Final Thoughts, Finally

OK, it’s been a month. I had planned to put my last post up some time ago – right around Christmas – and I even had the entire thing written. But, since the world is an imperfect place, fate intervened. As it happens, I had handwritten the entire last post in one of my notebooks (once classes finished, I carried around my notebooks in case I had any epiphanies worth committing to paper, such as “I’ll bet gas keeps getting more expensive” and “three-cheese pizza should really be marketed as fromage a trois”). Being a genius, thoughts are constantly flying through my head and it becomes difficult to focus. Hence, I left the notebook on a train. And believe me, the entry I had written was a masterpiece. But, on the bright side, I now have the gift of retrospection.

When I first got to Copenhagen, a friend from Santa Clara emailed the following prediction: “I am confident that you will come home a more cultured person, but also a much more militant American. You may not want to, but when you start treating fast food restaurants like American Embassies and say things like ‘at least in America we are able to stand in line correctly, fucking Euros,’ you will come to appreciate the beauty of big cars and big people.” At the time, I considered myself far too enlightened a person to fault European culture. But he was right on two counts. First, Europeans can’t stand in line and that really does get irritating. Second, I am much more entrenched in my appreciation of American culture. I’ve said it before, but we as a people are some of the friendliest out there, right up with the Irish, Scottish, and Australians. We take flak for being loud and obnoxious, but that’s only because so many Europeans are used to sitting in silence, speaking to nobody. I’m glad we’re louder than that.

Things I’m grateful to have again:

1. Mountains. I may not have been up yet, but I can see them on the horizon and that’s a huge improvement.

2. Peanut butter. Huge jars of it for only a couple bucks.

3. Halfway-decent customer service. Next time you think the person behind the counter at the airport is being an a-hole, fly to Copenhagen and try to get an SAS employee to do anything that even remotely bends the rules, like putting you on a standby list.

4. The ability to understand people and signs. And especially the ability to understand what I’m buying in grocery stores.

Things I miss:

1. Beer sold by the liter. And the normalcy of drinking several of them.

2. Legally drinking on busses. Though I might blend in better on busses here if I drank anyway.

3. My English-speaking ability being sufficient to get by in school.

4. Seemingly never running out of cities to visit for a weekend.

Damn… I wish I had the original lists I wrote. They were hilarious.

Oh well, the whole point of this last post was my This American Life story, as promised.

Marrakesh has many different atmospheres. In between the airport and the city center are tons of high-end resorts for Euro tourists. The Kasbah (walled-in city center as well as locale rocked by Joe Strummer) is full of locals, but, let’s face it, it’s where the locals come to sell stuff to tourists. Being me, I wanted to get a bit beyond that. Hell, I could see retired couples wearing matching clothes just two blocks from my place in Copenhagen; why would I go all the way to North Africa to see the same thing?

I went to see a garden north of the Kasbah and decided to walk back to the hostel along the Western side of the wall. Now, let me first say that, my senior year at Santa Clara, I went to Tijuana to build houses, so I’ve seen slums. But I’d never seen anything like the poor areas of Marrakesh. I don’t know exactly when I realized it, but at some point I became aware that I was the only white person around. In fact, I hadn’t seen another one in fifteen or twenty minutes. I was trying to work my way back to the hostel when a guy hopped his motorcycle up on the sidewalk right in front of me (I know my parents read this, so I didn’t really want to share this story until I was already home). He pointed straight at me and had one of those “I mean business” expressions on his face. “Fuck you!” he shouted. “Fuck you, piece of shit!” And he sped off again.

Here’s the thing: he was right. I went to the neighborhood uninvited and took pictures of their houses, streets… their lives as though they were some kind of tourist attraction. How disrespectful could I have been? That night, I was going to sit on the rooftop terrace of my hostel and drink a beer. In a few days, I’d leave again, going back to Copenhagen, then back to America. Forget the fact that I have the luxury to travel halfway around the world… I was probably one of very few people on that street who could even afford to drink a beer that night.

I’m awfully proud of how hard I’ve worked and how much I’ve achieved already in my life. And, odds are, I’m only a quarter of the way through it, so I know I’ll be able to do a whole lot more. But the fact is that I’m lucky to have been born in a place where I was given opportunities. All the work only yielded results and the future looks so bright because I’m lucky enough to have been born where I was. That guy on the motorcycle and I were both in Marrakesh, but it was just a matter of luck that I could leave and he couldn’t. If our places were reversed, it wouldn’t matter how hard I worked. I’d probably still be in the slum. I’m not a better person. I don’t deserve more than they do. I got lucky and they got unlucky, but that’s where the difference ends. And I’d do well not to forget that again.

And Now for Something Completely Different

I’m not going to mix words. Camel riding involves a degree of testicular pain that is, in a word, uncomfortable. Let me step back: this being my last Copenhagen-based trip, I wanted to go out with a bang. Hence, I found myself traveling to Marrakesh, Bordeaux, and San Sebastian. First off, this has to be the most surreal outward-bound journey of the past four months. Monday morning, I took my last exam of the semester then hopped in a train almost immediately after finishing. The next morning, I woke up in Brussels, had a train transfer that involved walking across Paris as the sun was rising, and that afternoon touched down in Marrakesh, Morocco, officially pushing me past the halfway point in my quest to set foot on all seven continents.

Cosmologically speaking, a singularity is a point so dense and pressurized that nothing, including light or time, can escape (why yes, I did just finish reading A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking. Why do you ask?). Now, obviously, since I returned to tell my tale, Marrakesh isn’t a singularity in the strict sense of the word. But it’s a damn close approximation. It took less than three minutes between stepping off the bus and being hassled by a group of kids for money. My fellow travelers and I took to referring to our hostel as “the fortress,” both because the rooftop terrace offered a commanding view of the city and because it was the only place we could let our guard down even slightly. Setting foot outside that door meant an all out sensory (and financial) assault by snake charmers, monkeys, vendors hawking every conceivable form of crap, burqa-clad women pushing macaroons (the macaroons were delicious, actually, so I was happy to have those people around), and swarms of kids offering directions to the main square and demanding “presents” in return. In order to get out of the city, I booked a camel riding trip to a small Berber village the morning of my second day. Loads of fun, actually, except for the one aforementioned drawback. But the swelling has subsided and I’m now able to look back on it favorably.

I’ve never been somewhere that addled me so thoroughly as Marrakesh, so it took about a day to calm down and reconnect with reality (I’ll go into more depth in my next – and last – post since it provides the opportunity to ascribe a grander meaning to events than actually existed and This American Life has taught me that’s how narratives are supposed to end). When I came to, I was in Bordeaux, several hours away from Marseille, which is where I had intended to settle. Bordeaux, however, was smaller, quieter, and the wine flowed like… well, like you’d expect it to in a city that has its name attached to a type of wine.

After a day and a half in Bordeaux, I continued on to San Sebastian, Spain – a necessary stop if for no other reason than I felt the need to visit at least one country where I could speak the local language. Some subjects naturally lend themselves to photography. San Sebastian on a sunny day is one of them. It was nice to end my travels by getting back to my roots: spending more time in the nature around a city than in the city itself.

All in all, not what I’d planned. But I can’t really think of a more fitting last trip.

Where Bathhouses Aren’t Gay and “Wiener” Isn’t Dirty

Now that I’m staring down the barrel of the proverbial gun and returning to Seattle in less than two weeks, I’m traveling as much as possible. Well, almost. I realized retrospectively how I could have bough myself three more days on the road. Oh well, c’est la vie.

As you may have been able to deduce from this title, I spent some time in Budapest in Vienna this past week. I like to think I’ve gotten fairly good at touring cities in a few days, but, man, three days in Budapest wasn’t nearly enough. A week and a half would have been much better. Alas, my professors insist on giving exams. Budapest used to be two cities – Buda and Pest – so I should have realized I’d need to double my time there relative to other cities I visit.

I spent my first day on Castle Hill. I would say the weather hindered my ability to take in the sights, but I know what the weather has been like in Washington. So mine could have been much worse. I didn’t take many pictures, afraid the rain might damage my camera, but it wasn’t unbearable. Not only were Buda Castle and Matthias Church impressive (the church was closed for renovation, but the outside is the most interesting part, anyway), but the hill gives a view of all of Pest along the Danube.

Under the castle is a series of caves formed by Budapest’s hot springs and later connected with a series of tunnels to be used as a military fortification. Today, the labyrinth is a sort of prehistoric art museum. Between the dim lights, percussive music, and name “labyrinth,” I kept expecting something to jump out at me, be it that weird thing from Pan’s Labyrinth with eyes in its hands or David Bowie flanked by a horde of Jim Henson-designed goblins. I’m not sure which would have scared me more.

On the second and third days, I walked around Pest, seeing the many sights there. The Great Synagogue is the largest in Europe. City Park houses a zoo, a circus, an amusement park, and another Castle. St. Stephen’s Basilica marks the first time in my life I saw the mummified hand of a Saint. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to make it to one of the city’s famous thermal baths. Oh well, one can never see everything. I guess that just means I’ll have to come back.

Vienna has to be the Christmasiest place I’ve ever visited (I originally wrote “most Christmasy” there. The grammar check changed it to “Christmasiest.” I had no idea that was a word). At least it has the most Christmas markets per square mile of any city I’ve ever seen. Schonbrunn, the summer palace, also has a labyrinth – this one like the hedge maze from The Shining. Unfortunately, it’s closed during the winter.

Even for royalty, I think having two palaces about two kilometers apart is excessive. Evidently the Hapsburgs didn’t agree, though. Though Vienna being the seat of the Austro-Hungarian empire for so long does mean it has a lot of culture. Much like Salzburg, Mozart is everywhere. But there’s a bit more variety, such as Strauss, the Vienna Boys Choir, and the Schonbrunn Symphony.

Unfortunately, the trip as a whole had to be cut shorter than I would have liked. Seriously, it’s like professors are under the impression that I’m here for school or something. My next trip is going to be profoundly different from anything I’ve done so far, though, so brace yourselves for one hell of a post in a week and a half.

Czech Two More Countries off the List

If my terrible mystery illness (which has been rechristened “Hasselhoff’s Revenge” due to it following a trip to Germany) had struck slightly later and forced me to sit out this trip instead, I could have used the even more hilarious title “Cancelled Czech.” As it stands, though, I’m glad I didn’t have to cancel.

I’ll start by saying that the day I arrived in Krakow I went to Auschwitz-Bierkenau. I’m not going to write about that here – it was far too intense and personal, not to mention the fact that I don’t like topics about which I can’t make sarcastic wisecracks. But if you haven’t read Elie Wiesel’s Night, do it. Even if you have read it, read it again. I know I’m going to.

That leaves one more day in Krakow. I had kind of forgotten that temperatures don’t necessarily have to rise above freezing, even in the sun in the middle of the afternoon. But I suppose that adds to the charm (or at least the experience) of visiting Eastern Europe. Another part of the experience is that Slavic languages all sound Russian and that means the people – I don’t care what they’re saying – always sound angry. Consequently, I spent a lot more time on high alert than usual.

The first stop was Wawel castle (another tangent about language: I wonder if “Wawel” is where Sacha Baron Cohen gets that catchphrase for Borat. Polish uses both “dziekuje” and “jak sie masz,” so I was constantly tempted to quote hilarious Borat lines, though I found the strength to resist). In addition to being enormous and largely undisturbed, it houses Wawel Cathedral, where Pope John Paul II served as archbishop. Of course, his name wasn’t John Paul at the time.

One more tangent and then I’ll shut up. The Popes went from John to John Paul… I think Benedict should have gone with John Paul George and whoever follows him could have been Pope John Paul George Ringo. Sorry, I’m tired.

Just north of the castle is Stare Miasto, the old town. St. Mary’s Church has the largest Gothic altarpiece in the world. I really like Gothic art and architecture, though I think it’s funny that a style based on light is now used to describe people who wear black and, judging by complexion, never go out in the light.

The wall surrounding Stare Miasto is still well-defined. So if you look at a map of Krakow, you’ll see there really aren’t many connections between the city center and the outlying areas. That isolation is pretty nice, though, since it keeps out a lot of the cars and guves it all a very well-perserved feel.

For the ultimate in well-preserved medieval cities, though, go to Prague. Oh, man, I love this place. Though I have to say: after visiting, I’m not sure why Family Guy picked on it with their “it was like Prague sans the whimsy” joke. Well… aside from Franz Kafka, of course. But that was just one really dismal guy with family issues.

I’ll tell you what I liked about Prague. First, they have topography. Living in Copenhagen and having traveled to a lot of very flat places recently, that counts for a lot. Second, I’m obsessed with castles and Prague’s is one of the biggest in the world, not to mention that it has been the seat of government for over 1000 years. Third takes a bit more explaining. A lot of European cities have beautiful or iconic buildings, but the problem is that 1) they are few and far between, and 2) the rest of the city seems to consist of non-descript four-story buildings. So when you look at the city as a whole, you see just a big sea of rooftops with a tower here or there. But, too often, the whole is less than the parts (just like an NBA all-star team). Not so with Prague. They may not have an Eiffel Tower or a Coliseum, but have so many impressive buildings and they’re so close together that when you climb one of the aforementioned hills and look back at the city, you find yourself thinking “oh, that’s quite nice.” Now that I’ve written that last part, I realize it would have been a perfect title for a post if only I were going to visit Nice.

I need to add an addendum to my travel advice from a few weeks ago. If a city has more than one train station, make sure you verify from which one your train departs. I only got to the correct station on time because of a very helpful taxi driver who understood the urgency and thus drove wherever the car would fit, including into oncoming traffic and, once, on the Metro rails. The universe loves irony, however, so, after I boarded with seconds to spare, the train lurched forward two feet, then had to wait for forty minutes due to, according to the conductor, “technician difficulties.”

How Soon Can You Have Your Bags Packed for Milan?

I have good news. First, I’m putting up a new post, so that crappy one I wrote about Berlin (you don’t have to be nice, I know it sucked) is no longer at the top. In my defense, I had the flu and wasn’t in a cheery mood when I wrote it. Second, if Milan is an indicator of what upcoming fashion is going to be, then people from the West Coast are total trendsetters. For the first time since leaving the US, I saw crowds of people – Italian people – wearing running shoes. And the mannequins in shop windows were wearing Lee jeans. All this time I thought I dressed like this because I’m cheap and the clothes are comfortable, but it turns out I was just way ahead of the style curve.

To the casual observer, it may seem I have a bit of a footwear fetish, since I’ve mentioned shoes multiple times. I just want to clarify: ask any experienced traveler and they’ll tell you that looking at people’s shoes is the fastest way to tell where they’re from. So that’s why I notice what people put on their feet.

My plan wasn’t originally to go to Milan this weekend. I had plane tickets and everything and was all set to fly to Marrakesh. Unfortunately, the aforementioned flu struck with a fury and I couldn’t make it further than down the hall, so another continent was out of the question. Since I got sick, it spread to six of the nine other people on my floor and two people on another floor and has become known as “Joel Seaton’s Revenge,” though I continue to blame the Germans. I came down with it the day after I got back from Berlin, so, as Michael Scott would say, the timing was nothing short of predominant. As soon as I was more or less better, though, I looked up places I could go for a weekend and found Milan. About 48 hour elapsed between when I decided to go there and when I arrived. I think that’s a new personal record for spontaneous travel.

Admittedly, I’m always pretty close to having an 80’s song stuck in my head, but in Milan I kept singing Devo’s “Beautiful World” to myself. “Beautiful people everywhere/The way they show they care/Makes me want to say/It’s a beautiful world/For you/It’s a wonderful time to be here/It’s nice to be alive/Wonderful people everywhere/The way they comb their hair/Makes me want to say/It’s a wonderful place.” I got in at about 8 in the morning, which, apparently, is much earlier than Italians get up. There are certain things you just have to do in Italy, so I started the day with a cappuccino. In Italy, they’ve combined the coffee shop and the pub, so the espresso machines are located right next to the taps. If Starbucks ever needs to expand its global domination even further, I think that’s the move they should make. And they should serve the beer in the same paper cups so you could sneak them out on the street.

The center of Milan is The Duomo, the third-largest church in the world. This is one of those occasions where words fail me, so all I can do is direct you to my photos. I managed to take a good number before security grabbed me and said I wasn’t allowed to use my tripod. A dumb rule, if you ask me, but Italy is where Fascism was invented, after all.

Milan is also home to da Vinci’s The Last Supper, the one where Jesus obviously said, “everyone who wants to be in the picture, get on this side of the table.” Unfortunately, there’s a two-week waiting list to see it. Two freaking weeks. I blame Dan Brown. Seriously, the book wasn’t even that good.

Fortunately, there’s another museum – the Pinacoteca Ambrosiana – which isn’t nearly as crowded and has a bunch of famous pieces, like Madonna of the Canopy, Basket of Fruit, School of Athens, and da Vinci’s Portrait of a Musician. Next time you see a print of Titian’s Adoration of the Magi, look at the bottom of the painting, slightly left of center. What the hell is that?

As mentioned in my last post I felt the need to buy some article of clothing in Milan so that, if anyone ever compliments me on it, I can say “oh, I got it in Milan” while I stare off over the person’s right shoulder in a disinterested manner. My book recommended a place called Il Salvagente, sort of a Sample Sale (for those of you from Gig Harbor) of Milanese fashion. I suppose the discounts were good, but when a jacket is marked down from 1100 Euros to 400 Euros, it’s really just varying degrees of “Jesus, you have got to be kidding me. No way. No… effin’… way.” Instead, I found a street market and bought some shirts there. Hey, they’re from Italy and that’s all I needed.

Ich Bin Ein Donut

If you don’t get the joke in the title, just trust me when I say it’s funny. Hopefully it will help when I explain that my most recent trip was to Berlin.

First off, I feel a bit lost in my travels now. The night train which I loved so dearly has stopped running from Copenhagen for the year. Apparently that’s just a summer thing. Now, I’m stuck taking the train during the day like a sucker.

Berlin was my first experience seeing Germans eat something besides bratwurst, so it was nice to have my horizons broadened a bit. I got in at 4 (which, sadly, meant I was quickly running out of daylight) and found my dorm. I didn’t realize until I checked in that the “dorm” bed I had booked wasn’t in a typical 6- or 8-person room. No, this was a military-style 45-person dorm room. It probably would have sucked if there were more than five of us staying there. As it stood, though, we all had tons of space. Hooray for traveling in the off-season.

I used what little daylight remained (and then some) to walk around and explore the part of the city near the hostel. Luckily, that’s the historic part. More than anything, it gave me a bit of perspective so I could plan the most for the next two days. What a novel concept: planning my time in a city I’m visiting. Perhaps I’ll try this in the future, as well.

I woke up early the next day to go to the Reichstag. I mentioned my democracy nerddom a few weeks ago and, to someone like me, the Reichstag is particularly interesting. For one thing, Hitler burned it down and blamed the Jews, then used the state of emergency to seize control. Second, it’s right on the old Berlin Wall. Third, there’s a glass dome on top that, being one of the highest things in the city, has some beautiful views. That last thing has nothing to do with history, but it’s still pretty cool. The book said to arrive early to avoid long lines. This is somewhat true. There are lots of people, but saying Germans are capable of forming a line is giving them a bit too much credit. I guess after so many years of totalitarian rule, they don’t want to do anything in an orderly manner. I can’t say I totally blame them, but I still don’t like people pushing in front of me.

From there, I continued on what is, no doubt, the most ambitious one-day walking tour I have ever done. In addition to Brandenberger Tor, Checkpoint Charlie, Bebelplatz, and Berliner Dom, I happened across an outdoor Holocaust memorial – a large, sunken area with big stone pillars, so once you start walking through, you can’t really see where you are or easily find the way out. Remember the Seinfeld where Jerry and his girlfriend get caught making out in the theater during Schindler’s List? Well, I startled a couple who had obviously been inspired by that episode.

The tallest building in Berlin is Fernsehturm, a TV tower built to show off the East’s technological superiority. The irony, of course, is that they hired a bunch of Swedes to build it. The Swedes, of course, are smart and clever enough to not waste this opportunity. See how the reflection of the sun sort of forms a cross? That was engineered as a 368-meter-tall “fuck you” to the anti-religious East German government. If a subtle, shiny cross is what passes as humor in countries with government-sponsored religion, I think we all see the desperate need to keep the two separate.

My second day in Berlin was, actually, the anniversary of the wall being torn down. There’s still a 1.3 kilometer stretch of it standing (I know, this is the second time I’ve measured something in metric. I don’t feel like doing the conversion) which serves as an open-air art museum. The government first commissioned artists to paint it in 1990, then again in 2000. Graffiti covers a lot of it now, so I’m hoping they plan to repaint it again. If you’re wondering who would stupid and arrogant enough to graffiti over the art on what remains of the Berlin Wall, it’s people like these two jackasses:


Unfortunately, this is about the time a rainstorm rolled in, seriously hampering my sightseeing ability. It takes a lot to force me to go looking for shelter, but I hurried to my next stop. Unfortunately, a bombed-out church doesn’t provide a lot of shelter. The rest of my jaunt was a bit damp and chilly. I guess one benefit to short daylight hours is that an afternoon rainstorm doesn’t cut that much time off your available sightseeing.

Following a relaxing morning stroll along the river (relaxing except for my giant, heavy backpack), I was on the train back to Copenhagen. My next trip will be to Milan and I’ve decided to buy an article of clothing so I can say, “oh, I got that in Milan.” Any suggestions on what to get would be highly appreciated.

Shining Nuggets of Wisdom

OK, I realize I promised in my first post that I would only use this forum to discuss my travels and I would shy away from megalomania in the form of detailing the minutiae of my day-to-day life. I haven’t traveled in the past week and a half, but I also haven’t written anything here and I’m starting to get the shakes. So I’m just going to write some travel advice accompanied by mostly unrelated photos. If you feel like reading, I’m flattered. If not, then I hope you can be patient until I travel again (Berlin next week, so I’ll be back to my traditional nation-mocking soon).

While I’m on the subject of my first post, does anyone remember my rant about how I hate the word blog? I believe my exact words were: “It sounds like something that someone who’s been smoking a pack a day for thirty years might hork out of their lungs.” Well, I have been validated. Jerry Seinfeld was on The Daily Show on November 1 (yes, I watch it from here) and, toward the end of the interview, said, “Is that worst new word of the culture? ‘Blog.’ It’s so unattractive. It’s like something that you spit up and it congeals and you kick dirt on it.” Now, if someone would be so kind as to give me my own TV show…

First, I’ll tackle how to pack your bags. People try to steal from you. Especially Italians. Every last one of them. Everyone knows how to avoid pickpockets (keep your wallet in your front pocket and put a mousetrap in your back pocket where your wallet should be. Take that, Luigi!). But, if you aren’t careful, someone might slash your bags and steal things, too. I know they make slash-proof bags. If you’re like me and don’t have a slash-proof bag, I recommend lining your bags with whatever slash-proof items you have with you. Shower shoes, books, et cetera. If you happen to be carrying any cast-iron cookware with you, that’d be ideal. At the very least, you’ll ensure that if your bags are slashed, they get the crappiest things you’re carrying. I don’t want to read Emotions, Advertising, and Consumer Choice and I’m in the class. Imagine how disappointed the guy who steals it will be.

Next, how to travel. Planes are overrated. Seriously, they suck. Yeah, I realize they’re necessary at times (such as getting from Seattle to Copenhagen), but if you’re just traveling around Europe, take the train. First, Airports are always out in the middle of nowhere and it takes a while to get from the airport to the city. Second, you have to go through security and the hassle of checking your bags and all that. Third, planes are just too fast sometimes. No matter where you fly within Europe, you aren’t going to be on that plane long enough to get a good night’s sleep. But on a night train (yes, I’m going to talk about these again) you can get a bed. And, also unlike a plane, you can get up and walk around. And I have yet to see a plane with a café onboard. Sure, you have to share a room with total strangers, but in my experience there’s only about an eighty percent chance you’ll be stuck with a snorer.

While I’m on the subject of night trains, though, make sure you have a reservation before you get on the train. If you don’t there’s a chance the train will be full and it doesn’t get much worse than trying to sleep on the floor of the bike room, using your bag as a pillow. Especially if you have that cast-iron cookware as the outer layer.

As for safety… well, if you’re used to America, you can always reassure yourself with the knowledge that the gun-related death rate is five to six times higher in America than in Europe. So just do what you normally do and you’re even safer than at home.

As for your manner of dress, there are a couple directions you can go. Most Europeans aren’t too hostile toward Americans (now that George Bush is as unpopular in the US as he is in Europe), but it’s still a good idea to not broadcast Americanness . First, you can try to blend in as a European, as demonstrated below:


1. The sweater should be tied around your neck. It’s just preposterous to put your arms in the sleeves.
2. The cell phone (“mobile”) should be used to send texts. Yes, it enables speaking in a conversational manner, but it shouldn’t be used to do so. Only send texts.
3. Solid-color leather shoes. The pointier the better.

Another option would be to disguise yourself as a Canadian. Nobody hates them, after all. Most of the time, when you claim to be Canadian, nobody believes you. But you can improve your odds of slipping by undetected by dressing like a Canadian, demonstrated here:


1. First, obviously, is the pairing of socks and sandals.
2. Long-sleeves, preferable flannel, should be retained even when the weather is warm enough to permit shorts.
3. Your facial expression should convey either good-natured friendliness or backwoods, cabin fever craziness.

There are a few subtle things which Americans fall prey to. There are three things wrong with the outfit pictured below. See if you can find them:


1. Nobody besides Americans wears digital watches. Either wear an analog watch or use your cell phone.
2. Running shoes are only worn while running. Remember the pointy leathers shoes I mentioned earlier.
3. My teeth are far too clean by European standards. I recommend smearing them with butter or a mixture of mayonnaise and Dijon mustard before venturing out into public.

I hope you’ve found this helpful and informative. Happy travels.