I am becoming (an existential phrase I especially like) a pretty damned reasonable judge of the people I meet on an experience like a bought-and-paid-for-in-advance experience like the one Margaret and I are enjoying now. We sat with one-hundred-and-fifty people last night in Athens to listen to details of the trip that we had all bought and on which we were embarking tomorrow. In the question and answer period one especially boorish man prefaced his question about whether or not lunch would be included on one of the days with a warning that at the end of the two-week journey from the Parthenon to the Blue Mosque he’d better be able to look back on it with the feeling that he had got his money’s worth. I don’t know the man, but I cringed with embarrassment at the thought that the capable, scholarly Greeks and Turks leading our excursion might think Americans are like him, that his expressed attitude may be a characteristic of Americans. He wasn’t with us on the six-day special trip. I can guess that he has not often come away from experiences with the feeling that it was worth the price. What a shame. He doesn’t expect his experiences to meet his expectation. He will, however, get some satisfaction in describing to his friend back home where he has been with hints at the great cost.

Some people are more interested in having been than in being. They are the ones who say after a dinner that the wine was excellent but who seemed not to notice when they were drinking it that it was good. Having had wine that was excellent is more important to them than realizing the pleasure of drinking especially good wine when they are drinking it. They are always eager for an experience so when it is over they can savor the memory of it.