Our neighbors, Hans and Shelley, the ones we eat with twice a week, are toddling off to Europe next Spring, at the insistence of their thirty-something daughter. Said daughter is a stalwart and intrepid adventurer, who speaks fluent Spanish and has a facility for languages. Neither parent speaks any language other than English, other than a little Mission District Spanglish (Taco, burrito, salsa, caliente - that kind of verbiage).
They are looking to go to Paris, Rome and Siena. Perhaps they will take the train from Paris to Rome and detour to Florence, but that will take a day and a half bite out of their two week trip. Is time spent sitting on a train, peering through the dark for a glimpse of a feeble night light a waste or does the exoticness of sharing a railroad car with fellow travelers, their food and their reading matter make up for the time spent? This has become our hot topic of conversation at dinnertime: right up there with the Giants latest win or loss and local politics.
The Mate and I are worried about this traveling situation. Hans is the kind of dude who doesn't notice me on the sidewalk in front of my house unless I call his name insistently, several times. The inside of his well-groomed, attractive head is too busy for inconsequential observations. When he walks with Shelley, they walk quickly, engaged in conversation. Neither one of them suffers from hearing loss yet, so the fact that she is usually a step or two behind him doesn't interfere with their discussions. As they walk and talk, they are usually looking downwards, the better to minimize random input and stay on topic. Or so we suppose.
How will these well-established routines play in the capitals of Europe? Will they wind up eating pigs knuckles, thinking they have ordered pasta primavera? Will they be able to find the Trevi Fountain or the Spanish steps? Will the cab driver deliver them to the train station instead of the airport? Will their fellow train travelers assume them to be Germans?
We have mentioned tour groups to them. It would set our ever-active imaginations to rest if they would simply sign on with a tour and get hauled around en masse from tourist attraction to tourist accommodation, with no opportunities to get lost or otherwise embarrassed.
They probably felt the same way about us when we traipsed off to France a couple years ago. We survived. I reckon they will, too.
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