That's right, I'm the tourist!
When I went to Asia, it was quite clear that I was a tourist. After all, I was often the tallest – and blondest – woman in the room. This was to be expected and I was prepared for it – mostly. I knew ahead of time that there was no way I was going to “blend in” and I was able to embrace my outsider status. I could handle that. In Europe, however, I was expecting to be a little less conspicuous; unless I started talking and my clearly American accent got in the way, I figured I could go about my business and no one would be any wiser to my foreign roots. But it turns out that the tell-tale sign of a foreigner is a little different in Europe and can be summed up in two words: running shoes. Apparently, Americans are the only people on the planet who wear running shoes to do anything besides run. And the minute you show up to an international airport in them, you start getting “the look.” Honestly, I think you’re better off with a fanny pack than running shoes in some of these countries.
(And on a side note, if you are clearly a Scottish woman in a Scottish airport flying to another European city and wearing a cowboy hat, I’m going to give you “the look” right back. Because it’s clear you and your girlfriends never set foot in Texas or anywhere else with real cowboys. But I digress.)
In Scotland, I had no choice but to accept my tourist status and proudly embrace my bad footwear, as they were the old closed-toed shoes I had (hey, I’m in the south of Spain – not a place known for its cold rainy June weather). Since the alternative was to have freezing cold feet, I sucked it up and just tried not to be an annoying tourist. It probably helped that the language barrier was slight, so I could make up for my poor fashion sense by being polite and saying “please” and “thank you” a lot (see, your mother was right). It probably also helped that I wasn’t surrounded by a large group and a tour guide carrying a bright red umbrella, so the locals just considered me the lesser of two evils.
Things are a little different here in Spain though. I am happy to report that I packed appropriate footwear, as flip flops are ubiquitous to my little seaside town so no one notices mine. Even my wedge sandals appear to be of the current fashion, so I can wear them safely without “the look.” Plus, I did some very smart shopping before this trip and the staff at Kimberly’s Boutique (16th and Sansom in Philly – check it out if you haven’t) outfitted me in some fabulous vacation clothes. And still no fanny pack! So what’s the problem then? The problem is that my “hola” is too convincing.
That’s right, I say hi too well here in Spain. For reasons unknown to me, the minute it comes out of my mouth, the person with whom I’m speaking immediately thinks I have a WAY better grasp of spoken Spanish than I do, and launches into a long conversation. In Spanish. Really fast Spanish. Really really fast Spanish with a regional accent. And I go into shock. That’s right, complete and utter shock; I’m not even sure I could speak in English when this happens. So what do I so? I stammer like an idiot. It doesn’t matter that, with a moment’s reflection, I actually understand some (okay, half) of what was said to me. The damage has been done. And my tourist status is once again on prime display. I’m starting to think I should just wear the stupid sneakers.
(And on a side note, if you are clearly a Scottish woman in a Scottish airport flying to another European city and wearing a cowboy hat, I’m going to give you “the look” right back. Because it’s clear you and your girlfriends never set foot in Texas or anywhere else with real cowboys. But I digress.)
In Scotland, I had no choice but to accept my tourist status and proudly embrace my bad footwear, as they were the old closed-toed shoes I had (hey, I’m in the south of Spain – not a place known for its cold rainy June weather). Since the alternative was to have freezing cold feet, I sucked it up and just tried not to be an annoying tourist. It probably helped that the language barrier was slight, so I could make up for my poor fashion sense by being polite and saying “please” and “thank you” a lot (see, your mother was right). It probably also helped that I wasn’t surrounded by a large group and a tour guide carrying a bright red umbrella, so the locals just considered me the lesser of two evils.
Things are a little different here in Spain though. I am happy to report that I packed appropriate footwear, as flip flops are ubiquitous to my little seaside town so no one notices mine. Even my wedge sandals appear to be of the current fashion, so I can wear them safely without “the look.” Plus, I did some very smart shopping before this trip and the staff at Kimberly’s Boutique (16th and Sansom in Philly – check it out if you haven’t) outfitted me in some fabulous vacation clothes. And still no fanny pack! So what’s the problem then? The problem is that my “hola” is too convincing.
That’s right, I say hi too well here in Spain. For reasons unknown to me, the minute it comes out of my mouth, the person with whom I’m speaking immediately thinks I have a WAY better grasp of spoken Spanish than I do, and launches into a long conversation. In Spanish. Really fast Spanish. Really really fast Spanish with a regional accent. And I go into shock. That’s right, complete and utter shock; I’m not even sure I could speak in English when this happens. So what do I so? I stammer like an idiot. It doesn’t matter that, with a moment’s reflection, I actually understand some (okay, half) of what was said to me. The damage has been done. And my tourist status is once again on prime display. I’m starting to think I should just wear the stupid sneakers.
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