I am a very uptight traveler, and I have done a lot of traveling, for both business and pleasure.  The first time I traveled with Gwyne down to Bali, she was dumbstruck by the change in me once the trip got underway - getting to the airport on time, ensuring travel documents were in order, well, just about everything switched from the easy going guy she fell in love with to one of the most tightly wound people you can imagine.  She identified three events that contributed to me being not a fun person to travel with, at all.  In chronological order and with lessons learned, here they are.

Act I.  It must have been 1985.  I was just wrapping up a year and a half long trip around SE Asia.  My entry point back in to the U.S. was going to be Honolulu, Hawaii.  Off the Philippine Airline flight, I tumbled, and I was quite a sight.  I had a fairly filthy blue backpack, round glasses, longish hair, a stringy beard, a shirt that said Kathmandu on it, red baggy pants made in India and a pair of zori that were literally stitched together.  Like I said, quite a sight.  I fit the profile of a drug smuggler.  So, as I waltzed through customs, the uniformed officer looked at my completed form and said, "Welcome back, Mr. Taylor.  Where have you been and how long have you been gone for?"  I took a deep breath and began, "Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia, Burma, India, Nepal, Sri Lanka and the Philippines, maybe about a year and a half?"  A pause.    "What do you do for a living, Mr. Taylor?"  My snotty, 25 year old answer was, "Phhhhhft, I don't work."  I think it was the 'phhhhhhft' that sealed the deal.  There was no pause in his next action.  Come with me Mr. Taylor, we're going to search your bag and person.  There were pants dropped and a rubber glove involved in the searching of my person.  Lesson - painful lesson learned - be respectful to people who have the authority to snap the rubber glove on and when you travel, dress like you have a job, even if you don't have one.

You've come a long way, baby.

Act II.  We were traveling in Indonesia, Dominique, my daughter, daughter's friend and myself.  We were on Bali and decided to take a trip to Borobodor, the world's largest stupa, located in central Java.  We flew from Bali to Yogajakarta and had a bit of an adventure finding a place to stay, starting on the very, very cheap side of town, eventually taking two becak's (cycle powered tricycle thingys with a seat in the back for 2 - 3 passengers) through the rain, being separated - again, all in the dark ages of pre internet/cell phone travel.  Dominique was not pleased with the separation during the travel, as I had all of our passports and money and we had no way to contact each other should our becak drivers not managed to find each other on the other side of town.  It all worked out though and we ended up on the $17 - $25 side of town in comfortable digs that included breakfast and a pool for the girls.  That night, we went out to a restaurant not too far away from our guest house.  I had a kind of black canvas brief case that held said passports and about 2K in cash, might as well throw in the tickets too.  Remember, pre internet days, we had paper tickets.  As we ordered, I clutched my bag on my lap.  Dominique said, "Will you relax and put that down?  We're here on vacation.  Just put it down."  Always the dutiful husband, I complied.  Had a lovely dinner.  Left.  Went home.  The next morning, I looked for the bag.  In that sparse room, it didn't take more than a minute to realize it wasn't there.  Panic.  I played things back in my mind and realized I must have left it at the restaurant.  We woke up at about 0700, the restaurant didn't open until 1000.  Those were three verrrryyyyyy long hours of waiting.  On top of losing my passport, there was my daughter's, my Canadian wife and my daughter's friend - we had been entrusted to take her on vacation with us - maybe 10 years old at the time?  And we had no money.  And no tickets.  There was going to be some serious 'splaining to do.  So we trundle down the road to the restaurant and camp out at about 0930.  1000 comes and goes.  Okay, we are in Indonesia, after all, jam keret (rubber time), it wasn't really going to open at 1000.  1015.  1030.  I figure they found the passports and money, have pasted their pictures in our passports and I picture them somewhere, speaking clipped English with our passports and money somewhere having a wonderful time.  I begin to wonder where the embassies are.  1045.  1100 comes and someone rolls in.  The bag was there, contents intact.  It turns out there was an hour time difference between Bali and Java.  Lesson learned?  Hold on to your travel documents.  Don't let your wife talk you into relaxing.  Not even for a second.  But mostly know where your travel documents are at all times.

Act III.  I was in Canada getting Lasik surgery, staying with family.  Had the surgery, all went well, headed back.  They drove me to the airport (about 2 hours away), hugs all around and I went into the terminal.  I look at the board.  Nothing.  I walk up to the absolutely empty counter and ask about my flight to Hawaii.  They ask to see my ticket.  It's for the next day, which explains the lack of a queue and general emptiness of the airport.  I was there a day early.  I was too embarrassed to call anyone and let them know I had blown the date, found a hotel close to the airport and checked myself in.  Lesson learned?  Pay attention to times and dates.  Be early, but jeez, not that early...

The finale?  All of those scenes had a long lasting impact on me and I anticipate playing the part of a well dressed, rule following, uptight traveler for many years to come.  And then I'll get out of the airport, train station, boat or whatever mode of transportation that got me from point A to point B and cut loose.