The People You Meet While Traveling Are The Most Interesting You Will Find

THOUGHT ONE

In my perfect world, the women are not all blondes. I, surprisingly, do not have a six-pack, nor are my clothes made of Milk Chocolate Digestives (as practical, stylish, and tasty as they would be). My idea of Utopia still has poverty, war, and hatred, and nobody lives forever. Everything there is now would still be, except for one thing. Rolling backpacks.

Celebrating my 20th birthday two weeks ago, I couldn't help but be nostalgic. 20, after all, is some sort of accomplishment. Though I hardly remember it, computers took up entire tables, the Tea Party referred only to an event some 200 years prior, and paying rent was an act that was simply beyond comprehension. Elementary school meant carrying a small backpack filled with sharpened pencils, countless notebooks, rulers, protractors, safety scissors and numerous other things from the back-to-school list that the teacher had anyway. Middle school added a fancy calculator, notebooks with multiple subjects, and a daily planner, while high school meant the end of the backpack and the beginning of car keys, iced coffee and an IPod. Some high school kids, however, didn't abandon the backpack. Instead, they simply got lazier and decided to put it on wheels.

Some objects are called what they are for a reason. A hair dryer dries hair. A vacuum vacuums.  A phone charger charges a phone and steering wheel steers. A backpack is a pack that goes on the back. Add wheels, and it becomes luggage.


THOUGHT TWO

The people you meet while traveling are the most interesting you will find.

1. Walking through Vondelpark in Amsterdam, my friends and I got hungry. Spotting a vendor across the way, we hurried over. The cart was decorated in vivid colors and had American pop music blaring loudly. A red awning, displaying the contents of the cart, including PASTA BASTA, hung uncomfortably low. After purchasing "hot dogs" and greedily scarfing them down, the vendor, a portly man named Salvatore (or possibly Salvador) asked us where we were from. We responded America, and a smile spread across his face.

It's easy to imagine that the rest of the world really hates America, but the ones who have actually been there seem to love it.

"Yes!" Salvatore cried.
"Have you been there?" we asked.
"Oh yes, yes, yes. Lessa see..."

It is at this point that I should mention Salvatore is Italian. Very, stereotypically, Italian.

"Ifa bean to, uh, Boston, Newa York, Shkako, Los Vegos..." he explained.
"And where was your favorite?"
"Los Vegos."

Feeling comfortable enough, a friend inquired about the curious BASTA after the familiar PASTA on his awning.

"Oh, yes, I eggsplain."
"What does it mean?" my friend interjected.
Salvatore (or possibly Luigi) got very serious. "Un momento. Explique." We got very quiet, thought it was difficult to hide our laughter. "Pasta. Youa know pasta? Yes. Pasta.. basta! Basta iss, uh, banfagool! Fuck you! The Godfatha!"
"Oh!" we laughed, though I am pretty sure none of us got it.


2. After venturing to the Aran Islands off the coast of West Ireland, I took a coach back into Galway. As it was getting darker and I had spent the day biking, I decided to try and close my eyes. Every time I did, however, I kept seeing something flash to my left. I eventually realized a man was moving his hands, quite quickly. I also eventually realized that this man was crossing himself every time we passed a church.

This is Ireland. There are many churches.

The cynical side of me wanted him to miss one. I was rewarded when we passed a house on fire.