Travel Tips
Noticing me reading a newspaper article on travel tips, my wife, Linda, quipped, "A little knowledge is a dangerous thing."
"Yes, my dear one," I replied, "but a little knowledge is better than none at all." Pleased with my verbal parry, I turned back to my article.
"Couples should consider 'cross packing' their checked baggage -- have one outfit or two in each bag in case one bag is delayed."
How I wish I had read that tip before Linda and I went to Paris last November!
Linda's bags arrived with our flight. My one bag had been misplaced and was not to be found. So for a few days I would have to improvise with what clothes I was wearing.
I tried to freshen up my wardrobe by rinsing it out in the hotel bathtub the first night. Bad idea: the next morning the clothes were still wet.
So while Linda showered, I rifled through her bags trying to find something, anything, I could wear.
A pair of baggy pink slacks fit in the hips, but the waistband wouldn't come close to closing and the legs were too short. A turtleneck sweater was the only top I could squeeze into. The nylon knickers fit, and I found that they felt really quite lovely. Why had I never tried them before?
I dressed and examined my appearance in the full-length mirror.
Let's see: Gaping plaid sport coat, purple sweater stretching across and almost covering the belly, pink pants open at the waist to expose a glimpse of flowered underwear, brown wing-tip shoes, and skinny, stockinged ankles. Hmm, not bad.
As I turned to continue my critique, Linda came out of the bathroom, passed by me, and casually asked the question married men over the millennia have come to expect: "You aren't going to wear that, are you?"
"Yes, my dear one," I replied, "but a little knowledge is better than none at all." Pleased with my verbal parry, I turned back to my article.
"Couples should consider 'cross packing' their checked baggage -- have one outfit or two in each bag in case one bag is delayed."
How I wish I had read that tip before Linda and I went to Paris last November!
Linda's bags arrived with our flight. My one bag had been misplaced and was not to be found. So for a few days I would have to improvise with what clothes I was wearing.
I tried to freshen up my wardrobe by rinsing it out in the hotel bathtub the first night. Bad idea: the next morning the clothes were still wet.
So while Linda showered, I rifled through her bags trying to find something, anything, I could wear.
A pair of baggy pink slacks fit in the hips, but the waistband wouldn't come close to closing and the legs were too short. A turtleneck sweater was the only top I could squeeze into. The nylon knickers fit, and I found that they felt really quite lovely. Why had I never tried them before?
I dressed and examined my appearance in the full-length mirror.
Let's see: Gaping plaid sport coat, purple sweater stretching across and almost covering the belly, pink pants open at the waist to expose a glimpse of flowered underwear, brown wing-tip shoes, and skinny, stockinged ankles. Hmm, not bad.
As I turned to continue my critique, Linda came out of the bathroom, passed by me, and casually asked the question married men over the millennia have come to expect: "You aren't going to wear that, are you?"
"To prevent becoming a victim of a pickpocket, carry only enough money in your pocket, or purse, for the estimated needs of the day. Carry the bulk of your cash, travelers cheques, and credit card in a body pouch worn under your clothes, next to your skin."
I used this tip -- one time.
The taxi fare back to our Paris hotel after a full afternoon of shopping was more than expected. I did not have enough money in my pocket to pay the driver. So as I stood by the cab, I reached down into my pants front to remove the pouch and get the extra money there.
As I fumbled around, Linda exited the car. With a look of shock on her face, she demanded, "What in the world are you doing?"
"I'm trying to get my Euros out of my pouch!"
Looking confused, she asks, "Can't this wait until we are in the hotel room?"
"No, I've got to take care of this guy now."
The heat of the day, and my frustration, had got me to sweating, and the moisture acted like glue on the pouch. It was stuck fast. But I kept at it, pulling and jerking the pouch back and forth.
People on the street were stopping to watch me. Someone muttered loudly, "Ces Americans fous!" Our cabdriver was shaking his head and making little clucking noises.
Plunging my other hand into my pants and jerking more, I said, "Look out, Linda! Here it comes!" And, with one great pull I brought the pouch out.
As I paid the taxi driver and the crowd drifted away, I saw Linda standing aside, hands on hips, one foot tapping, and extremely red in the face.
"Give me that damned pouch!" she demanded. And that was the last time I ever saw it.
"Notify your credit card server when you plan foreign travel. Unusual charges to the card often result in the server denying attempted charges, suspecting the card has been lost or stolen."
This would have been nice to know.
"Notify your credit card server when you plan foreign travel. Unusual charges to the card often result in the server denying attempted charges, suspecting the card has been lost or stolen."
This would have been nice to know.
Our flight out of Paris back to the states was scheduled to depart in a little over two hours. Our taxi to the airport was due any minute. While Linda finished her toilet, I went down to check out of the hotel and pay for our week's stay.
I presented my Visa card for payment, and while it was being processed I looked over the bill. Wow!
"Monsieur," the clerk said.
"Yes?" I replied.
"Votre carte de credit est incorrect."
"I'm sorry?"
"Monsieur, your credit card is invalid."
"Oh, there must be a mistake. Please try again."
Another quick swipe of my card must have produced the same result. The clerk now scowled.
"I'm sorry?"
"Monsieur, your credit card is invalid."
"Oh, there must be a mistake. Please try again."
Another quick swipe of my card must have produced the same result. The clerk now scowled.
"Monsieur, your credit card is invalid."
Whoa Nellie! I thought. I don't have enough money on me to pay the bill.
I said, "Ah, would you try again, please? And maybe go more slowly with your swipe, please?"
The clerk slid the Visa card through the machine in mock slow motion. Looking up with an "I told you so" smirk, he said, "Monsieur, the credit card will not accept the charge. Now, how do you propose to pay your bill?"
Just then the doorman announced, "Monsieur, votre voiture est ici."
"What?"
"He said, your car is here," the clerk answered. "But now, about your bill, Monsieur?"
As I began to calculate the chances of making a run for it, I heard Linda ask, "You haven't finished yet?"
"Credit card no good," I told her. "Try three time. What do?" (I tend to talk funny when I am under a lot of stress, and I sweat a lot.)
Ignoring me, Linda said, "Monsieur, s'il vous plait m'expliqueriez le probleme?"
"Oui, Madame. La carte de credit des Monsieur est incorrect," the clerk responded.
"I should have known you would screw up," Linda said to me over her shoulder. "Go collect the luggage and proceed to the taxi. I shall rectify the problem."
"Oh, thank you, dear," I responded and slunk away up the stairs.
By the time I returned with the bags, Linda was waiting by the car for the door to be opened for her.
As we rode to the airport in silence, I kept wondering how Linda had handled the situation. I really wanted to know, but was afraid to ask. Finally, when I could stand it no longer, I ventured a timid "What happened?"
Linda reached into her purse, flashed an American Express card, and said, "Travel tip number one, Dummy Dear. Always carry two different credit cards in case one doesn't work."
From Linda's statement about "a little knowledge" and the hotel incident, I concluded she might be right ...again. It is hard to argue with someone so smart. Even she agrees she is the smartest person she knows.
Whoa Nellie! I thought. I don't have enough money on me to pay the bill.
I said, "Ah, would you try again, please? And maybe go more slowly with your swipe, please?"
The clerk slid the Visa card through the machine in mock slow motion. Looking up with an "I told you so" smirk, he said, "Monsieur, the credit card will not accept the charge. Now, how do you propose to pay your bill?"
Just then the doorman announced, "Monsieur, votre voiture est ici."
"What?"
"He said, your car is here," the clerk answered. "But now, about your bill, Monsieur?"
As I began to calculate the chances of making a run for it, I heard Linda ask, "You haven't finished yet?"
"Credit card no good," I told her. "Try three time. What do?" (I tend to talk funny when I am under a lot of stress, and I sweat a lot.)
Ignoring me, Linda said, "Monsieur, s'il vous plait m'expliqueriez le probleme?"
"Oui, Madame. La carte de credit des Monsieur est incorrect," the clerk responded.
"I should have known you would screw up," Linda said to me over her shoulder. "Go collect the luggage and proceed to the taxi. I shall rectify the problem."
"Oh, thank you, dear," I responded and slunk away up the stairs.
By the time I returned with the bags, Linda was waiting by the car for the door to be opened for her.
As we rode to the airport in silence, I kept wondering how Linda had handled the situation. I really wanted to know, but was afraid to ask. Finally, when I could stand it no longer, I ventured a timid "What happened?"
Linda reached into her purse, flashed an American Express card, and said, "Travel tip number one, Dummy Dear. Always carry two different credit cards in case one doesn't work."
From Linda's statement about "a little knowledge" and the hotel incident, I concluded she might be right ...again. It is hard to argue with someone so smart. Even she agrees she is the smartest person she knows.
