On the Pretentiousness of Travelers #3

I swear, if you post this picture, I’ll fucking kill you.  These clothes suck, I look fat, and this dude is never going to fix this motorcycle wagon, hovel on wheels, whatever it is.

Yeah, I know I thought riding back to the village would be awesome—we’d be just like the locals.

But this is the third breakdown.  You didn’t tell me it would be annoying.  We might as well be in LA where shit like this happens all the time.

After third breakdown

Outside Xiahe – China

On the Pretentiousness of Travelers #2

Down with Wal-Mart!  Down with box stores!  Socially conscious am I.

Down with the NRA.  Down with guns!  Anti-violence I am!

Flash to traveler’s photos of trip:

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Well, here I am in Las Cruces and well, to be a part of everything, I went to Wal-Mart and bought ammo and jumbo mayo jars.  And so this picture here?  Well, I am shooting at that mayo jar in the desert with an AR-15.  Ka-boom!

Oh please, values don’t count when your traveling…just the way cookies don’t count when they’re free.

On the Seriousness of Tourists #4

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“We’ll use this for the Christmas card,” her husband says.

She doesn’t answer, but she’s glad he’s being such a good sport.  She’s somewhere else.  She’s six and planning her future.  She’d live in a castle and wear purple gowns and pink capes.  She would rule her people from the turret.  She had always wanted a round room.  One with pink velvet cushions.

The man stares at the couple posing for the picture. He remembers his youth.  He misses his wife.

On the Pretentiousness of Travelers #1

Okay, so I’ve been taking aim at tourists, but people who call themselves travelers—people like me—are not getting off without a poke or two.

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Look at me, I’m waiting for the train like a regular Jane.  I don’t care if that guy from Italy is walking to India.  I’m traveling for five weeks with just this backpack.  He’s probably got a trust fund from mommy and daddy.  My blog is going to be so fucking compelling.  People will love me.

 

On the Seriousness of Tourists #3

“We could go to the Museum of Contemporary Art,” he said.

“I’m fine,” his wife said.

She doesn’t hold up well in the heat, he thought.  And now it’s going to rain.  “We’re probably in people’s vacation pictures,” he said.  “We could go to lunch.”

On the Seriousness of Tourists.

“I said I’m fine.”

We could go back to the hotel and fuck, he thought.

I’m watching, she answered, although she didn’t utter a word.  I’m watching all the beauty: the castle, the tiled roofs, the people.  The stone column cooled her back.  She watched the younger women with their shiny skin flouncing into selfies.  They didn’t even seem to notice the castle.  How could they afford this trip?  Hostels, she supposed.  Where they probably met boys and had sex.

Her husband, he wouldn’t want to waste their day in Budapest having sex.  She sighed. “Lunch is fine.”