September. I took some time off to visit friends and family in far-away places, and I am slowly getting back into the swing of things.
Lots of fun stuff happening within the next six weeks: We will be sending Aruba to the Beach & Beyond magazine to print and helping orchestrate the annual Bartender’s Brawl, at Renaissance Festival Plaza.
Otherwise, Tourism Day is upcoming, and I already have TWO weddings penciled in, that of marketing diva Ghislaine de Windt & E-Wizard Diederik Kemmerling and that of effervescent Jacky Lopez and event specialist Maarten Thoonen, the creative team behind the Little One.
But a side story first.
Have you ever lost your bag while traveling and miraculously gotten it back?! And I don’t mean the airlines misplacing your luggage, I mean YOU being absent-minded?
It happened to me three times.
Bottom line, keep your head on straight while on the road, you’re in trouble if you get out of bed with your head screwed on backwards.
The first time
New York. I was catching an early flight to Aruba. A car picked me up on the corner of 33rd, and 3rd Avenue, the driver opened the door, those were the day, UBER wasn’t invented yet, I slipped in and got comfortable in the back seat. Arriving at JFK uneventfully, I got out of the car to discover the driver has left my suitcase standing on the NY city street curb.
He made up for it by speeding back into the city, finding my suitcase where we left it, and speeding back to catch the flight on time.
The second time
I was among local press members who were invited to Santa Cruz Venezuela to check its budding tourism industry out. I arrived by taxi at a swanky high-rise hotel right on the beach and as soon as I stepped into the lobby I realized my carry-on stayed in the cab.
I turned religious, instantly. Oh, my God, oh, my God, was all I could repeatedly say.
I had no clue which taxi, what license plate, car make nor driver. Nada.
Frozen and stuck on my religious mantra, I followed the bellman’s advice and got into another taxi, with no particular destination in mind, just out the driveway and into the city, chasing a phantom, a man whose name or number I did not have.
Luckily. At the closest arepa stand, mid traffic, I recognized my driver, biting into juicy breakfast. I jumped out of my cab, flung open his back door, grabbed my bag and sailed away. He did not even know what was happening.
The third time
In Athens, this week, when you call UBER, a metered taxi cab appears. A lovely, luscious blonde driver of a Russian Skoda materialized to pick me up. Elenie. We chatted on my way to my hotel in the Plaka neighborhood, mid tiny winding street, just below the Acropolis.
We stopped at my destination and I got out of the cab to check if indeed it was the address. By the time I got in the door, my suitcase was standing right beside me, but my carpet bag and Panama hat gone. Left behind in Elenie’s car, off to service the next customer.
Besides myself, I tried finding the number to call, but frantic only lasted five minutes because the lovely luscious driver was back with my gear. She deserved a decent tip for prompt service.
As I said, keep your head on straight while on the road, you’re in trouble if you get out of bed with your head screwed on backwards.