Counting countries visited is a lot like measuring your penis. The lead-up is exciting, you get dizzy anticipating the number, and heck, if you’re particular sick, you might even get a little bit hard as well.
The crucial differentiator between country counting and measuring your ever-so-disappointing length of course, is that instead of pulling your well-worn Staedtler ruler out and slapping your flopping member out onto your bedroom desk, you do all the math in your head instead.
That’s right. It’s a tempting and alluring activity. Not just because more often than not the number is easy to calculate (both inches and countries), but also because we feel it “qualifies” ourselves in some way. Inches: how much of a sexual athlete we are. Countries: how much of a sexual traveller we are.
Yet before you go any further and start unzipping your flies/reaching for a map (please, think of the kids). Hear this:
It’s not the number of countries you’ve travelled to that matters, it’s what you’ve done with the experience that counts 
Learning the Lesson
Of course for someone of my infantile intellect and toddler-like stubbornness, the moral of this story is so easy to forget. Only last night I caught myself out on Skype, waxing lyrical to another traveller about the number of countries I’d been to and naming each one in self-masturbatory triumphalism.
Admittedly, for a moment, I felt cool as fuck. “Look at all those countries” I beamed to myself, ready to skimp over to Facebook and update my profile. “Shit, aren’t I like the most intrepid kid in a 50-mile radius” my sad fucking conscious echoed.
Then, in the aftermath, after said traveller was sent reeling away from his computer, tissue in hand, my portrait in the other, it suddenly dawned on me. Who was the biggest douchebag in this equation? Well I’ll be blown! If it wasn’t this twisted piece of humanity whose blog you’re salivating over now.
The number of countries I’d travelled to? About as meaningful as a dry humping session with the mermaid from Splash.
The Buck Doesn’t Stop There
Lessons in the way of the ethical non-douchebag traveller aside for a moment, the fact still remains. When you travel the world in this day and age, eventually you’re bound to run into a “counter” sooner or later.
They lurk everywhere. Not just on the Internet but in hostel bars and clubs. Not just in your family (that fucking BUNAC prick) but in bus terminals and airport lounges too.
Still, at least with this post firmly set in your mind, at least you’ll be well equipped to tackle the smug little misers head on.
So the next time someone drops, ever so nonchalantly, the number of countries they’ve visited?
Go to town on the loser.
Drill them. Hard.
Ask them what years they went. Ask them what the capitals were. Ask them what their favourite sight was. Ask them where they stayed. Ask them who they slept with. Ask them what they ate. Ask them how many times they masturbated under the hostel blankets. Ask them the address of their hotel and hostel. Ask them what they thought of the countries infrastructure. Ask to see their passport stamps. Ask them how many local beers they drank until they passed out, waking up with vomit incrusted pubic hair. Ask them how much they budgeted for each day. Ask them what they packed. Ask them what the mongrels on Trip Advisor said they should do. Ask them if they met any famous bloggers (no wait, don’t ask that). Ask them if they’d go again. Ask them who they went with. Ask them if the sun shined. Ask to see their Instagram photos. Ask them if they read the write-up of the country on Brendan’s Adventures.
Tire. The. Fuckers. Out.
The Only Resolution
That, you see, my fellow backpackers, is the only way to win against such pervasive cretins of travelling evil. Ask that amount of questions and pretty soon their heads will be spinning, their skinny fists shaking to the skies, their natty anklets and backpacker beads flying, their whole smug little bodies torn into shards by pure inquisitive overload.
Yes. That’s the ticket.
That my friends, would surely be better than any UNESCO world heritage site. That, my friends, would surely be better than any tight travel fisting at the footfalls of Mount Fuji.
And as for feeling guilty? Take it from this compulsive country counter/dick measurer.
Nobody cares about the number but you.
First, I really was in love with Daryl Hannah in Splash.
Second, yeah, I still eat fish.
I mean, just wanna say hi to my evil twin brother.
Ariel does it for me. Every time.
“Where were you before this? Where are you going next? Oh really, I was just there and…”seriously if I have this conversation one more time, I’m going to kill someone. There is nothing more eye-roll inducing that having to hear “the list” of where everyone in the hostel has been.
Oh really? What blog were you at before this?
I couldn’t agree more. Why are some travelers so insecure that they measure their worth or experience in number of countries visited – including airport layovers?
Great points and catchy heading!
We’re all insecure at heart. That’s what prompted this whole site!
But measuring the number of countries I’ve been too is a much larger number than the latter… c’mon man!
Try using a tape measure and wrapping it around your girth instead.
This was worth reading just for the title alone.
Though I do agree, I think that it all depends on why you are traveling. I personally travel for personal enrichment and growth so the number of countries doesn’t have much significance. However, the travel douchebags who care nothing about the country they are visiting aside from the drunken updates they can now make on their Facebook pages really need to work on their numbers.
ps- I really wouldn’t choose the base of Mt. Fuji for such activities… it’s a famous suicide location and I feel like someone hanging themselves might kill the mood a bit.
You’re so right! Let’s switch up the location to somewhere more “fitting”?
Will, I freakin love you.
That’s more than my mum.
Golf clap. Head nod. High-fucking-five.
Only to be out done by people who sew flags on their backpack.
Bravo. Now where’s my ruler.
Turner
I think you left it next to your sewing kit.
The only thing I hate more than the country counter is the “I am a better bargainer than you and this is what I got for 50 cents while you were out being foolish with your American cash…” (and BTW – I inadvertently made someone’s family eat dirt for a week…)
It’s like the fish tale. Or like “the boy who cried wolf.” These people thrive on their ability to engage the saner travelers among us in conversation of any kind.
After traveling mostly SE Asia for more than 2 years, I am sick to death of the “how much did that cost….?” question – from other travelers OR locals. I won’t answer it any more. Or I will lie so ridiculously that I look like a total fool or a complete bartering hero.
We need to get over ourselves to the point that these things don’t matter. Did you live a good life? Did your experiences teach you something? Did you give more than you took? Did you leave the place better than you found it?!?
These are far more important questions.
Can’t say any more than that.
Here’s a question for you – what about on the aspect of travel blogging. Do you consider posting the number of countries you’ve been to on your blog to be something no one cares about? I understand having a 1-on-1 conversation with someone, but at some point with a website you have to point out your credibility. Maybe not so out there as saying “I traveled to 80,000,00 countries so I’m awesome” but at some point you have to make the claim to why you are credible on your topics.
Thoughts?
For the record, I tend to not tell people I’m a travel blogger until I give them my card to give them my email/Facebook to catch up later on. Then the billion questions come, so I understand the sentiment quite a bit!
Shouldn’t the posts talk for themselves?
As Charlie Sheen says, this atrilce is “WINNING!”
Bloody brilliant post Will.
I used to get into arguments about this very issue with people from smaller countries surrounded by smaller countries.
Being from the US originally, I couldn’t sneeze and land in another country (fun fact: Switzerland could fit inside the Grand Canyon)…
… and I’ve met people who have visited far FEWER countries than me, who seem the better for it.
So – to “extend” your analogy – maybe it’s not the number of countries, but what you did there that matters.
Summed up in the 5th paragraph
Aye, the US is a vast beast.
The fucken worse question, “What’s your favourite country?” Really… nobody cares.
Anywhere there’s a press trip
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6 inches and 20 countries. I am an average Joe.
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If only the number of countries Ive visited directly correlated with the size of my plantain.