Relax and Go

Here in the good old United States of America, we have a remarkable talent for speaking in polite code. Take the phrase “I gotta go.” Short. Sweet. Vague. Yet universally understood. No one thinks you’re announcing a sudden desire to leave the building permanently. No. They know. You know. Everybody knows. It’s a bathroom emergency wrapped in social decorum.

Now take that phrase, put it on a box, fly it across the Atlantic, drop it into Europe, and voilà — you have the makings of one truly unforgettable vacation mishap.

This story begins, as all great travel mishaps do, with optimism, passports, and the firm belief that our digestive systems would behave abroad exactly as they do at home. According to Dr. Vogler of the Cleveland Clinic, bowel movements thrive on routine. Eat differently, drink differently, sleep differently, walk more, sit less, cross time zones, breathe foreign air — and suddenly your digestive system stages a protest. Traveling, he explains, is basically an invitation for constipation or diarrhea to RSVP “yes.”

And oh, did our digestive systems RSVP.

After two lovely days in the Netherlands, our travel party arrived in Brussels. Chocolate was divine. Architecture was stunning. The cobblestones were charming. The bowels? Absolutely not cooperating. One member of our group, whose identity will remain protected because dignity matters, was experiencing the kind of constipation that makes you question your life choices, your diet, and whether your body has secretly betrayed you.

Naturally, we did what any sensible travelers would do: we marched into a local pharmacy with confidence, hope, and zero understanding of the Dutch language.

Here’s where things began to unravel.

European pharmacies, while beautiful and efficient, do not stock the same familiar products we know and love back home. No brightly labeled “Guaranteed Overnight Relief” bottles. No smiling cartoon intestines cheering you on. Just shelves of neatly arranged boxes…all written in Dutch. And, while we tried English, and Spanish, and polite smiling with desperate hand gestures, the staff did not speak our languages.

So, we did what humans have done since the dawn of time: we guessed.

That’s when we saw it.

A box with the most promising name imaginable: Relax and Go.

Now tell me, if you’re constipated in a foreign country and see something called Relax and Go, what would you think? Exactly. Relax…and go. Go to the bathroom. Go forth and be relieved. Go live your best life again.

Sold.

We bought it. Triumphantly.

The box was completely in Dutch, but honestly, who needs instructions when the name itself sounds like a personal invitation from your colon? The afflicted traveler took the product. Once. Then again. And again.

Result?

Nothing.

Well…not nothing exactly.

The traveler felt calm. Peaceful. Serene. Almost Zen-like. The kind of relaxation where you’re okay with life’s problems, even if one of them is that you still cannot, under any circumstances, go.

At this point, frustration set in. The box was about to meet its final resting place in a Brussels trash can when I intervened. “Don’t throw it away,” I said. “Let me take it. I’d like to research it when we get home.”

Fast forward to the United States. Back on familiar soil. Familiar toilets. Familiar language. And Google research ready.

I typed in the Dutch text from the back of the package and waited.

And then I laughed so hard I nearly cried.

Because Relax & Go was not, in any universe, designed to help you go. Not even a little. Not metaphorically. Not spiritually. Not internally.

Relax & Go, it turns out, is a food supplement formulated with ginseng and saffron. Its purpose? To promote a good mood, improve vitality, reduce stress, and combat fatigue. Also, protect cells from oxidation, improve sleep, and enhance mental and physical well-being.

In short, we had unknowingly purchased a happiness supplement.

No wonder they felt relaxed.

There we were, expecting a full digestive evacuation, and instead we’d given our traveler inner peace.

I could not stop laughing. The irony was flawless. The name betrayed us. The language barrier defeated us. And our assumption that “go” means the same thing everywhere had spectacularly backfired.

It was a humbling, hilarious reminder that words don’t always travel well. What sounds obvious in English can mean something entirely different elsewhere. Sometimes “go” doesn’t mean go. Sometimes it means sit back, relax, and accept your fate.

Lesson learned.

Next time we travel, we’ll use a translator before buying anything meant to affect our bodies. Because while relaxation is lovely, when you’re constipated in Brussels, inner peace is not what you’re looking for.

You’re just trying to go.