By Sandi Page, LLS Jupiter Marketing Committee Member
Like the lyrics of a famous song, faraway places with strange-sounding names have always called to me. The people, languages, sights, cuisines, colors and smells I encountered during my travels have made an indelible mark and constitute the rich, patchwork quilt of experiences that is my life. Most of the memories of those trips are wonderful, many almost sublime. Inevitably, a few near-disaster travel adventures peppered the route. One of them took place in Greece, a country I have visited many times and that feels like a second home.
We always passed through Athens on each of our trips to Greece because I needed a few days to see the Acropolis yet again and to revisit my favorite museum exhibitions, not to mention the obligatory pilgrimages to the wonderful little non-tourist restaurants that we had discovered and where we were treated each year like returning family, in part because we took care to greet them and order our meals in Greek.
One year, we decided to finally visit Delphi to commune with the oracle and to feel the influence of the Delphic maxims “Nothing in excess” and “Know thyself”, sayings which had forever fascinated me and which seemed to be excellent words to live by. We arrived very early in the morning at the Athens bus station, each armed with a book, and bought our reserved seat tickets. As we climbed onto the bus, my eyes met the bus driver’s and a cold chill ran down my spine. My gift of ESP had never kicked in as strongly as it did that day. I turned to my companion and told him that we couldn’t take the trip, that something terrible would happen if we did. He was surprised at such an odd declaration coming from me but, nevertheless, gently said that I was being irrational. I reluctantly tried to put my premonition aside. We sat down and were settling in when I noticed that our seat numbers were not those marked on our tickets. Feeling danger once again, I insisted that we switch to our assigned seats. The bus filled with other passengers while I was filled with dread. As the bus driver started the three-hour trip, I buried myself in my book so as not to see what I knew was impending disaster. Halfway through the trip, our driver fell asleep at the wheel, the bus swerved and we crashed into an oncoming bus. In my shock, I noted that the driver of the other bus, slumped over the wheel, was not moving. The scene was horrendous, the smell of gas overpowering, the silence eerie. The people sitting in our original seats had been hurt worse than us. As we were trying to evacuate the bus, one of the passengers, an old Greek man, nervously lit a cigarette. I broke the silence by screaming “No!” in Greek, and although he was dazed like the rest of us, he immediately put it out. After we were a safe distance from the bus, I realized that I had left my book on the bus and inexplicably ran back to get it! We were transported to the hospital where I kept telling the doctor treating me that people had been killed. The doctor kept telling me that everyone was fine. I couldn’t understand why he switched from Greek to English to French and finally settled on speaking in Spanish to my companion who was in better shape than I was. I spent the rest of the day hooked up to an IV. When I was finally released, I found out that the doctor had been speaking in Spanish because he didn’t want me to know that three people had indeed been killed, including the other bus driver. When we saw the pictures of the crash on the front page of the Athenian newspapers the next day, we couldn’t believe that we had survived. Although we grieved for the lives lost, we felt the renewed sweetness of our own lives for years after. My ESP powers were not put in doubt again but we never attempted another trip to Delphi. The oracle had spoken.
Read on to discover other travel disaster stories from your fellow LLS students, staff and professors.
Barbara DePalma, Student
Our two-week trip to explore the Canadian Rockies was off to a great start. We had just landed in Calgary and were headed to Customs when a beautiful black dog bounded up to our
15-year-old son, Mike. As Mike was petting the dog, we were suddenly surrounded by Customs officials. They quickly separated Mike from us and escorted him behind closed doors. My husband insisted on being with Mike, while I waited in confusion and shock with a Customs agent who told me that the dog had sniffed drugs on Mike. Patiently explaining that the parents are the last ones to know, she tried to convince me that it was better that we found out. It seemed forever before the agents came out and said that they could find no trace of drugs on Mike and that the dog was only interested in his sneakers. They had taken his shoes apart and found nothing. A light suddenly went on in my head! I explained that the previous weekend, we had gone to an outdoor Metallica concert where drugs were rampant. Was it possible that drug residue was on his sneakers? The agent confirmed that made sense because the soles were the only area the dog identified. Mike was released and we were again on our way. Later that night, Mike asked us if we had any doubts as the dog had been so positive. The look of gratitude on his face when we answered “No doubts at all” made the horrible ordeal almost worth it.
Paul and Christine Newton, Students
Many years ago, Paul and I were in the security line of a Central American airport on our way to a scuba trip when disaster almost struck. We could definitely tell that we were in a Third World country. As my carry-on bag went through security, the attendant repeatedly passed the bag through the X-ray and kept asking me if I had a knife in it. Confidently, I denied having one. She continued to ask and Paul wondered aloud if I had packed our dive knives in the carry-on but I knew that they were in the checked baggage.
The attendant asked a final time, as if to give me one last chance to confess, and I said no. The attendant abruptly removed my bag from the line and started to search it. Within 30 seconds, she removed a steak knife with a five-inch blade and a fork from one of the side pockets of my bag. I almost fainted as my life flashed before me. I’ve seen “Locked Up Abroad”! I imagined Paul and me being handcuffed and separated, never to see each other or our families again. Was there even a US embassy there?? By this time, there were several uniformed personnel inspecting my bag. Much to our relief, they believed that I did not know that the knife and fork were in the bag and let us proceed with our trip after confiscating the utensils. A noteworthy fact: We had passed through security in two major US airports earlier in the day with the knife and fork undetected!
Richard René Silvin, LLS Lecturer
Some twenty years ago, I was booked on Cunard’s SS Vistafjord for a two-week “repositioning crossing” from Fort Lauderdale to Malta.
Around midnight of the first day, I noticed the engine vibration had stopped and I went out on the balcony to find the ship was dead in the water with flames flying out of the funnel. Within minutes, the alarms rang and the Captain addressed the ship, explaining that this was no drill. We were ordered to get our life preservers and proceed to our assigned “muster stations” at our designated lifeboats. There, an officer explained what we already knew: there was a fire. It had started in the engine room and the ship’s firefighters were trying to put it out.
Shortly thereafter, we were asked to get into our lifeboats, which had been lowered into boarding position. We remained in them for two hours, while news helicopters and Coast Guard planes circled the ship. Eventually, we were informed that the fire had been put out, and that we could now gather on deck (the ship was full of smoke) where hot soup and coffee would be served.
Several hours later, we were allowed to go back to our cabins, but the ship was inoperative and would be towed to Nassau. From there, we were removed from the ship, taken to the airport and flown by chartered plane to either Fort Lauderdale or London.
Sadly, one sailor was killed. The ship was rehabilitated and rechristened the Caronia.
Paul Brown, Student
It had been quite some time since we had been to London so we were very excited, especially as we were traveling on the Concorde. Although the seats were rather narrow and the window seat had a warm wall, the meal and the service were handled quite well. The trip from JFK to Heathrow was scheduled to take only three hours and nineteen minutes.
Right on time, we touched down on a cool rainy night. But before the plane stopped, we were informed that there was a fire in the wheel well and we would have to make an immediate emergency exit from the plane. An announcement was made that all personal belongings should be left at the seat and would be collected in the terminal.
The exit was to be by the slides at the front of the plane. Unfortunately, there was a problem with the slide on the right side which did not deploy. This left the approximately 85 passengers and crew the one slide on the front left side. Everyone was orderly and not concerned. Why should we be? We were already on the ground. What could go wrong? Regrettably, neither the cabin crew nor cockpit staff notified the women to remove their high-heeled shoes before jumping onto the slide. Sure enough, the first woman with heels tore the slide and fell to the tarmac. Thereafter, all passengers had to be caught before hitting the ground.
The trip to the terminal was uneventful. We were allowed back onto the plane (which had been subsequently towed to the gate) row by row to prevent any thefts and then offered a complimentary drink in the lounge. Interestingly, we heard no talk of suing the airline, but we were sent a complimentary round trip ticket to continue using the Concorde. This trip, when combined with others we have taken, clearly indicates that it is in your best interests not to travel with us.
Francia Trosty, Student
In the mid-nineties, the Chinese government was offering travel incentives to academics and so I went with a group of colleagues to Beijing. My friend Sally discovered upon arrival that her luggage was missing and she had absolutely nothing to wear. No problem, we thought. We were in a beautiful hotel in a downtown area with boutiques and fashionable stores nearby so we went shopping! However, it quickly became apparent, to our surprise, that all those garments made in China and mass marketed all over the world were not available to the locals. Sally, at 5’6” and a size 12, was way off the body proportion scale for local Chinese women. Nothing in her size was available anywhere at any price. Undaunted, about 10 of us women in the group convened in Sally’s room with offerings from our personal belongings and she was able to cobble together a temporary wardrobe until her luggage arrived a few days later.
Peter Lippman, Student
It was 2012. Our youngest son, Andrew, had been touring the world with Johnny Hallyday — the French Sinatra — and had announced two scheduled North American performances, one in New York City and one in Montreal. Montreal made better sense for us, since a trip there would also facilitate a visit with family and friends. We drove up to the Paris of Québec and, on the designated chilly October evening, joined the Bell Center box office line to collect the tickets that Andrew had secured for us and other family members. It was a long line, which inched forward only laboriously, so, to pass the time, we chatted with each other. It seemed a little peculiar that our in-line neighbors soon began to eye us somewhat quizzically, first one set, then another. Finally, we could contain ourselves no further. “Is there something that we can help you with?” we asked. “Yes”, one lady responded, “We’re all wondering what you Anglophones (English-speakers) are doing at a Johnny Hallyday (i.e. French language) concert.” We explained that a) Unlike many English-speaking Montrealers, we do speak French and b) that our son was one of the principal performers. WOW! We became instant heroes on both counts. The concert volume and incessantly flashing strobe lights turned out to be less appreciable for those of us over fifty, but the preamble remains memorable. (Incidentally, “L’homme du Train” (“Man on the Train”), a movie starring Johnny Hallyday, was included in Katie Muldoon’s LLS Spring course.)
Emily Morton, Staff
When I was about thirteen years old, my family and I took a trip to New Orleans. We spent time walking around the city, visiting the old French Quarter with its tantalizing aroma of Cajun cuisine. We also ventured into the swamp, wandering by airboat through great cypress trees on the Mississippi River. When it was time to go home, we boarded our plane. As we began to take off, the plane suddenly screeched to a halt on the runway, jolting us forward in our seats. I tried to look out the window to see what had happened but there was something red smeared on the glass. The flight attendant got on the plane’s intercom and explained that birds, which had suddenly appeared on the runway, had gotten caught in the engine during takeoff. I remember the heavy smell of burnt asphalt as we exited the plane. Aside from that experience, New Orleans remains one of my favorite cities.
Ginny Higgins, Student
I was in Nepal 3 weeks before the earthquake, was in New Zealand this past year during their earthquake (we were not too close but had just left Wellington and visited buildings where there was damage), and I slept in JFK airport one night while our Air China plane was being repaired after leaking fuel twice while we were on and off it (still can’t believe I got on it a third time the next morning). There are too many bathroom, or lack thereof, stories from my younger years that I will NOT share with anyone!
But the most ridiculous thing that happened was when Jim and I were flying to Australia with a layover in Los Angeles. We almost ALWAYS travel with only carry-on and we are VERY used to getting off a plane, grabbing our luggage from the overhead bin, putting our backpacks on, and we are off and running. So, naturally, when we landed in LA, we did just that. We were so excited that we made the shuttle in record time and got to the hotel feeling terrific about our fabulous traveling expertise. As we started to check in, we, of course, now realized that we had no luggage for a month-long trip. So, I laughed, told the clerk we would return, and off we went back to the airport. This time we took and PAID for a cab rather than wait for 1/2 hour for another free shuttle! When we got to the airport, we were astonished to find that our luggage (and ONLY OUR luggage) was still circling around just waiting for us. By the way, the Australia/New Zealand trip was amazing. If you have been there, you know. If you haven’t, GO!!!
Benito Rakower, Professor
It was late July and we were in Lugano. I suggested to my wife that we hitch-hike back to Paris instead of taking the train. Heike was reluctant at first, “I don’t like to entertain strange people.”
The next day, we were outside Basel, by the road to Burgundy. A tan Citroen stopped to pick us up. The driver was French and worked in museum painting restoration. We got into a conversation about the asperities of Villon’s poetry. Tall, dark-haired and handsome, Daniel had the languid calme of an aristocrat. He wore no watch on his wrist. Daniel suggested we detour to the Loire and visit the Chateaux. We were all game for it. At Blois, we found a quaint hotel for the night and spent the next day visiting Chambord and Amboise. Daniel had a Michelin Guide, which he never consulted. He knew everything.
Dinner was at an expensive restaurant seated outside. Heike wore a dark blue skirt and matching pullover sweater – her lethal color. All we ordered was lobster, with a rich sauce, ripe cantaloupe, and white wine. At a certain moment, Daniel toasted Heike silently over the sparkling rim of his gleaming wine glass. Heike toasted him back. I had never before seen the expression on her face.
Later, in our hotel room alone, I asked, “Have you fallen in love with Daniel?” Heike had an aversion to direct questions. She said, “I didn’t want to hitch-hike.” Each word hit the mark. For the rest of the trip, Heike sat in front. In Paris, there was a farewell drink. Daniel gave us his business card and we parted friends.
Heike and I found a hotel on Rue Jacob and went for a stroll. At the Café Flore, I recognized Rosemary, a once legendary English major from Radcliffe. I introduced myself and Heike. It was odd that she was seated alone.
Twenty years later, we met again by chance in the middle of a sun-drenched road in Cambridge. Rosemary remembered me. We were both divorced. One night, we were walking up Avon Hill Road discussing Seventeen. Swept up by the warm night, Rosemary’s beauty, and glimpses into homes with bookcases, I said, “Why don’t we live together?” Rosemary responded, “I think we are.”
Suzanna (Suzie) Wells, Staff
This makes me feel anxious even now, six years on, having to write about it. In July 2011, just before I moved to Florida, my mum, my sister, my then 18-year-old twin girls and I treated ourselves to a holiday in the South of France. We had the loan of a wonderful private villa that belonged to my sister’s boss at the time, the CEO of Credit Suisse. The villa was idyllic. Even Nicolas Sarkozy had a villa just up the street and we would see his helicopter from time to time flying over the beach which we overlooked. One day, while lying on the beach, my sister, the girls and I decided to rent some kayaks. I went with Jo as she was the keen rower, having rowed for her school and I’m the weakest swimmer. Most of the kayaks were out that day so we ended up with only one oar each and, of course, no life jackets were offered or even thought about! That was my naive city way of thinking in play!
We started off keeping close to the harbor, but then decided to venture beyond the small fishing boats and yachts that were docked there. It was then that the weather took a turn for the worse and the waters started to get rough. It wasn’t long before we lost sight of my sister Bee who was with my other daughter Dixie. Little did we know that they had been knocked out of their kayak by an overly enthusiastic speedboater and were clinging on in very deep water.
By this time, the sea was so rough that we couldn’t row back so we started shouting for help. When a big wave came along, we got tipped out. I drank more seawater than I did red wine on that trip, that’s for sure.
Jo managed to climb onto a small fishing boat that passed her. It was manned by an elderly French couple but the waters were too rough for them to reach me and, to be honest, they seemed more interested in saving the kayak! Knowing I wasn’t a great swimmer, Jo panicked and threw me a long rope that was on board. This part would have been funny if I hadn’t felt so near death, but as I kept pulling the rope towards me, I reached the end of it. Jo hadn’t realized it wasn’t tied on anywhere!!! So, there I was in deep, deep water, no life jacket, tangled up in a rope, drinking so much sea water and getting weaker by the minute. It was at that point I thought I was a gonna (English term here meaning done for). If the cold water didn’t kill me off, the sharks certainly would. Meanwhile, the others had luckily been picked up by a passing boat (I’m glad they are such good swimmers).
Just as I had given up and started feeling that calmness you hear about in drowning accidents, out of nowhere this big luxury speedboat came along and scooped me out of the water (in my one and only James Bond moment). It was owned by a young German guy, which would have been romantic if I hadn’t lost my bikini top and looked like a drowned rat! Not even sure when I lost that (but I guess who cares in the South of France)!
So, this kind German wrapped me in a towel and gave me water and rushed me to the shore where the police & medics picked me up. Bee and Dixie were also there waiting with the police. I was wrapped in an aluminum blanket and given hot chocolate to drink. They wanted to take me to hospital, but now I was worried about Jo. I knew she was on a fishing boat with an elderly French couple. I didn’t know if she had seen me get picked up or not, so a search boat was sent out for her. She was eventually found by the police running around the beach with a bag of fresh clothes and water looking for us, bless her. We were kept with the police and medics for hours until we were all reunited, and they felt we were well enough to leave. Needless to say, we stuck to the pool for the rest of that holiday! So, lesson learnt here, never do any water sports without a life jacket! That was the last time I’ve been on a kayak! Even living in a beautiful place like Jupiter, I just break out in a cold sweat at the thought of it!
0
0
0
