That news would make any Mother’s Day perfect, even a delayed one. Would it not? Mind you, on occasion parents can also email anxieties from home.
Poor Angela Houghton has broken her foot, kicked by a horse – crutches for 3 weeks – and Betty Purdue has broken her hip, so no driving, also crutches and Zimmer frame for 8 weeks, so a few crocks around. Charlie Edmonds got beaten up by some townies in Edinburgh, but is fine, though has a fractured skull so has to take things vaguely easy for a bit. Hope you enjoy Phnom Penh.
One important discovery for gappers is that – to their surprise – their parents are not invariably wrong. This young woman thought she could make big money in the US, specifically waitressing in Boston. She was mistaken.
Dear Mum, I hate it when you’re right. I don’t know why I was surprised; I guess it was because it was a busy, fairly upscale restaurant with a sushi bar and Korean barbecue and everything, the work is pleasant, the tips are good, my supervisor’s really nice and my co-workers are great. Unfortunately all of the latter are working there illegally. No $3 an hour for them, they were all promised this, but it turns out that the owner never pays anything and they live off tips alone. I will go to the owner tomorrow and demand to be paid what I was promised on a regular basis, I have the authorities on my side! This may mean that I will end up with no job. Oh well, it will mean I’ve lost a week in finding a job, but at least I can scam that I know how to waitress now.
Her mother adds: ‘I’m terrified now that she’ll fall foul of the Korean mafia.’
Often it’s the little things that matter. This is from Latin America.
I have NO clean clothes. Literally EVERYTHING is smelly and wet. I haven’t smelled nice for a month, cos even after a shower I have to dry with a dish towel. Please, Mum, could you fly out here and do my washing?
Some gappers actually claim to heed their parents’ advice, which does seem a little improbable. This is from a pair of young women travelling in Thailand, and, as you can see, it helped to inspire the title for this book.
I have some time to kill before we rent a boat with some guys in our hostel and go around the island snorkelling and maybe ‘cliff-jumping’, only 8 metres, but you can pay 500 baht (about £10) to jump 20 metres, don’t worry I’m not going to do that. Don’t worry, we’re renting a boat driver, as well!!! I almost got a tattoo on my foot last night but I listened to what my mother said and slept on it, and woke with a strong desire NOT to! Thank God I have such a wisdom-filled mummy!
Yesterday I was singing Christmas carols which is so weird, cos it’s so hot here! I’ve been riding mopeds on the beach and I fell off one. It was going slowly at the time, tho’, but I have a bruise!!! DON’T TELL MUM!!! Hi, Mum, if you are reading this, the above is not true! (Dad, it completely is!)
It is extraordinary how often our travellers will drop in a single line, even a phrase, without realising what gnawing terror it is likely to cause back home. This is also from Thailand.
Very tired, very intense, very bizarre, and slightly drunk, so will reply properly after withdrawing cash, all you have to know is I’m safe, happy, in one of the most dangerous tourist streets in the world. Well, it wouldn’t be so popular if it was that dangerous. Love you, miss you, and thanks for the money …
One thing that baffles some travellers is that their parents do not necessarily share their delight in the new friends they have made. For example, imagine how you would feel if your daughter in Kenya sent you this message.
Hey, ma, must be quick cos late. Just to warn you, met some awesome Aussies last night, who are going to London next week. I said they could stay with you, to save money. Gave them your number, hope you don’t mind, they’re all lovely. Can’t remember names, but all (4 in total) so funny and lovely and super-fit. Xxx love you.
This email from Australia was not sent home, but it does demonstrate a sensitive awareness of paternal anxieties.
Met a huge group of boys from Brisbane and hung out with them. Scored a fully fledged, hot surfer dude complete with pony tail and eyebrow bar, who incidentally got deported from England, can’t wait to introduce him to Dad. All was going well till the last night when he never came out to say goodbye, so I compromised and got with his friend instead, oops, didn’t go down well at all.
Gappers are not always as grateful as they might be to those who gave them the precious gift of life. This is from West Africa.
Let’s play games. First to reply with how these words are associated with one another will get a prize:
1. Snoopy bra, Snoopy pants, size 14 see-through knickers, lilac (yes, that’s a dodgy shade of purple) top, pink hairband and some cool pyjamas.
2. Not get pregnant. Earn a million pounds. Go to university and try to make some friends, get over Westlife, fit into size 8, make smoking harmless and cheaper.
3. Roast beef, washing machine, make-up/nice hair, not being sweaty, TV, crisps, butter, those Haribo strawberries, lack of rice.
Actually, sod guessing. The answers are:
1. My birthday presents from Mum and Dad. I can’t believe Mum thinks I’m size 14, or that I need sexy underwear in Ghana.
2. Missions for my 19th year.
3. What I miss about home.
This is by a young man writing to his parents from China.
Here’s something to make my dear parents proud. On Friday we all got drunk and went bowling, for some reason me and Ed decided that it would be cool to steal one of the pins, now I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to do this, but let me tell you – it’s tricky. We thought about it for a while, trying to come up with a cunning way of doing it without being seen or getting killed by the pin picking-up machine, but as we were both pretty levered by this time, it ended with Ed sliding himself into the pins and blocking the machine, and me crawling in to grab one. So now I’m the owner of a genuine bowling pin, signed by Ed, the mentally insane Australian. And don’t bother complaining to me about this behaviour, blah blah blah, because I’m probably going to do it again next weekend when 3 gap lads come to visit. Yes, I know I’m very immature, etc., but who cares? They have different laws for foreigners out here, do you know that someone could be given the death penalty if they stole from me? So don’t worry.
And what parents wouldn’t find the cockles of their hearts gently aglow at that news? ‘My son is engaged in demented, dangerous larceny – but at least anyone who nicked his wallet would be shot through the head and his family charged for the bullet.’ The same young man gets himself a Chinese girlfriend and is invited to meet her parents for dinner.
I told them about you and mum, I tried to say you were fifty and that you were a teacher, but unfortunately the Chinese word for ‘teacher’ and the word for ‘rat’ are almost identical, so I said, ‘my dad is a 50-year-old rat’. Her dad nearly died laughing. Liu spent the evening telling them stupid things about me, e.g. when I asked her dad if I could have the beer bottle top for me and Del’s collection, she told him I wanted to chew on it while I watch TV. She’s a funny girl …
Now and then we get a glimpse of parents’ reactions to all this news. This is to a gapper in South America from her mum.
It was lovely to hear from you so soon. I am trying to imagine what it must be like to sleep with the rainforest sounds around you, tucked under your mozzie net and hearing all the unfamiliar rustles and scampers, and waking in the early pre-dawn to the cacophony of forest life. You must be so busy looking after the animals at the Lodge, caring for, feeding, protecting and preparing them. Fascinating.
Remember, an ocelot is not a pet, and you can’t have one at home.
Here is a classic example of the kind of email which a gapper should never send to their parents, even by accident. Especially by accident. The young woman was writing from Goa.
Our biggest news is our new careers. We were scouted to podium dance at a new five-star hotel here. Me and Jen were seriously apprehensive, but Aly and Luce were well up for it. We would be paid 1,000 rupees [£12] to dan
ce on a platform for two hours. It all got a bit out of hand, though. We were picked up by these headhunters, in their snazzy Land Rover, all the time thinking, God, our parents would kill us if we did this. The people said we just had to pretend to the big boss that we were professionals. After waiting an hour we went into his amazing office, all fuzzy and burned from the beach. He looked us up and down, and was not impressed. By this time we really didn’t want to do it, and things started to look a bit serious. He got some costumes out, really gross Hawaiian sarongs and big baggy T-shirts, and asked us where we had danced, so I said the Grosvenor Hotel back home, and he looked quite impressed. Aly by this time did a little wee from laughing so much. We were taken to the next man, whern I said the only way we would do that was if we were drunk, he bollocked me for being so unprofessional. We asked to be taken back to our hotel, and on the way we were called and told that we looked too young. Oh, shit! We saw our ‘pimp’ last night who said the real reason was that our boobs were too small. For once in our lives we were grateful for our small chests. Love you all, love to everyone, xxxxx
This is a classic example of how not to leave your parents calm, collected and confident. The writer omitted to remove her mother’s address before hitting the SEND button. Her adventures elicited this response.
Darling, how COULD you be so stupid? Perhaps you didn’t mean to send that one to your parents, but I’m glad you did. Has it occurred to you what can happen to girls who do things like that? The world (as I thought you might have realised by now) is not full of nice people, and girls who have anything at all to do with men running dodgy bars are likely to wind up dead in the bottom of a ravine. Do you remember the girl from England who disappeared in Tokyo two years ago? She thought she might like to work as a hostess in a bar. Eventually her BONES turned up in a cave outside the city. Honestly, I thought you had more common sense. It actually worried me out of my skull and it makes me want to cry just thinking about it.
Money is, of course, a constant problem and some gap-year students attempt to solve it through entrepreneurship.
Dad:- You will never guess our most recent investment. We travelled here in style as we have bought a golden Mercedes. Only £150 each and we will definitely be able to sell it for more. It’s also acting as our house for the moment. Glad it’s raining in England. Will call soon, love Adam.
Hey, Dad:- Sorry it has been a while, but guess what? We found more beaches. Here we are in Aus. No one seems to want our Mercedes. Apparently there isn’t a very big market here for golden cars. Let me know if anyone wants one. Love, Adam.
Hello Dad:- Do you know of anyone who wants a new car? Love, Adam.
Hi Dad:- Just sold our golden car. Turned out not to be as successful an investment as anticipated. Managed to get arrested last night for ‘misbehaviour’, but more precisely, ‘urinating next to a lamppost’. Some arsey policeman thought I was pissed. Please can you record the England football matches? More soon, love Adam.
Others do not trouble themselves even trying to raise money.
This young man in Thailand tries long-distance, electronic pan-handling.
PS, it would be great if Grandpops relieved the financial burden that buying a new camera has caused to my accounts, otherwise it’s debt city for me.
This young man is in China, and right out of money. He decides first to blame his bank at home.
What’s going on with the money? I went to the bank this evening, and the machine wouldn’t give me anything, meaning that me and Alice have 19 yuan to live on, which is fuck all. We also have train tickets to Kunming leaving in two days, and if I don’t have the money by then they will be wasted, because we can’t leave without paying the hotel bill. Phone HSBC and tell them to sort it out NOW! Please do all this as soon as possible, I’m getting panicky about what the hell I’m going to do without any money.
Next day nothing appears to have happened, so he turns his rage upon his parents.
I have 15 yuan = about £1.20, today is Sunday and whatever steps we take will take until Tuesday to finish. Thanks for doing absolutely nothing about my problems, am I right in saying that? I emailed you four or five days ago saying I was in trouble, and in the meantime you have done what? Put zero money into my account and sent me a few jokey emails. Well, from this end it’s not funny, we barely have money to eat, if the hotel finds out about this there’ll be real trouble. No, now it’s time for you to actually do something. I am not looking forward to living off packet noodles for three days.
Dad is able to get in touch with the bank and arranges matters so that he has £429 available. His son seems less than delighted.
After three days will I be able to use the rest of the money, right? I trust you that this will work, I’m so tired and depressed, I’ve slept about four hours in the last two days, I’ve had some sort of food poisoning, eating nothing, and every time I tried to drink water, I would throw up straight away, I’m feeling a bit better today and managed to eat some noodles. I really hope this is the end of my problems.
It isn’t. Five days later:
More fucking problems! I still can’t access the money in my bank. I went to buy a plane ticket today and they refused my card, I went into their office and phoned the HSBC credit card hotline, the robot voice told me that my balance was £800 and today I was able to spend £100. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? I am fed up with looking like a tosser because my bloody card never works. ARE YOU SURE YOU ARE PUTTING THE MONEY IN THE RIGHT PLACE?
His father makes a brave stab at sorting out his finances. It turns out that, to cut a very long story short, the bank automatically skims off his substantial credit card debt every month, leaving his account severely depleted. Dad concludes:
The upshot of all this hoo-hah is that your accounts are a dog’s dinner, a mess of declined transactions.
It turns out that, when he went to book his flight out to Tokyo, his card was refused, but the amount was nevertheless debited.
Are you saying that the money has been taken but they didn’t realize and so I’ve been ripped off?
Maybe so, maybe not. His father tries again. You can almost hear the deep breath.
My magic formula says that:
A) available credit
EQUALS
X) credit limit (now £1,500)
MINUS
Y1) old spending (£1,070 when you maxed out your card in Dali)
PLUS
Z) money put in to pay off credit card bill (last week I moved £660 from your current account … not the full £800 I’d put in because your current account was £140 overdrawn!!) so A=£1,090 (£1,500 minus £1,070 plus £660) as I guess in my email on Saturday …
That’s the simple part of the email. You do not need to know the even more complicated sums that follow. His father finishes:
Well, that’s my dim and distant idea about what the hell might actually have been going on. Sorry if it’s not very helpful.
Dad comes to suspect that a sneaky merchant has added an ‘0’ to a credit card chit.
Do you always know what you are signing for? I dunno, it’s getting far too stressful for me too.
This answer is not thought adequate. His son replies next day.
You keep complaining about my spending but the longer you fail to get this problem sorted out, the more money will get spent. Beijing is an expensive place to piss about going to banks all day, plus it is 39 degrees outside, which makes me annoyed the minute I step out of the hotel. Seriously I don’t know how much longer I can last …
I’m fucking fed up with this, stop sending me sarcastic emails and telling me ‘it doesn’t add up’. I DON’T GIVE A FUCK.
Just go down to HSBC and don’t leave until you’re convinced that something has taken place which will enable me to come home … I don’t care if you have to use all your savings to pay off my overdraft, or if you have to sell your car, PLEASE JUST GET ME HOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Finally his father manages to persuade the bank that t
he problem is serious and the young man comes home.
About the Authors
Simon Hoggart (1946–2014) was the parliamentary sketch-writer and diarist for the Guardian. He also wrote about wine and TV for the Spectator and was the host of Radio 4’s News Quiz. Atlantic Books first published Don’t Tell Mum: Hair-Raising Messages Home from Gap-Year Travellers in 2006 and The Christmas Letters in 2007. His collection of parliamentary sketches covering the Blair era, The Hands of History, was published in 2007.
Emily Monk had her first gap-year adventure in 2006. She now lives in East London and travels whenever she can. Emily has learnt to be slightly more selective about what gets sent to Mum and Dad.
Don't Tell Mum: Hair-raising Messages Home from Gap-year Travellers Page 13