Getting By

With the European Union squabbling, my belief that Europe is not the place to be is only reinforced.

Now, I know most Americans go to Europe because, well…actually, I have no idea why. It’s easy, fine. It’s what you know, fine. But is it new? Not particularly. It’s rife with history, and castles, and…tourists. Backpacking, what I espouse, is about not being a tourist. But that’s not the point of the NYTimes article. Nor is it the point of this post.

Let’s face it, the world economic crisis is putting a pinch on traveling abroad. Inflation, deflation, reflation, devaluation…Nothing is as cheap as it used to be, and my experiences don’t even go back all that far. But despite all of this, traveling is probably more important than it ever has been, particularly as an American.

I don’t mean for the sake of seeing new places and experiencing new things. I mean that for the sake of the American identity. We have a new administration, a new lease on international reputation. Gone are the days of people physically pulling back,staring at me aghast (seriously, it happened. At least until I mentioned that I didn’t like Bush), and here are the days where we have the potential to once again be…well, at least tolerated.

Unfortunately, this is kind of an argument for traveling in Europe. I’m not so naïve as to ignore the prominence of Europe on the world stage; traveling in France, Germany, Italy, Spain, Greece, etc. etc. is the first step in reclaiming our international identity. Showing that Americans are not just a bunch of war mongering bullies is not only necessary, it’s a moral obligation.

We have earned such a bad rap over the past 8 years, I believe it is high time we begin rectifying the situation.

This post is a few days late, but I’ve been unable to decide on the best means of relating the events of my last Olympic Beijing Day. I toyed with the idea of a mini-series-esque approach, several different episodes spanning a week or so of posts, relating backstory and perhaps an intricate sub-plot or two, but that would require far too much fictionalizing on my part. And I’m obviously not that creative. Nor am I lazy.

In the end I decided on the following, a vaguely serialized story that should, I hope, be humorous in its high drama, excitement, and human interest:

After watching the Redeem Team beat Spain for the Gold Medal in what turned out to be a fairly competitive game, I raced home, dragged out a massive chunk of cardboard, and made the biggest, “Student Needs Tickets Please,” sign ever. Well, that I’ve ever seen at any rate. I went to the entrance of the Olympic subway line, the one that runs into the Olympic complex, and posted up, being sure to ask a volunteer if it was cool that I stand there. Two things happened in quick succession: people started laughing and taking pictures, and my arms immediately started to hurt. The former I am accustomed to, but the latter was a surprise; in retrospect, my sign was too big, and made the wrong way – I had put the flaps on top and bottom, so that my arms had to stretch even further so as to be grabbing onto a piece that wouldn’t flop around. On top of all this, it was rather windy which, given the size of this piece of cardboard, and its daunting size, created a large amount of drag.

Soon a small group of Russian-Chinese girls walked up to, and started talking with, me. They too were looking for tickets, and started to help me hold up my sign. Now, ordinarily this is something to be avoided – people coming to give you a ticket, are instead enticed to sell one to the people actually interested in paying, and, really, you can’t blame them. But, despite the fact that these girls weren’t exactly cute, Russian is, in my estimation, a sexy language, and so I let it slide.

Weakness, your name is man.

And so as to avoid tears of bitter sorrow, disappointment, impotent rage, and, well, comedy, I’ll put it bluntly: one of the Russian girls got a free ticket from someone who saw my goddamned sign, and made a beeline for us. He even did a cute little bow when he gave it to her. !@#$% wasn’t even that good looking.

Of course, after that one, small bit of luck (for that cherry picking wench) things started to sour.

Prerequisites:
• Cardboard box
• Dark, preferably black Marker
• Pencil (Necessity dependant on Artistic Integrity)
• Approximately 30min (Dependant on Artistic Integrity)
• Absolutely no shame, a pitiable smile, and strong, or at least durable, arms

Preparation:
• Tear off a sizable chunk of cardboard, bigger the better (but heavier!)
• For neatness in the next step, sketch out the words, “Student Needs Tickets Please” on the cardboard (Dependant on Artistic Integrity)
• Color/black in the sketched out words (or just guesstimate and skip the previous step – not something I’ve been able to do successfully)
• Add local language (Optional)
• Bus/Taxi/Subway to desired venue
• Find entrance
• Find place to stand
• Unfold sign
• Raise sign up in the air
• Look miserable, maybe laugh self consciously now and again, ignore the growing ache in your arms
• Ponder the meaning of life
• Continue holding the sign high up in the air, despite increasingly painful burn in your shoulder region, and possibly the part of your brain that holds Pride
• Ponder the meaning of life further
• Repeatedly tell people that, as you are a student, you. Have. No. Money.
• Get a ticket for free from someone who has an extra, see event, party like a rockstar
o Alternative: if no ticket was obtained, do something else. Like go shopping. Or whatever.
• Wrap funny stories of people you met while holding up your sign like a blanket to ward off the shame of begging
• Realize that it’s actually fun to do it, and try again tomorrow

Preface: What you are about to read is entirely true and, almost word for word, entirely accurate. I was in China, to leave off of South America temporarily, for a second gap year, studying Mandarin Chinese. The following happened over New Years 2007-2008.

I left my ATM card in the ATM, and did not realize it until several days later. The minute I discovered my mistake I made several frenzied phone calls, most notably to my bank, while talking online with my father. Ended up arranging for my bank to send me a new card, thereby canceling the old one, and for my father to send me an Ikobo Credit Card and a bit of cash money that I could exchange. I was very, very careful about spelling out the address to Navy Federal Credit Union, my bank, and made sure they knew exactly where this vital piece of plastic was being shipped. Tick-tick-tick goes the clock, the weekend passes, January 8th arrives. My Ikobo Card, the cash money (thanks, dad, you’re a rockstar), and my NFCU Check Card PIN number arrives. No card. Okay, fine. I call Navy:

“No problem sir, the card usually arrives a couple of days afterwards. It should be there by…the 10th, if FedEx’s site is right.”

FedEx? Oh, crap. A sinking feeling penetrates my stomach as I recall with vivid clarity the Brazil Incident 2006 (explained more fully later).

“Umm…okay, cool, but now I need to have the package held at a FedEx facility, since I’m changing addresses. Can you do that?”

“No, sir, we cannot. You would have contact FedEx directly to arrange that. Their number is +861064648855. Is there anything else we can help you with?” etc. etc.

FedEx: “No, sorry, we cannot hold the package without permission from the sender.”

NFCU: “No, sorry, we do not deal with FedEx.”

FedEx: “No, really, we cannot hold the package without permission form the sender.”

Let’s get this out of the way now, before anyone asks: While you’re abroad, Your. Politics. Do. Not. Matter.

Seriously.

Get over it.

Okay, now that that’s out of the way, let me explicate: Everyone you meet traveling is abroad for some reason. Whether it be to see the world, learn a language, or escape the situation at home, or whatever, they all have a reason for going abroad. And nothing can disrupt that reason, make someone irritated, faster than bringing up their home politics. Get to know them, talk to them, go get dinner with them, and then decide if you like them. But do not, please, ask them what their opinions are on abortion, or gay marriage, or any other subject, because that just leads to awkward situations.

Really, though, I mention this because I want everyone to be very aware of something: as an American traveling abroad, you are guaranteed, guaranteed to catch flak for the path our country has taken. Almost no one you’re going to meet abroad is terribly fond of George W. Bush, and they won’t hesitate to give you crap for having elected him. Something you should make clear very early on is that A) you didn’t vote for him (and if you did, I doubt you’ll be traveling. Sorry, but I can count on one hand the number of conservative Americans I met while backpacking in South America) and B) you don’t like him either.

And even if you did vote for Bush, and even if you do like him, don’t bring it up. This is part of that unwritten Traveler’s Code I mentioned, and should be followed astutely. Arguing with someone about anything can ruin a night, but nothing faster than politics. And even if someone else brings it up first, just say that you don’t want to talk politics – if they push the matter, than you probably don’t want to be hanging out with them anyways.