Looking at the map, it really made a lot of sense. While traveling to the Black Sea coast of Bulgaria, I spent several days enjoying the summer sun. Lounging on the broad, sandy beach. Trying all sorts of local delicacies, which combine Persian, Greek, and Turkish traditions with homegrown ingredients and recipes. Touring the ancient agora, Acropolis, and Temple of Apollo in Nessebar’s lovely old town, a low-key, super-beautiful UNESCO World Heritage Site.
And for my flight out, I booked it from the closest big city’s airport, according to that map of mine: Bucharest, the Romanian capital. But getting there proved to be rather complicated. While it was only about 200 miles away, it turned out that Bulgarian and Romanian infrastructure weren’t integrated. Like, not at all.
No trains, and buses required many multiple connections (and an overnight stay, near the border). So I set up a private transfer with the first hotel of my trip. A little expensive, but no problem, right?
Details were scarce, but they told me to be ready at 9 a.m. On the appointed morning, a mustachioed man driving an aging, off-brand minivan pulled up in front. He spoke no English. But that wasn’t a problem. At least, at first. I napped in the back, and he steered that old van north as if he was on autopilot.
Until, that is, we crossed the border. It turned out that he didn’t speak (or read) any Romanian, either. And, it quickly became apparent, he had no idea where he was going. And had no working phone or GPS. Rolling down the window, the man started chain-smoking. His face was tense. He drove the wrong way down a one-way street. When I climbed into the passenger seat, he turned to me and spoke in urgent Bulgarian. To this day, I have no idea what he said. But the message was clear: I’m lost. Do you know where we’re going?
Roll With the Unexpected
Travel can make a mess of your best-laid plans. Months of meticulous research can be upended in a moment. A missed flight connection, a freak thunderstorm, a lost cabbie. You name it, plans change.
So over my years, visiting all seven continents as a travel writer, I’ve learned one key rule: Even when the wheels start to come off, do your very best to roll with it. Some of the best travel days, and stories, come from completely unexpected—and initially disappointing—circumstances.
Once, in Amman, Jordan’s bustling capital, I stood by a busy roadway at rush hour, trying to hail a taxi. No dice. But a silver Mercedes pulled over and asked me if I needed a ride.
Now, getting into random cars in the Middle East isn’t necessarily something I’d recommend as general policy. But that ride, with two chatty middle-aged men, became an informal tour, with the guys filling me in on history and contemporary affairs in the country. The royal family, politics, the economy. I learned so much—just going to the mall.
Another example: Sailing on an expedition ship in Antarctica, we anchored near King George Island. The plan for the next day was to fly everyone back to Chile from the island’s airstrip. But that didn’t happen.
A freak, severe blizzard blew in, covering the runway and eliminating visibility. The incoming flight couldn’t take off from Chile. We were fully, gloriously snowed in.
It’s a night I’ll never forget. Corks flew off champagne and wine bottles. People forgot about their messed-up international flight itineraries and delayed returns and instead danced in the wind and falling flakes. An epic snowball fight on the stern deck provided a fitting finale to a big night.
