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We were excited to be in Manchester, England for the weekend. It was the boys’ winter break from school. We were all weary and could use some fresh air, a change of scenery.
Even though we had to wake up at 3 a.m. (after only two hours of sleep!), leave the house at 4 a.m., board the plane at 5:30 a.m., and take off at 6:10 a.m., we were happy and excited to be in Manchester.
Yes, we were sleep deprived, just like everyone else who had experienced a rough night of traveling and a long journey.
It was only 7:45 a.m. when we landed in England, with an hour time difference. Yet, we had already done a full day’s worth of activities.
We jumped on the bus to take us to the car rental agency. It was crowded, lots of people and lots of luggage.
It didn’t take me long to hear it, to recognize the language I loved, the one I had fallen in love with at the age of 9.
French.
“Oh, it’s good to hear that language,” I thought to myself. “How nice that these two French women are traveling together in England and exploring the world.”
My delight soon turned to disgust.
As I listened carefully, I heard complaint after complaint from one of the women.
“This driver is going to stop every 10 seconds.”
“Oh, we would stumble across the only person in the country who can’t walk,” she said, referring to an elderly couple who slowly treaded across the pedestrian crosswalk.
“Ugh! Is he ever going to close the door?”
“I’m glad he eventually asked who was going to terminal 2.”
It went on and on. I could feel my insides screaming.
“People like that should never travel,” I said to my husband in English. “Why bother?”
I quickly pulled out my phone and jotted down these words:
The Sad and Miserable Traveler
Why bother?
Why spend the money?
Why make the effort?
If you’re going to be miserable?
If all you will do is criticize?
If all you will do is judge?
If all you will do is compare?
If all you will do is complain?
Don’t bother!
Stay home!
We’ll all be better off!
I had to remind myself of this from time to time during our weekend in the U.K.
When I started to complain about the high cost of groceries (2 pounds for a bottle of still water!).
When I criticized some of the rude British people I crossed paths with . . . like the young guy who almost ran my son and me over on his bike and then cussed at me . . . “F—ing B—-!”
When I complained about not getting a glass of ice cubes to go along with my warm can of Coke at the Palestinian restaurant.
Yes, during those moments, I had to be honest with myself. Was I a good or bad traveler, or was I acting like that awful French woman in the airport bus?
Was I going to practice what I preach about cultural awareness and accepting cultural differences? Did I actually believe what I’ve always taught my four boys?
“It’s not better. It’s not worse. It’s not good. It’s not bad. It’s not right. It’s not wrong. It’s just DIFFERENT!”
Maybe I better remind myself what I believe and transform my thinking and behavior into that of a “Good Traveler.”
—The Cultural Story-Weaver
Let’s Weave Cultures!
What about you? Are you a good or a bad traveler?
We invite you to tell us your own cultural stories and global adventures . . . as you engage with the world, breaking down barriers, building bridges, and “weaving cultures!” Write about them in the comment box below.
Thank you! Excellent!!!!
Thank you, John, for your encouragement!