How to Survive Making Yourself Look Silly While Dancing with the German Mafia at a Bavarian Nightclub and Other Lesser Known Travel Tips
The best has been saved to last. Book 3 of a hilarious series of travel misadventures and dubious personal introspection by Australian author Simon Yeats, who from an early age learned that the best way to approach the misfortunes of this world is to laugh about it.
Simon shares his comedic insights into the unusual and uproarious elements of living life as an Aussie ex-pat and having a sense of Wanderlust as pervasive as Cholera in the 1850s.From how to outwit the Italian police while trying to find parking in downtown Genoa, to how to negotiate exploring the Roman ruins of Plovdiv, Bulgaria while on crutches, to how to impress the German Mafia with 80s dance moves, to how to leave a lasting impression on a crowded bar in Gothenburg, Sweden after combining alcohol and antibiotics.
Simon Yeats has gone into the world and experienced all the out of the ordinary moments for you to sit back and enjoy the experience without the need to rupture a disc or succumb to Dengue fever.
Avoid looking silly
I stayed in a youth hostel in Amsterdam that led to some interesting occurrences.
The unisex shower room at the Flying Pig is not like the ones you see in prison scenes in the movies. But it is close. There are separate stalls, so that both men and women guests can safely use the same room, assumedly. Each stall has ample space to hang up clean clothes and dirty clothes. Allowing an occupant to disrobe, cleanse themselves, and get dressed in fresh attire. No one has to wander in front of anyone else wrapped in a towel.
The communal shower room is quite a manageable concept.
However, the mere idea of being in the same general area as a member of the opposite sex while they shower is too much for some young travelers. Two 20-year-old American girls enter the shower room, then expel shrieks of disgust after realizing it is unisex because they see me walk into my stall. If they had not cried out so loudly, I would have never known they were there. They then subject everyone in the shower room to 15 minutes of impassioned complaints about how their privacy has been assaulted by the fact the shower is not female only.
Communal showers violate their human rights.
Highly strung people should not travel, period. Ideally, they should not breed. If a person is that offended by the existence of the other 50% of the human population, then travel is going to make them miserable. In the communal bathroom, their list of grievances about men is as petty as someone taking offense to the invention of the wheel. The pair is having a meltdown. I only wish I could be around when they got cancer.
“Disgusting. There was probably some guy standing on these tiles.”
“Gross.”
“Some guy was probably touching this shower head before me.”
“Eww.”
“Do not touch the door handle when you leave.”
It was all high-level intellectual thought.
The girls are still carrying on as I finish my shower and dress. I thought the Battle of the Somme was long, pointless, and did not advance the cause of humanity. These two have just surpassed it. They should take whatever the group in my dorm took yesterday. That would calm them right down.
When I step out of my stall, I see a pair of French boys waiting by the door for the next shower booth to become available. I assume they have been listening in for a while, as their eyes roll when I put my hand to my ear to mimic that I am eavesdropping on what the girls are discussing.
The two Frenchies smile and deliberately nod at each other. They have a plan. They each walk over to the front of the American girls' stalls, then vigorously shake the doors, as if trying to get in. Terrified screeches explode from the cubicles. The two boys run out of the room, as I let out a loud cackle of laughter. The wild screams continue, as does my chuckling, when two more American girls enter. They see me alone in the shower room while the two occupants of the stalls scream as if I have just dumped a bucket of cockroaches into their showers.
Yeats’ Law.
“Oh my god, why is there a man in the woman’s showers?” One of the demands of the new arrivals.
I quickly make my exit.
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Simon Yeats has lived nine lives, and by all estimations, is fast running out of the number he has left. His life of globetrotting the globe was not the one he expected to lead. He grew up a quiet, shy boy teased by other kids on the playgrounds for his red hair. But he developed a keen wit and sense of humor to always see the funnier side of life.
With an overwhelming love of travel, a propensity to find trouble where there was none, and being a passionate advocate of mental health, Simon’s stories will leave a reader either rolling on the floor in tears of laughter, or breathing deeply that the adventures he has led were survived.
No author has laughed longer or cried with less restraint at the travails of life.
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Thank you for being a part of my book blog tour.
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