When to Embrace Being a Tourist

Read this blog and more on my new travel blog: chipspassport.com

I remember my first time traveling abroad.

I landed in Munich and was absolutely captivated by the sights and smells and sounds that surrounded me. But, I had made a promise to myself before I left. I would not be that annoying American tourist who is heard from the back of the bus, that stops to take pictures, that gets in the way of pedestrians, and overall, I wouldn’t be someone who stands out.

I wanted to blend in as seamlessly as possible. Anyone who passed me on the street would see me walking with purpose and determination and come to the conclusion that I was a native German and, in some way, respect me more. They would acknowledge my disdain for other tourists and see me as one of them.

Theoretically, this works. In practice, I think it is actually a detriment; one that robbed me of crucial moments that actually serve to gradually assimilate a person into a new culture.

I landed in Munich and was driven down to Garmisch-Partenkirchen. That night, me and a few dorm mates flocked into the city to explore our new surroundings while we fought jet lag together. Power in numbers. While walking the Zugspitzstraße, the fading sunlight seemed to dance on the buildings, glittering and dusting the town in a warm haze that felt quite spellbinding. I marveled at the simple beauty of what I witnessed; the architecture was nothing fancy or baroque. Instead, it felt ancient and useful. We arrived in late summer and the flowers were in full bloom, trees were beginning to produce fruitful seeds and the grass itself felt healthy and vibrant.

Everywhere I looked, people walked. Or biked. But few drove. Then we arrived to Garmisch’s Marienplatz. Within the cobblestone square, cars were forbidden. Everyone walked happily, window shopping and strolling. Conversation rang out from the outdoor picnic tables sitting outside restaurant windows.

Yet, still I fought the urge to sit and take it all in. I tried to be as quiet as possible. I didn’t want to be seen or heard speaking English. Conditioned from a lifetime of hearing about tourism horror stories and reading about asshole Americans ruining things abroad, the last thing I was about to do was push that image any further. And so, while my friends enjoyed themselves, I withheld being present in favor of being what I thought was a good steward. I think I took only one picture of the entire night sadly. It remains only a faint memory these days.

On public transit for the first month, I refused to speak a single word. I learned to say “Einzelfahrt” and “Tageskarte” perfectly, practicing in the mirror obsessively for days until I was satisfied that I could convince a German bus driver I wanted either a one-way ticket or a day pass. I would sit quietly on the bus, acting like I didn’t know my English-speaking friends who sat right next to me.

In this way, I feel I robbed myself of those first experiences. While my friends were able to relax, take in the scenery and then live presently, I was in my head and wary of being loud. They adjusted much quicker to life abroad whereas my journey took much longer.

I was only fooling myself by being so withdrawn and reticent to speak. It was a silly venture to begin with as, if a German tried speaking to me, I would have to embarrassedly ask them if they spoke English. Maybe from afar I seemed a native, but once inspected, it became clear I was just another tourist.

Things changed when I first arrived in Italy.

Read this blog and more on my new travel blog: chipspassport.com