Never are travellers more vulnerable than in those first few hours after arrival.
It does not matter whether the destination is a campground, a new job, a country or even a new shop, because your lack of familiarity with these spaces is what makes them fundamentally the same.
And even if the differences are small and inconsequential your strangeness to them gives you the unbalanced gait, the temporary stutter and the awkward bewilderment of a newly arrived alien.
Because of this phenomenon I was not at my best when I arrived in West Hollywood last week and being hungry, tried to order what was called a "Bold BBQ Chicken Sandwich" on ciabatta.
Being one of the four million owners of an accent most often associated with a brain injury the woman serving me immediately believed I wanted a bowl of chicken. Realising her mistake I repeated my order three times and the word sandwich at least double that.
"I'm sorry. I've only been working here two days," she said.
"I've only been here two hours," I told her to help make her feel better. It didn't, and from the blank look on her face it was clear she did not understand the language she took to be "chimpanzee".
It was therefore no surprise that 10 minutes later a waiter brought me a bowl of chicken. Being new in the country I did not know the protocol for returning a dish and being a New Zealander I assumed the mix up was my fault anyway. So I went ahead and sheepishly ate it.
A few hours later I was hungry again. My girlfriend decided we would go to Marix, reputedly the hottest Tex-Mex restaurant in West Hollywood.
After a 20-minute wait for a table and a quick lesson on tipping from the bartender we were happily seated with our margaritas and a menu that came in five volumes.
It was about then that I decided to go to the toilet. It seemed like a simple thing but I had failed to take into account my vulnerable status and within seconds had made two embarrassing mistakes.
First, I had asked our waiter for the directions to the toilet rather than the bathroom and in doing so removed any ambiguity as to my purpose for visiting this room.
Then, when I joined the line for the men's toilet, I noted there was no similar line for the women's toilet.
"I've never had to wait in line to use the men's loo before," I said to my bathroom queue.
Though none of them replied one man gave me the sort of look you might give an unwanted puppy just before it's euthanized and while returning to my seat I realised why.
"Seems this is a real guy hang- out," I told my girlfriend, who immediately appreciated the tact I had shown in substituting one of my vowels with a U.
The next night we chose an Italian restaurant called Vivoli's. Our waiter was a Mexican man called Luis who quickly noted our accents and asked if we were from out of town.
"We're from New Zealand," I said. "Just got in yesterday."
"Did you fly or drive," he asked in a manner so sincere only a sadist would point out the ridiculousness of the question.
Sunday went by without any food incidents until we wound up in an East Hollywood wine bar that evening. In contrast to the wealthy weirdness of West Hollywood this bar was more like something you would find in New Zealand and because of this we felt quite relaxed.
However, I became too relaxed and made the mistake of requesting the waiter stop topping up my water glass as I was no longer thirsty.
"Whoa. You don't want any more water? You've had enough water? Why wouldn't you want any more free water?" said the waiter, who seemed to be experiencing the most humorous and inexplicable moment of his life.
Within seconds word had got around that I didn't want any more water and though you would not think it possible other people would find such a request hilarious, you would be wrong.
I did something else to draw attention to myself the next day at breakfast in a busy cafe on Melrose Ave.
Osama bin Laden had been killed by US super army soldiers the night before and my girlfriend and I were interested to see how the LA Times newspaper had covered this event. So naturally we bought a paper to read during breakfast.
As we sat there flipping pages and commenting about this story and that, an older man seated next to us lamented that Osama's death had not come later in the year so as to help with President Obama's re-election chances.
"The problem with the US public is their attention span is only about two minutes," he said.
With our paper providing irrefutable evidence that this was not the case with us the man put down his fork and coughed.
"So where are you guys from," he said. "And when did you arrive?"
- Taranaki Daily News
It does not matter whether the destination is a campground, a new job, a country or even a new shop, because your lack of familiarity with these spaces is what makes them fundamentally the same.
And even if the differences are small and inconsequential your strangeness to them gives you the unbalanced gait, the temporary stutter and the awkward bewilderment of a newly arrived alien.
Because of this phenomenon I was not at my best when I arrived in West Hollywood last week and being hungry, tried to order what was called a "Bold BBQ Chicken Sandwich" on ciabatta.
Being one of the four million owners of an accent most often associated with a brain injury the woman serving me immediately believed I wanted a bowl of chicken. Realising her mistake I repeated my order three times and the word sandwich at least double that.
"I'm sorry. I've only been working here two days," she said.
"I've only been here two hours," I told her to help make her feel better. It didn't, and from the blank look on her face it was clear she did not understand the language she took to be "chimpanzee".
It was therefore no surprise that 10 minutes later a waiter brought me a bowl of chicken. Being new in the country I did not know the protocol for returning a dish and being a New Zealander I assumed the mix up was my fault anyway. So I went ahead and sheepishly ate it.
A few hours later I was hungry again. My girlfriend decided we would go to Marix, reputedly the hottest Tex-Mex restaurant in West Hollywood.
After a 20-minute wait for a table and a quick lesson on tipping from the bartender we were happily seated with our margaritas and a menu that came in five volumes.
It was about then that I decided to go to the toilet. It seemed like a simple thing but I had failed to take into account my vulnerable status and within seconds had made two embarrassing mistakes.
First, I had asked our waiter for the directions to the toilet rather than the bathroom and in doing so removed any ambiguity as to my purpose for visiting this room.
Then, when I joined the line for the men's toilet, I noted there was no similar line for the women's toilet.
"I've never had to wait in line to use the men's loo before," I said to my bathroom queue.
Though none of them replied one man gave me the sort of look you might give an unwanted puppy just before it's euthanized and while returning to my seat I realised why.
"Seems this is a real guy hang- out," I told my girlfriend, who immediately appreciated the tact I had shown in substituting one of my vowels with a U.
The next night we chose an Italian restaurant called Vivoli's. Our waiter was a Mexican man called Luis who quickly noted our accents and asked if we were from out of town.
"We're from New Zealand," I said. "Just got in yesterday."
"Did you fly or drive," he asked in a manner so sincere only a sadist would point out the ridiculousness of the question.
Sunday went by without any food incidents until we wound up in an East Hollywood wine bar that evening. In contrast to the wealthy weirdness of West Hollywood this bar was more like something you would find in New Zealand and because of this we felt quite relaxed.
However, I became too relaxed and made the mistake of requesting the waiter stop topping up my water glass as I was no longer thirsty.
"Whoa. You don't want any more water? You've had enough water? Why wouldn't you want any more free water?" said the waiter, who seemed to be experiencing the most humorous and inexplicable moment of his life.
Within seconds word had got around that I didn't want any more water and though you would not think it possible other people would find such a request hilarious, you would be wrong.
I did something else to draw attention to myself the next day at breakfast in a busy cafe on Melrose Ave.
Osama bin Laden had been killed by US super army soldiers the night before and my girlfriend and I were interested to see how the LA Times newspaper had covered this event. So naturally we bought a paper to read during breakfast.
As we sat there flipping pages and commenting about this story and that, an older man seated next to us lamented that Osama's death had not come later in the year so as to help with President Obama's re-election chances.
"The problem with the US public is their attention span is only about two minutes," he said.
With our paper providing irrefutable evidence that this was not the case with us the man put down his fork and coughed.
"So where are you guys from," he said. "And when did you arrive?"
- Taranaki Daily News
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