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Mike says: You must be from out of town.
I have friends and family who have recently returned
from trips to foreign countries, and they shared many
pictures and stories. It occurred to me as I reviewed
their trips that this month I could do a service to
readers by sharing my vast reservoir of knowledge for
anyone considering foreign travel.
First, ask yourself: Am I a tourist? Read aloud: This
year I visited Yellowstone, next year I will tour
Tuscany. Note the subtle, yet crucial, difference; one
“visits” one’s own country, but “tours” another.
Visitors need read no farther, tourists should commit
what follows to memory.
When touring, it’s hard for me to be me, and you to be
you. This is because the natives want us to be them,
meaning, we are to dress as they, eat as they, follow
rituals and customs as they, and basically be invisible
in their society. This creates several dilemmas I will
address, but admittedly will provide few solutions as
the only real antidote is to stay home, which is not
what tourists do.
It’s easy to be seduced by wine and beer in most
countries, as consuming alcohol is preferable even to
water pretty much anywhere Allah is not in charge. But
try being addicted to coffee, ala yours truly, and
you’ve got trouble. Most countries that produce coffee
don’t drink much of it; good luck finding a fresh cup in
Mexico, Colombia, Ethiopia, or Indonesia.
Countries that do enjoy coffee such as France, Greece
and Turkey, have onerous coffee rules. First rule: no
coffee until after the meal is complete. First problem:
I like my coffee now. I once convinced a café owner in
Paris to give me a cup just because, ya know, I wanted
one, and he obliged by filling a cup the size of a
thimble.
Second rule: No matter where you are on planet earth,
never ask for a coffee to go. As a barista overseas once
said to me: To go? Why, where are you going? Coffee,
like life in the Greek seaside, is to be enjoyed slowly,
all day long, at the government’s expense.
The brightside upside? Starbucks and other Café American
style coffee shops are sprouting up worldwide; I’ve
noticed that foreign locals, especially the kids, think
it’s cute to imitate how we drink it while walking
around instead of sitting around.
Now food. I could go on for pages about eating overseas
and you’d still have 10 stories that would top mine. If
there’s one thing I can offer about food in the rest of
the world, it’s this: All their food tastes like chicken
except for chicken, which I can’t tell you how it tastes
because I’d never order chicken anywhere outside the
U.S. unless they had a KFC franchise there.
We agree: Drink the wine, not the water. Skip the
chicken. Find a Starbucks. So far, our trip is going
well. Now no matter how obvious it is that you are a
tourist, it is crucial that you don’t violate the 3
don’ts of travel: Don’t carry a map, Don’t speak
English, and Don’t ask for toilet paper. Doing any of
these is the equivalent of saying, I’m front out of
town, which of course I am, but recall that the goal of
travel is to think and look and eat and act as if I’m a
local. Which leads to the king of all “do not” rules:
Don’t dress like a tourist. That is travel commandment
number 1 thru 10. Dressing inappropriately is like a
leper out of the colony. You must look like a native
even if it means wearing a loincloth and flowers, which
I’ve done.
Dressing correctly is easy as long as you don’t intend
to visit anyplace in the hottest parts of the world such
as Asia and Latin America. Who knew they don’t wear
shorts in Mexico City? The only people not covered up in
those countries are playing for the national soccer
team. Women will find it worse; they must wrap
themselves from head to toe to protect against the devil
and other imaginary forces our alien hosts believe,
worship and fear. And be sure to leave the jewelry at
home unless you don’t mind missing the lower half of
your arm.
I thought I’d have better luck with the rules of
dressing in Europe because Europeans are civilized
westerners, just like us. I’d packed my Denver comfy
clothes for overseas travel, only to find that
convenient travel clothes such as cargo pants, athletic
shoes and t-shirts are embarrassing on the street, in
the museum, and in the crowded McDonalds. Europeans
don’t do casual, they prefer the tailored look, the kind
that screams I must live here because my feet ache and
I’ve got no place to put my passport. I adapted like I
always do, buying a pair of Italian loafers to hike
around in. I rested my aching feet by sitting at a café
doing nothing all day, just like a local.
Meanwhile back home in reality and thinking about
packing for that next trip outside our lines, I’m
convinced we’re not fooling anyone about where we’re
from and why we’re leaving. So while I guard against
being obnoxious and try to respect local customs, I
really don’t care if my cargos and hikers scream Turista!
while I puff on a hookah in a Cairo café, and deep
inside, I’m not sure they care either. In my experience,
the only thing they really care about is the color
green, as in my money.
Cargos? Check. Flip flops? Check. Fanny pack? Got it.
50-way folding map? In the fanny pack. Flag proudly
displayed on my backpack? Never leave the country
without it—after all, I’m a tourist.
Mike Seader
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