No. 5

Cathy and Kerby foil an attempt at alcoholic poisoning in Munich.

Our government has warned us Americans about the dangers of travel abroad. Under the heading “Worldwide Caution,” their web site advises: “The Department of State is deeply concerned about the heightened threat of terrorist attacks against U.S. citizens and interests abroad. ” However, they’re not telling you the half of it. There are so many hidden dangers awaiting travelers that one wonders why anyone would be fool enough to put a toe over the border. For instance, I was the victim of many savage acts during my recent seven-month tour of Europe.

Just look at what happened to me in Florence. I bought hair color in a seemingly innocent shop. Yes, the shade might have been a little brighter than I normally used, but it had a picture of a perfectly normal brunette on the package. Nowhere was the word “purple” mentioned. Or so I thought, as all verbiage was in Italian. I carefully followed the instructions to the letter, with them in one hand, an Italian dictionary in the other, the applicator bottle in a third. My transformation from happy-go-lucky American tourist to confused-headscarf-wearing victim, was just another example of how overseas cells have targeted English speakers. Fortunately, the struggle to re-format my identity as a plummette ended after six weeks—the time it took for the color to wash out.

Several attempts on our lives were made by foreign nationals who plotted to founder us. The first incident occurred in Paris, the night our friend Benny arrived in town. Having already been in Paris for a month, my husband, Kerby, and I took him out to a purportedly upscale seafood restaurant and showed off our command of the language by ordering in French. We selected a dozen oysters to start the meal. Shortly I pointed at our garçon struggling under the weight of a platter the size of a spare tire. “I wonder who ordered that!” I laughed. To our horror we watched him hobble towards us and heave the tray onto our table.

“Voila!” the waiter said in relief now that he could stand upright again. The three of us stared at 60 oysters. What else could we do? We grabbed a fork and started eating.

Another, more dangerous, foundering attempt occurred in Italy. There we were “befriended” by Carlo and Paoletta, long-time acquaintances of Wild Writing Woman, Pamela Michael. This couple gave the appearance of kind strangers and invited us to their family’s home for dinner. There they forced several courses upon us, beginning with some Piemontese version of the deviled egg and ending with the grandmother’s plum tart. The arrival of each dish was accompanied by a threat we didn’t understand, one word shouted over and over in Italian: “Mangia! Mangia!” We barely escaped with our lives, having to recuperate for several days before we were able to board a train.

In Munich some of the locals tried to get us drunk, no doubt plotting to take advantage of us. Upon learning that we were from California, they repeatedly bought us enormous beers to celebrate that Arnold Schwarzenegger had become Die Goovenator that day. Mug after mug arrived at the table as we looked on helplessly. Luckily our advance training in this category staved off any real threat.

Kerby and I encountered similar suspicious behavior in Ireland. Minding our own business, we were walking down the street in Dingle when we heard Celtic music emanating from a shoe repair shop called Dick Mack’s. As any concerned person would do, we entered to investigate. Imagine our shock when we discovered this establishment not only mended boots and saddles, but also housed a thriving pub. Within fifteen minutes we found ourselves in the midst of a riotous celebration lead by one Vin Pender. He invited us to his birthday party at another public house, where we were served Irish stew and further attempts were made to drown us in ale.

Yes, my friends, there are many dangers to traveling, and probably the biggest one is that after the trip is over you may not want to come home.