Free How to be a Brit by George Mikes

body, the old notion still lingers on.
But lastly — and perhaps mainly — they travel to avoid foreigners. Here, in our
cosmopolitan England, one is always exposed to the danger of meeting all sorts
of peculiar aliens. Not so on one’s journeys in Europe, if one manages things
intelligently. I know many English people who travel in groups, stay in hotels
where even the staff is English, eat roast beef and Yorkshire pudding on
Sundays and Welsh rarebit and steak and kidney pudding on weekdays, all over
Europe. The main aim of the Englishman abroad is to meet people; I mean, of
course, nice English people from next door or from the next street. Normally
one avoids one’s neighbour (‘It is best to keep yourself to yourself — ‘We
leave others alone and want to be left alone’ etc., etc.). If you meet your
next door neighbour in the High Street or at your front door you pretend not to
see him or, at best, nod coolly; but if you meet him in Capri or Granada, you
embrace him fondly and stand him a drink or two; and you may even discover that
he is quite a nice chap after all and both of you might just as well have
stayed at home in Chipping Norton.
    All this, however, refers
to travelling for the general public. If you want to avoid giving the
unfortunate impression that you belong to the lower-middle class, you must
learn the elementary snobbery of travelling:
    1. Avoid any place
frequented by others. Declare: all the hotels are full, one cannot get in
anywhere. (No one will ever remark: hotels are full of people who actually
managed to get in.)
    2. Carry this a stage
further and try to avoid all places interesting enough to attract other people
— or, as others prefer to put it — you must get off the beaten track. In
practice this means that in Italy you avoid Venice and Florence but visit a few
filthy and poverty-stricken fishing villages no one has ever heard of; and if
your misfortune does take you to Florence, you avoid the Uffizi Gallery and
refuse to look at Michelangelo’s David. You visit, instead, a dirty
little pub on the outskirts where Tuscan food is supposed to be divine and where
you can listen to a drunken and deaf accordion player.
    3. The main problem is, of
course, where to go? This is not an easy question. The hoi polloi may go to Paris or Spain, or the Riviera or Interlaken but such an obvious
choice will certainly not do for anyone with a little self-respect. There is a
small international set that leads the fashion and you must watch them. Some
years ago they discovered Capri, but now Capri is teeming with rich German and
English businessmen, so you can’t go near the place. Ischia became fashionable
for a season or two but it too was invaded by businessmen, so Ischia is out.
Majorca was next on the list, but Majorca has become quite ridiculous in the
last few years: it is now an odd mixture of Munich and Oxford Street, and has
nothing to offer (because needless to say, beauty and sunshine do not count).
The neighbouring island of Ibiza reigned till last year but the businessmen
have caught up with Ibiza too so it will stink by next summer. At the moment I
may recommend Tangier; Rhodes is fairly safe too. The year after that, who
knows, Capri may be tried again.
    Remember: travel is
supposed to make you sophisticated. When buying your souvenirs and later when
most casually — you really must practise how to be casual — you refer to any
foreign food, you should speak of these things in the vernacular. Even fried
chicken sounds rather romantic when you speak of Backhendi, and you will
score more points by remarking casually — very casually, I repeat — that you
went to a little Madkurve kan medbrings near Copenhagen, than by
admitting that you went to a place where you ate your own sandwiches and only
ordered beer.
    It is possible, however,
that the mania for travelling is declining. I wonder if a Roman friend of mine
was simply an eccentric or the forerunner of a new era in