a bit disjointed. And I'll forgive you for not anticipating this patternless diatribe when the word “random” is clearly the headline.

Contiki travelers fall into the following categories:

-The Curious Jorge: This guy leaves his home country with the best of intentions. His eyes are wide; his stride a bit uncertain; his hat down low so as to avoid eye contact with locals, because that’s what his parents told him they don’t like. He starts out this way. Come week 7, he is a cocky, arrogant, Lonely Planet drone with nothing but crappy jpegs of “the sights” uploaded to Shutterfly (gay). The pics are all taken with his shitty 1.7megapixel Canon Sureshot, and all the churches and bridges look like they’re frames taken from a Soderberg movie.

He’ll piss out a laundry list of things he’s seen, with only a broad-stroking knowledge of each one, and he’ll tell you that in seven weeks, he’s been to 19 different cities. Really??? 19??? That sounds fucking awesome!!! I too, would like to spend 30% of my waking holiday hours, battling train station herds and jockeying for the next available seat between Hamburg and Vienna. Great job, dickweed!!!

-The Attention Whore: I find this most often with women, quite honestly. This is the girl who leaves her university behind, wishing to come back with the craziest summer stories. Granted, we all want some crazy stories to tell, but some of us try a little less hard to make them happen. It’s like a stud baller like Kobe forcing up 24 shots (making 5), all while getting his team down 19 by halftime. Let the game come to you, Kob. There’s no need to rush it when the shot isn’t there….

Not only that, but she’ll tell stories such as, “OH MY GOD!!! The WORST THING EVER happened to me in Vienna!!! I was walking along the Ring and wearing my new sandals from Salamander, when I got them caught in the drainage grate!!! OH MY GOD it was soooo scary!! This guy was coming towards me about 80 meters away on his bike, and he wasn’t slowing down!!! I didn’t know if he’d hit me or not! And I JUST BOUGHT them so I wasn’t about to just let it go, you know [insert forced laughter]… Then the guy just barely missed me and I noticed he had a piercing IN HIS CHIN!! GROSS!!! Oh, but it was so scary. I got the sandal back, THANK GOD!!! But Vienna is SOOOOO dangerous!!!!”

It’s also rare that she’s been to more than a handful of different cities in the first place. Which would be fine, if it weren’t for her insistence on telling you all the lame things she’s done in each one. Naturally, her limited travel scope, and unlimited abrasiveness places her nearest the bottom of the travelers food chain.

Her other crazy stories are most likely derived from her wealthy Facebook library of “Group Photo!!!” ops and her fabricated claims that she made out with “this really hot Australian guy.” Oh, you mean that Russian guy in the back that looks completely disinterested and somewhat nauseated? “Yea, that’s him. He was SOOOO hot…”

-The Hopeful Wanderer: This is the category I best fit in. Let that not fool you into thinking that I do not have just as much contempt for us as the others. I do. Most of these types are of a bit longer tooth, who left a job, or are taking a hiatus to find something they feel more passionately about. Only the conclusion they all reach is that drinking obscene amounts of beer, booze, and any local vodka we can find, is a pretty good short-term remedy.

They are also a moody fucking brood. There are days when they’re happy to socialize with just about anyone. And then there are days when even the most well-meaning, thoughtful traveler will irk them with even the hint of a sentence aimed in their direction. And these transitions take place without notice or forethought. Sometimes they can be polite and interesting, but most of the time I’m wondering if they’re really just planning their exit strategy from what I thought was a mutually thought-provoking conversation. And I know this because I’ve done it. Countless times.

Meanwhile, we’re escaping you only so we can work on our next captivating blog entry to entertain our friends back home. Not only are we the most likely to have a blog in the first place, but we’re also the type to name it something “original” and lame like “Zen and the Art of Backpacking Maintenance” or “Travelling Light.” Fuck us.

-The Cunt: Always Australian. They are just looking for the next city to get fucking “pissed” in, and for another new way to do it. Truthfully, I find them endearing. They’re typically in good spirits, well behaved, and they’re always wondering why people are out trying to DO things, LEARN things, and SEE things. To them, the world is one huge pub-crawl, and each city in Europe is another pint. And honestly, I can’t say much that can take that away from them. Cheers.

-The Sore Thumb: This guy just looks like he doesn’t belong. On earth. He left behind a city like Dublin to presumably find somewhere to fit in. Unfortunately, that place doesn’t exist. Believe me, I applaud his effort, and his individuality is something I think we all secretly crave, but he’s a psycho. In an unfamiliar land, where people speak differently, eat different things, and engage in different customs, I’m not the guy who is going to spend time figuring out why the mute with piercings down his vertebrae is halfway through an entire pumpkin pie by 10am. And pumpkin pie?!?!? Where did that even come from??? This is Poland, and you’re from Ireland, for fucks sake!!! And didn’t you just say you came in from Sicily? Why the hell do you look like you haven’t seen the sun since Marilyn Manson’s last tour? EXPLAIN YOURSELF!!!!

On second thought, don’t. I’m going to the store to buy garlic cloves, and after I’ve strung them around my neck, I’ll be hanging around a church for awhile reciting some scripture. You keep organizing your goth t-shirts. See ya never.

-The ________: Judging Jeopardy!!!! This traveler typically travels in groups of three or four as they stick together like SS soldiers on trial. They spend more time staring into an LCD screen on the back of their 14megapixel, 12x optical zoom camera with polarizing lens, then they spend actually looking at the site in front of them. Each picture must be taken with requisite smile and pose in front, as they all take turns, each striking a goofy pose that elicits a similar laugh as the time they did the same thing three minutes earlier. They’ll stop in every futbol apparel store and buy anything Adidas or alternatively, anything with the Brazilian flag on it. I’ve also never actually spoken to one of them on this trip, so this is the most judgmental, and thus the most fun profile yet!!! Name the stereotype.

Ok enough. Moving on.

I’m getting concerned. My throat has been slowly closing on me since halfway through Croatia, and I’ve developed an acute case of narcolepsy. I was checking out some museums in Budapest with the honest, loyal, forthright, and fearless Jeff Jones, and he’d turn his back for no more than a moment before I’d be asleep in a corner somewhere. And lest you think these were quick naps, I assure you that each one could have stretched for hours had it not been for the caring, compassionate, and gentle Jeff Jones waking me up each time. For that matter, I’ve also begun snoring for the first time in my life. I understand that this is probably an effect of the first two issues, though for me, it’s no less alarming.

Getting back to the naming of the blog, let me just say that I totally hate the name of this thing. If it weren't for having 35 different things to do before I left the office on my last day, I would have probably given it a bit more thought. Along those lines, if I was the kind of person who gave things a lot of thought, I probably would have bought a book about Ukraine before I got here. Instead, I walk into museums and complain that I can't read a damn thing in Cyrillic. And remarkably, it's not my fault!!!