I really hope Italy wins tonight, but I don't think she will

Undoubtedly, there are many strange things in this world. Restaurants, for one, I think are pretty strange. You go in there with a whole bunch of strangers, order food, get the food, then sit in a large room filled with strangers and eat your food someone else cooked for you. Not that this will keep me from eating out, since I’m all for not doing dishes and suffering through eating food I made, but it’s still kind of strange if I think about it hard enough.

I also think John Locke on Lost is pretty strange, along with the popularity of celebrity gossip, people who don’t like chocolate, and people who think they look good in gaucho pants or bandana shirts.

Tourists are another phenomenon which continues to baffle me throughout the years.

**ATTENTION** By this I am not saying I am not a tourist. I know I am a tourist and I will always be a tourist.

What I think is strange about tourists is that it is so obvious when they are one, even if they don’t say anything. Through my travels, I find tourists, for the most part, fall into one of two categories.

1. Tourists who desperately try to not be tourists
2. Tourists who are tourists, and don’t do anything about it.

Category 1 tourists are the ones who buy an entirely new wardrobe when they enter a country. They all have same idea: if they shop at the same place “the natives” shop at, then they can fool anyone into thinking they’re actually “native.” So then one can see lots of people, mostly girls my age, who are dressed from head to toe in clothes from the country, and it’s still obvious they don’t belong. How can I tell? I have no clue. I mean, there are the dead-giveaway clues, such as when they forget they should go the whole nine yards and not wear Keds shoes with a bonafide Italian dress, or when the victim is of a different ethnicity, but in other cases, I really don’t know why it’s easy to pick them apart.

The Category 2 people are people who know they are tourists and let it get to their heads. When I was staying in the monastery/hotel at the beginning of my adventures, I went to breakfast one morning when an American family sat down to the table next to me. The dad was wearing a loud Hawaiian flower print t-shirt and whipped his map of Rome out with a flourish after yogurt.

“MMMMMMmmmmmmmm,” said he contentedly. “This is a GOOD breakfast. How do you say ‘My compliments to the chef’ in Italian?”

I had a beautifully strong urge to point out that in fact everything he was eating was store bought and busted out from either a jar or a bag, but I was curious to see how big of a jackass he’d make himself first.

His son, who probably had 2 years of Italian thrown at him in the hopes a week’s worth of material would stick to him, stuttered something about 12 times before he finally settled on a final answer.

“Chidosap fjispaoci iorcmsdak;c!” said Hawaiian shirt horror to the stony faced coffee lady who came around.

She stared at him, then wordlessly poured him a cup of coffee and walked away.

“All right. We’re going to see one of the Seven Wonders of the World today! Let’s finish breakfast!” exclaimed he.

These are also the people who try to soak in the “local flavor” until they’re marinated to the point their pores ooze Essence of Smelly Cheese and Olive Oil. If their guide book lists a certain restaurant as having “ambience” in some “cozy piazza” that only the “locals” know about, they’ll be the first people scrambling in line for dinner there. Also, they will take a picture of any equestrian statue they see, regardless of whether they know the person sitting on the horse or not. Mickey Mouse sculpted out of playdough with pieces of horse crap stuck on for eyeballs could be astride the horse, but they don't care, so long as he looks pretty magnificent.

Also, they always pose their kids to be framed by an arch when they take their pictures. I don't know why. The arch fails to hide the fact that the kids are dripping with sweat and don't care what country they're in.

But back to the first case, I really don’t know why tourists can’t fool others. I am, by anyone’s account, Hungarian. Yet way back in the day when I was in Germany for school, my Hungarian teacher was able to detect my sister’s Hungarianness and before I said anything, she said I had been “Americanized.” We grew up eating the same food and using the same toilet paper. This was even before Agi had released her famous hit single “I’m 100% Hungarian, Bitch,” but why could the teacher tell my sister was Hungarian and I was a weaker, watered down, “American” version?

Even in Hungary, if I dress in traditional Hungarian garb down to embroidered underwear, it’s pretty obvious I wasn’t born and bred on the fat of that land. It’s too late to fix the accent I know I have but can’t erase, but well, what’s the matter with my appearance?

So this is call for reform to tourists everywhere. Embrace your touristic tendencies! Visit those historic sites in your guidebook but at the same time draw a limit! Besides, when, if you’re ever a resident anywhere, would you be able to say:

“Why yes! I am a visitor here! You just caught me on my day off, though. Usually, I herd goats in the mountains and go digging for mushrooms just outside the city, but today I think I’m just going to stand in the middle of the street and what color motorino will run me over.”

It’s fun being a tourist in a cool country. It’s the difference between being an employee and a customer in an ice cream shop. The employee is probably sick to death of the flavors, but the customer isn’t yet. But customers, don’t binge on certain flavors.