Real Holidays

So far, my sojourn in England has been the closest I’ve had to a holiday in years. As I lolled on my bed reading with my hands down the front of my pants (a security thing?), I felt more relaxed than I had done for years (I don’t mean I was extra flaccid, I mean philosophically/spiritually/bodily). I pondered why this was and came to the following conclusions:

a) Most holidays are in part ‘adventures’ even though you may well only be traversing a well beaten path, it will be something new to you.

b) Due to (a) you will be unfamiliar with the language, food, and culture.

c) Although (b) elicits feelings of excitement and a sense of being a faux-intrepid explorer, it also adds layers of communication problems and potential confusion and misunderstanding.

d) For many – and it is a form of false consciousness – (c) is ‘all part of the adventure’ (though of course, the ‘adventure’ has the caveat that millions of people have now been to wherever it is you’re also now going as a tourist).

e) As things in (c) & (d) that are ‘all part of the adventure’ often include receiving incorrect food orders, being driven to the wrong destination in a taxi, being ripped off/cheated, and ending up in situations only your wallet can buy you out of, the conclusion that can be reached is that the notion of a ‘traveler’ (as oppose to the unfashionable ‘tourist’) living off their wits in difficult situations which are by in large wholly unenjoyable and stressful, must figure as one of the greatest marketing ploys of the late 20th Century. Rather like the notion that camping is any way ‘fun.’

Perhaps this has more to do with my maturing years and tiring of backpacking (which I never really did properly; simply owning a backpack and staying in 3* hotels would have me stricken off the backpackers register in an instant). My notion of holidays and travelling has drastically altered to the point where I now realise that I have very little actual interest in ‘tasting other cultures’ as I think it is a construct. I’m inclined to agree with Jake from Expat Hell:

‘When I travel, I mostly do exactly what I’d be doing if I were sitting at home in Korea, the only things that change are the setting and the characters; the plot remains the same.

Until I returned to England, I had been travelling exclusively around Asia (indeed this blog began whilst I was on holiday in Thailand), and though I had my share of fun along the way, I can in all honestly say I learnt precisely nothing about any of the cultures which I stared at for a few weeks. Normally, the order of events would be:

i) Spend hours planning holiday, look up hotels and things to do, timetables, reviews, etc.

ii) Book flights after hours of surfing different sites that all contain much the same information; this stage always has a set pattern of deciding at the beginning that I will always buy the cheapest, and ends up with me buying the more expensive and most direct flight.

iii) After literally days spent ‘researching’ wherever I’m going, throw hissy fit and eschew all planning, being the wild eyed traveler hero I am.

iv) Arrive at destination without a hotel booking and spend the first day searching for a hotel, not knowing where I am or what any of the hotels are like. Try desperately to remember names of hotels I was going to book, but fail. End up in what looks to be a safe mid-range, comfortable, characterless, overpriced hotel. In between, annoy already stressed out taxi drivers by not knowing where I want to go to. Enter mime school.

v) Spend next day in internet cafe looking for better accommodation. Find better accommodation is fully booked. End up booking in nearby hotel that all online reviewers say is ‘ok but not as good as Hotel X’ (the one I want to stay at). Move to hotel next to Hotel X, paying extra for room with balcony (I must have a balcony; I may need to throw myself off it someday).

vi) Go to the famous tourist site.

vii) Immediately become annoyed at all the camera wielding maniacs bustling everywhere.

viii) Leave famous tourist site in a bad mood and head for a cafe. As Starbucks is likely the only one with aircon, end up there. Read book for 4 hours.

ix) Leave Starbucks and begin to drink heavily. Pick up bottles of beer to drink in hotel next to Hotel X.

x) Chuck stuff back in hotel next to Hotel X. Shower. Drink bottles of beer on balcony in my pants. Now quite drunk, go out for cigarettes even though I gave up smoking years ago.

xi) End up in some bar talking to some freak.

xii) Now steaming drunk. End up going home with some woman who can communicate more than 10 words of English.

xiii) Repeat in different locations (beach, mountain, valley) in different areas of country currently holidaying in.

Though there are many elements of fun to all this, there is very little in the way of relaxation. There are pockets of chillage, for sure, but not extended periods; there is always planning, packing, moving, negotiating, confusion.

So, in coming back to England I have found somewhere I can fully relax. I can communicate with consummate ease with (most) of the locals; I’ve been going a little over the top with all manner of colloquialisms and idiomatic language, safe in the knowledge that I won’t have to unpack or explain any of my utterances. I can sit in a pub all day drinking bitter and reading, listening to some of the amusing stories of the barflies. When I order food I know what I’m doing and most likely what I will be getting.

Now, of course, this all seems perfectly obvious; what has changed is my appreciation of what I left behind. Living overseas is one of the great privileges available to people from a similar background to myself, and I am very grateful for that, but if my return has taught me anything it is that wherever it is that shaped you is something that cannot and should not be cast aside as inferior, or, as you often hear from expats, as being somewhere that is more stressful. Living overseas has plenty of stress, but we tend to cover it up because we are fundamentally distanced from the reality of the place; it’s unreal, there’s a layer between us and reality that we try puncture with exposure to a culture that has no intention of ever embracing us. When you return to your own culture the layers instantly disappear and you’re left with you facing the you you tried to leave behind. And for me I found that that you wasn’t as bad as I thought it was.

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