or would seeing new places be more fun if we didn't have to travel to get there?

The guy who said that getting there was half the fun either hasn't left home since 1975 or he enjoys the sort of experience shared by cattle as they accept the hospitality of the Swift Meat Packing Co.

As many of you know, isitjustme & co recently returned from a few days abroad. Although I love Europe I am, after all, an American and therefore find one or two continental nuances a touch irritating. With an eye toward alerting travelers to the perils and pitfalls of international travel, the following observations are presented for your consideration.

Throughout the world, hotels of all stripes are beseeching guests to save the planet by reusing the towels in their rooms. I am not convinced that hotels are now the last/best hope of saving the environment. A small card with an illustration of gazelles romping on the veldt urgently requests that customers wring just one more day out of their face cloths. This pitch appears a trifle disingenuous. Perhaps a drawing of several illegal aliens slaving over a vat of scalding soap and water would be more convincing. Personally, I' d rather see a picture of Bill Marriott counting those extra few cents he pockets each time I reuse a dirty hand towel.

And speaking of washing, is there some rule that Europeans must express their commitment to personal hygiene by providing hotel soap whose surface area approximates that of a Chicklet. Soap can't be so expensive that hotels need to find cakes that would fit in an ATM slot. At least the management should offer options similar to those offered regarding the size of the bed. "Monsieur, would you like our standard accommodation with the aspirin-sized soap or would you like to upgrade to the superior room with the eraser-size.

Some European affectations are easier to understand than others. Soap, after all is probably just an economic issue. On the other hand, I cannot for the life of me, understand why public toilets in Europe are not uniformly equipped with seats. On at least half a dozen occasions (at my age you get to see a lot of powder rooms) the commodes in the mens room were sans seat. I am reliably informed that the ladies rooms are similarly ill-equipped. Perhaps they've been purloined. Could be that Europeans are distrustful of American aim?

For men, this situation ranks as more of a curiosity than hardship however most women would rather walk funny all day than avail themselves of a stool that would look more at home in a cell at Rykers Island. The EU should deny membership to any country whose comfort stations don't afford the same minimal accommodation found in a Topeka, Kansas Citgo station.

Europeans also appear to be a trusting lot. I cannot tell you how many train and bus tickets I purchased in Italy that were never collected or examined. Occasionally there would be some sort of ticket reading machine but it rarely got much use. If New York City adopted this cavalier attitude with its subways and buses, their revenue would diminish by half overnight. Also, many of the city's subway patrons would be deprived of the excellent exercise afforded them by turnstile jumping. Italians just don't feel that ticket enforcement is worth the trouble.

This laissez faire attitude extends also to parking. Cars in Italy are ubiquitous and tiny. As a result, Italians park literately anywhere that their cars will fit. A Smart Car can be parked perpendicular to the curb on a street where the rest of the cars are horizontal while only protruding into the street by a few inches. Also there are a million scooters. Those get parked on the sidewalk, in storefronts, and in building courtyards. They move in packs like locusts. Any American foolish enough to drive in Rome will quickly discover that , "death by scooter" is a very real possibility.

All this carping might give you the impression that travel in Europe is a trial. Well, it isn't ...and even if it were, it would be worth it. Any time you get the opportunity to stand under the dome of St Peters or the streets of Pompeii, or view the Bay of Naples from a balcony in Sorrento; you realize that you didn't come all this way to take a shower or use the rest rooms. What the hell. Go native. Shower when you get home.