← Columns

Sometimes you travel for adventure. Sometimes you take the adventure with you.

The Source

Sometimes you travel for adventure. Sometimes you take the adventure with you. I’ve been taking groups overseas since 1979 and although I tend to “profile” my fellow travelers a bit, a few eccentricities often slip through my security check. The lady who took two cases of Diet Coke on our trip to Alaska… she knew she couldn’t do without it and was afraid that it wouldn’t be available “outside the United States.” Think about it. The young girl who after two weeks touring France, England, Spain and Italy made a desperate call from Parisian airport, instructing her mother to bring two bags of Oreo cookies to the St. Louis airport immediately. She’d gone two entire weeks searching for her chocolate and goo fix, and at that time Europe was Oreo-less. The well-organized Jacksonville wife who took three umbrellas to New Zealand . . . she realized it was the rainy season and also knew that she tended to leave umbrellas wherever she went. The third was for any forgetful fellow traveler who might also lose track of his bumbershoot. (She used all three before the trip was over and somewhere there’s a Maori tribesman with a bright yellow J.C. Penney umbrella.) I never cease to be amazed at the otherwise intelligent American travelers who will take bottled water on their journeys. I mean, if there’s anything that’s more wide-spread than Nike and McDonalds, it’s bottled water. This has happened a dozen times. We’re in the middle of London and one of my fellow travelers will offer me a sip of his high-priced, stream-fed, pasteurized and highly pampered designer water saying, “You know, you really shouldn’t drink the water in foreign places.” There we stand in the middle of 8 million Londoners who drink the water every day and this fellow thinks he’s about to be poisoned. I once signed up an older couple for a trip to Australia and only after they’d paid their fee did I learn that the man owned one of the foulest mouths in Morgan County. His language could peel the paint off the gazebo in Community Park. They’d be traveling with one other couple of their age, both quiet, church-going, mild-tongued folks, and it was obvious that these four would be spending a great deal of time together. I crossed my fingers, said my prayers, and introduced them at the St. Louis airport. After about a week’s traveling in the bush and on the beach, I went to the hotel room of the quiet couple and gingerly asked how things were going. “Oh fine! We’re have a great time!” I asked about the other fellow’s language. The quiet lady replied, “Ken, I’d heard about him before we left Illinois. Every time we sit down to dinner I pray, ‘Lord, shut his mouth!’ and you know what? It’s worked!” Sometimes our oddities turn out to be assets. One young lady on a trip to the British aisles was terrified of flying. Frankly, I admire anyone who fights such a phobia and gets on the plane anyway. Her therapy? Coloring books! Lots and lots of coloring books and a flight bag crammed with crayons. I kidded her about it a great deal until the plane took off and saw that she’d passed out all her coloring books and Crayolas to the other equally nervous passengers on the plane. (I now take the same equipment with me to quell any flight-fraught nerves.) Sometimes I hope that The Source newspaper doesn’t reach much out of the county, for this lady is still a bit humiliated about the call she made two me two weeks before our departure to Ireland. “Ken,” she said, “I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find an Irish dictionary!” “Uh..they speak English. I mean, yes, there is technically an older dialect, but everyone will be speaking English.” “Oh. That’s really dumb. I’m sorry.” I assured her that it would all be okay. Then she called back later that night asking, “What about a Scottish dictionary?” Then there was the Wondering Widow. She’d inquired about our trip to Germany, Austria and Switzerland, told me she’d spent her life traveling and would be no trouble. She was right about that…she was no trouble. In fact, she was nowhere to be found. We landed in Frankfurt, found our hotel, and that was the last I saw of her until our train left for Munich. Every day had been tightly scheduled with sightseeing, meals, museums, and cathedrals, but although she’d make an occasional appearance at breakfast, she was a ghost for most of the trip. To this day I have no idea where she went. You might wonder why I didn’t ask her. The gal came onto our tour with one of those I-know-what-I’m-doing-so-don’t-mess-with-me-Bubba looks in her eyes so believe me, I didn’t. Next summer? Back to Alaska! I’m stocking up on Diet Coke.