Friday, October 12. 2007RepudiationRecently I mentioned that an Ex of mine was to arrive for a short visit. These plans didn't come together when I put my foot down last night, effectively cancelling them. Ordinarily I wouldn't air such things out here, but in this instance I felt I really needed to let it out into the open and allow the funk to dissipate. The Ex in question ditched her original bumble-around-Europe idea and decided to take a Contiki Tour instead — a package tour operator renowned in Australia for being the ultimate method of tourism for bogans. Understandably, Europeans are irritated by these sort of package tours because there's no possible way of “doing Europe” (as the Yanks say) in a few weeks, let alone a few months, given the amazing depth and breadth of European culture. I believe that the only way to see a country is to live there for a period of time because it's the shared cultural experience of the populous and not the giant landmarks that makes each country; If you want to see landmarks, scroll around the world contained within Google Earth (now with embedded videos), but if you want to really learn about the world we inhabit then you need to understand cultures and mindsets. Most tourists prefer landmarks, so they can take a picture of something that has already been photographed a decillion times and then get sold authentic trinkets unique to the region (中国制造). These people return home with stories of how pretty yet expensive everything was on their whirlwind tour, and “hilarious” stories such as signs about flatulence in Germany, or being famished in Hungary. I spotted the van in the photo above and thought it epitomises this sentiment from a very Australian perspective. Each to their own; who am I to argue with someone's personal desires? I was willing to ignore similar jokes the progress report emails during the tour, despite the cringe factor. Following this «excursion de tourbillon», my Ex was to visit friends in the Netherlands and pop in to Brussels on her way to France to visit family. This was a sound plan, and I was happy for her to become this year's couch tourist. To this end, rough plans were drawn up prior to the tour but it was agreed that I would be told in advance so I could book holiday time from work. For the most part these plans continued unabated and immutable, until I received the following email: From: The Ex Maybe I've become an old fogey these days, but my apartment is my little private sanctuary — my Fortress of Solitude as it were — so few people ever set foot within these walls. Admittance requires trust and purpose. Who are these two girls and when did my apartment become a youth hostel? In one email, the thoughts of catching up with my Ex and talking about old times were quickly dislocated. Ultimatums aggravate me even on a good day, and the ultimatum presented in this email was insulting: Either I host two unknowns and “catch up” with my Ex with these two as participants, or we don't meet up at all. I subsequently closed (and deadlocked) the Fortress with the following curt email: From: Simon In actual fact, I'm not sure I'll bother. Trackbacks
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