Traveling With the Naïve by Charley Pearson
Charley Pearson, author of the upcoming medical thriller SCOURGE, talks about his travelling experiences.
Traveling With the Naïve
Well, folks, vacation season is coming, so it’s time for some unsolicited advice if you’re a novice at the overseas thing. Been a while since my first trip to Europe. It was a graduation present after college, and little did I understand the world outside middle America. That trip remains memorable for many reasons, but one in particular may interest you. Or not. Not even remotely. But tough. It may be the most important travel-related issue for first-timers.
Yes, we’re talking about restrooms. Or the things we call restrooms in the U.S. Using that term, you may not have much luck finding what you need elsewhere. They might show you a lounge, or a park, or point to the local sanitarium. (Okay, I made that up.) And don’t mention bathroom unless you’re serious about the water.
So yes, learn the relevant terms fast, because you never know how urgent it may be. You may not even recognize the local signs.
On the streets of downtown Paris, for example, my friend and I ran across tall black iron things that looked like heavy-duty, old-fashioned phone booths. I went in one to find out what’s what, and came out right away. It was a public urinal for men, right out there in the open. Then again, this was 1972, so I’d not venture to guess if they’re still in use. But to prudish, puritanically-raised, and often laughed-at (by Europeans) Americans (we do deserve it), this was quite unexpected. Not sure why; when you gotta go, it’s nice to have something handy. But I couldn’t help wondering what they did for women.
Oh, speaking of laughing at the U.S., some Swiss I ran into had a good European joke: “Did you hear about the opera? It was written by Germans, played for by French, sung by Italians, watched by British, and paid for by Americans.”
All right, back on topic. What if you can’t find one of those tall black things in Paris, or you’re in a restaurant, or museum? (Or you’re female.) Well, in France, look for the WC. I hear this stands for water closet, and such signs are also used in Britain. But even if you can’t speak another word of French, you’d better be able to pronounce the letters. Dubla-vay-say, or something vaguely resembling that, should do the trick, especially if you follow it up with a s’il vous plait.
Just don’t expect an American style commode. You may find one, or you may find a hole in the floor. In quite nice restaurants I found a ceramic floor plate around the hole, with foot-shaped risers for your feet as you squat. It works just fine. Don’t need a commode, really, unless you have a hard time getting back up again, so this could be difficult for older patrons.
In some of the more out of the way locations, however, like the 2500-year-old open-air market in Samarkand, Uzbekistan, there’s only wood to squat on, and no flushing, as water flows continuously down below, sort of like the Romans invented long ago. But don’t ask for a WC. Over there, it’s toilet, pronounced tu-ah-letta. Can’t tell you how many terms I tried before falling back to this obvious one, being worried it may sound crass. (Dang, I was young.)
I guess you could look up such things on the internet before you travel, nowadays, if you don’t think that’s cheating. (Nah, just show up completely ignorant. It’s more fun. Trust me.) (Hmm, when was the last time you trusted anyone who said “trust me”?)
As I said, this was all back in 1972, the height of detente with the Soviet Union, and everyone was quite friendly. In fact, to leave behind the most important stop(s) on our journey (see above regarding importance), there are, of course, many other interesting things everywhere you go.
Let’s take an example. In that ancient Samarkand marketplace, I found out that if you spend forty minutes arguing about the price of grapes, and whether or not they should throw in a melon for that much, none of the locals will believe you’re from the U.S. After all, Americans are rich, and just spend money, and would never bargain like that.
Hey, what do you know? We’re not the only ones in the world with odd perceptions.
Flying out of Samarkand, I sat next to a major in the Soviet air force. We got to talking, with his halting English and my much worse Russian, and he wondered where I was from. Well, the details of central Illinois would likely have been complicated to explain, so I picked the nearest city he may have heard of, and said Chicago. Wow, you wouldn’t believe how long it took to convince him we didn’t dash through the streets all day dodging bullets. In fact, I lived one semester right in town, commuting out for a student teaching gig, and everything was totally peaceful with the exception of one night when I left several cases of soda in the car (bought on sale), and they froze and exploded all over the back seat. Now that, people, is violence.
The major laughed, then said, “So, you speak English and Illinoian, then?” Whaaaat? Well, in the Soviet Union, people spoke Ukrainian and Russian, or Uzbekian and Russian, or Armenian and Russian . . . you get the picture. So naturally, it must be the same in my country. Right? Whoa, did I mention something about preconceptions? Or misconceptions? Or any other kind of conceptions we inflict on ourselves?
Anyway, what else should you be aware of before traveling for the first time? Well, the food will be different. If you order pepper steak in Stuttgart, and there’s no one else around, the staff may spice it up and stand around in the corner, laughing now and then, watching to see if you can handle it. Fortunately, you can also get a liter of great beer to wash it down, and pretend the steak is just the way you like it. (I declared myself the winner.) And back in Paris, if you order a sandwich with ham and cheese (one sandwich? ham and cheese?), the waiter may whisk away the linen napkins and fancy silverware and return with paper napkins. I didn’t say anything. I got what I wanted.
But whatever you do when traveling, be prepared to be amazed. The Glacier Express rail trip through Switzerland, the fjords of Norway, the canals of Amsterdam or Venice, the museums and fields and forests of every nation, are drop-dead gorgeous. And that’s just Europe; there’s a whole world of cool stuff out there. (I guess that’s rather literal, isn’t it?) And with rare exceptions, the people are delighted to help, especially if you make the tiniest of efforts to speak their language.
Like saying, “ooh ay dubla-vay-say?” Sorry, I’m off to look for one now.
SCOURGE
By Charley Pearson
Fiery Seas Publishing
August 14, 2018
Medical Thriller
Financially independent, biochemistry genius Stacy Romani grows up off the grid, while her Roma family takes advantage of her knowledge for their own gain.
Watching his family farm struggle, and traumatized by mass slaughter, Aatos Pires wants to heal animals but gets seduced by industry and goes to work for a big pharmaceutical company.
When Aatos’ co-worker Trinity creates a deadly doomsday virus, it puts the world population in jeopardy as it spreads exponentially. . . with no cure in sight.
Stacy and Aatos work alone to find a cure, as the CDC and FBI close in. Will they find a way to stop the plague or will it be the end of the world?
Charley Pearson started in chemistry and biology, then moved on to bioengineering, so the Navy threw in some extra training and made him a nuclear engineer. This actually made sense when his major task turned out to be overseeing chemical and radiological environmental remediation at Navy facilities after the end of the Cold War, releasing them for unrestricted future use. Now he writes fiction.
