I like BIG butts

One thing, among many, that a foreigner in a new setting must come to terms with is the fact that travel is a solitary experience.  Sure, you may walk the Great Wall with your wife.  Or lounge on the southern coast of Taiwan with a crowd of tourists.  But at its heart, travel is about leaving.  Going away.  Not so much on a holiday, but just going.

      Deep in the jeans she's wearin', I'm hooked and I can't stop starin'

Languages are different.  Cultures are strange.  Stares.  Smells.  People.  It’s all foreign.  Odd.  Unknown.

      Oh baby, I wanna get with ya, and take yo' picture

The traveler soon learns he must become a skilled thespian on the local stage where he finds himself…if he hopes to eat, that is.  For words are no longer a means of communication.  At least not for you.  The rest of them, all of those people staring at you, they can speak…to each other.  But you, you are different.  Your words have no meaning.

      My homeboys tried to warn me, but that butt you got makes me so horny

Here, you are the odd ball. You have the handicap.  You are the guy that needs special accommodations.  Because, well, you can’t speak.  Your thoughts, needs, questions, etc.  You’re like a helpless infant who craps his diaper.  All you can do is cry and hope someone comes to the rescue.

      I just can't help myself, I'm actin' like an animal

What do you want? 

A hotel?  Pretend you’re sleeping.  Or showering.

Food?  Pretend you have a fork in your hand.  Chew something.  Or nothing.

Toilet?  Pretend to pee.  Or make “noises” and point to your backside.

      I wanna get you home and uuugh, double up, uuugh uuugh

This is the adventure of travel.  It’s fun…at times.  Other times…not so much. 

      I want 'em real thick and juicy, so find that juicy double

Despite the frustrations we’ve experienced, the simple objects we can’t seem to buy at Homeplus, the bus station we can’t find or ask directions to, the overall confusion, etc. etc. etc., I would contend that there exists no greater drawback to being unable to communicate than when something is so funny that you can’t help but pee on yourself, but you can’t explain it to anyone.  You laugh like a maniac, you see the irony in it all, you can’t believe the situation you find yourself in…but you must necessarily keep it all to yourself.  It’s almost painful.

     Mix-a-lot's in trouble, beggin' for a piece of that bubble

Like Field Day at Buseok Elementary School.  An outside company is hired to set up the event.  They decorate the field in front of the school with an international flag display.  They line the area with running lanes.  They judge the races.  Officiate the medal ceremony.  The principal has his own tent, under which he hosts various dignitaries.  All clad in suits, looking very important.  It’s a big day in the life of the school.

      'Cause I'm long, and I'm strong, and I'm down to get the friction on

But the best part of the day, the part that separates the spectacle from American Field Days (at least the yearly spring event at the elementary school where I attended) is the final chapter.  The culmination of the most celebrated day of the year for the children.  The Dance Party.

      If you wanna role in my Mercedes, then turn around, stick it out

I never saw it coming.  The children (kindergarten-6^th grade) were corralled into small groups, spread out across the field of play.  Suddenly, and much to my delight, that now (in)famous beat burst forth from the rented loud-speakers.  Sir Mix-a-lot was in the house.

      Dial 1-900-MIX-A-LOT and kick them nasty thoughts

The children (again, kindergarten-6^th grade) began to gyrate.  One at a time, on the cue of a whistle, they took turns “shakin’ what they’re mama gave ‘em” in the middle of each circle.  It was all very Soul Train-ish.  The highlight of the year for me. 

      So fellas, has your girlfriend got the butt?  Tell 'em to shake it, shake it

But the best part was that all of the adults smiled and laughed, completely clueless.  Teachers.  Principal.  Vice principal.  Parents.  Guests.  They tried to hide the fact that they were slyly moving to the rhythm.  The worst part is that I could never even begin to explain the lyrics, the message of the song, and why this was all so funny.

      My anaconda don't want none unless you got buns, hun


Wait.  What?