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Tourist Suckage

Cheesy dummies that were supposed to replicate how a kitchen looked in the 16th century. Why do they think that tourists want to see dummies? I freaking hate that, plus they scare the bejeebus out of me

Being a tourist can totally suck ass. Our last two days in Scotland, based in Glasgow, are an example of how.

The hotel was overpriced, overheated and the bed was so soft I had to cling to the edge not to roll over onto Rich's side. It was decorated in a "Scandinavian minimalist chic" style that ended up being totally impractical and not very comfortable. It was cold and rainy the whole time we were in Glasgow. It is possible for it to rain up and sideways. Believe me.

On Sunday we took a bus tour, this time to Stirling Castle and Loch Lomond. I knew things were not going to be good when I got up that morning after a bad night's sleep with an upset stomach. (Oh and PMS? Yeah, oh happy happy joy joy. Tolerance levels were at zero.) After a cold and wet early morning trot across Glasgow, we found our tour bus. We got onto the bus to discover…no tour guide. Apparently this EIGHT HOUR TOUR OF SCOTLAND was going to be completely automated, with a recorded voice telling us what to look for. It was guided by GPS, but frequently was ahead of or behind the location it talked about, and sometimes the CD skipped. I was vastly annoyed by this, as the brochure specifically said that it was a guided tour. Who would we ask questions of? But no, this completely full bus was guided by a phantom voice and one harassed bus driver. Let's call this example one in "tourist suckage".

So, as I said, the bus was completely packed. Now, excuse me for the stereotypes that I am about to perpetuate, but as a tourist, you realize that stereotypes exist for a reason. They are, in many cases, true. So on our bus, we had the following stereotypes:

Seated directly in front of us, the Eastern Europeans with the Stinky Assed Food. They brought bags of food with them to eat on the bus, this couple, and everything they opened smelled to high heaven. Stinky sausage, stinky cheese, stinky bread (!!), stinky something else vegetable-y that I could not identify, and something herbal that smelled so bad I had to cover my nose. Yet another level in tourist suckage.

Behind us was the Asian Technology Obsessed Couple. Everything they had beeped, clacked, clicked or whirred. They were so freaking noisy I could have killed them.

In front and to the right, the Other Asian Technology Obsessed Couple. This time the guy used his video camera the whole time, which was not really annoying so much as funny. I mean, how many videos out of a wet bus window can you possibly do? "Oh, here's the one where it was raining in Scotland." "And here's the one where it was raining out the bus window in Scotland. I think there is a castle out there, but it's raining. And there's fog too!" "Oh, and here's one, out the bus window, in Scotland. See how it's raining? And foggy? That time I got the curtains, too, see?"

Next to us, were the People Who Ate a lot Of Curry and Did Not Bathe. Argh. My particular favorites. They always sit next to me on any flight or bus ride I take, so I should not be offended that they followed me yet again. They're practically my best friends.

Subgroups on the tour later were identified as: The Loud Americans, The Couple Who Were Always Ten Minutes Late and Held the Tour Up, The Guy Who Smacked His Food and Popped His Gum (he must die), The Phone Guy, and the Couple Who Let Their Child Run Amok.

Sometimes I really hate being a tourist. Me? I was The One With The Scowl On Her Face. Next to me sat Resigned Husband.

Anyhow, the tour got started. The computerized yet pleasant voice did its best to entertain. The smelly curry guy snored through the comments. Techno Asians beeped and clicked.

First stop, Linlithgow Palace. This place has a torrid, fascinating and varied history. Mary Queen of Scots was born there. It was recreated in the 16th century to remind Mary of Guise of the French Rennaissance Chateaux she grew up with. The place is multi-roomed and many storied. We had 13 minutes to see it. 13 fucking minutes.

Problem: I had to pee. Bad. The bathrooms were a block and a half away. The toilets on the bus were broken. It was a choice between: see Linlithgow, a place I had always wanted to visit, or pee. I could not do both. (Well, theoretically I could, but I would either have to change pants or get arrested.) First, I burst into tears when I realized the choice I had to make. The bus driver must have thought I was insane. (See reference to PMS above?) Then, I went to pee. So, I totally missed Linlithgow, and had a damned hissy fit in the parking lot on top of it.

But at least I got to pee, though it did cost me 20 pence and the turnstile thingy at the bathroom entry whacked me in the ass as I went through it. I peed a lot though, and flushed twice, so I like to think I got my damned money's worth.

After the Linlithgow Fiasco, as I will now call it, we got back on the bus and headed off down the road. The stale air was rife with smelly food, unwashed bodies and beeping electronics.

Then I noticed something was amiss with me. Oh no. Crapping crappy crapness. Hellfire and damnation. In addition to my pms and dodgy stomach, (with no toilet to repair to in case of emergency) I was getting the distinctive and unmistakeable signs of a migraine coming on. Blurred vision, lights and wiggles. This. Was. Not. Good.

My migraines are usually visual, and this one was no exception, though I was surprised how fast it started. Boom, there they were, the blinkies. Looking at stuff just hurt, the light and the motion, it all hurt. Rich told me to look out the window at a castle or something, and I just told him that I could not see anything right now, take a picture, and I'd get to it later.

That's when Eastern European Stinky Food Couple opened the Herbs From Hell. I still don't know what it was, was it food? Cologne? some sort of hand lotion? What? But if you took all the strongest smelling herbs you can think of, lavender, eucalyptus, smelling salts, Vicks Vapo-Rub, and something kind of pork smelling, and rolled that all up, you might have an idea of what rammed its way into my olfactory senses and would not budge. I thought I would die. Now I could not see due to the headache, or smell. Great.

I closed my eyes, wrapped my scarf around my head, and prayed the bus would crash.

It didn't. It stopped at Stirling Castle instead. That did not suck as much as I was expecting it to. Stirling is a nice castle, it really is. Lovely views, nicely placed, lovely town running along the hill the leads to it. Very nice indeed. Parts of it were closed (the parts I wanted to see of course) and others were being reconstructed, but whatever, at least I was off the bus and away from the smell. Even my headache lightened up some, escaping that bad air.

Knight on his way home from work. Ok, this is actually at Edinburgh Castle but you get the idea.

Stirling Castle was having a big Easter Kiddie Day. The place was swarmed with chilluns. They were everywhere. All screaming. Good for the old noggin. There was this grown up guy dressed in 17th century costume, all in green, even his tights, running around the castle hollering and being chased by hordes of excited little boys. He'd dash into an alley or an alcove, lose the boys, then run madly back through the arches and the courtyards, as the boys discovered he'd lost them and change tack to get him again. I later found a sign saying something along the lines of "Mac Mackenzie, the Notorious Criminal, is on the loose. Reward for his capture. Beware; he is fleet of foot and sly of wit. If you spy him, please report immediately to the Captain of the Castle". Of course there was a portly guy strolling around in a redcoat uniform, big black cape and tricorn hat, with a big Captain badge on him, being accosted by little boys hopping up and down, screaming and pointing at the green man whizzing around the castle trailing more little boys. (It was pretty cute to see, actually. The boys were having so much fun, I am sure their parents were glad the little buggers were getting worn out for the trip home.) There were also wizards and minstrels and magicians and owl exhibitions, and more captains and I think a few wenches as well. The kids were losing their minds. But it did not make for good historical contemplation, or give much rom to move. Plus, it rained. We had an hour and a half at Stirling, which gave us enough time to see the castle (what we could see of it as a lot of it was closed for renovations) and have a hugely overpriced but satisfying lunch.

After our hour and a half was up, we headed (me, reluctantly of course) back to the bus. The Late Couple was late, again. The Child Who Would Run Amok was running, you guessed it, amok. The newly annoying Group Of Three Single Guys from the Middle East were back on the bus, but they smelled so strongly of cigarette smoke I wondered if they somehow bathed in it. One of those guys chewed gum the entire trip, and not quietly either. I think he was a special demon sent to torture me. They spent their time at the castle kicking around a soccer ball they found and ogling the women.

After Stirling we went to a pretty town whose name I can't recall. We had 20 minutes there. Rich and I headed straight to the nearest pub and had a pint. Only enough time for one pint of course. Got back on the bus. The damn Late Couple was 10 minutes late again. Seriously, who do they think they are? Are we on this earth to suit their time table? I think not. I really, really, am bothered by people who are always late. Personally, I think it is just rude and kind of passive aggressive, like a power play, whereby you being late gives you power over others. If I were the bus driver I would have left them.

Urquart and Loch Ness

After the pretty town, we drove through the Trossachs, which were gorgeous, and then caught a boat ride on Loch Lomond. By now my migraine no longer had the visual symptoms, just the vice like grip on my skull and the associated tiredness. The boat ride was nice and mellow, it was too foggy and cold and rainy to see anything (of course) though we did very much enjoy the new stereotype that has been making its way about Europe more and more. They are the Loud Pushy Badly Dressed Yet Arrogant Russians. Have you come across them yet? They apparently have enough money to get out of their country and sight-see, but not enough money to get out of the acid washed jeans, painted t shirts, mullets, and Michael Jackson leather jackets from 20 years ago. They push everyone around them, chatter and argue amongst themselves. Watching them take pictures of each other was priceless. We tried to get pictures of it, but failed. One kid, he was about 17, in a big oversized black leather jacket, tight acid washed jeans and vinyl dress shoes, posed like Tom Jones for every picture. Head cocked to one side, mouth pouting, legs splayed, hand just to left of crotch. ("Hey, lookee what I got here for you, you lucky babooshka!") The same for every picture. What was he, a rock star in training? His compatriot, she was about 25, had a unibrow that woulda made Frida Kahlo jealous. She wore a beret, and some sort of paramilitary Santa Fe look, with an Indian blanket as a skirt and combat boots. She posed for her pictures by standing bold upright, frowning and directing a piercing gaze from under her beetling brows and hat. She was scary, and needed to shave her upper lip.

The boat ride was about an hour, we saw nothing, really, as the fog was too thick.

Finally, the day was over and we could make our way back to Glasgow. I was never so glad to get back to a place in my life. Even Rich, whom I called Pollyanna all day, was glad to be back.

After another bad night's sleep and a 6am wake up call, Monday was our day to be mistreated by RyanAir for our flight back to Norway. (Note to RyanAir employees: Would it kill you to say "hello" before you screwed us? Can you pretend it's foreplay or something? Just jumping right into the rudeness, it somehow doesn't work for me, you know? If you really wanna screw me, at least look me in the eye, ok?) Glasgow Preswick Airport sucks ass. We waited in line for almost an hour to get mistreated by those assholes. I won't mention how the trains were under engineering work and so it took us an hour and a half to get to that crappy place, when it should have taken half an hour. Or the bus driver we ended up with who, we think, got us lost on the way to the airport? No I won't mention that. I think you get the point.

As Dave Barry says: "We travel because, no matter how comfortable we are at home, there's a part of us that wants-that needs- to see new vistas, take new tours, obtain new traveler's checks, buy new souvenirs, learn new words for "transfusion", and have all the other travel adventures that make us want to French-kiss our doormats when we finally get home".

March 29, 2005

Subscribe to TravelBlogsPosted by Karla Keeton-Page on March 25th, 2005 in Articles.