You know, I actually went on a short vacation to Vietnam last year. Me loved it long time.
They had so many German tourists down there. I guess Germans are so reflexively guilty they now feel the need to document everything with camcorders in case they're called on the carpet in the future. You know the type, they spend the entire vacation with their right eyeball buried so deep inside the viewfinder of their video camera that when they finally do put the thing down, they look like Peter Falk with his balls caught in his zipper.
Now, I don't want to get off on a rant here, but travel lets us leave behind our unrealistic prejudices about other places and the people who live there, and develop new, more realistic prejudices based on their actual inferiorities.
I hate travel so much, I actually look forward to the day we can simply get in a transporter room and materialize in our desired location. If there's a molecular foul-up and I'm reconstituted wrong on the other side, that's okay. I'd rather have my dick growing out of my shoulder than sit on a plane next to 99 percent of the mutants flying on commercial air carriers. Air travel these days is such a carnival of the insane that I'm often forced to sit in the exit row because I'm one of the few passengers sporting opposable thumbs.
And what's the point of even traveling any more? The world has become so homogenized that the only way you can tell what country you are in is by the language on the McDonald's menu. You find what you think is a virginal and untouched out-of-the-way land and I guarantee you, you'll run into a TV crew setting up a voyeuristic game show on it.
But there are some travel tips that will help you enjoy some of the more exotic locales. For instance, when going through U.S. customs after a trip to Colombia with fifteen balloons of pure grade Angry Gecko heroin in your stomach, always make sure to keep things light. Smile at the customs agent's jokes, but never giggle. And if one of the balloons should rupture and the dope starts to enter your blood stream, try to cut short the cavity search by whispering over and over, "Oh yeah, daddy, that's the spot."
Speaking of lodging... Hotels and I appear to differ on the precise definition of what constitutes a no smoking room. When I say "no smoking" I mean it's only been occupied by people who don't smoke. The hotel's definition appears to be, "Nobody's smoking in there right now." I stayed in a No Smoking room in New York two months ago that smelled like the guy before me was curing a fucking ham.
Now the big thing at hotels is telling us that all the energy used to clean and dry the towels we use after a bath is the number one cause of global warming. Sorry there, Sierra Club, but if it's a choice between the polar ice caps melting and me using the same towel to dry my face that I use to dry my squatter, all I can say is, "Surf's up dude."
Some people like to travel by train because it combines the slowness of a car with the cramped public exposure of an airplane. Hey, brilliant, Casey Jones. I want to copy from your quiz.
But for most people, flying is the way to go. Airports have a curious smell that I've finally deduced is a delicate mixture of jet exhaust, bad food, spilled beer and hundreds of thousands of armpits emitting various levels of toxicity according to various cultural hygienic mores. Try to picture an international rainbow of stink.
One of the more frustrating things about air travel is that you can't even relax when you land because you've still got that boot camp obstacle course of baggage claim to negotiate. To all those people who insist on rushing to the carousel and staking out shoulder-to-shoulder body-wide territorial claims like it was the Yukon in 1890, will you fucking relax? Take a few steps back Attila. No one is going to steal your duct-taped styrofoam cooler full of pickled goat entrails that you brought back from the old country. And to the elderly Eastern European women who for some reason think it's acceptable behavior to sever people's Achilles tendons by ramming them from behind with those rented baggage carts, let's try to keep the maiming to a minimum or the wall goes back up okay Olga?
C'mon, let's face it. We only travel so we can come back and tell other people about where we went. Yeah, like they give a shit. People only want to here about your trip if you had a miserable time. They want horror stories because it validates their decision not to go anywhere. Hey, you want to make your friends happy? On your next vacation, lose an eye.
Of course, that's just my opinion, I could be wrong.