It goes without saying that [traveling] anywhere is an adventure. London is as unique to Kansas City as Rome is to Madrid. People in Sydney perceive things differently from the folks in Vienna. What works in Toronto or Frankfurt probably won’t work in Athens. (In fact, it won’t.)
– Max Danger, The Adventures of an Expat in Tokyo
I learned from reading Max Danger that being an expatriate is a nonstop adventure.
Culturally, socially, transactionally, linguistically, temporally. Everything is subject to interpretation. Though humans share a common ancestry, basic needs, dreams for the future and a love of cheese, our differences can sometimes feel insurmountable. And the biggest disparity is one of perception. Because in truth, we are nothing alike.
Being a Perpetual Alien, one must deal with all sorts of people operating at different levels on the perception scale. Worse, the Perpetual Alien must deal with people who anticipate varying, often incorrect levels of perception. And to complicate matters, the Perpetual Alien can realize midsentence that he has had a change of perception thereby diluting the situation with the sudden introduction of an alarmingly opposite viewpoint. But what it all boils down to is that travelers in strange lands are only unified by their understanding of how little they know of the places they visit. And to showcase this confusion, we offer you the misadventures of Willie Dare, traveler extraordinaire and perpetual alien.
Willie Dare was prone to trusting people.
Friendly people, Willie believed. Like the elder Jamaican bus driver who helped him with his bags and drove Willie to the all-inclusive resort. As the lone passenger, Willie had a private tour around a small corner of Montego Bay thanks to the driver’s continuous monologue pointing out his favorite jerk shack, the highway running along the coast to Kingston and the new Toyota dealership up the road. But when they came to a standstill at a red light, the old man suddenly stopped talking. Eyeing his passenger carefully in the rearview mirror, he innocently inquired if Willie needed any herbal refreshments.
Though the offer was unexpected, it didn’t come as a complete surprise since Willie was accustomed to being treated differently because of his hair. The long, blonde locks he’d worn for more than a decade were part of his artistic career persona and they often led Willie to be singled out by strangers and recognized in crowds. Girls came up to him at shows, guys wanted to buy him drinks. But in Jamaica, no one knew Willie.
Still, Willie Dare, Perpetual Alien understood that despite the country’s cultural association with cannabis through reggae, Rastafari and Bob Marley, smoking pot was illegal on the island. The plant wasn’t even indigenous, having been introduced after the British emancipated the slaves from West Africa and the local landowners started supplementing their workforce with indentured laborers from East India. And when those new immigrants arrived, they brought with them the seeds of a plant they called ganja, Hindi for hemp.
Like most islands in the Caribbean, Jamaica’s early economy was based on rum, and while those plantation owners didn’t mind their workers forgetting their troubles at the bottom of a bottle, they made no money off the weed that grew easily in the fertile, mountainous soil and tropical clime. But even the Ganja Laws couldn’t stop the spread of cannabis. And once Rastafarianism was born, the new religious adherents saw marijuana as more than a mind-altering experience. It was a way for them to channel a deeper understanding of their faith through meditation and soul-searching trips. And it inspired Bob Marley to write lyrics for the whole world to sing.
But as Willie Dare reviewed what little he knew about the history of marijuana in Jamaica, he wondered if his wife, the clever Carrara Dare, international travel aficionado would approve.
Probably not, thought Willie.
The couple hadn’t been married long, little more than a month. But already Willie knew that the clever Carrara could be hard to predict. Willie hadn’t expected Carrara to misinterpret his plans to woo her when he had a friend ask her to join him at a party. Nor had Willie anticipated that within eight months of their first “non-date” (as the clever Carrara insisted on calling it) he’d be waiting for his wife in Jamaica. But Willie Dare, Perpetual Alien was learning that such was his life now that he was married to an international travel aficionado. Because it was Carrara’s job that had landed Willie in MoBay where he was scheduled to serve as arm candy at an event hosted by the Caribbean’s preeminent couples-only resort. And with his wife’s plane landing on the island in a few hours, Willie wondered whether he had enough time to indulge in the local vintage offered by the bus driver and still be ready for dinner once the clever Carrara arrived.
He did not.
When Carrara Dare arrived at their hotel room, she found Willie lying on the bed nearly comatose watching a small gecko pad his way across the wall with sticky, round toes.
Carrara wasn’t particularly surprised to find her husband lifeless on the bed. It was, after all, Willie’s first trip to Jamaica. And knowing about his propensity for this singular diversion, she berated herself for not anticipating Willie’s vulnerability. Because like Willie, the clever Carrara knew it was her husband’s hair that marked him as an easy target. While Carrara had no objection to Willie’s occasional indulgence, she knew how short-lived her career would be if he were arrested while she was traveling for work and a guest on the island.
For two days she pondered how to let Willie know that such intemperance wasn’t appropriate. Not when Carrara was working. And when she discovered that Willie had purchased more Jamaican Dream than he could smoke during the short, three-day trip, Carrara suggested he smuggle whatever remained back into the States.
It was a dangerous plan, of course. But the clever Carrara wasn’t immediately concerned since like their arrival, she knew they were leaving Jamaica on separate flights and connecting through opposing airports. But she worried that Willie’s long hair would make him the focus of every DEA agent and the first passenger they sent their drug sniffing dog to check. So to help Willie avoid time in federal prison, the clever Carrara concealed the fragrant buds inside a sealed bag crammed into a bottle of the resort’s complimentary shampoo. Besides, Carrara thought, since the hotel had indirectly supplied the ganja, why not let officials know where it came from?
On the day of departure, Carrara, international travel afficionado boarded her flight to Houston wondering how long their new marriage would last if Willie was sent to the pokey as a drug smuggler. And once Willie’s plane landed in Miami, it was just as the clever Carrara feared. Willie and his hair were singled out by a burly narcotics agent whose German Shepherd cozied up to Willie’s crotch for a whiff. But instead of being handcuffed and hauled off to jail, Willie received only a stern rebuke from the officer when he tried to pet the friendly dog.
Still, the next time Willie Dare, Perpetual Alien heard the mumbled whispers of shoeshine boys in Sao Paolo or was approached by beach vendors in Thailand, he steadfastly refused their offers of herbal enhancements.
Just as the clever Carrara had intended.
Reid & Robie 