Some of the most memorable trips we take are the ones that go horribly wrong. We plan on an exciting adventure, or a relaxing getaway, only to end up injured, sick, lost, or in the midst of an absurd comedy of errors.
Maybe we get an adventure we never expected and are forever changed.
I’ve told you some of my travel stories, Internet. Some happy and absurd, others much more angry and frustrated. I’ve just released another book, Broken Abroad, which is all about change, travel, comedy and anguish.
I’m sure you’ve got plenty of your own travel stories filled with pain, jackassery and odd things. So, why not share them and receive a small reward?
– In the comments below, give a brief story (no more than 200 words) about your travels gone wrong. The most awkward, hilarious, painful and frustrating stuff. You might get a free book for it.
– I’ll give the best story signed copies of both of my books, Human Detritus and Broken Abroad.
– Second place, I’ll give you a signed copy of Broken Abroad.
– Third, a signed copy of Human Detritus.
– I’ll close the comments at midnight next Thursday, June 20th and tell you later that same day who gets free books.
– Make sure you use a working email address in your comment, because that’s how I’ll contact you to find out where to send your book.
– Have fun.
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“People don’t take trips – trips take people.” – John Steinbeck
A few years ago, I drove with a friend from Belgium to Morocco in a shitty rental van to go windsurfing on the Atlantic Coast. We planned to spend 4 weeks in summer enjoying the perfect climate, waves and wind that we have been planning for and saving for all year long. I’ll pass on all the other pleasures that Morocco has to offer besides great windsurfing spots, suffice to say that we were having a fucking blast. Things started to turn to shit when my dipshit friend lost the van’s keys in the middle of the ocean. We spend one night’s worth of party money calling the rental company in Belgium, to be told that we would have to wait a week to receive a spare set of keys. All our shit was in the van, so we had to break in it to get to our stuff and our shelter. That’s when the police came up to interrogate us since breaking into vans is frowned uppon in Morocco. After that we spent 5 more days stuck in a shitty parking lot by the beach with a van that doesn’t lock until we finally got a set of keys.
My wife and I had to get to Barcelona from Cape Breton to board a cruise ship. That meant flying from Sydney to Halifax, then Halifax to Toronto, then Toronto to Dusseldorf, then Dusseldorf to Barcelona. Needless to say, at some point in these changeovers our luggage went elsewhere. We boarded the ship and were provided with an emergency kit that included a toothbrush and a few others sundries, and the cruise line offered to wash our clothing for free until the suitcases caught up with us. We spent the first full day and night at sea, then after arriving at Civitavecchia we spent the whole day in Rome. Getting back to the ship, my wife’s suitcase magically appeared in our cabin. We sailed that night to Naples, and then after a day of touring Pompeii, we returned to the ship to discover a note saying that my suitcase had been located but they could not get it to us before the ship sailed. The next night and full day were spent sailing to Venice, which meant that my suitcase got a bonus flight to Venice and was finally reunited with me on the fourth day of the cruise. I had to buy a hat.
It started out as a road trip from Charlotte, North Carolina to Austin, Texas. My friend Mike and I were visiting a high school friend that decided to go to college in Texas. And for some strange reason I thought it would be a good idea to take my dog along. We were nearing the northern part of Texas when my clutch gave out. If you have driven anywhere in Oklahoma or Texas, you would know that, for the most part, its long stretches of nothing, followed by cows, followed by more nothingness. So there we were, stuck on one of the long stretches of nothingness. It took a while for the gravity of the situation to sink in, but when it did tempers flared. We got out of the car and sat on the dried mud roadside and thought about are options. I let my dog roam in the nothingness that surrounded us, figuring that I would be able to see her, even if she did walk a distance. I was wrong. We eventually found a way to get a tow-truck to our remote location, but when it did, my dog was nowhere in sight. Mike, the reluctant tow-truck driver, and I spent the next two hours yelling and running in opposite directions, until I heard the tow-truck driver honk his horn. He had found my pup.
When i was a kid, my parents bought a used camper. It wasnt in very good shape,but they took me and my two sisters on a camping trip anyways.The first night, my oldersister burnt her face with melted marshmallow. She still has a scar on her chin. My other sister had really long hair. She was supposed to tie it up before swimming in the lake but she didn’t and it got so tangle up that my mom ended up hacking it off. Anyways, we had to come home early after all that because i got my foot stuck in some rocks when I went to jump in the lake and broke my ankle. My mom and dad sold the camper, but now I take my own kids camping every summer. They’re a lot better at than me and my sisters were.
Athens, Greece, first stop of my European adventure. On my own and flying by the seat of my pants. Enter Viv; New Zealand teacher by day, go-go dancer by night and party girl extraordinaire! We decided to hit Mykanos, party central of the Greek Isles, together. It was hot. I wore a pair of tiny wrap around shorts with a strapless bustier top and Viv sported a tank style cotton mini dress. We walked with our bags hailing every Taxi we saw to no avail. Finally we threw our luggage into the trunk of one stopped for a family and away we went to board the ferry to Mykanos.
Down for a cold drink belowdecks at the snack bar a young man, perhaps 15 or 16 made casual conversation with me in line. Suddenly an older woman, grabbed the poor boy by the ear and hauled him away hissing a string of Greek of which only one word was understandable. “Poutana”. Viv and I laughed and laughed. We discovered this was the reason the taxis wouldn’t stop for us as well. The only women in Athens that wore shorts and mini dresses (aside from of course large obvious groups of tourists) were prostitutes.
PS
It was a much better story at 400 words. But of course, I WOULD think so! <3
The first time I really left home I was 18. I went to Edinburgh. It was a completely different city in a completely different country. I was barely speaking the language at the time. I was planning to stay there for a year: I wanted to be young, courageous, adventurous. Some extended holidays borrowing cash from my father.
But I wasn’t courageous nor adventurous. I was young and my head was full of dreams. I didn’t sleep the first night. I just wanted to go back home. I felt totally lost, without anything to hold on to. But after a few days it all changed; I managed to find my footing in a city I didn’t recognize. I met some incredible people who taught me a lot about life. Eventually I only stayed in Edinburgh for two months. I went through all the money I had in a heartbeat, enjoying every minute of it.
When I came back to my father’s, I thought he would chew my head off. He didn’t. He didn’t even get mad at me. Instead he kind of smiled and asked me what I would do next.