Voices in my head

While walking around Venice, I had an idea to pitch a travel show called “Americans say the stupidest things!” It could be played on planes as part of the in flight entertainment when you leave the US on an international flight. It could replace that ridiculous show they currently play, it’s some comedy show from Quebec called “Gags! Just for Laughs” or something like that. The shows has situations where unknowing people engage in some task trying to be helpful and some strange wacky thing would happen and then hilarity would ensue. The one I saw on this trip included hi-jinks such as a little boy asking strange women to help him cut up the food on his plate, when they would offer to help, he had a little tube that would squirt ketchup all over his shirt. Hilarious! Another one involved having unsuspecting delivery men, deliver a pizza to a port-a-potty (or as you northwesterns call them "Honey Holes"). The port-a-potty had an address on the outside and when they knocked someone would answer the door with a pipe and take the pizza from them. Oh those wacky Canadians! Anyway, after my time in Venice, I just wanted to track English speakers catching them in their finest moments when traveling abroad.

After being in a language bell jar for the past week or so, only catching snippets of the conversation (in Russian mostly) it was very odd to be back eavesdropping on English speakers. First of all, I must say that my strong reaction has to be partly attributed to the jetlag-addled mind. I’ve determined that when I’m exhausted my mind starts to go just a little bit and I get these thoughts that pop into my head that I have to work really hard against censoring. It’s kind of interesting and once I realize that’s what’s going on. It’s almost fun to see what my mind comes up with.

The first example of this was a couple years back when Jeremy and I were hiking in the Alaskan backcountry in Denali National Park. Each morning we’d pack up the tent, strap on the gear and make our way across the tundra, weaving in and out of animal paths. It was a stunningly beautiful and serene scene. Well, except for what was going on in mind. Usually around after 6-7 hours of hiking with a 50lb pack on it would start to happen. These little thoughts would creep in. And I have to say this wasn’t a one-time occurrence. It happened on consecutive days of hiking. I would also like to state for the record that I’m a pretty stable person, or at least I like to think so. So somewhere around the 6 hour mark, I would start to think, ‘Hmmm my bag is starting to feel pretty heavy, boy am I tired. It’s going to be good to set up camp and not walk for a while.’ You know, relatively normal thoughts for a challenging hiking trip. Then it would be back to negotiating the tundra or singing loud off key songs, to keep the bears away. Then the thoughts would come back. “Man, my bag is really heavy. It’s definitely heavier that yesterday. I wonder why it’s so heavy today.” Then, do-de-do, spot an elk, ford a stream, the hike would continue. Then the thoughts would start back up. “There is no way that my pack was this heavy when we left. Why isn’t Jeremy as exhausted as I am?” Then, the really spooky part would start. “I bet he snuck extra stuff into my pack when we stopped to break.” Just like that this weird little blamey thought that I would try and fight back with logic. “No, that’s crazy, he is carrying even more than I am. He has the tent.” But the more tired I got, the more part of my brain would be utterly convinced that Jeremy was sneaking gear and clothes and what not into my bag. This back and forth would usually only last about an hour, because we’d typically stop for the night by then. As soon as we stopped the crazy thoughts would vanish and we’d settle in for another wonderful night in the ever present light, in the wilderness, miles from anywhere. Now you might be wondering, wow, what was Jeremy’s reaction to all of this. And that’s a good question, but of course I didn’t tell him. Well, not on that trip. I told him months afterward. I mean I didn’t want him to think I was nuts. At least not in that regards.

So, returning to Venice. The Alaskan example seems not to be an isolated incident, but instead emblematic of how my mind starts to slip when I’m exhausted. From Bishkek to Venice was about 20 hours of travel, with two plane changes (Istanbul and Vienna). On getting to Venice it was another hour and a half by water taxi to the city, then a 15 minute walk through the small streets to find my hotel. So, sleep deprivation, check! Heavy ass bags, check! (This is another lesson. To preserve my sanity it would be a lot better to pack light. I thought I did, but I was wrong. Compounding that I didn’t really pack light to begin with I was also carrying 4 extra outfits I had bought in the Dardoi Bazaar in Bishkek when my luggage was lost for four days. In addition, I was armed with a considerable amount of paper from the research we’d conducted. And finally, in the recent flight leg my backpack had lost it’s waist strap in transit, which meant that the entire bag’s weight was being supported by my shoulders. It created the sensation, not unlike a muscular male cheerleader standing on my shoulders doing cheers – I haven’t had this experience, but I imagine the feeling being similar.) I found my hotel and carried my stuff up two really steep stairs to my teeny cosy room and collapsed. It was around 3pm and I had probably about 2 hours of sleep in the previous couple days.

The key to jetlag according to Beth is twofold: lots of sunlight and continuous motion. So it was imperative to keep walking in the sunshine which was easy to do in Venice since it's a mesh of interconnected streets and bridges that twist around the city.



The tourists were feeding pigeons in Piazza San Marco with fist fulls of bird seed that vendors would sell by the bag full for half a euro. The pigeons, being pretty smart at least in the task of eating, ended up being pretty tame. So the piazza was chocked full of people and pigeons in very close vacinity. And you know how boys of a young age love to run at pigeons at top speeds and then the birds fly away. Well here in Venice the pigeons have learned that eventually the boys will pull up and not run into them, so they don't fly away...unless you are really really close to them then at the last minute they will take off and perhaps bump into surrounding objects. And when I say objects I'm including jetlagged and dazed wandering people, such as myself. So walking through this beautiful example of architecture, I couldn't help be less than pleased to have the soft thump thump of pigeons bouncing off me as they took to flight. Also, when I say less than pleased I mean utterly grossed out. So this is how we return to the voices in my head part. I was trying not to scream out at the kids "Stop - you are just encouraging them!" At one point in my travels through the piazza, I saw a largish seagull feasting on a pigeon. There was blood and feathers everywhere as the shocked and offended tourists try to shield their children from the bloodletting. At this point, I had to refrain from yelling "That's what you get!"

So back to the idea for my show. I just wanted to share some of the choicest overheard quotes from Americans:
-“You know it really does look a lot like Vegas” (i heard this one twice, I swear)
-“Does that come with fries?”
-“I’m bored! – say like a screeching pre-teenager”
-"We're in Italy, we don't have to tip anyone here"
- Over enunciating words in English at a deafening volume to attempt to make oneself understood, this is not limited to Americans. I heard a British woman ordering gelato and shouting: “CHOC-O-LAT! CHOC-O-LAT!” like it was an air raid or something.

I think my level of annoyance should be correlated to my state of exhaustion, but maybe not.