An ugly thing, that is what you are whenyou become a tourist, an ugly,
empty thing, a stupid thing, a piece of rubbishpausing here and there to
gaze at this and taste that, and it will never occurto you that the people
who inhabit the place in which you have just pausedcannot stand you,
that behind their closed doors they laugh at your strangeness(you do not
look the way they look) ; the physical sight of you does not pleasethem; you have bad manners (it is their custom to eat their food with their handsyou try eating their way, you look silly; you try eating the way you alwayseat, you look silly) ; they do not like the way you speak (you have an accent); they collapse helpless from laughter, mimicking the way they imagine you mustlook as you carry out some everyday bodily function. They
do not like you. Theydo not like me! That thought never actually occurs
to you. Still, you feel alittle uneasy. Still, you feel a little foolish. Still,
you feel a little outof place. But the banality of your own life is very real to you; it drove youto this extreme, spending your days and your nights
in the company of peoplewho despise you, people you do not like really,
people you would not want tohave as your actual neighbor.