Rozenbachs - Paris and Other Disappointments

About the Book

A memoir about family, travel and why the Eiffel Tower is a real let-down in person.

Sick of going overseas and enjoying himself, comedian Adam Rozenbachs decided he would take his father to Europe on the trip of a lifetime. For his dad, it was a chance to return to the place he hadnt seen since fleeing post-war Germany. For Adam, a chance to repay his dad for everything hed given him in life. After three weeks of travel, Adam decided not killing his dad was more than enough repayment. Frustration reached a whole new level as Adam discovered his dad didnt like museums, galleries, landmarks, travelling, or Paris.

God, he hated Paris.

But amid the irritation of travelling with an adult toddler (an adoddler), Adam learned through gritted teeth more about his dad, his family and himself.

If youve ever travelled with family, are considering it, or would never even dream of it, you will identify with the pain, pressure and triumph of Adam making it out alive (and with a hint of sanity left). Paris and Other Disappointments is a hilarious memoir about fathers and sons, and the joys and challenges of travel, from one of Australias most talented comedians.

The reason I agreed to travel to Europe with my dad was because I was sick of having fun overseas. Enjoying myself, meeting exciting people, learning about other cultures all things I could do without.

The seven innocuous words that started our journey were, Id bloody love to go to Europe. Dad had been repeating them at family gatherings for years, often after Id recounted a recent holiday Id been on.

Usually these words were just taken as conversation filler, like Dad bemoaning not signing us up as MCC members at birth, but this time I decided to take them seriously. To be honest, I reacted before Id properly thought it through the way someone might instinctively pull a child to safety, or grab a hot sausage straight off the barbecue and throw it in their mouth, burning all available skin. I said to Dad, Well, lets go then.

If he wanted to go, why not? I was single, I didnt have kids and I was a television writer and comedian; big chunks of time off were part of my landscape. And for once, I didnt already have a holiday booked. The timing couldnt have been better.

And if I didnt get proactive, soon wed reach a point where Dad could no longer go. Then every family gathering until death would be him lamenting, I wish Id bloody gone to Europe.

Im serious, Tommy, I said. I finish at the end of September and dont have to be back at work until November. If you really want to go, I can do it.

Dad was speechless; he hadnt expected that. His bluff had been called. He wasnt the only one who was stunned Id never considered it for a second before, yet suddenly I was all-in on a European trip with him.

Agreeing so hastily had the feeling of making drunken plans late on a big night, except that this plan wouldnt be forgotten in a hungover haze the next morning, because we were sober. And there were witnesses. Dad and I both knew it would be an extraordinary act to back out from there. It was also impossible because I get my stubbornness from him, so neither of us would have known how to retreat, even if wed wanted to.

Besides, no one but me was in a position to take Dad to Europe. Mum was never going to do a big trip; she gets nervous enough watching Getaway . My sister, Michelle, still lived at home, so she already had her daily fill of Dad. My older brother, Jason, couldnt do it because he was no longer with us; he lives in Research, an outer Melbourne suburb, so no ones going to give him a lift to the airport.

Im not from a family of travellers. Mum and Dad both immigrated to Australia as babies Dad from post-war Germany and Mum from India, where her father was stationed while serving in the British Army. It staggered me that, apart from my sister going to Japan on exchange in high school, 80 per cent of my family hadnt been overseas as adults.

Id always been captivated by overseas travel, ever since Narelle Watt came back to primary school after three weeks away (not during the holidays... I know! ) with a Mickey Mouse T-shirt from Disneyland. Not from a relative whod returned from a trip, but an actual purchase made at an actual Disneyland in an actual United State of America. Even as a twelve-year-old I was jealous and from that moment on I couldnt wait to experience it for myself. (Travelling, not Disneyland. If I wanted to line up for hours surrounded by overweight Americans then Id go to well, Id go to Disneyland.)

To me its a choice not to go overseas, because nowadays, with such cheap flights and accommodation packages available, its so easy. I understand why we didnt do it as kids; Mum and Dad both worked full time, and travel in the eighties wasnt as affordable as it is now. Also, there could be no greater living nightmare than dragging three children around the world. Kids are annoying enough in the supermarket; if I had to take three of them overseas I would have an aneurysm before I made it down the aerobridge. The mum in Home Alone wasnt forgetful, she knew that one less kid on the holiday was the smart move.

Nor have I ever understood the waste of money that is taking a toddler on an international trip. Lets pay to bring along someone who will be a challenge every waking moment and wont remember a thing. Ill admit on occasion thats been me after a few too many resort cocktails, but thats my own money being wasted.

When I was twenty-five, which was as soon as I could afford it, I backpacked through Europe, expanding my horizons by seeing what Irish pubs looked like in Rome, Berlin and even Prague. The trip also taught me how to survive on a steady diet of jam sandwiches, ham and cheese sandwiches, or, to get some variety, jam and cheese sandwiches. It takes paying $33 for a tiny bowl of spaghetti outside a German castle to realise you always need a back-up plan. A plain bread roll soaked with a mouthful of Coke provides more than enough flavour and sustenance.

Since that first trip, Ive travelled as often as I can, making me the man for the job of taking Dad to Europe. This in itself was out of the ordinary, because Id never been the man for the job before. Ever. Unless that job was to get drunk at a wedding and tell the bride I had feelings for her, but for some reason theres not been a ton of requests for that after the first time.

Holidays are exciting. Counting down the days until take-off, constantly checking the weather at your destination, organising travel insurance because your parents have made you paranoid about getting everything you own stolen. I actually love the frustration of the final twenty-four hours, longing for the hellish long-haul flight to begin.

I had almost always travelled solo, because I relished the freedom. I loved knowing I could change plans on a whim, hearing about something cool and deciding to do it, or being able to ditch an annoying Brazilian backpacker who was going to get me killed by starting trouble in a bikie bar in Cusco, Peru. I had only travelled in a group for weddings, and resort stays dont really count. The toughest choice on a beachside holiday is what cocktail to have before midday (I always choose a mango colada, as mango is a breakfast fruit).