I’m not a travel agent, although I’m well-traveled.
So when friends ask me to help them book travel, I tend to run in the other direction. Why? Because using a real travel agent means someone has your back.
When I use my favorite agent, I have the same peace of mind I have when I go sailing knowing the Coast Guard will look for me if I fall overboard. And if I plan someone’s travel and something goes awry? Well, I’d rather not answer that phone call – because some of my friends are demanding, but mostly because I don’t have the contracts and connections of a real agent and I don’t want to disappoint, or be blamed.
Occasionally, though, a friend will whine or wheedle or just try to act cute like that annoying Mort character from Madagascar and I give in to shut them up. That happened recently and it went like this: (Names omitted or changed and some details, such as destination, have been changed to protect the clueless from embarrassment should her friends recognize her)
“Where do you want to go?” (As I log onto the net).
“Somewhere nice and warm…”
“How ‘bout the hot tub round back?” I say, daring to get off easy.
“No, you know what I mean, someplace tropical?”
“Somewhere this hemisphere tropical, or other-worldly and exotic tropical?”
“Around here, you know, not too far, I only have a week…” she informs me, adding, “unless there’s cheap airfare to Spain…”
“Well, you know, Spain’s nice, but it’s not really tropical,” (and since my friend is high maintenance), “and do you speak any Spanish?”
“Um, I watch Dora the Explorer with Kate? And, oooh, I can order cerveza!”
“Yes, but can you call for a cab, argue with an airline agent or yell, hey, my purse has been stolen?”
“OK, so maybe not Spain, what else is there?”
“Well, since we’re on the east coast and your time is limited, I guess somewhere from Bermuda (really sub-tropical, but she won’t know the difference) and Costa Rica.
“Oh, I know! That Macho Picachu Place!” she enthuses, butchering the name into something that means a sexed up Pokemon character.
“That’s Machu Picchu, and it’s in Peru, AND it’s in the jungle.”
“Well, that means it’s tropical, right?” (Insert eyeroll here).
“Right, it also means it has bugs and snakes, and it involves planes, trains and buses to get there. Plus, it’s not high heel friendly.”
“Really? It seems so easy in those travel brochures.” (Did I note a bit of censure there?)
“Yeah, well, those llamas look pretty friendly in those brochures, too. How ‘bout Mexico?”
“Oh, I guess, if I have to.”
“Well, you don’t have to, but there are some pretty nice ALL-INCLUSIVE resorts in Mexico.” I pull up a website showing a languid model sipping a fruity alcoholic beverage while reclining on a pool chair. Tropical elements are supplied by copious amounts of faux jungle landscaping.
“Oh, that, that one! I am so there! Let’s book it!”
“We can find a package or book the elements separately.”
“Does it matter?” (I hold my breath and count to 10).
“It’s easier (I stress) to book it together, but you get more options by doing it separately.”
“Oh, you know how I like to keep my options open!” she winks.
“Fine! (I say, pounding the keys a little harder). Let’s find a hotel and then get airfare.”
Forty minutes later, after disapproving of hotels because they’re (a) too modern, (d) too primitive, (c) too ‘concretey’, or too far away, too close to the airport, not “Mexican” enough, or lacking a high end salon, spa and nightclub, we finally pick a play to stay.
“Do you have a preference for airlines?”
“Yeah, I want First Class.”
“I mean, the carrier, Continental, American, Delta? Do you belong to any frequent flier programs?”
“Whichever is cheapest.” (Oh, my heart be still!)
“Just so you know, that will not be in first class.”
“Well, will I get drinks?”
“You can have all you want, even if I have to pay for it.” (Anything to get this over with).
Ok, try Southwest, because you know, I’ll have to take all my bikinis, I guess two changes a day, plus a couple of evening gowns, the shoes, my curling iron, and stuff, and I don’t want to pay for luggage. You think I need a hat? I’ve got a hat box and I’d look really cool with one of those wide brimmed woven things like the woman in the picture.”
“Trust me, you won’t need a beaded gown for this place, that woman looks cool because she has an army of stylists for the photo shoot, and Southwest does not fly directly into Mexico.”
An hour later, we have airfare. And I MUST send my travel agent some flowers.
(Photo: kretyen/Flickr Creative Commons)
