Ode to the American Tourist (not to be confused with tramper)

OK, let me just get this over with and say I love my country and many of the wonderful people who live there. Having gotten that out of the way, why is it that so many wealthy Americans have never learned to keep a low profile when traveling abroad? On my recent foray in to the wilderness I had the misfortune of running in to a group of eight mid-fifty to early sixties friends who decided that a back country tramp through the world famous Milford track would be a fun little adventure.

Unlike most of the tracks, Milford is the most known and attracts the most people. Although it is so vast, you don't see anyone when you are out walking, you do eventually meet up again at the end of the nights at the DOC huts.

My introduction to this group of very loud vacationers first occurred when I was walking out of the bunk room and a young Australian that I had chatted with the day before said "bloody hell, you don't want to go in there." As I approached the communal area I could hear them from over thirty yards away. A series of shrill shreaks, followed by uproarious laughter. "No not here," I thought to myself. As I entered the room there were eight very loud people playing a card game dressed in the latest North Face tramping fashions adorned with much jewelry and wearing the latest designer hiking boots. I looked across the room and noted a separate table with various other trampers quietly eating their ramen noodles with varied looks of disdain on their faces. It was at this point that I wondered if I could do a convincing Canadian accent.

The group was comprised of four couples, with one couple ranging no more than four feet seven to possibly just under five feet. Of course, being in New Zealand, I couldn't help thinking of the hobbit analogy.

If their is one cardinal rule that I have learned on this journey it is this. Don't embark on a major hike over mountain terrain unless you are physically prepared to deal with the pain and discomfort that accompanies such a journey. Over the next several days I would have to listen to loud exclamations of how the DOC literature should do a better job of explaining how hard this is. Also, that no one mentioned how bad the sand flies were.

The worst moments came during the night. If it wasn't for all of the other tough, fearless adventurers sharing the bunk room with me, I probably would have cried myself to sleep. The female member of the small in stature couple, tended to snore as if she was six feet tall. That combined with a variety of other nocturnal and undesirable sounds emanating from her body made the act of sleeping quite impossible. One of the more traumatic moments came the next morning when I opened my eyes to find her in nothing but a bra and underwear bending over at the foot of my bunk, foraging through her pack. I looked away fast, but the image was already burned into my psyche. As I was gearing up and getting ready to head out the door, one of the other ladies with this group approached me and said, in a loud voice. "You are faster than us, so when you get to the other hut can you save eight of the bottom bunks for us?" I looked around the room and could feel the international glare from among the other trampers waiting to see how this American would respond. "No I can't do that...that wouldn't be right." I said, as I walked out the door. you see that very question emphasizes the difference between the American traveler and the American tourist. Could you imagine me getting to the next bunk house and then, as various representatives of other nations arrive, me standing there saying "sorry guys, these are reserved for the Americans." The fact that the question was even asked says a lot.

The following evening it was beginning to get darker and everyone had made it to the hut except for two of the Americans. One of their group had struggled in and exclaimed that the two short in stature hikers, were having a difficult time and that the husbands knee was hurting him and that his wife was having trouble carrying her bag. I, the Australian fella and the DOC warden headed up the trail to find them. After about a twenty minute hike I could hear heavy panting and could see the tops of two heads approaching through the moss covered forest. "I heard they were currently filming the new Hobbit film," I thought, once again, to myself.

Once we had helped them in with their packs and retired to the hut, I could hear a rather heated discussion coming from the common area. One of the American couples were having an emotional discourse about the fact that this was not as relaxing as they thought it would be. I curled up into a fetal position in my sleeping bad and quietly began to practice my newly acquired Lithuanian accent.