Letting Off Some Steam

I was clucking sympathetically as a friend bemoaned the fact that she’d left her reading glasses in the pocket of a hotel robe in Singapore. Suddenly, she asked:

“What’s the dumbest thing you’ve done while traveling?”

Good grief. The competition is fearsome. Yet I suppose if you limit it to the past year, I’d give the nod to the evening I arrived in Melbourne amid jet lag and decided it would be smart to steam out some clothes.

I turned on the shower, put the plug into the tub drain and arranged the hangers on the rod so there was room for the steam to billow the wrinkles away. Then I closed the bathroom door, slipped into a cotton warm-up suit and turned on the TV.

After a few minutes I checked the water level. All was well. I pulled the plug, left the shower on and returned a phone call. The first glimmer of disaster came like an oil spill. A shadow seemed to move across the carpet. For an instant, I could not fathom its source.

Then it hit and I raced to the bathroom, which was two inches deep with overflow from the tub. I flailed through the steam to turn off the water. I grabbed every towel in sight and began mopping the carpet. There was not enough terry cloth in all Australia to absorb the mess.

Emergency Response

I had no choice but to call the assistant manager and confess. (Assistant managers--there are usually several in a big-city hotel--operate as internal 911 emergency responders. They perform minor miracles with grace; they handle major crises with aplomb.)

Still, I could tell by the expression on the smooth face of this gentleman in black that what I had done was more than stupid; it was felony dumb. His shiny shoes squished in protest as he entered the room.

With only a slight strain in his voice he said: “This has happened before. The carpet must be professionally dried. In the meantime, it won’t smell so good. We’ll have to move you. I’ll see what is available.”

My apologies were legion. I mumbled that I knew that water went the other way down the drain south of the equator, but I did not know it went so swiftly over the top. I prayed that my sobriety was obvious, although alcohol could have explained my dulled reflexes. I damned the jet lag that had made the project seem simple.

From this catastrophe I learned not to rush the steaming process by leaving the plug in while the shower is on. I learned to gauge more carefully what drains out versus what pours in. I learned that the sound of running water in a fine hotel can be more muffled than the familiar cannon roar of home. I learned that there are worse things in life than a few wrinkles.

Money Launderer

A far less humiliating--but still dumb--experience was to board a plane for Brisbane with a bottle of cough syrup in my purse. Because of air pressure or a faulty cap, it leaked and left me with a sticky wallet, papers, snapshots, checkbook and comb. The medicinal odor lacked the joie de vivre of spilled perfume. I had to launder my money. I was glad my tote bag was canvas and not leather.

The lesson is to carry liquids and lotions in plastic zip-top bags, even on short flights.

By the time I had to say goodby to Australia I was beginning to feel less dumb, which is a dangerous state to achieve.

I arrived at the Sydney airport and, as is my custom when traveling with my husband, I jumped from the taxi to find a luggage cart, leaving him to pay the driver and oversee the removal of suitcases.

Carts are not easy to find when several flights arrive at once. The rack was empty. I scanned the crowded carrousels in vain. Finally, in a far corner near the gift shop, I saw an abandoned cart and pushed it out to the sidewalk.

My husband was standing at the curb shaking his head. There was no luggage in sight.

It slowly came to me that the only joy connected with leaving the elegant Regent Hotel by Sydney Harbor had been the convenience of the Qantas luggage desk. If you’re flying the Aussie airline you can check your luggage directly from the hotel to your home city and eliminate airport hassle.

It was a luxury that was too wonderful for me to grasp; I had hassled anyway. Old travel habits are hard to break, which, with my recent record, may be a mixed blessing.