[The Central Asia wrapup post prompted me to attempt to say the same thing in verse.]
I hate the ramblings of
Those trendy travelling wankers
At home their life’s a bore
They’re lawyers, tradies, bankers
Yet get them overseas
Especially to places
That they think are obscure
They’ll never shut their faces
“They’re friendly over there
Despite them being so poor
I loved their toothless smiles
As they fished on the shore”
“We had a cultural show
They held a tribal dance
Us Westerners aren’t free
It’s boring wearing pants!”
“We visited some orphans
For one afternoon’s laze
I’m SO proud to be helping
Their lives in many ways!”
“Their shops work round the clock
Which made me of good cheer
How lazy are we all
With our four weeks a year?”
“You stayed in a hotel?!
Authentic that is not
I slummed in a homestay
They stuffed me in a cot”
Yes travellers can be full
Of shit up to their ears
And spoilt and so naive,
You’re on the verge of tears
But would you vote for bombing
A place where you had been?
A place where you had witnessed
Some rolling fields of green,
The glances of a stranger,
Some millet, bread or rice?
With memories, it’s harder
To make your heart like ice
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