My most stupid traveler trick

Sometimes travel editors forget the most basic things -- in the most embarrassing circumstances.

By Don George

Sep 8, 2000 | In the past few weeks I've described one of my favorite stupid traveler tricks and you've shared some of your most memorable tales. Next week I'll pass on more of the wonderful tales I've received; if you have a story you want to share, send it to me.

But I promised that if you told me your worst stupid traveler trick, I'd tell you mine. More than 100 of you fulfilled your part of the bargain, so now it's my turn to share my most stupid traveler trick of all.

The year was 1987. It was a tumultuous and exhilarating time in my life. The previous August, our daughter, Jenny, our first child, had come into the world. And on Jan. 1, I had been named travel editor at the San Francisco Examiner under the newly revitalized and robust regime of publisher Will Hearst. It was a heady time.

Early that year, I had been invited in my new role to attend the annual April conference of the Pacific Asia Travel Association, a grand gathering of travel poobahs -- heads of airlines, hotel chains, national government tourism organizations, travel agencies and tour operators.

I was especially excited because the conference host country that year was Japan, a country that held a special significance for me. After graduate school I had lived, taught and worked as a TV talk show host in Japan for two years. And at the university where I had taught, I had met the woman who would become my wife. So I gleefully accepted the PATA invitation and made preparations to take the whole family triumphantly back on my first official trip as travel editor.

In the weeks leading up to the conference, I made a packing list and checked it twice and thrice. This was our first international trip with our daughter, so I was especially concerned about anticipating everything we might need for her -- diapers and wipes, dozens of changes of clothing, powdered formula and plastic scoops for measuring it, bottles and bottle holders, brushes for cleaning the bottles, nipples and more nipples, burping towels and sleeping-on-the-shoulder towels and cleaning-up-throw-up towels. I also checked that my passport was still valid and that my wife's Japanese passport was valid and had her U.S. green card in it. All was in order.

The travel editor is a relatively big fish in the lake of Bay Area tourism, and so various local Japanese tourism officials were also excited that I had become editor and that I was embarking on my first official trip to Japan. As a result, when the time came for our fateful departure, quite a congregation of these officials and their staff people were waiting for us at the airport. We were flying on Japan Airlines, so the director and managers of the local branch of the airline were there, as was a sizable team from the local office of the Japan National Tourist Organization. Officials from a few other agencies were there too, just to swell the ranks.

When we walked into the airport and saw all these people waiting for us, we were surprised and embarrassed, but I must admit that I also felt pleased and even somewhat kingly, as if a thick red carpet had been luxuriantly unfurled for us across the airport floor. We strode up and greeted the crowds, shaking innumerable hands and bowing innumerable times and thanking everyone for taking the trouble to come to the airport to see us off.

Then, after a few more exchanges of pleasantries and good wishes, the time came to check in.

Next Page: "Now may I have your passports, please?"

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