Advice on Advice

Although I haven't yet begun packing for my trip to Europe, I think a little advice to advisers and their advisees is in order.

When people learn you're going travelling, and especially when they learn it's in Europe, they have nothing but well-meaning advice. While it is usually very helpful, there are times when I've gotten advice and have had to imagine casually walking up to them and zipping up their lips like a cartoon. It's not that the advice isn't good or even helpful, but usually it's that the adviser in question is a mere acquaintance and is therefore only minimally qualified to suggest how my own personal experience in Europe could be improved.

For example. I'll be stopping by Dusseldorf, Cologne and Hamburg when I pass through Germany, but I decided I would skip Berlin mainly because it was a little too far east for the trajectory I had in mind. I even bothered to do a quick poll over Facebook before I began really planning my trip to see how crazy it would be not to include Berlin. All of my closest friends unanimously agreed that Berlin was not essential.

But, sure enough, anyone who doesn't know me very well that learns I won't be going to Berlin insists I rethink my itinerary. The people in question are unlike myself in many ways, including a tendency to go a little overboard on drugs, sex and rock n' roll. Now, I'm not saying that one should only go to Berlin if one is a party animal, but it does seem to trend in that direction.

As much as I would love to be, I'm not a rock star. The thought of snorting drugs makes my head hurt. I get queasy when I see a bad hangnail. When I started guitar lessons, one of the first songs I learned to play was by Taylor Swift - I would have learned Jann Arden's entire discography if she wasn't so damn hard to play.

No, I'm not a rock star. If I'm a star at all, I'm a folk star. I don't plough through city streets with my fellow hellraisers, I meander through forests and gardens by myself. I don't - usually - carouse until last call with 10 empty shot glasses and the promise of an afterparty, I get mildly day drunk with two pints and a book on a sunny patio.

So before you tell me not to book any hostels in advance, consider that the motto, "It's not a good night unless you've ruined your outfit," isn't exactly the kind of person I am. I'm not saying I'll spend the entire 5 weeks sipping tea in the park and home by 8, but I also won't wake up every morning on top of a bag of potatoes wondering why my hair is now purple.