Ed. Note: This is not my title. I do not have the imagination to come up with such a brilliant title, and I'm pretty imaginative. Tip o' the cap to Spandex.
I spoke today to a very old and very dear friend from The Old City. He's not an adventuresome guy. The Old City is lovely and stable and friendly and easy but it isn't on the cutting edge of very many things, so when I mention that I'm going to go to India and Nepal I can hear eyeballs rolling up in heads from 2500 miles away. I tense up, ready for the rhetorical punch in the stomach. I get ready to play defense.
I get it, really. This kind of trip isn't for everybody. My buddy's family has a cabin in the woods and he has gone there for a couple of weeks every year for the last 50 years. If I had to choose between that and having knitting needles inserted into both of my eyeballs, with a quick, violent, jabbing motion, I'd have to take a few days to ponder my response. I don't share this disturbing imagery unbidden with people who are about to go on vacation. I wouldn't even share it if I was bidden. It just seems unnecessary to say: "Hey, that sounds really boring."
I'm excited about my trip but I'm also getting nervous. Trepidation is a word that comes to mind. I'm prone to anxiety over the smallest things and this is not a small thing. So I don't need people telling me horror stories about the places I'm going to visit. I know there's going to be some poverty and I know it can be crowded and I know there are monkeys in India. I don't need anyone telling me that I might get sick - I'm taking typhoid and malaria medication, for chrissake. I'm not going to be eating food prepared by gravediggers and I'm not going to be bathing in public toilets. I know that the hygiene isn't going to be up to the standards of Vacation City. I'm not going to inspect the hygiene. This is an adventure, not a walk around the neighborhood.
If my buddy tells me the story of his stepdaughter's friend's cousin's uncle's terrible monkey experience one more time I'm going to scream.
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