{"id":1070,"date":"2018-03-06T14:29:11","date_gmt":"2018-03-06T14:29:11","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/wordpress.fau.edu\/lifelongexchange\/?p=1070"},"modified":"2018-03-06T14:29:11","modified_gmt":"2018-03-06T14:29:11","slug":"even-more-travel-disasters","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.fau.edu\/lifelongexchange\/2018\/03\/06\/even-more-travel-disasters\/","title":{"rendered":"EVEN MORE TRAVEL DISASTERS!"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Sandi<\/a>

By Sandi Page, Member, FAU Osher LLI Jupiter Marketing Committee member<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

By popular demand, we\u2019re back with more tales of travel disasters…just in time for your summer vacation planning!<\/p>\n

One of my travel mishaps took place once again in my beloved Greece. Every other year, we would choose one or two of Greece\u2019s many islands to explore. Our days were filled with sun, figs, grapes, pots of basil, warm, yeasty bread, and sightings of pelicans stealing fish from small local restaurateurs who would chase them, outraged. The pelicans always got away. Our lives felt charmed until one day, our luck almost ran out.<\/p>\n

We were in a port hotel lobby at 6 a.m. on the island of Samos waiting for the ticket office to open to buy passage on the first boat of the day to Turkey.\u00a0 Suddenly, a wasp flew out of nowhere and stung my companion on the finger.\u00a0 Without thinking, he put his finger in his mouth to try to remove the stinger – a most regrettable action. His face and neck started swelling immediately. Fortunately, Samos is one of the few islands that has a hospital.<\/p>\n

Knowing he was in grave danger, I calmly told him that we needed to get to the hospital immediately.\u00a0 The taxi drivers refused to take us, thinking that the very short distance and, therefore, small fare, did not warrant losing their place in line. I offered them ten times the fare to no avail. They had been burned by tourists before.\u00a0 We had no choice but to walk.\u00a0 Upon arriving, the hospital lobby was dark and the reception desk unmanned, due to the early hour. I called out but no-one came. I yelled. Still no-one. In desperation, I started screaming. Finally, a disheveled-looking doctor, who had obviously been asleep, appeared, struggling to get into her white coat. She spoke no English or French and my rudimentary Greek was unequal to the task. By this time, my companion\u2019s face had swelled up so as to be unrecognizable, his eyes mere slits, and he was having trouble breathing and was starting to panic. The doctor, in her sleep-dazed state, seemed unable to grasp the situation, so using my best \u201ccharade\u201d skills, I acted out the wasp sting scenario. She gasped as it finally sunk in what had happened and she stepped closer to look at his face. He was immediately put on a stretcher, given a shot, hooked up to an I.V., and then put in the Men\u2019s Ward, a huge room filled with 10 beds, all full, all Greeks. Families started arriving a few hours later, laden with food, and because of innate Greek hospitality and kindness, we were immediately adopted as one of their own.<\/p>\n

One of the patients, a sweet young man with Down syndrome, offered us some fruit from a large platter his father had just brought in.\u00a0 I took a piece and thanked him profusely in Greek. He then happily but painfully walked away to the next patient to share his treat.\u00a0\u00a0 As he passed, a sweet, sickening odor emanated from his legs. Gangrene was working its way up them.\u00a0\u00a0 Hiding my shock, I pretended to have noticed nothing unusual. I have never forgotten him.<\/p>\n

Needing a break, I went into the hall and saw an old woman crying quietly on a bench. I sat down beside her. Sorrow and pain are a universal language and with a few small gestures to me – pointing to her wedding ring, then pointing to her heart, then pointing to her eyes which she slowly closed – I understood that her husband had just died. We fell into each other\u2019s arms and wept together. I felt honored that she had invited me in to share her grief.\u00a0 I have never forgotten her, either.<\/p>\n

Only Greek-speaking doctors and nurses were on duty that day so all of my companion\u2019s treatments were explained to us in sign language. The kind hospital staff let me spend the night in a bed in the children\u2019s ward which was, thankfully, empty.<\/p>\n

When an English-speaking doctor finally came in 34 hours later, he told us over and over again how very lucky we were – that if this had been my companion\u2019s second wasp sting, he would have surely died, given the severity of his reaction to this first one. It went without saying that without hospital facilities, he would not have made it, either. The doctor told us that we must always carry shots with us for any future stings, but to follow up their use by immediately seeking out medical personnel. We were finally, after many goodbyes in Greek to our new friends, allowed to leave the hospital.<\/p>\n

We found a little square in the town and sat down. My companion was very quiet, a silence I respected after all he had been through. He finally said, \u201cYou know what?\u00a0I would really, REALLY have hated for my epitaph to read, \u201cKILLED BY A WASP IN SAMOS.\u201d\u00a0We looked at each other, burst out laughing, and once more, we were back in vacation mode, with the almost-disaster behind us.<\/p>\n

Read on as first our Osher LLI instructors and then our fellow students share some of their own harrowing travel adventures.\u00a0 BONNES VACANCES, Y\u2019ALL!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Taylor Hagood, Ph.D., Instructor
\n<\/strong>When I first found out about the travel disaster blog, I didn\u2019t think I had much to contribute, since luckily I have not yet been robbed, kidnapped, or murdered while traveling. I was then informed that \u201cdisaster\u201d could mean any kind of mishap, and that opened things up for me, since I have had plenty of those. Which one to tell about?
\nI guess I can tell one on myself. My father and I went to Rome several years ago. One of the biggest problems we encountered was finding a public restroom: strangely, many Europeans I know constantly complain that they cannot find public restrooms in the United States, and many Americans complain that they cannot find public restrooms in Europe.
\nAs it turned out, there was a stand-alone, self-cleaning restroom near the entrance to one of the Metro stops. These are little container-like buildings with automatic doors that unlock and open when one puts a coin in them. My father decided to use it. He put a euro into the slot, the door opened, and he went in, closed the door behind him, took care of business, and came back out again.
\nI needed to use the facility too, but it seemed to me that the door would need to shut and the unit to clean itself first. I waited for the door to close. It didn\u2019t. Having never used one of these before, I wasn\u2019t sure how long to wait. I decided I had waited long enough. I closed the door behind me. Then the trouble started. I heard a click as the door locked. The light that had been on inside went out. A noise started. Suddenly I felt water spraying all around me.
\nI will just end the story by saying you can rest assured those self-cleaning toilets are sanitary.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Kurt F. Stone, D.D., Instructor <\/strong>– From Teddy to Grizzly
\n<\/u>Back in early 1979, I was approached by an international Jewish concern working in tandem with American intelligence and asked if I would consider going on a two-person mission of discovery in the then-Soviet Union. \u00a0The purpose of the mission was to locate and report on about two dozen Jewish \u201cenemies of the state\u201d whose major \u201ccrime\u201d\u00a0was holding underground classes and gatherings for the sole purpose of teaching modern idiomatic Hebrew. \u00a0After a bit of pondering, I agreed, met my traveling partner (a librarian fluent in Russian and Yiddish as well as a smattering of French and Hebrew), and then began a months-long course in how to be a spy. \u00a0Our handler taught us code, evasive tactics and how to communicate inside bugged spaces (that\u2019s why the good Lord invented the \u201cEtch\u00a0A\u00a0Sketch\u201d), honest graft, and a host of methods to keep us safe in the Soviet underground. \u00a0We were also \u201carmed\u201d with about a dozen cartons of Winston cigarettes \u2013 the Russians\u2019 favorite Western smoke.
\nUpon our arrival in Leningrad (now, once again, St. Petersburg) and clearing Soviet customs, we were delighted to find that everyone was quite cordial\u00a0and smiling. \u00a0It was as if the fierce Soviet Bear had become a lovable Teddy. \u00a0The reason?\u00a0The 1980 summer Olympics were to be taking place in Moscow \u2013 that\u2019s why.
\nAnd then\u00a0came\u00a0the Soviet invasion of\u00a0Afghanistan, the \u201cGraveyard of Empires.\u201d\u00a0Seemingly within the blink of an eye, much of the free world turned against the Soviet Union, threatening reprisals . . . most notably, the boycotting of the summer Olympics, which would cost them untold billions in foreign capital.\u00a0Almost overnight, the Teddy Bear turned into a Grizzly. \u00a0No longer would a Winston or two guarantee that\u00a0\u201cthe crones\u201d\u00a0(the older, uniformed women\u00a0guarding elevators\u00a0in hotels where foreigners stayed)\u00a0would permit us access or egress after hours. Now, our government-appointed tails\u00a0(theirs, not ours) were as obvious and irritating as a hangnail.
\nNonetheless, we had an assignment and had to keep on locating and interviewing the brave men and women who, against all odds, continued teaching Hebrew at a series of underground gatherings.
\nSo, what to do? \u00a0Weighing our options, we concluded that despite being Communists, the crones, tails and other minor officials\u00a0who made our lives difficult\u00a0had two things in common:
\na) they were all chain smokers and b) they were all greedy. \u00a0And so,\u00a0we took to surreptitiously handing out\u00a0Winstons\u00a0by the pack. \u00a0As a result, we started becoming everyone\u2019s best friend and little by little, they left us alone.\u00a0Disaster averted!
\nIn retrospect, we in the West could have saved ourselves hundreds of billions of dollars in defense spending if only we had bombed the country with\u00a0Winstons\u00a0. . .<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Benito Rakower, Ed.D., Instructor<\/strong> – The\u00a0<\/u>Altiplano
\n<\/u><\/em>The\u00a0altitude of Mexico City is\u00a07,300 feet. \u00a0The\u00a0once\u00a0clear and\u00a0arid air made it one of the healthiest cities in the world. \u00a0It also combined three distinct cultures. \u00a0Originally, an Aztec city built on a lake, it had the most pitiless\u00a0civilization in human history. \u00a0The conquering Spanish introduced a new architecture. \u00a0Under French\u00a0domination, it boasted the best restaurants in the world.
\nMy mother had the idea that health was the result of sparse diet and healing came from herbs. On Sundays, she would take me and my older sister on excursions into the relatively empty scrub and cactus landscape of\u00a0the plateau\u00a0enveloping Mexico City. \u00a0She was looking for herbs and plants that promoted life. \u00a0I was four and my sister was ten.
\nWe would take a bus out of the city and get off at some spot that attracted my mother\u2019s interest. We roamed zig-zag with no destination and one\u00a0Sunday,\u00a0it went\u00a0wrong. \u00a0We were lost. My mother, in her\u00a0Chinese hat\u00a0and snugly fitted dress, took stock. \u00a0Before choosing a direction, she looked toward the sun and regarded the distant mountains. \u00a0We walked side by side for some hours. \u00a0Miraculously, we came upon the stone arched entrance to an estancia. \u00a0There were no buildings visible. \u00a0A solitary guard wearing a large-brimmed,\u00a0straw hat was leaning against one of the stone pillars. \u00a0There were crossed cartridge\u00a0belts around his chest. A\u00a0rifle\u00a0leaned\u00a0against\u00a0the stone pillar\u00a0by his side.
\nMy mother asked if we could cross the estancia, as she\u00a0surmised\u00a0there was a road on the other side where we could catch a bus back to Mexico City.\u00a0\u00a0With the suave courtesy of the unyielding Mexican character, he said that was impossible. \u00a0My mother pleaded with him for her children\u2019s sake. \u00a0He maintained his adamantly courteous but negative stance. \u00a0A truly frightening confrontation.
\nMy mother became sarcastic. \u00a0The guard reached for his rifle. I screamed. \u00a0My mother gave in. We began our silent march around the perimeter to the wire-enclosed estancia before coming to a grove of trees and more uneven ground. I could no longer walk. \u00a0My mother and sister alternated carrying me piggy-back. \u00a0I thought we would all perish but my mother and sister were grimly silent as they marched on.\u00a0\u00a0There was a road back to the city. \u00a0And a bus.
\nI later learned that all women were just like my mother.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ren\u00e9 Silvin, Instructor<\/strong> – Aboard the QE2, 1978
\n<\/u>During the 1970s, my business was on both sides of the Atlantic and I used to cross from New York to Southampton, England,\u00a0aboard the QE2,\u00a0several times each summer.
\nOn one occasion,\u00a0during a typical\u00a0\u201cmid-Atlantic\u201d\u00a0storm,\u00a0I was in the ship\u2019s casino when, around 1 a.m., we all heard a huge crash and felt an odd, prolonged vibration. Shortly thereafter,\u00a0I noticed the engines had been\u00a0shut down. I went on deck only to see crew scurrying around the ship\u2019s \u201cwhale back,\u201d the area on a ship\u2019s bow where docking equipment is stored.
\nBy morning, the ship was, once again, under way but moving very slowly and listing slightly forward. Eventually, I discovered that one of the huge bow anchors had come loose and\u00a0had\u00a0smashed against the ship\u2019s starboard side. It had pierced\u00a0the hull at several points just below the water line,\u00a0as the ship\u00a0kept moving forward.
\nWe limped into\u00a0Boston, the nearest port,\u00a0at a slow speed\u00a0where passengers had to disembark and be transferred by bus to New York. It was an odd accident, which could have been much worse. Thankfully, there was no loss of life.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Wesley Borucki, Ph.D., Instructor
\n<\/strong>My one great travel disaster goes back to January 1987.\u00a0 I was a junior in high school in suburban Detroit, and I was invited with about ten others from my school to participate in a delegation to the North American Invitational Model United Nations in Washington, D.C.\u00a0 The day we were supposed to fly there, a huge blizzard hit the eastern seaboard; it affected cities from Boston all the way south to Atlanta, and airports up and down the east coast were closed.\u00a0 That afternoon, Northwest Airlines got word that National Airport in Washington had\u00a0re-opened, so they boarded us on a plane in Detroit, and we took off.\u00a0 When we were almost to Washington, both National and Dulles Airports closed again.\u00a0 There was no airport open close by, so the plane actually circled Washington, and the pilot announced that he was flying us back to Detroit!\u00a0\u00a0 When we landed, a reporter from the\u00a0Detroit Free Press\u00a0<\/em>happened to be in the terminal.\u00a0 When he heard our story, he interviewed us, and we got our picture in the next morning\u2019s newspaper as a group.\u00a0 Well, we all went home, and we did get a flight into Dulles Airport the next day just in time for the Model U.N.\u00a0 While we were there, more snow fell in Washington and we could not get out for several days after we were scheduled to leave \u2013 the Metro trains were not even operating to National Airport.\u00a0 While we were stuck, it was really brutal because I ran out of clean clothes.\u00a0 As a result, whenever I travel now, I\u2019m always guilty of overpacking!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Barbara DePalma, Student <\/strong>– Near Disaster in Labrador
\n<\/u>Austria was experiencing a very warm February when my husband and I went to St. Johann for a week of skiing. Due to the overnight freezing of the melting snow during the warm days, only expert skiers were allowed on the slopes. Instead of skiing, we had a marvelous time touring Austria.
\nShortly after takeoff for our return to New York from Munich, we were informed that, due to an engine oil leak, we would be stopping in Amsterdam for repairs. The nine-hour layover allowed us to tour Amsterdam and experience a rijsttafel. No problem as that was something we had always wanted to do. Leaving Amsterdam, the pilot explained that the engine should be fine but, as a precaution, we were taking a longer northern route which flew over more land mass than the previous route over mostly ocean. Excellent decision because hours later, more engine problems necessitated a forced landing. The nearest airport was in Labrador which did not have a long enough runway to accommodate a 747. We were warned to be prepared for a rough landing. The flight crew secured everything possible and distributed pillows and blankets to cushion the landing.
\nAs soon as the landing gear touched ground, maximum brakes and reverse thrust were used to stop the momentum before we reached the end of the runway. The engine was again \u201crepaired\u201d and the crew was faced with a more critical problem. Landing a decelerating 747 on a short runway was easier than taking off. To have a chance of clearing the runway, brakes needed to be depressed and maximum throttle given to the engine before going forward. The roar of the strained engine and the shaking of the plane while reaching maximum power would have woken the dead! Even though it was a short runway, the high-speed blast seemed like the longest ride of our lives. Once committed, there was no way to abort mission.
\nUpon landing in NYC, our plane was met by emergency vehicles who escorted us to the gate. As we deplaned, we were greeted by cheering newsmen, photographers, and airport personnel. We were spared the ordeal of going through customs because \u201cwe had already been through enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Paul Newton, Student <\/strong>– Bad\u00a0Start\u00a0to\u00a0a\u00a0California\u00a0Trip
\n<\/u>About ten years ago, a couple of my buddies\u00a0and I\u00a0decided to take a\u00a0motorcycle\u00a0trip to California\u00a0and back. \u00a0They decided to start the trip\u00a0by qualifying for the \u201cIron Butt\u201d challenge. The ride had to be\u00a0fully documented using photos and gas receipts showing that you had ridden at least 1000 miles in one\u00a024-hour\u00a0period.\u00a0\u00a0This did not sound like a good idea\u00a0at all\u00a0to me but since I\u00a0really\u00a0wanted to go on the California trip\u00a0with them,\u00a0I\u00a0begrudgingly\u00a0agreed. \u00a0We started in Greenville, North Carolina\u00a0about 5:00 a.m. and worked our\u00a0way west stopping only at gas stations for the shortest time possible\u00a0to refuel.\u00a0As we approached the\u00a0700-mile\u00a0mark,\u00a0my body was aching\u00a0badly\u00a0and I knew that\u00a0I was\u00a0in trouble. \u00a0By 800 miles, it was hard to stand the pain\u00a0and I did not know how I could\u00a0ever\u00a0finish this\u00a0self-inflicted\u00a0torturous\u00a0task. \u00a0For the last hundred or so miles, every tenth of a mile\u00a0was\u00a0absolutely grueling\u00a0and almost unbearable. About 10:00 p.m., we pulled into a gas station in\u00a0Marietta, Oklahoma after traveling 1038\u00a0miles.\u00a0\u00a0We could hardly\u00a0get off\u00a0our\u00a0bikes,\u00a0stand\u00a0or use our hands to fill our gas tanks. \u00a0This 17-hour ride felt like the longest and most miserable day of my life.\u00a0We kept the\u00a0daily\u00a0distance\u00a0under 600 miles\u00a0for the rest of\u00a0what turned out to be\u00a0a\u00a0most\u00a0wonderful\u00a0trip.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Barbara McConaghy Johnson, Student <\/strong>– Car Trouble
\n<\/u>Back in the \u201880s when I was going to the Fall Fashion Collections in Milan, I had a travel disaster that I\u2019ll always remember… both for fear and for admiration of keeping cool in adversity!
\nLeaving from La Guardia, our night flight was about 2 hours over the Atlantic when I saw a fireball strike the wing of our plane. It was lightning, and there was lots of screaming, bumpy turbulence and panic. Seemingly without missing a beat, our Captain got on the speaker and said, \u201cHi, everyone, no need to worry; it seems we\u2019ve had a little car trouble and we\u2019ll be heading back to New York. I\u2019ll keep you posted.\u201d After that, there wasn\u2019t a sound in the huge cabin except for a girl saying her prayers in Italian. As we approached the airport, we could see that the runway was lined with ambulances, fire trucks and hoses in the arms of at-ready firefighters\u2026still not a sound as we made that miraculous landing except for our brave captain saying \u201cWelcome to New York\u201d and then the whoops and applause of grateful passengers and crew who couldn\u2019t wait to be back on the ground.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Paul Brown, Student<\/strong> – London Shopping \u2013 An Experience of a Lifetime
\n<\/u>After another exciting trip to London, all that was left to do was return once more to Harrods to give my wife, Cynthia, a last try at convincing me to buy the spectacular leather jacket that she had shown me earlier in the week. After disappointing her with my decision, I suggested that she go up to\u00a0the 2nd floor and settle the VAT tax issues while I sat in one of the \u201chusband\u201d chairs and read the International Herald Tribune.\u00a0No more than five minutes had gone by before there was a sudden explosion in the street which destroyed the nearest door, approximately 40-50 feet from where I was sitting. \u00a0The public address system announced that there had been \u201can incident\u201d in the front of the building and that all shoppers should leave through one of the side doors. \u00a0\u00a0People immediately began their departure – no pushing, shoving, screaming or shoplifting.
\nI was relaxed, just watching the people, knowing that Cynthia was on the 2nd floor dealing with the VAT charges. Suddenly, I was grabbed from behind. It was Cynthia.\u00a0She had gone back to the men\u2019s department one more time. \u00a0The bomb had gone off about fifteen feet from where she was standing. \u00a0Luckily, there were no windows in the men\u2019s department. \u00a0She was fine.
\nWe quickly decided that the VAT would be taken care of at the airport. As we left the building, the police were on\u00a0horseback and bodies were on the ground. \u00a0Walking quickly\u00a0down one side street after another, we were able to get a cab back to the Connaught. \u00a0The phone was ringing. It was her dad calling to let us know there had been a bombing in London. \u00a0Cynthia told him we were fine\u00a0and packing for the flight back. \u00a0\u00a0They would never learn how\u00a0close we were to that IRA bomb.<\/p>\n

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 <\/p>\n

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 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

  By popular demand, we\u2019re back with more tales of travel disasters…just in time for your summer vacation planning! One of my travel mishaps took place once again in my beloved Greece. Every other year, we would choose one or…<\/span><\/p>\n

Read more ›<\/a><\/div>\n

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