What a Rush

What is this thing coming rapidly toward me? It looks like Darth Vader in a flowing, black velvet cape. Its eyes are set deep inside of its grayish skin. It brushes up against my leg and the force of its body almost knocks me over. Soon, I notice it is not alone. There are many more around me. They are all different sizes and have lengthy tails. They slither in the water after flapping their mammoth wings. Their membrane has a slimy appearance.

A hot rush of adrenaline is circulating through my veins. There are people all around me being explored by the creatures. My first reaction is to run, but my legs feel like heavy boulders. Another one rams directly into my chest, and I reach out to touch it; the surface of its body is smooth and silky. I paid for this. I may never get this opportunity again, the opportunity to swim with the stingrays in the Grand Cayman Islands. What a rush! — Norma Imhof, Pennsylvania

Stranded in Mid-air

Last summer was the first time my parents trusted me to travel alone. I was heading to Europe to visit my grandparents, and boy, was I excited. Since I had never been on a plane by myself before, I was especially excited about the trip. 

It started off normally. I found my seat, sat down, and waited for the plane to take off before I got too comfortable. Not even 40 minutes into the flight, I’d had too much to drink, and had to go to the bathroom. Luckily for me, the bathroom was near my seat, and the queue was short.

As soon as my turn came, I had trouble opening the door. I must’ve pushed it about a zillion different times, but it wouldn’t budge. I felt people staring peculiarly at me from their seats, until one lady finally told me to pull outward. Embarrassed, I managed to actually get into the air-tight room called a bathroom, before doing anything else stupid. After I was done, to my utter humiliation, I couldn’t open the door to get out again. I was stuck. It took me a while to stop panicking, and to my relief, I managed to open the door without having to ask for help. Determined to never have to use the toilet for the rest of the trip, I drank very little after that.

Unfortunately, that was the least of my humiliation. As I left the aircraft, little did I realize why everyone was either smiling at me or giving me a weird look. As I later realized, my pants had fallen down a considerable amount, and my orange underwear was visible. Oh well ... as long as I never see those people for the rest of my life, I guess it would be safe to say the trip went fairly well. — Caron Dhillon

Swapping Seats

I was traveling home from Venezuela on a mission trip with my church. Since I was allergic to cigarette smoke, I swapped airplane seats with Steve, the activist of the trip. OK, here I am, in Steve’s seat (he’s in mine), seatbelt fastened, settling back to take a nap. I hear the motor of the plane start up. With my eyes closed, I feel a presence near me. I sit up suddenly, and see three guys with machine guns strapped to their waists. They are standing over me, and the stewardess is asking me to come with them. I have no idea what’s happening, but I reluctantly decide that this is not a request, so I get up and join them. They escort me to the plane door, and ask me to descend the 20 to 25 steps down to the runway.

My heart is beginning to race. I take the first two or three steps and I see that at the bottom of the steps is a flatbed truck with a suitcase sitting there that I’ve never seen before. I understand a few Spanish words they’re saying to me, and I see that they want me to open the suitcase. I think to myself, “How can I open the suitcase when it’s not mine? Will they put me in jail for changing seats?” (You can tell that I hadn’t flown much.)

Suddenly, I panic. I turn and run back up what seems like 300 steps into the plane, yelling, “My interpreter, I have to get my interpreter.” The stewardess is blocking the plane door as I hit the top, and she is saying, “Su esposo, su esposo?” 

“Si,” I yell, “mi esposo, mi esposo.” (“Yes, my husband.”) A guy named David, from our church, is fluent in Spanish. He’ll have to be “mi esposso.” David sees me and meets me halfway up the aisle.

We step back down the steps and, calmly, David communicates with the guys on the runway. Airport security x-rayed the luggage (which belongs to Steve), and saw lots of string and ropes running through it tied up in knots. They assume it’s a bomb.

David steps up to the suitcase on the back of the truck, opens it … and pulls out a hammock. The men laugh, David exchanges a few comments, and they wave us up the steps. — Pearl Watley Mitchell, Georgia

Lost in a Foreign Land

In 1976, three friends and I visited what was then the U.S.S.R., and while there we experienced constant surveillance and restrictions. Our passports were surrendered when we arrived at the hotel. On our last evening there, a male member of our group met a young woman, and didn’t return to his room that evening. The next morning found us still waiting for our friend.

The Soviet tour director was angry, and said that if our companion missed his flight he would not only be in violation of his visa, but would also be without his passport. Already worried, we began wondering what we would have to tell his family when we got back to the United States. The bus was literally pulling away from the hotel when our friend came running down the street, disheveled and dirty. He had awakened in an abandoned building, missing his wallet, class ring and treasured belt buckle. Not knowing Russian, he had to pantomime to passersby for help to find his way back to the hotel. I still wonder just what would have happened to our friend if he hadn't made it back to the bus in time to get to the airport. — Kathleen Wherley, Minnesota

Send Us Your Travel Tales!