Surprises Along the Way
It is a fact: Americans are notoriously awful travelers. It is confirmed by many a hotel manager, tour guide, gas station attendant, and bus driver from here to Casablanca. Loud, greedy, deficient of geographical knowledge, and murderers of the local tongue, we tramp around with a video camera affixed to one eye socket and the other eye scanning for a better angle, looking past the history and the people of the place we are so fortunate to be seeing.
The more I’ve traveled, the more I’ve realized that, while there are exceptions (such as the older American women who sat in front of us watching the sunset at Ayer’s rock with their mouths going, their butts sagging over their foldout stools, and a glass of cheap champagne wedged between their stubby fingers), this is perhaps an outdated perception; young Americans are shaking things up. Our numbers are shockingly low abroad–I’ve met as many Americans as I can count on my hand, whereas I would require the fingers and toes of at least twenty obliging helpers to recount the number of Germans I’ve met in the past two months–but we are part of a shrinking-world phenomenon, perhaps attributed to the internet, television, etc. We have had to strive to adapt and see beyond our American insular bubble and question the ideas fed to us by the media and the older generations. In most cases, the youth of other countries seem to grant us a chance to redeem ourselves. Maybe they wait for us to prove that we are not those people portrayed in American T.V. programs and movies, of which they are all familiar. A few negative encounters feed a general perspective that takes generations to repair.
I honestly have to say that the Aussies are ridiculously friendly; you cannot sit next to one without them starting a conversation with you within the first ten seconds (and that’s a really good thing). Germans are also among the most friendly and hospitable. Here is the shocker though: so are the French!! I’ve had such great conversations with French travelers about the rift between our countries and, more light heartedly, our love of French cheese, wine, and baked goods! I find that my knowledge of French arises from somewhere unknown and an “aprez vous” and “merci” find their way out of my mouth.
The French never miss out on an opportunity to harrass me (to which I respond with a half-whispered “Michael Phelps, Lance Armstrong,” as if it’s some kind of spell) but when all is said and done, I am almost always lucky enough to have a genuine invitation to stay with them in France and be shown around “non-touriste” France. In fact, next to Germany, France is the country in which I have the most standing invitations. This is one of the most pleasant suprises of traveling. I never expected to be met with such graciousness from almost complete strangers, but then again, I think that Americans just have much to learn about opening our minds–and homes–to those who may be so different from us. That’s the biggest challenge but I think the reward is surprising: we aren’t all that different after all. And if we close our mouths for just a few minutes, that may be enough time for us to change the injured reputation of Americans.
Funny enough, the most hostility I’ve met has been via a bitter Canadian girl (and no, she was not a French Canadian) who verbally assaulted me like I was residing in the very same body as George W. Bush. And although I tire of having EVERYONE ask me who I want to win the election, I treasure the chance to meet a cross-section of the world’s people every day, and to have my notions of how things are thrown out of whatever vehicle we are traveling in.
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