Don't Embarrass Yourself Over There

I can’t pretend to be a travel expert, but, by looking at the Facebook profiles of a lot of my friends, I’ve concluded that I’m at least “intermediate” compared to the herd.

I come from a cosmopolitan, relatively open-minded, and well-off part of North America. People have money to spend, and lots of them spend it on travel. But what sort of travel? From the looks of it, it’s often not the kind I’d enjoy. But to each his own. My hard-working friends have earned the right to enjoy that Dominican all-inclusive, if that’s what they want.

This essay, however, is aimed at those, who, like me, want something a little…spicier. Before we go any further, I am not really all that adventurous. Like I said before, I’m strictly “intermediate.” No war zones or malarial canoe trips for me. No, I appreciate clean sheets and running water, where available. If I choose to visit a gun range, that’s the only time I want to hear shots. If I’m sitting in front of a beach bonfire, or an après-ski fireplace, those are the only flames I want to see. Any diseases I suffer must be strictly self-inflicted.

I’m not Robert Pelton, is what I’m saying here. God love him, but that’s his crazy gig. I have friends who went to Afghanistan, and even though they went there with lots of firepower and medevac on stand-by, they still didn’t enjoy it. Whiners.

I kid, I kid. But my point is: If you’re like me, and you think the aim of travel is really experiencing another country and meeting its people, while still retaining your liberty and limbs, then my tips might be worthwhile. I’m a “meet the people, maybe have sex with them” kind of guy. Travelling, for me, is not practising the habits and tastes of home in front of a slightly different background. That seems like a waste of money, to me.

Don’t get me wrong: There are those who travel to sit in the sun and get wasted, before going back to whatever deep-frozen hellhole they live in. I live in Vancouver, and sometimes, Brazil. For me, minus anything temperatures are only an occasional curiosity. For someone who lives in Winnipeg or Duluth, they are a six-month ordeal. So, I get why people just want to sip rum out of coconuts in the pool bar, and make the beast with two backs in 40 C weather for two weeks. This is a perfectly valid form of escape. But that’s not what we’re talking about here. If you’re looking for something more…immersive, then I have some experience to share.

Full disclosure: My travel experience extends to exactly three continents. But I have been to some places on those continents you haven’t been, and that’s precisely the point.

I hate this “Thirty by thirty” shit. Travel is not about collecting stamps, it’s about collecting experiences. What’s more valuable, seeing twelve countries in thirty days, or spending the same amount of time in just one or two places, really getting to know them? There’s really only one right answer to that question. So, here’s the “wisdom,” if you’d call it that, of one middle-aged gringo with a few stamps and a few stories to his name. Take it or leave it.

One: Like Anything Else, Travel Must Be Learned

Maybe you grew up with your vagabond parents, sailing around the world with the Dalai Lama and Richard Branson. Okay, if so, then maybe you’re ready for Bhutan at eighteen. But that wasn’t me. And it’s probably not you, either. So, start small. Start with a manageable trip, easy on the budget, as much to find out what you don’t like, as what you like. I passed through my twenties, poor and working like a Japanese beaver, with no travel experience to speak of.

Finally, at the age of thirty-one, I was making good money for the first time in my life. Also, I was newly divorced from my first wife. I was ready to dip my toes into the world ocean. But nothing too adventurous to start with. How about a week in Cancun?

It turns out, that was a fine start. Secure behind all-inclusive walls, I tentatively began to explore my surroundings. I learned much about what I wanted to see more of (local culture and food, nature, people who spoke other languages), and even more about what I didn’t want (buffets, watered-down drinks, all-you-can-drink bars, theme nights).

The next year, I was ready for Europe.

Two: Travel with the Herd (But Know When to Defect)

My first two trips to Europe were undertaken with the security of Contiki Tours as my backstop. Fifty horny 18-35s, with a tour-guide/babysitter, inevitably Australian, to mind the collection of drunks and sex-offenders.

Perfect for me, a reborn penis with ears with a then-healthy liver, plus a physique that did not yet reflect my caloric intake. Boy, did I have a lot of fun with Contiki. But I quickly realized that much of the fun was breaking away on your own. Plus, I learned that over-ambitious itineraries, like the Around the World in Eighty Days madness that was my first trip, were a recipe for disaster. By the time I got to Munich on my first trip, I was praying for death.

On my second trip, I slowed down, focusing on just two countries, two cities, and, as it turned out, two women. Manageable. But I had some truly memorable experiences. One I really treasure, from my first trip, I’ve recounted before, that of a morning spent wandering a suburban Parisian neighborhood on my own. Unforgettable. Couple that with a night spent in a back-alley trattoria with Romans, eating rustic pasta al Pomodoro and drinking wine out of a porcelain jug, and I can safely say Contiki lit my fire for travel.

Three: Drinking is Fun, But Don’t Let It Ruin Everything

With Contiki, I ran into many young travelers who missed a lot of the spectacular experience they’d paid for, simply because they were too hungover. I recall staring out the windows of our tour bus, as we wound along the road that killed Princess Grace, seeing the astounding scenery of the Franco-Italian border. I was the only one who was conscious. You can get stupid drunk any old place. But you may never see this particular place again. Pick your drunks carefully.

Four: Learn a Few Words in the Local Language. It Goes a Long Way

You’ve all probably heard how rude the French are. Well, guess what? They’re not the rude ones. You are. That’s right.

I had very few problems in France. Why? Because, as a Canadian, I possessed rudimentary hello/help me/where is the toilet/let’s have sex French. Also, I understood that the French are an ancient culture with tremendous pride in their language. They get just as offended as you do at home when some foreigner barges in, babbling at you in another tongue, demanding service.

Try this, please: Bonjour, comment ca’ va? Pouvez-vous m’aider? Once they hear you slaughtering your language, they’ll switch to English, which so many of them speak anyway, just to make you stop. And they’ll remember not to be a dick, because you acknowledged their culture in the first place. Simple, n’est-ce pas?

Five: Eat the Food

For God’s sake: Don’t go to a city like Paris and eat at the breakfast buffet. Go out and eat breakfast like a Frenchman. That means a pain raisin and a cappuccino. Period. Bacon and eggs? Go to London or Dublin.

Eat like a local. It’s an intrinsic part of travelling. If you spend as much time in a place as I did in Brazil, it’s okay to get homesick every once in a while, for a proper fucking cheeseburger (in Sao Paulo, good luck). But you can’t go two weeks in Rome without a hot dog? Surrounded by the world’s best pasta and pizza? Come on, man!

Part of the problem here is avoiding the tourist traps. Big cities like Paris and Rome are set up to screw tourists. They suck you in by paying for prime real estate, like on the Spanish Steps, let’s say, and then posting English menus out front. I can’t say this clearly enough: AVOID.

The trick to avoiding this mediocre tourist chow? Simple. Walk a couple of blocks away from the big spectacle, look for menus in the native language, and listen for happy people chattering away unintelligibly. These are the signs that the food is authentic, and local-approved. Trust me when I say this: The best food in Sao Paulo, or Rio, is not to be found in white-linen tablecloth places with mortgage-worthy prices. It is to be found in corner bars with happy locals. The best food in Paris is to be found in crowded little places with zinc bars, poulet roti, and minimal choice. Food is democratic. Well, good food is, anyway. Go there, and eat it. It won’t kill you. The hotel buffet can’t stand the competition.

Six: Trust Your Instincts, Wherever You Are

Yes, we’ve all been told to open our minds when traveling, and trust the friendly locals. Generally speaking, good advice.

But not always. Some of those people, albeit very few, want to rob you. An even smaller number want to rape or murder you. This is no myth, it does happen.

But how to protect yourself, while still staying open to meeting new people and experiencing new things?

Easy. Nature has programmed us with a survival instinct, an early-warning system that works in all places and all circumstances. I experienced this first-hand, on my first trip to Rio de Janeiro. I was sitting in a tour van with a local guide, when I saw a big man wearing a leather jacket in 30-degree weather. With lots of law enforcement experience, I immediately clocked him as a bad man. Just then, my tour guide spoke up. “I know that guy. He robbed me last year.”

I know what you’re thinking. “I’m not a cop. How would I know?” The only difference between you and me is that I’ve learned to listen to my instinct. You haven’t. But you’ve got it, all the same. It’s what Gavin de Becker calls “The Gift of Fear,” nature’s way of protecting us all, whether it’s a sabre-toothed tiger at the watering hole, or a leather-jacketed robber in Rio. LISTEN.

Funny thing about that? Once you learn to listen to your instincts, you don’t get more fearful. You get more relaxed. I don’t travel afraid. But I do travel alert.

Seven: Make Friends

Those funny-sounding foreigners are much better and more reliable tour guides than hotel concierges, believe me. And they’re dying to practice their English with you. Some of them might be pretty cute.

See why it’s a good idea to learn the language? In a city like Sao Paulo, I don’t know what I would have done without a friend. And now that friend has given birth to my two daughters. So, that’s pretty cool, too.

Go online before your big trip. Make friends. Don’t be creepy. When you land, you’ll be ahead of the game. If you’re traveling in a group, sometimes you can meet group members before the trip. Go for it! It’ll make things less awkward when you finally do meet.

Eight: Get Lost

I learned Portuguese on the Sao Paulo Metro. Seeing obscure parts of the city, meeting people where few gringos dared go. Throwing yourself into the deep end is scary at first, but it’s exhilarating when you realize that nobody else is doing what you are, at that exact moment. There are no tour guides, no buses, no megaphones.

Travel can be a deliciously selfish experience. My favourite moments have always been those where I felt that nobody else knew what I did. The experience was all mine. Exploring the mundane is the best way to connect with the reality of a place. In my opinion, if you haven’t seen schoolkids pouring out of the schools, watched construction workers argue on their lunch breaks, or seen taxi drivers fight over a fare, then you don’t know the place. Anyone can line up for a monument. But how many can watch lazy old street dogs sleeping in the shade of a police station? You can be a voyeur, peeping in on the secret life of a place. That’s worth every cent of the plane fare.

Nine: Skip the Monuments (Well, Most of Them)

Most monuments suck. They’re overpriced, oversold, and consume large amounts of precious time. Take the Eiffel Tower, for instance. It’s big, and impressive. But it’s big and impressive from miles away, isn’t it? And you don’t have to pay for the view from a distance, do you? Trust me, Paris is no more impressive from the second deck of the Eiffel than it is from your hotel balcony.

Monuments, generally speaking, consume valuable time you could spend eating ice cream, or fucking a local.

But you should go into the Colosseum in Rome. Why? Just to stare down on that floor. Trap doors, releasing enraged tigers onto helpless Christians. Imagine Commodus, or Nero in his box, presiding over the howling mob. That view, you can’t get from the outside. Besides, the lineup’s never as big as the Eiffel’s.

There’s monuments, and there’s monuments. I guess that’s what I’m saying.

Ten: Start Local

You don’t have to save for years to have a special travel experience. Funnily enough, that’s a lesson I’ve learned only relatively recently. I married a foreigner, who was fascinated by exploring my back yard, a subject I’d never even considered. Then, I moved to Brazil, and suddenly, I was the explorer. Thanks to my wife, I “discovered” gems like Astoria, Oregon, and Long Beach, Washington. I’d never felt compelled to visit Banff, until she asked about it.

Likewise, in Brazil, I’ve discovered pleasures my wife knew little about, such as Pocos de Caldas, my hot springs writer’s retreat, across the state border in Minas Gerais.

It’s a big world. Much of it, indeed, most of it, will forever remain unknown to us. Isn’t that refreshing?

Eleven: Do It Now. The “Right Time” Never Comes

My poor dad. Now in the grips of dementia, it is too late for him to travel anymore. He liked to say he did all his travel in the Navy, on someone else’s dime. But there was one place he’d never ticked off his list, one place he always talked about.

Spain. For twenty years, my father talked about the trip he wanted to take to Spain. But he never did. There was always “something going on.” He always had “a whole bunch of things to take care of.” I’d chide him sometimes, “Dad, when are you going to take that trip?”

“When things settle down.”

They never did. The chance is gone. I like to imagine my dad in the Andalusian sun, enjoying Jamon Iberico and the orange juice, marvelling at the ancient, sun-baked buildings. But the right time never came.

There is never a right time. I have friends who let the opportunity to have kids pass them by, always waiting for the “right time.” Nobody is ever ready to have kids. They show up one day, and you manage.

I’ve often heard people object to space travel thusly: “We’ve got so many problems here on earth. We need to solve those first.”

Those problems will always be there. Humans will have problems, wherever we are. We cannot put the future on hold for the perfect moment.

Don’t miss your Spain. Go get it now. It may be there forever. But you won’t be.