(Originally published in Nazar on July 5th, 2009)
Europe is an adult’s gingerbread house. It is made of gelato dreams and beer fantasies, made better (or worse, depending on your perspective) by movies such as A Roman Holiday and Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge.
Which does not mean that Europe is not the magical land that everyone claims it to be. Let us assume, for the sake of argument, that Hansel and Gretel’s gingerbread house exists. Santa Claus exists. And magical Europe exists as well.
But if you go looking for the gingerbread house in a tour bus with, say, a dozen rowdy kids and a tour manager who was probably a prison guard in a past life, who lets you off at famous sights along the way such as the Eiffel Tower, the Rhine Falls, the Big Ben, for only 30 minutes at a time, sufficient time to hop off the bus, take a blurry photograph, grab a souvenir, do a power-walk through the surrounding areas, and hop back on the bus, you will hardly be described as being the happiest camper when you do reach the gingerbread house of your dreams.
Wisecracks for centuries have been raving about how it is the journey and not the destination that matters. And guess what, they’re actually right.
Over just 11 days, my tour group covered Italy, Switzerland, Germany, Belgium, France, and England. I made a wish at the wishing fountain in Rome, straightened up the Leaning tower of Pisa in the characteristic tourist pose, got a view of Switzerland from its highest point, and saw the famous statue of a little kid pissing in Belgium. I visited Harry Potter’s enigmatic Platform 9 ¾ at King’s Cross Station in London, I saw a man churn out a figure of gorgeous fish from molten glass in Venice’s Murano Glass factory, and I tasted the famous Black Forest cake in Germany’s original Black Forest itself.
But my Roman Holiday was mostly spent inside the bus, looking left and then right, as our tour guide pointed out Rome’s various sights. We passed right through Zurich, while everyone screamed at the driver to stop. There was no time to climb to the top of the Leaning Tower, no time to explore the vast expanse of the Vatican church, no time to go parasailing, or gondola-riding, or to sit down and have a fancy meal on the roadside in Paris.
For most of the trip, I felt like a dog on a leash, with a master who insisted on yanking me away the minute I found something amazing to sniff at.
In conclusion, to err is human, but to buy a tour package is idiotic.
(Click here for pictures!)
