People Are Strange

 DISCLAIMER: This is not an educational blog. The blogger bears no responsibility for any consequences should the reader be stupid enough to take seriously or actually attempt anything suggested herein. The opinions expressed in this blog reflect no one's, least of all the blogger's. If you must comment, please do it under your breath where all the best opinions are expressed. This blog is intended for personal use only (mine, not yours you idiot).

You may remember the song lyrics that go "People are strange, when you're a stranger." Nothing brings that home more than travel. Let me preface by saying I am not a good traveler. Perhaps "not good" is not strong enough: something like "sucks monkey dick" would be more apt.  Traveling makes me cranky, whiny, irrational and demanding. Imagine a brunette Gweneth Paltrow- without the great hair and stellar bod. I get motion sickness in the blink of an eye (an inherited family trait). Flying can cause at worst, searing agony in my ears that have me begging any terrorist that actually made it on the plane to shoot me first; and at best, temporary quasi-deafness that causes my conversational tone to be exclusively in my outdoor voice for the rest of my vacation.  In my experience, exotic locales rarely live up to expectations and accommodations often disappoint. The miserable spitting shower head, the heater that won't turn on or won't shut off. The whingeing air conditioner.

And the weather rarely cooperates. Once on a long anticipated beach vacation, a hurricane landed the same day as my family. Instead of admitting defeat and packing it in, my parents dug in planning to wait out the storm. My tragic nuclear family huddled under horse hair blankets from the cheap motel and braved the gale force winds on the boardwalk in search of food. We subsisted on corn dogs and fries until the final day of the trip when the rain stopped, the sun shone, and we departed for home.

Another beach vacation we enjoyed glorious sunshine- on the first day. My family decided to rent bikes to ride down the boardwalk when some teenaged thugs on their bikes careened toward us causing us to veer out of their path. I hit a bench with my bike, flew over the handlebars and broke my two front teeth. That little jaunt caused years of pain and subsequent dental surgeries and even a second mortgage on my first house.

On a vacation to Mexico with my first husband he had the brilliant idea to avoid the predictable group tour in the air conditioned comfort of a tour bus and instead,  he rented a Volkswagon Beetle circa 1970 with no air conditioning. We drove through the jungle slums (yes, there are slums even in the jungle, slums are equal opportunity) in unimaginable heat to the famous ruins and by the time we returned we were both ruined by heat stroke. That same trip, chastened by our first outing, we opted for the short group cruise on a sailboat to a neighboring island, La Isla de Las Tortugas. I got seasick while they were still passing out the first round of magaritas and when we reached the beach, I promptly vomited on the Tortugas and passed out until it was time to sail back.

  Then there was the trip to Shanghai to visit my brother-in-law and his new Chinese wife. Forget snakes on a plane; Hell is 18 hours on a jam-packed plane. When we arrived  my husband had to restrain me from running to the Consulate to defect so I would never have to make the return trip. What I didn't know that it would be mere days before I would be counting the minutes until our flight back. Oh Shanghai, Land of a Thousand Toilets! Toilets that in only one respect resemble the familiar porcelain commode in that they are intended for elimination.  The sanitary system cannot accommodate waste paper so after you wipe you place the tissue in a wastebasket. Take a moment to imagine the smell that assails you as you enter a restroom stall. Oh and you quickly learn to carry your own toilet paper since that is a luxury that will not be provided. Some toilets resembled a saddle that you mounted. Others were mere porcelain lined holes. In a park, I went to the public restroom and entered the stall to a sea of white tile with a trough in the center. Opening the stall door had triggered a stream of water to rush through the trough. It took me several moments to imagine how to use this facility. It dawned on me that you squatted over the stream with your legs straddling the trough. The Chinese believe toilets are exclusively for the young and limber. The Chinese also believe peeing is a public past time. You will encounter men and young boys peeing in the gutter. The smell of Shanghai is urine combined with kerosene, which is what they fuel their motorbikes with; a good early warning system as their are no traffic laws for motorbikes. Pedestrians risk life and limb crossing thoroughfares with kamikaze drivers playing a real world version of Tron. I could go on but suffice to say take my advice and cross Shanghai off your bucket list.

So you will understand that it was with some trepidation that I planned a short jaunt to visit family during a brief work hiatus. My husband, wise soul, took care to book a decent airline so we flew Virgin. Things started well with my boarding pass getting a special designation that allowed me to skip the long security line and instead join a short queue where we did not have to remove our shoes or open our carry-ons. There is nothing quite like the feeling of privilege and superiority to convince you that yes, all is right with the world.
We enjoyed our short time with my family. The weather was fine. We met a director we had recently worked with in Los Angeles in the middle of the American Art Museum thousands of miles away. She suggested we visit a private museum we had never heard of that turned out to be a small gem.
 In the shuttle back to return the rental car  a couple sat across from us where the man talked on and on and the woman only replied with different inflections of"Hmmm". She was a genius at conveying her response without using any actual words. I considered the possibilities:

1. Recent tongue piercing
2. Member of some monastic order which forbids speech but unspecified sounds allowed
3. Some weird type of aphasia 

It was exceedingly strange. My husband turned to me, cocked an eyebrow and said, "Hmmm." I dissolved into strangled laughter.
On the plane heading back home a young and lovely flight attendant was wearing, I kid you not, stripper heels; those 5 inch high stilettos with giant platforms. When the music video that Virgin plays for the flight instructions came on she sang along. She was the only attendant to do so. Afterwards, she changed into sensible flats. Again, strange. I may be tempted to dip my toe again in travel's dangerous waters again if only to be reminded that the world and its people are wonderful strange.