Ever since our first experiment with AirBnB (where we snagged a New York City...
Nobody ever said that bucking convention would be easy or necessarily cost free. We always knew that travelers typically pay more for all kinds of things. But when you travel full-time like we do, those extra charges become something akin to a lifestyle tax.
Some of the penalties travelers pay are in-your-face obvious, like the two-tiered pricing systems used in many places around the world. There’s one price for local residents and a different, higher price for visitors. Other penalties are less obvious, like the way it is more expensive to rent a car at an airport than in town or the way hotel rooms are taxed more highly than just about anything else you buy.
Travelers are even sometimes targeted by law enforcement for special treatment like we were in Fort Collins, CO.
Plenty of other penalties aren’t even deliberate. They arise from the fact that our square-peg lifestyle doesn’t always fit neatly into the round hole designed for everyone else. And that’s certainly the case with one particularly annoying trap that caught us most recently. Ironically it’s something that is designed to make life easier. And for everyone else it almost certainly does. But to us it is the most hateful innovation of all time: the automated traffic toll.
“How did you find this place? This is the real France.”
A fellow lodger at a guest house in the French countryside north of Cognac seemed surprised to find us at the breakfast table. His tone was curious, with a shade of condescension, as he asked how we had possibly found this charming family farmhouse in a tiny village that had no obvious tourist enticements.
He was there by happenstance. An Englishman on a solo walking trek to Spain, he had injured himself the day before and decided to find lodging in the area and recoup for the evening.
We were there by design. I wasn’t sure how to break it to him, but the out-of-the-way farmhouse in the real France is listed on Booking.com.
It was a little strange seeing an “American” aisle in the international section of the grocery store yesterday. It’s one of those small things that happen from time to time and reminded me that I’m the foreigner here.
We don’t often see ourselves that way, though, even when traveling. We immediately notice other people’s accents but rarely stop and think about how funny or incomprehensible we probably sound to everyone else. I guess we feel so at home in our own skins that it’s hard to appreciate how foreign we may seem to others.
Maybe sometimes that is a good thing because the world’s perceptions of us aren’t always the most flattering. I have to say that I was both a little sad and a lot embarrassed to see Old Glory flying above these shelves.