My girl and I travelled to the United Kingdom for a couple glorious autumn weeks. You won’t find much about the trip itself here or in a future book because we enjoyed nearly every single minute. In fact, we squeezed as much out of those two weeks as we possibly could.
However, this account deals with some of the people we encountered, both locals and non-locals. First, a tale of local characters. We first journeyed to Liverpool for a Beatles pilgrimage, a trip we can’t recommend enough. From Liverpool, we travelled by train to Edinburgh, Scotland. After changing trains in Preston, we were on our way, but at a stop in Lancaster, our car was invaded.
Three well-lubricated guys and two women of indeterminate age, maybe in their 30s, piled in, fresh from a football match and still very much in the spirit of things. One guy — wearing a tank top, tattoos, and metal chains over his remarkably dirty jean shorts — boarded ahead of the others. Our first impression was formed when he wet his fingers and pinched his exposed nipple, which he then rubbed up against the glass partition. His mates then fell onto the train behind him, laughing all the way. Drunk, yes, but it didn’t stop them from opening fresh cans of beer.
One “couple,” who seemed to be together, sat across from us and insisted on conversation. He leaned in, smiled broadly with rotting teeth, and said, “Don’t worry; we’re not going to hurt you.” After the initial shock, we found them quick to laugh when we could understand each other, due to the accents (ours and theirs). They were headed home to Blackpool, which is now on my list of places to visit. They were favorably impressed to be talking with Yanks, even though we weren’t football fans. Still, we found some common ground. It’s my philosophy that a quick smile opens doors. We made some new friends. They even helped with the luggage when we arrived at Edinburgh.
After a night in Edinburgh, we caught a van tour of the Scottish Highlands and the Isle of Skye. While the tour itself was remarkable both for the scenery and the guide/driver’s stories, the other tourists on the trip seemed to come directly from a stereotypical casting call. We had:
- The consummate hiker with an expensive camera
- The pair of nosy older British ladies who liked to dominate every conversation
- An Eastern (Persian or Indian) man who had to make a phone call every time we stopped
- A pair of Italian women: one who didn’t speak much English and the other who translated everything the driver said
- A young Asian woman who not only took photos on her phone every five minutes, regardless where we were, but also looked at every sight through her phone
Since my girlfriend is a consummate traveller and planner, we were usually early to every event, so bless her heart, we got the front seat for most of the trip, which saved us from the cacophony of Italian emanating from the back of the van. We could also be the first ones off the van at every stop. You can’t put a price tag on that.
Buy your ticket and take your chances. Every tour is different, and every van-full of people won’t always be that bad. My gilfriend and I developed a phrase whenever a conversation with strangers starts to veer into the awkward: “DMF.” In other words, “Don’t make friends.” It’s the type of advice that can save your sanity on a three-day van tour, an overnight train trip, or a long-haul plane ride. Another useful tidbit from the author of Don’t Even Go There.