It’s a personal bias, but I knew from the start that Egypt would be my favorite episode of An Idiot Abroad. I heard that India is insane with its over a billion people, cramped alleyways and crowded streets, sometimes riots, and this Youtube video. But earlier this year, I was in Egypt, so I know firsthand what an awesome clusterfuck Cairo is. Cairo is nineteen million pushy, grabby citizens dragging you into their shops or onto their camels or holding out their hands for baksheeh because they walked next to you while you crossed the street. It’s a game of human Frogger — cars speed around town within inches of each other, within inches of goats and donkeys, within inches of pedestrians. It’s a city where you say “No thanks” and they hear “You’re not trying hard enough.”

Plus there’s the stuff you expect from Egypt: it’s dusty, it’s all in Arabic, and it’s hot as fuck.

Karl, we know, hates all of this, the Western civilization version of all of this — “It does me ‘ead in, ‘aving to live in London. It’s too much.” And I don’t think Ricky and Steve appreciated the extent of Karl-Egypt incompatibility (nor do I think that Ricky would care if he did), but for me, it put the rest of the Karl’s travelogue in some sort of perspective. The show could’ve done, for example, without Karl’s fleabag hotel, or the multi-day camel trek in Jordan, total comedic miscalculations. Karl’s feelings and reactions are irritating and melodramatic, it’s his polarized, stubborn misunderstandings that are the series’ gold, the way he compares our ordinary to his ordinary, where “me neighbor ‘ad a ‘orse in ‘er ‘ouse” and his dad “put a Forrest Gump in a wheelie bin… ‘e was lovin’ it.” The best scenes for me were where Karl accosted by one teahouse’s several owners, all named Sharif, engaged in a strange battle of obliviousness with Karl, one after another inviting him to the same teahouse under different names, and then Karl’s chaperone teaching him to bargain in the Khan al-Khalili medieval market. Karl’s such an insular, unassuming character that even the ulterior motives in a mock negotiation elude him.

Less successful were the Egyptian dinner, since we’ve already seen Karl needing to be spoon fed  in China and he clearly had no idea what he was eating here. I thought the editors got in a good joke, though, cutting between Karl complaining about hummus and couscous and the chefs cooking up animal genitalia for him. (Another nice touch for the fans: Karl follows through and does eat a nob at night.)

It takes till the final act before Karl gets to most tourists’ number one destination: the Pyramids. The Pyramids are literally right outside Cairo, so I had some trouble figuring out the geography of Karl’s pyramid tour — he seemed to spend more time at a scenic lookout point on a hill near the Pyramids than at the Pyramids themselves. Maybe that made for better cinematography, more shots of Karl plus all three Pyramids, but it also dulled the intellectual disparity between what Karl was experiencing and the Karl-isms describing how he’s experiencing it, his laser-like focus on the mundane and superhuman inability to see the forest for the trees. His incredulous, “It’s like a game of Jenga gone mad,” was brilliant; the more distant idea that Cairo and its suburbs are a mess was less necessary. At every site in Egypt, we all thought, “There’s a ton of garbage and ungulate poo here,” but that almost immediately shifted to something like, “Can you imagine how much work this must have been, to erect this temple and then carve hieroglyphs over every single inch of the thing?”

I feel like there’s a note in Karl’s travel journal that asks of those ancient masons, “Why bother?” I just wish we’d gotten that in the show.

 

I thought An Idiot Abroad would be a bit like watching a puppy let loose on a new carpet, just Karl Pilkington shitting everywhere — and he does, both literally and metaphorically — with me cringing at every impolitic, culturally dismissive moment of Karl’s “holiday.” He does relatively well in China, but there are some awkward, awkward setpieces in both India and Jordan, spurred by Karl’s insularity and his bizarre proclivity to never try anything more than once. But Karl never comes anywhere near the bad traveler stereotypes — he’s not imperialist, he isn’t callous towards other lifestyles, and he certainly isn’t the ugly American who sees the world as his playground. Karl’s just a fucking moron, and lateral-thinking savant, who doesn’t get it and will never untwist his mind. He’s the guy who asked a Russian antiques dealer, “What’s the newest thing you’ve got in here?” (Ricky’s answer: “I don’t know, the fire extinguisher? My shirt?”) He ran the world’s worst radio trivia contest, with the question “What do you never see?” (An old man eating a Twix.)

One of Karl’s stories on the XFM show was about how he dumped a girlfriend after he found out she had cancer and only a year to live, because, in complete naivete, “she’s not gonna be there, so why bother?” (Steve, in response: “If you’re morally reprehensible, call in!”)

And to be honest, traveling with Karl is not at all interesting. He isn’t, say, Michael Palin, someone who experiences a place and reports back with a sense of its essence. Karl’s journey isn’t to India or Jordan, but to various random corners of Karl’s mind, and his perpetual complaining and wondering why things aren’t the way they are back home is a hilarious examination of this weird, weird man’s character. It’s brilliant, really, or it would be if Karl had any idea at all of why it’s so brilliant.

Karl himself is the traveler’s nightmare, and I don’t know how much Karl knew — or understood — about where he’s going and how he’s getting there, but the show is edited so that he’s very much clueless, and in the first few minutes, there’s an obligatory shot of Karl aimlessly wandering through Delhi or Jerusalem armed only with the first name of a contact and a long list of prejudices against his destination. It’s histrionic farce, without the histrionics, a send-up of the uncertainties inherent in landing in some strange place with a strange language and a strange alphabet and, honestly, some strange traffic patterns you can’t make heads or tails of. Karl is genuinely lost, and at the same time, he’s no more lost than he is in London or Manchester. He’s genuinely agoraphobic, just like back at home, a paradigm of how you can’t escape yourself and maybe that’s a little comforting, if you think about it. Where will I sleep, the traveler might ask and decide, wherever it is, it will probably be uncomfortable, but that’s because I’m not really comfortable anywhere.

Both Jordan and India were fun, but I liked India a lot more. I have a feeling that Ricky and Steve preferred sending Karl to Jordan. While the show’s original conceit seemed like it was sending someone who’s too damn oblivious to be impressed by anything to some of the most impressive structures mankind’s every built, Ricky and Steve obviously just enjoy having a friend who’ll do just about anything if they badger him enough. Mock kidnapping — Karl wasn’t nearly scatterbrained enough to make this scene work, and the payoff, “Maybe I shouldn’t have my emergency contact someone I can never get on the phone,” seemed a bit piddling. Ditto with the eight-hour camel ride followed by a meal of some kinda eyeballs in milk. It wouldn’t have been mean-spirited if Ricky and Steve were there, in person, but watching it, and Karl’s growing agitation, giving up on the Middle East even though he’d already given up on the Middle East, felt voyeuristic and mean-spirited, on the wrong side of the categorical imperative.

On the radio and on the podcast, Steve and Ricky (especially) can be malicious towards Karl, but it always seemed trivial compared to their genuine interest in educating him. From that attitude, I see a show about a man who occasionally loses his guard and lets something unexpected slip inside him, and Karl’s sudden depression after the hassle of crossing from Israel into Palestine seemed almost like a ray of a hope — if this guy can realize how desperate and dire the border situation is, then surely the leaders who created the sadness will pick up on it sooner or later. There’s another weird moment of poignancy and connection later in the episode, where Karl goes against his nature and pretty much adopts the lifestyle of modern-day cave-dwellers in Petra, meeting them on the level of daily life, bored with the World Heritage treasury but amazed that they have mail delivery to rock-niches with no address.

The India episode is even better, where Karl’s not on the ground for a day before he’s experiencing his first look at extreme poverty and squat toilets ever, and not exactly linking the two. The next day, he’s in the middle of the Holi celebrations and, slowly but surely, getting into it and ending up a motley mess. The local gurus work their charm on him — a guru’s disciple tells Karl about how spirituality changes you (and Karl processes the idea via that time he nearly died from choking on an ice pop) — but he certainly goes through a long overdue curiosity growth spurt, spontaneously deciding to try yoga, willingly being dunked in the Ganges — thrice!, even joking around with a spiritual leader to millions. (Millions?) When Karl meets the Elephant Guru, a yogi whose facial deformities make him resemble The Elephant Man, Karl’s favorite movie character (because with him, “you know exactly what you’re going to get.”), his typical stupid questions and solipsistic prejudices are completely gone and the Elephant Guru is no longer the product of Karl’s long-standing assumptions.

It’s temporary, naturally, and Karl’s slagging off the Taj Mahal by the end of the episode, but it felt like the briefest of triumphs for a man who never gets any.

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