Tuesday, September 18, 2012

I'm a Shitty World Traveler

This summer I logged another international visitation. I spent 2 weeks in Thailand (not getting laid, but that's another blog) with layovers in Tokyo and San Francisco. All places I'd never been before. My last continent hop was in 2007 when I spent a summer in Dublin, IRE. Before that I had also made sojourns into Canada and Mexico, the usual for most Americans. I've learned this:

I suck at traveling.

Not the mechanics of it. That actual enjoyment of the moment. You can drop me anywhere in the world - show me the sights, the activities, introduce me to customs, try different food, whatever...it does not move me in the slightest. At the end of any given day, wherever I am, I want a cool bar to hang out in and female company when I go to sleep. That's it. I don't get a charge from anything else. I don't stumble back to the U.S.A. with bags full of useless trinkets. Shit, I force myself to take photographs just so I have evidence that I was somewhere else. I spent like a total of 5 days in Bangkok. I couldn't tell you shit about it. Except that I didn't get laid. Again - that's another story.

Excuse my tunnel vision but that's the truth. I spent 2 weeks sauntering around beautiful beaches feeling generally nothing. Ko Tao, Thailand may as well have been fucking Pensacola, Florida for all I cared. A beach is a beach. Sand and water. Some are prettier than others but all give me the same sensation. Sand and water. I get wet and then I get sandy. Then I get back in the water to get the sand off. Then I get sandy again when I sit back on the beach. Maybe I have a drink with me. Maybe I don't. Some beautiful women walk past me and nothing happens. I can do this anywhere. Trust me, I'm working on it.

Besides that, there is the obvious culture shocking that also goes completely over my head. Yeah I know other places do things differently. I am not surprised or impressed by this. Living in thatch huts by the beach? Fucking great. Good for you. I'll take an air conditioned hotel room with a toilet that flushes. I will always take that. I will also eat all your 'neat' indigenous cuisine. Does it amaze me? No. I've had all sorts of food before. It's just fucking food. Noodles do not taste better in Thailand. Or Japan. Or California. Or Delaware. They taste like fucking noodles. These are just more examples of scenarios where I almost feel guilty for not feeling a single shred of excitement over anything. Except at that last second I remember that I don't feel guilt. Then I move along.

I've watched my fair share of travel shows. I've talked to a lot of my peers. I read people's online profiles where they list their interests and "Traveling" is always fucking somewhere in the mix. Maybe I'm doing it wrong. Fuck, maybe I'm just completely being a human being wrong. You go fill up the daytime hours with whatever you want. Hiking? Swimming? Meditation classes in some Buddhist temple? Yeah, sure, have at it. That's all boring nonsense to me. Maybe if I were running drugs across borders this shit would be more enthralling. Alas, it is not.

Maybe if I had gotten laid I'd have more to report about the whole Thailand experience. The irony of traveling to a place renowned for sexual tourism and having my dick stay completely dry is not lost on me. In fact I thought about it every night for two whole weeks. Yep. Every night. Staring up at the ceiling. For two weeks.

You know what I WASN'T thinking?


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