Englishmen 101

Things I have learned from dating Englishmen:

They take pride coming from the birthplace of the English language yet they can't speak it.  They mispronounce words and make a mockery of lisping.  They're too lazy to pronounce 'th' so they just settle for "t" ('He is tree years old').  They're the Ozzy Osbourne of mumbling and unintelligible speech.

They sweat. They sweat a lot.

Whenever you say eggplant they say aubergine. 

They drink like fish. When the rest of the world has fallen into a sweet slumber, crawling into bed with their loved ones, Englishmen are still going strong.  Where they stop and start gets blurred as nights collide into mornings and weekends merge into work days.

They don't pussyfoot anything. When they're mad at you, you know right away. They square their shoulders and try to head butt you.

Their hands are normally clutching pints of beer or leaning on a bar top for support.

They like to call their moms.

When they aren't drinking beer, they really do like to drink tea.

They shout a lot at football games.  Be it the World Cup, Sunday football league, or little kids playing in a park, the crazy lad with a beet red face screaming insanities at the side of the pitch is probably an Englishman.

If you mention Sunday roast, their eye gloss over and fill with nostalgic longing for things like Yorkshire pudding and mint sauce.

Oh yeah, and it's pronounced "York-shure" not "York-shire"

The part of leg hidden beneath shorts and unseen by sunlight is a blinding, sickening sight of pale coloured skin.

They love X-Factor.

For some reason you start calling your friends "mates" and your enemies "wankers" and "twats" over time.

They say things like "I need to blanch the tomatoes" and "Bebe, let's just go for a cheeky one" and "don't be a spot of bother."

Their English friends turn up in the morning, out of the blue, with a missing shoe and no pants and bruises all up their arm.  You ask them where they've been but they don't know. You find out from the barkeeper at the pub nearby how they were found passed out, spread eagle, on the middle of the street. And that was a Monday.

Oh, Englishmen.

"A Bali Ending", Indonesia Day 12

I was in Jakarta International Airport waiting nine hours before my flight to Manila when the words of a spunky vibrant young Dutchman took hold.
I met Kevin on my way to Bali. We were on the windy upper deck of a ferry pedalling its way across calm water to an island more famous than the country it is a part of.  A paradise escape known for its raging nightlife, sunburnt Australians, and lovesick honeymooners. Kevin, an experienced traveller with a world tour already under his belt decided he needed some more time touring Asia since he enjoyed his first encounter with this mystic land so much.

 

When the ferry docks in Bali it is still a good three more hours in a chartered bus before we reach Denpasar and about another twenty-five minute cab ride to the beach cove of Kuta. My travelling mate and I, along with our new friend, arrive in Kuta's bustling nightlife close to eleven.  We search hotel after hotel for vacant rooms at backpacker prices but although the narrow streets are lined with inns, we are unlucky in our pursuit.  With heavy bags strung to our backs, and a full day journey it took to get from Mount Bromo to Bali, we are exhausted and our energy and optimism is quickly fading.  Our first impression of this legendary retreat is not looking too favourable.
After at least ten failed attempts at hotel hunting, we take our famished and disappointed selves to a cheap Indonesian restaurant just about to close down. A refuelled threesome will make the search for accommodation more successful, we reckon.
So over curry rice with meat resembling in taste and texture either fish or chicken, Kevin decides that perhaps another year long travelling trip just isn't in the stars.  "I've decided I much prefer the western world," he laments.  This realization was from numerous things, not just the rotten hotel luck or the fact he was feeling weak after getting a nasty bug that affected his digestion, respiratory, and energy levels.  It includes but not limited to a disgust in the squatting design of eastern toilets, of cold showers with buckets and ladles, and bugs the size of fruit walking carefree in your bedbug ridden hotel room.

At the airport a week later, I pull out a last American twenty dollar bill I had stuck in between the pages of my passport to pay for the ridiculous airport tax in order to leave the country.  When the money changer refuses to take it, I take it to the bank teller who in turn refuses to take it as well.  "It's too old," he says.  I tell him it may look old and aged, but like people, it still functions and has use.  He shakes his head and I want to reach across the glass partition and punch him in the nose.  So I scan the terminal filled with people and search out the white folks.  Several are unable to help me out, but a cute French family stop to listen.  The two gorgeous teenage daughters are sweet and helpful but the mom, tired in her own mom way, shakes her head unwilling to even consider it.  In an exhausting last attempt, I try to explain again how I just want to trade a bill for a newer looking bill.  The dad, tired in his own dad way, opens up his wallet, fans through his bills, and extracts a mint crisp twenty.  We trade. I scan the bill like a greedy thief, thank him profusely, and head back to the bank.  At this point, the search for a clean twenty brought no emotions of desperation, embarrassment, or even fear as it would have two years ago. The only thing I felt was annoyance. Being able to buy things back home with cash I've accidentally washed in my jeans, dropped in the toilet, ripped up and taped back together, my reaction to this was simply "meh." And that's when I realized, as Kevin's words over a curry dinner flowed back in my mind, that I too, prefer the western world.  The comforts of the west have outweighed the mystique and charm of the east. At least for now.
Being able to travel through Asia has taught me a lot of things like simplicity, family, community, faith, and pristine sunshine. But it has also made me realize the things I miss about home like dreaming, thinking, freedom, and honesty.

So Indonesia, as my last Asian stop, has nicely summed up my two years in Asia.  Bittersweet as endings and new beginnings are, and although I've met a reason to keep me here, I am more than ready to take Keiko and go away again to new adventures in new places.