As an American growing up in Texas, Mexico was mine. A friend and I drove down to El Paso in his pickup, parked it and walked across into Juarez in the wee hours of the morning. That was my first experience in a foreign country. We were young adults, 21 years old.
His pickup had a camper shell on the back, so that’s where we would sleep at night. He didn’t want to drive it into Mexico, so we always walked over the border that trip. I still remember our hunt for the legendary “donkey show.” A taxi driver said he could take us to it, but each bar he took us to didn’t have it. He’d go inside with us and sit down at the end of the bar, no doubt getting a free drink or some sort of commission for taking us there. Each time we’d tell him, “No, you don’t understand. We want to see the donkey show.” And he’d say, “Oh! The donkey show! Okay, I know where it is.” After three or four bars, we realized he was just jerking us around. I remember one bar in particular, done up like a cave or grotto. I think that was the name of it, The Cave or The Grotto, only in Spanish. The place was empty except for an old hooker named Lucy, had to have been at least 65, and her tongue stayed glued to my friend’s ear.
My parents took me to Niagra Falls, Canada when I was a kid, but I don’t remember much about it. I do remember taking the catwalk under the falls and riding on one of the boats. This was in the late 40’s.
I joined the Navy in '56 and I was sent to Port Lyautey, Morocco in '58. I was there about a year and and a half and visited Fez, Marrakech, Rabat and Casablanca. I also had the opportunity to spend a few days in Gibralter and southern Spain while I was there. I had some great experiences and still have fond memories.
Here’s a great web site w/ some photos taken around that time period: http://www.portlyautey.com/Newsletter.htm
Geez, I went to Canada for the first time when I was hardly out of diapers, and I’ve been back many, many times since then. Even lived there (in Montreal) for a number of years.
Poland, when I was about 6 months old. Then 4. Then 9. Then 13, etc. My first trip abroad by myself was when I was 20–moved to Scotland for a few months, then volunteered in the former Yugoslavia for a few months. Returned to America to finish up college, then moved to Hungary for 5 1/2 years when I was 22. (Thus, a majority of my 20s were spent living abroad.)
Never been out of this country, and don’t intend to. Why do you all hate America?
I kid! I kid! Seriously, I’ve been to Canada once when I was 18. Here in Michigan, it is a big thing to drive to Toronto for the weekend for your 18th birthday so you can legally drink.
Although I gotta say, $5 says this is in IMHO by morning.
The first time I set foot in a foreign country (France) was Yon Usual Straddle The Line Trip as part of a day trip from Pamplona to Roncesvalles. I don’t even remember how old I was, but it was long ago that there wasn’t a highway to Barcelona yet. Maybe 4 or 5; we sold the Pamplona flat when I was 6.
Israel, at the age of 9 months. I still live here… (my parents immigrated here at the time.)
I’ve also been to most of W. Europe (I think all of it except for Spain, Portugal, Finland and Iceland), Czech Rep., S. Korea and Canada. And the US, of course.
And it’s nearly noon here and this isn’t in IMHO yet
At 23, I left NZ for the first time, stopping in Singapore for 3 nights on my way to start an European 10 week double decker bus tour (Top Deck). Thankfully, this was in May 1986, just after Chernobyl and Libya, so half the bus passengers canceled which made living conditions on the bus bearable and emptied Europe of Americian tourists so nothing was too crowded
When I was six weeks old my parents took me to America to meet my grandparents, which was a good thing, as my dad’s father died of a sudden heart attack a few months later and I was his first grandchild.
However, since I was born a U.S. citizen, I suppose the first *foreign *country I visited was Britain at age 11 or so. My family rented (or perhaps just borrowed - we had some English friends) an apartment in London for a week, as sort of an extended stopover on our way to the States.
Yes, I wasn’t quite sure which forum to post this in. I considered MPSIMS, but since it was a question, I posted it here. If another forum is more appropriate, I hope the mod feels free to move it.
My Thai wife’s first foreign country was Malaysia, just across the border for some day shopping.
The US was her second foeign country. Her office sent her to Hawaii to attend a conference. Then they sent her back to Hawaii three years later to earn an extra master’s degree for her work, which is when we met. She brought me back as a souvenir.
Canada, in my infancy. According to Mom & Dad, I sat up unassisted for the first time when they set me down on a cold rock at a campsite somewhere in Ontario.
There were other trips to Canada after that–camping mostly and visits to Montreal and Toronto, up into my teens. The first foreign country I went to by myself was England, when I was 19.
Canada in my pre-teens. Ontario. Toronto. Being from Alabama that might sound odd, with Mexico being a more logical option. Cuba, even. Or maybe the offshore islands off Florida. But there was a big deal convention going on in Cleveland that my dad and aunt wanted to go to and they wanted to take my brother and me along. (Mama stayed home.) So we went to Niagara Falls and Toronto. All I remember of the whole trip, other than the falls, was going to Casa Loma and learning that the tubs had faucets for perfume but not water. How’s that for a solid memory of a foreign country?
My wife and I went back to Niagara Falls in 1998 (she for her first visit) and crossed over into Canada. Other than that, it’s been Eastern USA for me all along.
Nigeria, for work. Man, that was one long trip after having gotten immunized for almost everything under the sun. What a welcome to the new country. Mildewing dead Garuda planes lined the runway. After navigating through the stuffy, sultry concourses, then past immigrations, I met the driver and my bag at luggage claim. We pushed through the throng outside to his worn Peugeot 504, parked atop a grassy, raised median in the parking lot. With me unbelted in the back seat, he drove the wrong way up the freeway cloverleaf. Some times jet lag can be a lifesaver!
My family wasn’t big on travelling places it couldn’t drive to, and until I was, uhh, over 30 years of age, I was, too. Later that year I ate at the world’s northernmost McDonalds.
The USA, with my family. We lived not too far from the Montana-Alberta border, and would go to Glacier Park from the Canadian side (Waterton National Park) for picnics. I later ended up moving to America.
Fiji, when I was 5. I’ve often toyed with going back, but I have such magical happy memories of the place and it just wouldn’t be the same place now, I suspect.
