On public radio's "A Prairie Home Companion," host Garrison Keillor frequently airs commercials for Powdermilk Biscuits, which "give shy people the strength to get up and do what needs to be done." What a pity they're make-believe.
If ever someone needed a little help, it's the shy traveler. To really appreciate a strange country or city you need to talk to its people, and that means more than "I'll have the No. 3 breakfast, but with bacon instead of blood sausage." It means talking to people who are not part of the tourism infrastructure--strangers on a bus or in a pub or in the bath. But how do you do that if you were born without the Chatty Cathy chromosome?
It's a wonder that shy people like me travel at all.
As the departure date gets closer, my anxiety grows. "You know," I say to myself as I write out the mortgage check, "this is a nice house. Why should I want to leave it?" I turn on the TV and say, "You know, 'Third Rock' is a nice show. I bet they don't have it where we're going."
On the long flight, as my muscles atrophy, I take comfort in my discomfort. At least it's familiar. I find myself saying, "You know, I can't feel my toes, but this sure is a nice plane."
One time I was on the ground at my destination and found myself thinking, "You know, this is a nice airport restroom. I'll just stay in here."
I did eventually come out, and I even enjoyed the strange city. Nevertheless, each day started with a little fit of unease over leaving the confines of the hotel room. "You know, maybe this place is too nice. Next time I'll book a really crummy hotel."
What has saved me is a bold but simple move that any shy person can follow: Marry someone who's not.
This is not to say that my wife, Janice, is a gonzo extrovert. No, she is properly demure, polite and respectful. Nevertheless, she can strike up quick conversations with fellow straphangers on public transport or cappuccino sippers at coffee bars. I stand there studying the tram schedule or the menu, pretending I don't know her. But I'm secretly envious of her ability to establish rapport with strangers at the drop of a hat or chapeau or sombrero. She can pump the locals for dining recommendations or where to buy ballet tickets. She will find out what the taxi fare to the train station really should be. (She also can ask for directions, of course, but, as we know, that's a gender thing.)
I would try to emulate her, but I don't have a grasshopper hat.
