If I Have One Piece of Advice for You: Take a Pashmina

There is something about travel that brings out the inner Sensible Susans in everyone. When you hear a friend is going on a trip, suddenly you can’t help but become an advice dispenser, despite the fact they’ve probably heard your words of advice from one hundred other people, one thousand other times. Like a malfunctioning Pez, you spit out digestible pellets of candy that all taste the same and eventually make the eater (listener for the purposes of this analogy, and yes it’s sad I have to explain my analogies) ill.

These pieces of advice invariably fall into three camps; the Painfully Obvious (usually involve money and passport) the Mildly Obscure (really, that’s your one piece of advice, take two toothbrushes?) and the Utterly Unimaginable (most often the territory of fathers – “mind you don’t get stung by a type of fish that only exists in a pocket of water that surrounds an uninhabited island that is impossible for humankind to access.”)

Recently, as I packed my suitcase full of summer dresses and white linen pants in preparation for Santorini, in amongst the ‘don’t go off by yourself’ and ‘keep your eye on your own drink at all times’ was this simple dictum from my father; ‘don’t go off on the boats of any Greek fishermen.’ How did he know I planned on standing, street-side, with a sign saying ‘Greek fisherman, I am yours for the taking’? Mere hours after promising my father I wouldn’t cavort with fishermen, a friend of mine gave me a hug and said earnestly, ‘have a fantastic time and remember, only get on the back of scooters that belong to people you know.’ Not ‘scoot safely’ or ‘don’t drink and scoot.’ Just don’t get on the back of a scooter if you don’t know the driver. Fair enough.

Currently, I am holding my breath waiting for what my mother will come up with, as I stuff my bag full of frocks for an impending trip to New Zealand … she could go with anything, but my money is on something to do with broken bones and strange men. She hasn’t touched on the possibility of snapping my femur bone whilst jigging on a pier with a drunk Irish tourist, for a while. Just a hunch.

What got me thinking about these categories of advice, was what a dear friend of mine once famously intoned pre Around-the-World-Extravaganza – ‘if I have one piece of advice for you, take a pashmina.’ At the time, I thought, really? Is that your lone piece of advice for me, as I embark on a three continent, six month journey? Not, be careful of dark streets? Don’t let strangers buy you drinks (unless you’re watching them every step of the way)? Not something slightly more … obvious? And yet, as I shivered my way around Vienna, Germany, Copenhagen and London during the European Autumn, in layers of H&M winter clothing bought in utter desperation, all I could think of was how fervently I wished I had packed a pashmina. Not another coat, not another scarf, not a pair of gloves. A fecking pashmina.

You see, it is these pieces of advice that ring in your ears as you find yourself in the exact situation you rolled your eyes at when warned against it.  As you do indeed straddle the back of a scooter that belongs to someone you actually don’t know and mentally map out exactly where you’ll commando roll off if the situation calls for it. Or as a Greek fisherman does indeed try and entice you to his boat, even though you know he works at a car rental place next door to the bar you work at and doesn’t actually own a boat, and you find yourself locked in the following dialogue (italics denotes inner thought process);

Greek Fisherman: ‘Baby.’

YOU: Gah.

GF: ‘I love you baby.’

Y: ‘Oh. Do you?’

GF: Springs forward and clasps hands. ‘I love you baby. Come with me to my boat.’

Y: ‘I’m sorry, but I …’ (Has Dad planted this man? Is that possible? Dad? Is it?)

GF: ‘I am fisherman. Come with me to my boat.’

Y: ‘No, really, I …’ (know you’re not a fisherman, you work next door to me at a moto-rental. I see you scooting your scooters out for display every morning. We converse every afternoon as you scoot them back in. You cannot possibly be a fisherman in your spare time, you don’t have any. )

GF: ‘I love you baby.’

Y: Clearly, he has either seen one too many video clips, or someone had taught him three phrases of English and one term of endearment. The heartfelt yet borderline sleazy manner in which ‘I love you baby’ is being used, suggests the former.

Y: ‘I have a boyfriend.’

GF: ‘I speak no English.’

Y: Liar.  ‘I.’ Point to self. ‘Have.’ Inexplicable arm gesture. ‘Boyfriend.’ Hand clasp over heart.

GF: ‘No English. I am fisherman. Come to my boat. I love you baby.’

Y: I know you speak English, and I know your vocabulary stretches to boyfriend because if I stand here any longer, your next logical offer will be to become mine. ‘Sorry.’ Go to disappear into crowds.

GF: Reaches out and grabs hand again. Pungent smell of cologne that may or may not be called Scorpion, pierces the air. ‘I love you baby.’

Y: Search feverishly for Greek speaking friend.

Sorry, I absolutely digress. Where were we?

Oh yes, so, the more unusual (The Mildly Obscure through to the Utterly Impossible) pieces of advice that we laugh off at the time, have to have their roots in actual situations that travellers before us have found themselves in – situations you would do yourself a favour to avoid. I believe my uncle’s run-in with a Greek Fisherman in the heady days of the 1970s may have something to do with my father’s bizarre insistence I avoid them. These mantras may not be the first thing on your mind as you run a mental checklist in the airport before your flight takes off – eg once upon a time, I would have probably counted through a good twenty essential items before I reached a pashmina (despite knowing Ashley Olsen takes hers everywhere) and now it’s not only in the top 5 must-takes, but an invaluable piece of travel advice I dispense when you press my head – but as we all know, once you take off, all bets are off. There is nothing obvious or run-of-the-mill about travel, so it makes sense the best pieces of advice are nothing of the sort.

And so, pashminas and Greek fishermen aside, I have decided to provide you with a list of pearls of wisdom that I thoroughly suggest you travel with. These nuggets may not be exactly Sensible Susan material, they’re not even semi-Sensible-Susan-Take-a-Pashmina material – keep your money close to your person, make a photocopy of your passport etc – but they are borne of learning the hard way. You may laugh now, but I suggest you take heed …

Stay away from bull terriers outside internet cafes, particularly if you’re wearing an eye-catching frock. I learnt the hard way, and no I didn’t contract rabies, although my father did try to make me believe I had. Wearing a vibrant terracotta sun dress, I nabbed the attention of a sturdy bull terrier, lurking outside the internet café I was using to frantically meet a deadline back home. He bit me. And tore a hole in my dress. The latter received the majority of my wrath.

Don’t leave your carton of Don Simon sangria in the communal hostel fridge; even if it has your name in large texta letters on it, it will be stolen and consumed. Brazenly.

Be as wary of vegetables as you are of meats; according to the med student who was staying in my hostel room when I threw up half my body weight one balmy evening, special parasites live in vegetables and even if fresh platter of vegetables has been consumed in a lovely, I daresay upmarket café in the middle of Munich, one is not immune.

Do not give Albanian men the perception you’re back-chatting; they will hit you. And their cronies will all but nod their approval. I also advise against attempting to fight back. They would probably hit you again, and this time the cronies would join in. You will not win. And if you do, you’ll go to jail where you will be unable to stump up 5000 euros to grease the Policeman’s palm and pocket, I mean, for the well deserved fine, so you shall live out your days in Naxos prison.

Do not run down cobbled Parisian streets in the rain; you will slip and fall, in a flurry of flailing limbs and lie, basking in the quietly mortified stares of Parisians who have probably never fallen over in their lives. Not even when they were learning to walk. In stilettos.

Take an eye mask on planes; even if you’re not sleeping, it will make the guy next to you stop rolling up his tee-shirt to make you check out his Las Vegas tan – whilst his wife sleeps soundly next to you.

Don’t take the karaoke microphone if you’re in a fragile emotional state; tourists enjoying their summer holidays on an island do not want to hear your, albeit raw and emotionally charged, version of any of the following; Goodbye to Love, I Will Survive, Eternal Flame.

If the guy you’re hiring the quad bike from says ‘don’t drive it at great speeds down rocky alleys then don’t drive the quad at great speeds down rocky alleys. You will end up face first in a wall.

Sometimes friends have to double as beauticians; if you trust a stranger with your bikini area and a paddle of warm wax, then for God’s sake trust your bestie with the same. Veet wax strips are your friend. Don’t be precious.

In fact, don’t be precious at all; there is no time. You will simply get left behind.

No matter how tempting it is, avoid snacking on dry noodles; ate them in LA, by the time the bus pulled into San Diego, was the size of a house. The price tag of 10c a packet is more attractive to a traveller than a shirtless Dutch man (or woman) offering you a spot on their St Tropez moored yacht, but exercise caution. A noodle that makes your stomach swell for three days is not your friend.

Don’t take your eye off your coffee cup in a busy Starbucks; lukewarm cinnamon latte + the discarded green tea bag of your travel buddy = public gagging/possible movie sequence in romantic comedy. My piping hot vanilla latte was sitting just millimetres away from the cup I distractedly wrapped my hand around. Never again.

Remember, nobody is ever what they seem; particularly in LA. That harmless looking nerd you’re sharing the kitchen with most probably has a criminal record. If you’re concerned, pour a glass of wine, take a deep breath and begin the coaxing process. It is highly likely they’re willing to divulge the information you need, and I daresay a whole lot more. Don’t, then, hang around in the communal, darkened living area watching Wolf Creek with aforementioned Harmless Nerd. You won’t sleep.

Always pack a travel sewing kit; buttons pop off, friends tear holes in their tee shirts … repeatedly … and zippers break. Oh you may laugh now at the prospect of darning, but it’s not funny when your bag won’t do up before a 27-hour-4-plane-trip haul.

And finally, befriend local eateries and watering holes; loyalty is always rewarded.

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Suitcase cover image by Iheartlinen on Flickr

Author riding scooter by Author Riding Scooter’s Travel Buddy

Greek fisherman’s boat by Olivia Hambrett – she didn’t get in, don’t worry.

Pashmina image by Tomhmmmarosatint on Flickr

Bulldog image by SwanseaPhotographer on Flickr

Sleeping beauty eye mask available from Annabel Trends

Starbucks image by Patrick Q on Flickr