Creatures of Habit...not Habitat

With the time demands of travel at the start of my New Year, it has been a few weeks since I have dipped into my electronic inkwell to share my thoughts and observations of my changing time zones. As such it is somewhat coincidental that my returning rhetoric has randomly progressed my thoughts from my last blog, which pondered the folly of abandoning our cultural heritage when we opt to place our roots in new territories, far away from where we are born...

Today, although somewhat related, my new random soliloquy ironically reflects on where our habitual actions may not in fact change from place to place…

Regardless of our intrinsic cultural identity (or transient, for that matter, if you have had the pleasure of reading the preceding blog of the Culture Vulture...), it is the whole-hearted consistency of our behaviours at the table that has repeatedly caught my attention in the last few weeks, as I crossed cities and continents. So this week, as I make yet another morning elevator ride, across the hotel lobby to yet another hotel breakfast buffet, I cannot help but constantly recall the scene from The Jungle Book where the animals rush to their watering hole to strategise on the bear-necessities of life...

For me, one of the true joys of travel is to embody the local customs and cuisine wherever I roam but once more, as I float past the queue-less breakfast noodle bar each day to squeeeeze through the pack of wolves that hunt by the bacon and egg factory line I have come to wonder…when it comes to feeding time at the zoo, how many of us who live ‘global’ actually do eat ‘local’…?

The feeding pattern for the local wilde-life is never-changing and, as I fast forward to another morning re-run of this Discovery Channel, it is perplexing to see how set we have become so set in our ways, perfectly developed creatures of habit, totally unaffected (or enriched) by our surrounding habitat...

...Early sitting (pre 6am) is busy with the eastern menu offering, just in time for piping hot noodles, rice and breakfast fish and sushi.

...Central Europe filters through, in pockets, unrushed for perfectly proportioned pickings from the fruit and charcuterie bar and slowly savoured over the morning paper with a sugar-rush Danish and very strong coffee.

...The smell of waffles and pancakes then rise and shines the Americans out of their pyjamas in time for juice, but the choice here is as varied as the lifestyle of the visitors – carbs and eggs for the busy business man, smoothies and fruit for the accompanying wife, coloured cereals and lots of half-eaten leftovers for the so clearly not waste-not-want-not kids.

And lastly, unsurprisingly and like a flashback to a summer holiday on the Costa del Sol, the British gentry appear, finely timed to glide past the carnivore's carvery for a 'one of each' hot breakfast build up, washed down quickly with filter coffee (whatever is brewed) and an indigestion pill, for a record breaking exit to showcase with the customary drop of ketchup on his tie.

So, armed with my chopsticks and ready to continue my battle to keep up international appearances, I consider what buffet menu might be purveyed along my next flight path or indeed….do I need to reset my alarm to ensure I’m not late for my next feeding time at the glocal zoo?

‘Til next time, Pandora