On my first trip to Paris, I was determined to but a Hermes scarf as my one big purchase. I was so intimidated by the snooty sales peaople, I left flustered and embarrassed, without my prize. On my second trip to Paris, I was full of self confidence as I approached the big glass doors of the Hermes flagship store. As I reached for the giant handle, excited about my impending purchase, I tripped, landed flat on my face, with my cheek pressed up against the glass door!Several employees rushed to help, only embarrassing me more. But this time, I brushed myself off, held my head up high and bought the most beautiful scarf.

DH, myself and another couple were driving along a small country road in Spain, not at all sure if we were heading the right way. Walking towards us was an older man ... so quintessentially Spanish with his straw hat, walking stick and accompanied by a large scruffy dog ... that our friend wanted to take a picture of him.

DH stops the car, rolls down the window and proceeds to use his very minimal and fractured Spanish to ask for directions and permission to take the man's picture. The man is obviously not understanding the questions. So, of course, DH resorts to the typically North American habit of speaking louder and adding silly gestures to make himself understood.

After a few moments of this, the man shakes his head,leans down to the window and, looking past DH, with perfect articulation and only a slight Spanish accent, asks ... "Do any of you speak English?".

We got our directions ... and didn't ask to take his picture!

Early one damp spring day in Rome about 20 years ago. Standing under the dome, looking up in awe at the massive vault overhead, soaking in the peace and tranquility. Off in the distance my brother and I hear squeaky footsteps, growing ever louder and closer. Clearly audible to everyone in the whole place. What idiotic American tourist is doing this we ask? A few minute later my father, approaches, grinning. "I was testing the acoustics of damp, new rubber soled sneakers on a polished marble floor. Great echo isn't it?!" as countless pairs of eyes focused in our direction. Didn't stand within 50yards of him for the rest of the trip for fear of a repeat embarassment.

OK, I exaggerate about the 'rest of the trip' part, but not about the squeaky sneakers.

For a minute, galvin, I thought you were my ex-husband! I had a very similar experience in Kyoto. Assured we couldn't get lost and armed with a card from our hotel, we went for an evening stroll. Many turns into many small streets and we were completely disorented so as it was late, thought we'd take a taxi back to the hotel. When our attempts to ask the taxi driver to take us to the Kyoto Hotel were refused we produced the card and then the driver pointed to the hotel, right across the road. Same large sign in English He could easily have taken us on a tour annd we'd have been none the wiser.

And Mary B. your story reminded me of my recent train folly. En route from Milano to Tirano I got on the first (as in closest)second class carriage I came to and when the ticket inspector checked my ticket he said (I think!) that I needeed to be in the middle of the train for when we arrived in Tirano.

So when we had a lengthy stop at Lecco I had a brain wave. Rather than manhandle my luggage - backpack, daypack and smallish roller case through the train, bumping passengers as I went, I would get off at the next stop, Varenna, and run down the platform and get on further up the train

Well of course you've guessed it, The train stopped at Varenna I stepped off and the train immediately took off again. I'd had the impression from maps and tour guides etc that Varenna was a sizable place but no. Nothing, and what is there closed for the winter. So there I waited on a cold almost snowing January day until the local train came and took me to Sondrio, where I could change for Tirano. This train stopped frequently at every little siding and I was almost the only person in my carriage. So I didn't reach Tirano till dust and traveled to my destination, Poschiavo, in the dark, thus missing one of the main purposes of this leg of the journey and the stopover in Poschiavo, crossing the Alps in the daylight.

But for naivety I think you can't beat what I call my Gullible Da Vinci Tourist Moment. Forwarned, i was cautious of gypsy beggars and Eifel tower souvenir vendors etc. But when I entered St Sulpice I was approached my a handsome young man and asked at first in French and then in English for some money. "Oh" I thought "You have to pay here?" "How much? I ask. "Oh whatever you wish" So I fork out a couple of euros, he thanks me politely and that's when I go Doh, Wait a minute, where's my ticket? where's his authorisation? etc. The penny drops, I've been had! And later when I see him again he almost winked at me when I caught his eye. Must admit, it certainly made me more cautious.

J62 -
Does your father know my father? I must say that even today (MANY years later) we still laugh about our antics traveling oversees (these are the things that make memories!). =P

eigasuki -
Been there, done that, too! My friend (now sister-in-law) and I were doing the whole whirlwind European vacation (5 countries/17 days!). Anyway, we were somewhere headed somewhere. All I remember is that is was late at night and midway through the trip, she starts to question where this train is going - I think it read Istanbul or something, which of course, would have only meant that was the FINAL destination. Nevertheless, I let her convince me that we are headed somewhere VERY far from where we wanted to go, so ... in the MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT ... in JANUARY ... we get off the train! As luck would have it, we got off at a little bitty town with NO MORE TRAIN SERVICE until morning! We froze our booties off trying to stay warm on the platform (there was no inside shelter) and were willing to jump on the first train that just slowed down if only one would! We survived and learned a valuable lesson - 'tis is better to STAY ON THE TRAIN!

Okay, I can't resist. It's not quite as good as "TAKE A TICKET AND GO AWAY" but it's along those lines and Mary B's story of the Paris subway.

So there I was, 24 years old, in the Paris Metro with my backpack and the THREE suitcases and one backpack of my then-boyfriend. (And they say WOMEN overpack!!) We were in law school at the time and doing summer programs in Arcachon, France, then Madrid (me) and Cambridge (him).

I had gotten off with my backpack but after hefting all his damn luggage out the door, he wasn't able to get out of the train car before the door closed. I look up and I see his face plastered against the windows making some sort of gesture to me that I interpret as "I'll ride to the next stop and then turn around and come back to this one."

So there I sit, on the platform, like the Princess and Pea literally on top of all the luggage in the busiest metro station in Paris. I remember thinking, Okay, I know ONE person in Paris. What the chance of Antoine walking by. Nil.

I'm thinking I'm going to be in the bowels of Paris for the rest of my life when I hear, in very clear, loud English, the over the subway intercom:
"Ann. This is John. Come up to the main lobby with as much as you can carry."

Everyone stopped in their tracks, complete puzzled to be hearing this foreign and inferior language coming over the intercom that should be telling them when the next train is approaching.

I sheepishly got up and gathered the bags. Showing my best midwestern farmgirl (sort of) strength, I shuffled and kicked and managed to move in the direction of the escalator with absolutely everything. People are still staring -- and trying to help, after they get over their amazement. Eventually I plop everything on the escalator and ride up with the luggage.

There's a very long, yet humorous, story that follows about dragging our (well, HIS) luggage to the main post office, up three flights of stairs (because the office for shipping BIG packages is UPSTAIRS, naturally), finding out that the suitcases are not properly sealed for shipping back, having to plead with the very official post office guy to let us leave our bags there, then venturing out in Paris to find strapping tape (ruban -- I still remember the word, taught to us by an old woman with a pipe in a shop that only sold knives and corkscrews).

We had sent our travelling companions on ahead earlier in the day (once we had gotten to the train station and I exclaimed "This is ridiculous. We're going into Paris and sending some of this crap back.") so we had to catch up with them at the end of the day in Rouen. This of course involved getting lost several times and having an absolutely delightful French couple drive us around Rouen for an hour searching for our hotel when it ended up being about 500ft from where we started.

We broke up shortly after this, but it does make a good story.

Many years ago on my first trip to London, I was a single girl, average looking and in love with British accents. It was a windy morning as I walked from the tube to where a friend was staying. I wore a skirt that day, a wrap-around skirt of the latest fashion. I held the flaps together to defy the wind. I'm thinking, this is a wonderful, clear sunny day, I'm 20 years old, in love with London and I was amazed at the number of British men who waved, made comments and shouted something. I blushed, nodded my head in a coquettish way and loved the admiring glances. A few yards down the street a woman stopped me and said, "did you know that you are holding your skirt open for all to see?!" I had grabbed the wrong panel and here I was thinking I was some hot babe!

itsv, I LOVE your story. Just imagining what people must have thought when you flung yourself off the train just before it came to a stop makes me laugh out loud.

aggiemom, that's a great story, too. I hope the rest of your London stay was full of romantic adventure.

Maitaitom
I laughed so hard...I just popped your post to my husband so we could both giggle. great story!

Ok, we're in Greece - Delphi to be exact. I did some laundry and like all self respecting tourists, I hung my wet things on the backs of the chairs on our little terrace of our room. After all the only thing below was a huge hillside of olive trees, and the glittering seas. After dinner, my husband and I decide to go check our email at an internet cafe down the block. We walk in and are enjoying answering a few emails when all of a sudden this huge gale came through. I mean the wind was like a tropical storm, rain was pelting and whipping around, and things were literally flying by the windows of the cafe. It lasted about ten minutes and then poof! it was done. We walked back to the hotel, and we checked our room because as we came into the lobby the clerks were rushing about talking about the guests who had left their sliding doors open in their rooms. The couple in the room next to us had water ten feet into their room from the weird sudden downpour. We had closed our doors, so we didn't have any water in our room. However, we didn't have any laundry anymore either. I couldn't find one stitch of it on the balcony.

Our group was checking out the next morning, and I walked out on the balcony in the early morning light, tsk tsking about losing our clothing, and below I see Olive pickers with long sticks, and on the end of their sticks were beautiful, dainty, lacy underthings from Victoria's Secret. I leaned over the railing and looked down, and saw several thongs just wadded up, stuck in the mud, caught on tree branches - but my favorite was the room directly underneath ours. Another couple had come out on their balcony and the woman was nudging along a pair of lacies with the toe of her shoe and whispering to her husband, "..who does this belong TO?.." and sheepishly I answered from above that it belonged to me and it came delivered to them in the storm of the previous evening. When she asked if I wanted them back, as she was nudging it to the edge of the balcony, I just answered a quick, " no, just leave them.."

I no longer pack expensive good underwear for trips, and I don't hang anything outside. My husband and I still laugh about the "Flying Underwear" incident in Delphi!!!!

Okay, I never in a million years thought I would tell anyone this, but after having read everyone elses posts, especially Patrick and SeaUrchin! here goes nothin'..............


When we go anywhere on vacation which my husband and I rarely do together because he works every day, he drives me nuts because I can go and go, and he is more high maintenence. I am like a camel, I hardly have to drink and he is the opposite. He needs his soda fix about every 5 minutes, which then leads to the 97 bathroom breaks he takes a day. Yeah, so I am exaggerating a little, but it drives me nuts.

We were in MGM Studios in Disney and I was stopping for my first bathroom break since I left in the morning, it was probably 3PM. As I walked out of the ladies room I caught a quick glimpse of myself in the mirror. How do I put this?? I was wearing a white shirt and the incorrect bra for the situation. Let's just say you could plainly see my biggest asset!

I was so mortified that I walked around the whole day that way!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I said to my husband, who normally is a really sort of jealous in that way. He said that he figured all the rest of the women were running around in FLA with all these skimpy tops and everything. I then sort of figured out why I had a few men staring at me, and not in my eyes, while I was in line!

This was also after lunch in the Brown Derby! Our waiter was very attentive.

Mortified I bought a mickey sweatshirt at the first place I saw.

bumping back to the top

We had just finished our wonderful meal at the very lovely Chez Julien in Paris and I excused myself to visit the Ladies. All dressed up in my finery, complete with very high French heels, I was half way up the carpeted flight of stairs when my shoe slipped and I went face first into the steps, then slid like a pancake down the rest. Tres embarrassing, but tres amusant for the other diners and staff.

This is something I unintentionally did to my husband that embarrassed him.

While shopping in London I bought a little something for my husband, Craig as a birthday treat. A few days later, in a little hotel in Lyme Regis when Craig had his bath filled, I dropped in the bath bomb. “This is a little treat for your birthday”, I told him.

While at breakfast that morning, my sister noticed that his eyes twinkled. He had glitter on his eye lashes, his checks, arms, and well…everywhere. I had a hard time convincing my husband that I was only trying to do something sweet and I really didn’t know that the bath bomb contained glitter!

I'd never seen this thread before and I just have to mark it and come back later and read! So far, I love the Wuthering Heights story, and, of course, "Take the ticket and go away!"

Having drinks at a Pool Bar in Cabo and the waiter forgot to give me a straw for my Pina Colada and instead of asking him for a small straw in Spanish, I asked him if he had a small...you know what.. The look on his face was priceless and mine too!

Sorry this is so long.

My husband, son and daughter were taking the train up to Lake Como from Milan. The train was crowded and stuffy and it smelled like B.O. Really bad. The high back-to-back seats were placed in the middle of the window so a person from either side could operate the window. I was dying from the smell, so I opened the window. Pretty soon, the window was pushed closed from the other side of the seat. Trying to be polite, I left the window up...for awhile. Then the smell built up again and I put down the window -- only a crack this time --and it was immediately put up again. Now I was getting pissed. This "fight" continued through the whole trip; when I couldn't take the B.O. anymore, I'd put down the window. Up it would go. When we arrived at the station I stood up to get our bags from overhead. I nonchalantly looked over to see who my my "window enemy" was.
It was an OLD Italian nun who could have been Mother Teresa's twin. She gave me the Death Stare. Surely now I was going to Hell. Smiling weakly I helped her get her bags down, and I escaped down the aisle. My family had already abandoned me. When I climbed down to the station's platform, my husband was doubled over, laughing. I gave him the Death Stare. Just then, standing at the top of the train's steps was the little old nun, holding her bags, trying to figure out how she was going to step down. I immediatly came to her assistance. "Here, let me help you!" She was muttering in rapid Italian back at me and it sounded like she was mad. I grabbed her bags and put them on the platform. She stayed at the top of the stairs with people gathering behind her, waiting to get off the train. I smiled and reached up to grab her hand, and this made her lose her balance. As she was falling, I grabbed her under the arms and positioned myself so I would block her fall. We fell to the ground, her on top of me, me apologizing and her yelling at me in Italian. She brushed herself off, put a curse on me -- I'm sure of it -- and got out of there as fast as she could. It was then that I realized that she was the one with B.O.

I m from Croatia so this actally happenned when I visited Metropolitan opera in NYC. During performance of Don Giovanni the audience started laughing really hard and I thought....my God! What an educated people! They speak italian!!! Afterwards , of course I found out I had to turn on a little screen in front of me to see the translation......

My wife and I were in Milan, Italy, eating lunch in a restaraunt near the Duomo when she started cutting her spaghetti with a knife. A waiter saw this, and screamed from across the restaurant (in English) "You never cut spaghetti with a knife!" He ran over, grabbed the knife by the blade, yanked it out of my wife's hand, and stormed off into the kitchen. Everyone in the restaurant was staring at us.

About a minute later, the waiter comes back with a spoon and a fork and starts to demonstrate to my wife the proper way of eating spaghetti. He gave her a private lecture while totally ignoring me.

So how should I rescue my wife from this embarassment? Being the good husband that I am, I thought that I should deflect some of the embarassment onto me. So while the waiter was talking, I tried to see how much silverware I could hang off of my face. When the waiter finally looked up, I had two table spoons hanging from my cheeks, two butter knives sticking out from under my upper lips like two walrus tusks, and one big soup spoon hanging off of my nose. He glared at me, then let out a huge guffaw, and turned back to my wife and said "Even doing that is better than cutting spaghetti with a knife."

The rest of the meal everyone was very friendly to us. We're still not sure if it was because they liked us, or if they were just really afraid of what we would do next.

After almost 2 years of living in Germany, my 3 girls are pretty burned out on castles, churches, and old villages. Last Mother's Day, however, the two oldest decided to make a huge sacrifice and give me a no complaints daytrip to Speyer, which I had been wanting to visit. The youngest (age 7), though, wasn't convinced. As we approached the Cathedral, we passed through a small festival, and a man with balloons noticed my daughter's pouty expression. He kindly offered her a balloon, and after we agreed, tied the balloon to her wrist.

A while later, after visiting the main part of the Cathedral, we decided to go down and see the crypt. It was quite crowded, but everyone was filing by the tombs with respectful silence. Suddenly, we heard a huge "BOOM" reverberating through the crypt and bouncing off the stone walls and ceiling. For a split second, I thought a gun had gone off...but a glance at my daughter told me what had really happened. She held her arm straight out, and the lifeless balloon hung to the floor. A glance around us confirmed that everyone else had discovered the source of the sound too. After a second (a year?) of feeling like a deer in the headlights, oldest daugher grabbed my arm and whispered "Hurry, go go!" With as much dignity as possible, we got out of there.

This is such an ace thread!

I think my most embarassing moment was in a very small restaurant in New Zealand. It was so small that there was only one lady taking orders and waiting tables, and when we booked we were asked if we minded sharing a table with another couple. Despite the fact the other couple seemed to be mid-row when we joined them, we all got talking after a glass or two of wine.

It turned out that they had a holiday place in Akaroa, while their business interests were up in Christchurch - in the wine industry. Because of their local knowledge they were soon sharing stories about a largish party who were sat directly behind us, and who were apparently rather well off. The chap kept commenting on the wine they were drinking and how expensive it was. After about 30 minutes the group all got up and left the restaurant.

'Blimey' (or words to that effect) the chap exclaimed. I don't believe it - they've left a bottle of 'xxxx' on the table and it's only just been opened. That guy must have more money than sense. 'Really' I pipe up? and turning round, see the bottle just sitting on the vacated table. 'Seems a shame to waste it' I announce, emboldened by some alcohol and wanting to impress our new friends - and promptly lift if from their table and bring it to ours... just as the other group returned from the front porch where they had been looking at the blackboard which housed the only menu in the restaurant.

I have never been so mortified in my life, and was eventually rescued by the waitress who worked out who the culprit must be when the poor confused diners noticed that rather expensive purchase had gone missing...

I won't be sharing tables with strangers again in a hurry.

sarahkay, you get the prize for most <i>humiliating</i> story, IMHO! I bet you cringe every time you think of it.

Two things come to mind:

Thing 1: Flying out of a small airport to Chicago, there were 2 flights leaving the same gate at about the same time. No jetways: one had to walk out onto the runway then find the right plane. I got in line, had my ticket taken, and followed the herd to a plane, where someone was in my seat. &quot;No problem&quot;, I thought, &quot;there's an empty seat in the next row back.&quot; So I took that, settled in with the crossword puzzle, stowed my luggage, removed my shoes, etc.

When the flight attendant said &quot;welcome to flight XYZ to Washington DC&quot;, I never moved so fast in my life, managing to wallop about 5 people with my luggage on the way out of the plane.

Thing 2: my wife, daughter, and I were dining at a fancy seafood restaurant on the Oregon coast, and our 4-year-old decided it was time to try some of my wife's cioppino. She reached a hand in, grabbed a whole (small) octopus, and promptly bit its head off. Said octopus was evidently very full of some kind of fluid, which squirted forcefully across the 10 feet separating our table from a very nice mirror, displaying our family's gastronomic habits to the rest of the patrons. For the record, she liked the squid and went back for more.

No one was really embarrassed except for my friend and I. We bought a travel package that included air, hotel and train service from Rome to Venice. Along with our plane tickets came a packet that we thought were tickets for the train. We didn't see a date, or time on the tickets--that should have been our first clue.

So, we looked at the train schedule and decided what train and when we'd make our way to Venice. Unfortunately, that morning we had delays from our hotel and got to the train station later than we planned. We found the train we wanted, and hopped on the nearest compartment. It happend to be first class--we found this out when the people with our seat numbers came.

We figured the rest of the train was first come first serve, so we went back to second class and sat down. Once the train started moving we noticed the other seats had numbers on them.

It dawned on us that we had needed to turn in the stubs we'd received and get real tickets. We spent the rest of the trip trying to avoid the conductor--and somehow managed it. We felt sooooo bad, but were afraid we'd get thrown off the train in the middle of a foreign country. And, since we'd paid for some sort of ticket in the package, we didn't feel like we'd stolen a trip.

Needless to say, in the future I will double check to make sure I have the right documentation.

Forty or so years ago in Ireland.

A friend and I had taken a bus to the village at the end of the line and then walked on to the estate which we were going to visit. We had a wonderful time and then walked back to catch a bus &quot;home&quot;. the bus was parked in the town square and the sign on the bus stop post told us that it would not be leaving for forty minutes or so. It was quite a chilly day and things seemed to be pretty well shut down in town. We discovered that the bus door was unlocked, so we got on. My friend decided to sit in the driver's seat and I took some pictures of her as she did all sorts of silly things. Then we changed places and I performed for the camera.

As I got up to go take a seat with my friend, the driver stood up and came down the aisle. He had been sleeping at the back of the bus. My friend and I were so embarrassed. If it had not been the last bus of the day, we would have jumped off and waited for another.

Fortunately the driver took it in good spirit and laughed at our antics. We ended up having a great chat until it was time to go. We and one lady were the only passengers on the return trip.

Another time my friend and I had gone on hike up a fairly steep hill. We decided it would be an adventure to go down the other side. At the foot of the hill we came to a wall which surrounded a farmyard. Rather than hike back up the hill, we decided to climb the wall and go through the yard.
With a bit of a struggle we got over and dropped to the other side. As we were walking through, my friend hollered, &quot;J_______, the PIG!&quot;and began running. I looked about casually
and all of a sudden saw the pig--the biggest sow I have ever seen (and I grew up on a farm.) She did not look happy to see us.

We moved very quickly to the board gate, also quite a climb. As we flung ourselves over, we realized that there were several men sitting around chatting and smoking their pipes. My friend, who has a lot more cool than I, looked at them, smiled, shrugged, and said, &quot;No speak English.&quot;

We still wonder what story they told at home that evening.

Fast forward to Heathrow more than a few years later. I had twonephews (10 and 12) in tow as we prepared to depart for home. We had left the rental car and were walking in the front door. I had my purse and carryon in one hand and small suitcase in the other hand when I felt something around my shins working toward the ankles. I realized the elastic in my half slip had given way and with my hands full, I could do nothing about it. So I just walked out of it. One of my nephews asked, &quot;Aunt, did you just lose your slip.&quot; I muttered something about not knowing where it came from.

My apologies after the fact to whoever had to dispose of my yesterday's laundry.

I know someone who jammed the lock of teh room safe and locked their money in it, requiring assistance from the hotel reception to open it, four separate times in a one-week stay.

DH and I missed our flight out of Rome last year because of a time change that we were unaware of. We spent the last two days of our vacation not realizing that the clocks went back an hour. We were on our way to the airport when hubby noticed the clock in the taxi. Once we found out what had happened we panicked. We missed our flight from Rome to Brussels. We got to Brussels a few hours later but ended up missing the flight to Chicago and had to stay the night. It wasn't a terrible thing, as neither of us had been to Brussels before so we spent the day roaming around the city, but it was rather embarrassing telling the airline agents why we missed our flights! Although in our defense its not like there are tons of clocks everywhere in Rome, and we had been several times before that so we weren't on a time schedule, but still!

Tracy

1976 - first European trip w/DH.
Riotous farewell dinner at Greek resto;
closed down the place at 4 a.m.; dancing on tables; far far too much
retsina and ouzo.

6 a.m. after locking house and putting
keys in mail slot we realized the tickets were still on the kitchen counter. Only hope of breaking into
house was through 4'x4' ground floor
bathroom window.

DH pushed me head-first through opening
causing severe bruising and a terrible
headache from up-side-down slide. This
activated a dreadful hangover.

Flew Vancouver - Toronto in alcohol
induced haze which somewhat lessened
the pain from the contusions.

Went to board flight to London - no
tickets. Frantic search through
assortment of bags, totes, purse I
was carrying on (Ah the good old days)
to no avail.

Started to get hot flashes; went to
check-in and actually accused the
purser in Vancouver of keeping the
tickets - I was so loudly insistant
they actually phoned to YVR to see
if they had been 'found'.......Imagine,
airline personnel trying to help a
out-of-her-mind passenger reeking of
garlic and retsina w/rapidly developing
bruises on face and arms (luckily the
worst ones where hidden by clothing).

Still some faint hope of making our
flight.......

Flight departed. We did not.

AC re-scheduled us on a flight four
hours later. Everyone being so nice
to me......DH has mentally 'left the
building' until some kind of solution
is found, preferably w/his wife being
admitted to an institution. I just
want to curl up and nurse my wounds.

Finally, in a move of utter desperation, the airline sends down
their resident psychiatric aide to talk
me down. O my, he is so very calming.

He suggests we slowly filter through
every page of my many magazines and
books 'just in case' the tickets are
stashed there for 'safekeeping'. I am
indignant and to show my displeasure
I breathed on him w/my garlic-retsina-
infused breath just to shown him how
distasteful I found his accusation.
Needless to say, there they were in
the center of Europe on $40 a Day.

18 hours later we landed in Paisley;
of course, our luggage didn't and our
car wasn't.............

When I was 17 my mother won a holiday for two and we went to Paris. Keen to practice my school-girl French I insisted on ordering at all the Restaurants.

I came unstuck at an Italian cafe when I ordered Spaghetti Bolognese &quot;for two&quot;. A plate of pasta duly arrived which was put in front of my mother, and an empty plate which was put in front of me. WHAT?? SORRY???? EXCUSE ME??? Much consternation and hand waving ensued.

Apparently I had ordered ONE Spaghetti Bolognese for TWO. The waiter explained that American tourists on a budget frequently shared a main meal between them to save money.

Got off the subway in London, walked to escalator, looked up. It was about 300' long. Got on, placing 2 big suitcases on the step in front of my feet. 1/3 of the way up, I adjusted one, and it fell backward, pushing me over. Now about 1/2 way, I looked up and realized I'd better get up before I reached the top else those little teeth at the top mince me up. So I pushed both suitcases off of me, rolled over, and stood up. By the time I reached the top, all was OK. But greeting at the top were 3 subway cops, asking intently if I was all right. Would've made me $10,000 on 'Greatest Videos' had my wife had a videocam.

Years ago, DH and I traveled to L.A. for the first time. We stayed at a decent chain hotel (had Lion in the name), and enjoyed the buffet breakfasts/brunches each morning.

There was one particular soup we really enjoyed. It was served in a metal tureen-like container, and had little bowls beside it to ladle it in.

After three days of enjoying this soup, we felt compelled to ask one of the wait staff what kind of soup it was.

He smiled and told us it was the gravy that was to be served on top of the biscuits.

It was at that point we realized that it was kind of on the salty and thick side...

Blushing Bloom

&quot;soixante&quot; is 60 in French..&quot;seize&quot; is 16.

going into a hotel de ville in a small town in France and asking at a desk for a room

When I went to Scandinavia two years ago I decided to pop over to Paris for one day at the end to visit a friend. Savvy traveler that I am, I flew Ryanair from Stockholm to Paris.

I studied French in college and did a little refresher before I left so I felt oh-so-confident about being able to get around, no problem.

We land at the teensy airport outside Paris. I think I know a better way of getting tickets to the bus to Paris. I don't. I miss getting onto the completely filled first bus and wait around for half an hour in the chill for the next one.

I arrive in Paris. I need to call my friend to tell her I have arrived. I ask a man where I can buy a phone card. He tells me I need to buy cigarettes before he will tell me. I say, &quot;Mais je ne fume pas!&quot; and am annoyed that he is trying to take advantage of a poor tourist. Um, yeah. It turns out he was telling me I needed to go to the tobacconist down the street to buy a phone card. I decide I should not even pretend to speak any French.

OK, so I get the phone card, I call my friend and tell her I'm on my way. I know there is a metro stop somewhere right near where the bus has dropped us, and because I assumed it would be visible and easy to find I didn't research it much. The stop is nowhere to be seen. I decide to briskly wander in concentric circles as though i know exactly where I'm going until I find it.

After getting catcalled from a car, I find the metro stop. It is getting dark. I buy tickets from the vending machine, which I could have done on my own but a nice guy helps me, and carries my suitcase onto the train too. He has patience with my rudimentary French and asks me why I'm there, how long, etc. He says he is Moroccan and a chef. He asks if I would like to see L'Arc de Triomphe. I say that I would like to see it but I probably won't have time on this trip. He then grabs my suitcase and starts to get off the train. I had to make a change at the stop for L'Arc de Triomphe so I assumed he was helping me make my change, and then he started carrying my bag toward the exit. No, no, I explained, I cannot go to the Arc de Triomphe with you now. I am meeting my friend. He is very reluctant to give up my bag (and the pleasure of my company, I suppose), but I finally wrest it from him and get on the metro line heading to my friend's home.

I was very happy to see her when i finally arrived, and to have une parisienne to take me around the next day so I didn't have to use my wholly inadequate French.

I am going back to Paris for a week in May (alas, my friend has moved to Spain) and will be much more diligent about my study this time!

(I told this story in my trip report last year, so apologize for the redundancy if anybody reads both accounts.)

Last summer we were getting ready for a trip to Rome. We were staying there for a week and wanted to rent an apartment. One of my college-aged children has taken a lot of Italian classes, so I got her to teach me how to say, &quot;I'm sorry I don't speak Italian&quot; in preparation for my call to the apartment rental agency in Rome.

I bravely made the call and when the person answering the phone said something (I of course know not what) in Italian, I proudly trotted out the phrase I had learned and said, &quot;I'm sorry I don't speak Italian&quot;. The phone-answerer laughed merrily and passed me along to someone else who was also laughing merrily when she picked up the phone. We then conducted the rest of the conversation in English.

I told DD about the call and said I must have a really funny accent since everybody was laughing so hard. She sternly asked me to repeat EXACTLY what I had said.

Then she told me I had called up those innocent people working in Rome and started off the conversation by informing them I was sorry THEY didn't speak Italian.

We were on a country road , my husband stopped the car to check the map. I decided to step out and stretch my legs. I was wearing a beautiful Armarni linen outfit I picked up in Filene's Basement. The grass on the side of the road blocked my view of the irrigation ditch. Down I went, up I came soaking and STINKY wet! I crossed the sreet were a villa was and the sun was shining and lay down to dry off. I dozed off and awoke to the gardner laughing at me.

Just happened on this funny thread.

Last spring, in a little town in the Maremma, I stopped for gas in my rental car. There was no attendant, just a coin operated thingy. Of course, I couldn't operate the thing and having deposited 20E the only recourse was to press the button that delivered a credit reciept. Of course, I was furious.

The next day I returned when the attendant was on duty. He accepted the receipt and inserted the DEISEL that the vehicle required.

I can't quite imagine the cost of my potential catastrophic error to say nothing of the embarrasement.

Cigalechanta, your story sounds like something out of an Audrey Hepburn movie. You're not married to Albert Finney, are you?

Most of my embarrassing stories are boring tales of me being shouted at by some exasperated French person trying to explain the most basic facts to me.

I should probably spare you the details of my first trip to England and discovering that stopping for a pint in every pub I passed in London starting at 11:00 in the morning is not the best way to enjoy one's holiday, especially if one has a small bladder. One pint of beer = three trips to the john for me, which makes sightseeing difficult. I think the natives thought I was a drug fiend or a rent boy looking for some action.

I HAD a habit to take pictures out of the hotels' windows, usually getting great views. Once in the morning, out of the shower, the sun was rising, perfect lights for my picture.

Only at home, after the paper photos were printed, I noticed my reflection in the window. Like a mirror. The robe was opened, oh boy, at least my underwear was on!

Of course, now I develop my films at a different place.

F, That won't be the least bit embarrassing to me but I am a guy.

So...., on our last trip to Spain, we stopped at a fantastic restaurant called Puerta Del Mar in Nerja. It had a magnificent view of the sea, and looked very upscale. After eating what was a marvelous seafood lunch complete with excellent Pulpo with paprika on it, I got up to go to the restroom. On my way back to our table in the far corner, I decided to go close to the windows and see the view outside. I noticed a family of very pretty spanish ladies sitting nearby, and was definitely a bit conscious (did I already say I am a guy?:) ). Anyway, as I approached the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, subtly adjusting my hair, and making sure I am walking nicely enough :), all of a sudden I found my face slam into something! The glass was so clean that, like a fool, I had banged my face flat against it!! I have to say I felt really stupid specially because I was adjusting my hair at the time, and keenly remember looking around if someone saw me hurt myself! If the women did, they were very polite to look away!

But that's okay. I didn't hurt myself too badly. I have lived. It happens. And I can laugh at myself. :)