Us vs. Them

A civil war was brewing, and the camp began to divide.  There are those who like to party into the night, and there are those who don’t.  These are two extremes; not all of us dwell on either pole.  Although we may lean toward a particular side, our association with that group does not define one’s personality in its totality.  We were mature enough to realize this, but still we disdained the other’s behavior and deemed ourselves morally superior. 

As a wandering troupe of vagabonds, we were removed from the many burdens of a solitary existence.  The longer you stay in a place, the faults of the land become easier to spot.  We never stayed in a city long enough to truly bicker about issues such as outrageous gas prices or congested traffic.  We left each destination before the beauty could fade and the negativity could infiltrate our moving utopia.  The only constant throughout our trip was the people.   

                                  

During the evening at the Barcelona campsite, we devoured burritos that Elaine, our cook, had prepared for us.  Some of us sipped on sangrias and sat at picnic tables.  Clearly-defined cliques were solidifying at this point, and the evidence became visible. 

A quiet bunch discussed the sketches of Laura, a Kiwi with English roots and a talent for drawing dragons and mice.  Aaron told us about the planets he could see through his telescope.  One of us glared at the rowdy group behind us and muttered something along the lines of:  “They’re a bit obnoxious.”

A few Contiki campers stacked beer cans atop one another to build a Heineken castle.  The empty cans outnumbered the people.  The girls at the next table were shouting the lyrics to a pop song overplayed on the radio.

“They never have anything interesting to say,” someone at our table said. 

“I love this,” I said.  “This was advertised as a perfect vacation where everyone is happy all the time, but I crave negativity.  It reminds me of home.”

“I don’t usually like to be a bitch,” this person said, “But they are really pissing me off.”

“This is a mindless love song,” Aaron said.  “This is why I never listen to the radio.” 

My distance from my friends and my routine at home has allowed me to see how much I enjoy bonding over shared enemies.  Complaining, I realized, is somewhat of a hobby. I try not to indulge too often, but the over-enthused pep-rally atmosphere of the trip was beginning to make me cringe.  I had been forced to smile in too many pictures.  Not to say I was unhappy; the vacation was fun, but I’ve never been enthusiastic about multiple group photos.  I didn’t know everyone too well at that point, and this lack of intimacy made me feel slightly estranged. The others were distant figures I needed to examine more closely.

When I studied horror films in college, we learned about the concept of the “Other.”  Frankenstein’s monster is a classic example.  He is ostracized because of his unusual appearance.  If everybody else in town looked like the monster, then he’d have no problem fitting in, but he was the outcast.  Figures like the monster make me wonder if humans possess an instinctual drive to pit themselves against an eternal enemy. 

Could anyone walk through life without differentiating himself from others and attaching himself to groups of like-minded individuals?  Diversifying ourselves is beneficial to the survival of our race because it limits competition for resources by spreading out the population.  But when we split up into clans, animosity between factions is inevitable.  For example, as long as there is baseball, certain fans will always hate the Yankees.

Back at the campsite, the nerds, bibliophiles, and culture vultures were dismissing the others as stupid, drunken bimbos and tools.  What inspired these verbal attacks?  Maybe we were jealous because the others possessed qualities we lacked, or qualities we fear may surface in us.  Maybe we were all wallflowers who wanted to dance but were afraid to look silly, so we covered up our jealousy with complaints and judgments.

Earlier that day, I sat next to Murray on the bus.  His arms are covered in tattoos.  He likes to party hard and frequently, and my social habits are the exact opposite.  If I were to see this guy at a hostel, I would assume we didn’t have much in common, so I wouldn’t bother getting to know him.

A friend of mine told me I have a problem of judging others too quickly, so I decided to work at this by asking Murray some questions.  He was kicked out of high school before he could graduate, and he’s worked all of his life since he was thirteen.  He operates heavy machinery at a factory and makes good money.  He is only twenty-three years old, yet he has nearly paid off his house.  At the time, I, too, was twenty-three.  My job as a waiter in an above-average restaurant was not sufficient enough to pay off my enormous debt in student loans. 

“People think I might be stupid because I never went to unni, but most kids that went to unni only know books,” Murray said to me on the bus.  “But they don’t know practical things.”

When we camped in Pamplona, a strong gust of wind uprooted the cook tent and three burners of the stove were damaged.  Murray tinkered with the stove for only a few minutes, and he fixed it.  Before this trip, I would’ve assumed anybody who didn’t graduate high school was unintelligent.  I have a college degree, but I can’t fix a broken stove.  Clearly, I needed to reevaluate my definition of intelligence. 

Before we left London, an Australian guy talked to a bunch of us about his Contiki trip that ended as ours started.  He warned us that we will all get sick, and he gave us some advice. 

“I know it sounds corny, but don’t judge a book by its cover,” he began.  “I saw these big burly guys with big muscles and all that.  And I thought, ‘These guys are douche bags, you know?’ But then I actually sat down and talked to them, and they were actually really nice guys.  I told them what I initially thought about them, but I felt really bad because these guys were awesome.”

The Australian’s words stuck with me, and I vowed not to repeat his mistake.  Despite our group’s division, I did not view the others with contempt.  If they wanted to get drunk every night, that was all right with me.  I may have no interest in getting smashed, but my preferences are not laws to be upheld.  I’m learning not to sneer at those whose behaviors differ vastly from mine.  That is simply not my lifestyle, not my path.  Anyone else who wishes to walk that path is free to do so, but the path does not define all those who tread upon it.