Fral

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A lot of people seem to be very interested (or rather concerned) as to how John and I are getting along during our travels. I think there’s a bit of sadistic pleasure people are hoping to receive like the repressed enjoyment we feel watching a well dressed business man or woman get splashed by a cab passing through a rain puddle. In between the stories of amazing places and exotic lands you want to hear about our huge blow outs, the hurling of pint sized travel accessories across hostel bunks and threatening to lodge small writing utensils in the jugular of the other as they sleep.

Well I will tell you that after traveling with John for over two months now I have come to the conclusion that its a bit like traveling with a toddler. I certainly don’t mean to imply this on the basis of intelligence or aptitude, or any other condescending manor (if its possible to compare someone to a toddler without insulting them then it is here) But there are certain undeniable attributes that have brought this correlation to mind.

He gets cranky when things don’t go his way and is susceptible to outlandish temper tantrums. But since where going the same way it’s a problem I don’t really have to deal with. Because generally when things go wrong we’re in the same boat, I’m cranky too and were mutually pissed at the same other people. But without getting into details I will say lord have mercy on the poor travel agent who messes up John’s flight itinerary or the tuk-tuk driver whose a little to insistent that we use his tuk-tuk when all we want to do is get on the next train out of town. Actually stepping aside and witnessing these tantrums is often so humorous for me that I forget why I was pissed, besides John seems to expressing displeasure adequately for the both of us.

No matter how much sleep John was fortunate enough to get the night before you’re guaranteed that once he is in a moving vehicle he will instantly pass out for no less than 5 hours at a time. Car, plane, bus, boat, or rickshaw; he is out COLD. Actually its bordering narcolepsy. In the most uncomfortably of places John can catch a nap. Curled in balls on busses, under tables in airports, over luggage on a boat. People tend to take double looks when they see an arm listlessly hanging in the aisle like a polish sausage and a foot protruding from over the accompanying head rest. From the right (or wrong) angle it would look as if someone had haphazardly allowed a pile of cadaver parts to fall out of the overhead bin and into the seat below. And he is prone to waking up sunburnt, or soaked in water not realizing his shade had shifted or the tide had come up. Its really quite an impressive travel adaptation to witness and I’m considering expanding upon Pavlovian’s study and carrying a recording of a diesel engine with me to get John to pass out at my will.

Hostel owner: ‘I’m sorry the only room available only has just one bed’

John: Are you serious!

Royal: That’ll be fine sir we’ll take it. Just one second.

Bbrrrrvvvvvvrrrrruuuhhhhhmmmmmm…

John: (thud sound) ...zzzz…

Royal: Sir he’ll sleep on the lobby floor for a good 6 hours if undisturbed. Which way was that room…?


He’s made a few not exactly successful but valiant efforts at growing a beard. And in its newness seems to have a little trouble getting accustom to eating with it. So you have to help him get the food off his face after a meal (well at least point it out). I’m considering acquiring a sippy-cup.

He also seems to be more adversely effected by hangovers than any human being on this earth, which means that when he does wake up after a night of drinking at the crack of afternoon he has his own language that despite being based on the roots of the English vocabulary is like no other language known to man. And as with a mother and child his language is completely indecipherable to anyone who hasn’t grown accustom to it. I find myself translating from ‘John-speak’ to English to broken English quite often.


Mark Twain accurately surmised, “I have found out that there ain't no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them.” He also said “Good friends, good books and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.”

My only complaint thus far is I’m running low on books.

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