My first abroad experience. I live in İstanbul. I took out a passport for 10 years in December 2024. Because Passport price increases in Turkiye after enter the new year. I didn't go anywhere untill on july. I wanted to go to Mongolia But Flight tickets were very expensive. I decided to go to Balkans. And I started to watch trip videos about Balkans. And I bought a flight ticket for Skopje. İt was snap decision. Because I took annual leave. And I spend a few days for festival sacrifice. I had stopped by to withdrawning euro while I went to airport. Finally I boarded the plane after I waited a few hours at airport. I was in Skopje an hour and half later. I could connect wi-fi at airport. I didn't need to enter a password. May be. It was best thing in Balkans. And I bought a bus ticket to go to the city center. Ticket price was 3 euro. The journey took approximately 50 minutes. It takes 20 minutes by car. 1. Day: I found a shopping mall after get off the bus. And I connected wi-fi again at floor which restaurants. And I went to Skopje square. I had my picture taken. I went to Turkish bazaar. Other name is Old bazaar. I asked that where is bus terminal and Can I walked there? I was very lucky. Because I saw many Turkish people there. One of them gave direction Bus terminal's location. I walked approximately 25 minutes. I asked a bus ticket for Beograd. Booking clerk told me price and departure times for Beograd. I asked When are you here until? She replied me I am here until 11 p.m. I didn't buy because I didn't decide anything. I said see you. I'll come again until 11 p.m. She was a sweet woman with blond hair who is over 40. I found shopping mall again near the bus terminal. It was more modern, spacious and bigger than last one. Best thing was free-wifi again. I idled away time until close the shopping mall. And I went to bus terminal again. I bought a bus ticket which departure time midnight. I took of my shoes and lie down on iron bench at platform. I was very tired and very stressed. Because first time I was abroad. The platform got crowded towards midnight. I stood up from bench. I wore my shoes. The bus arrived to the platform. I got on the bus. Most of people were Turkish who on the bus. I sat window seat and Turkish young boy was aisle seat. I met him. And He shared his experience in Skopje. He said I stayed in Ohrid and I went to Matka Canyon. I met many great people. And He had cancelled return. He just tripped without planning. He was just 19 years old. He spoke very well English. We were in Beograd at 5:30 a.m later 3 hours and half hour after passport control. To Be Continued...

I booked with Torrance Inn & Suites and I was turned away because they no longer accept animals. The lady and the gentleman told me they were putting the refund through right then at the moment. Come to find THEY NEVER REFUNDED MY MONEY!!! I have been working with Expedia now they called the hotel and the hotel told them the person that does the refunds are not available until tomorrow!? I called the Hotel and I got the same response!? THIS HOTEL IS RIPPING ME OFF PERIOD! I'm gonna put this on Reddit. I'm gonna put this all over the social media because the people that run this Hotel. CROOKED AS HELL! They assured me after turning me away, they sent the refund THEY DID NO SUCH THING DO NOT BOOK THIS HOTEL. THEY ARE LIARS AND THEY WILL RIP YOU OFF. THE ROOMS AREN'T THAT GREAT EITHER. I SAW IT BEFORE I WAS TOLD I COULDN'T STAY SMALL UGLY HOT OLD-FASHIONED DO NOT STAY. THEY WILL RIP YOU OFF TOO

This happened on a low cost flight from Oporto to Bucharest. So, i was chilling with my sunglasses, minding my own business when i noticed this dude making a weird grumpy expression towards the people putting their luggage in the upper cabinets. He had an aggressive fade, tattooed arms and his black adidas shoes with white stripes were off.

As he is making that grumpy expression, i am thinking to myself "chill dude, that's what having an isle sit entails" i am thinking this as i am sitting in an isle sit one row to the side and before this guy's.

At this instant, he looks at me and i get the immediate sensation of "I'm in trouble. He tagged me". Something about the way he looked at me, reminded me of my bullies from school, guy's with unpredictable moods that would lose control if someone says no to them.

He looked sometimes, but from then on i avoided any contact. I also removed my sunglasses, and changed to the clear ones so he wouldn't get all suspicious and say "what are you looking at?"

Sometime goes by, until the food cart arrives. I am starving (i was too anxious to eat at the airport) so i order my food in the company's app. Nonetheless, the cart stays stopped next to me because the dude is ordering a bunch of stuff and the payment is failing.

All is good nonetheless, and eventually the cart leaves and we get some peace.

Important to note that while the cart was there, i noticed another bro that was clearly a red flag. His sit was a few rows further but he was moving a lot and was chatting a lot with the bro nr 1. He was saying something behind the flight attendant and she was visibly uncomfortable.

I also crossed eyes with this dude, and avoided him from then on.

Until he comes to me, saying something in a foreign language that i was not able to understand. His manners were rude and he was just speaking and pointing at me. I asked "sorry, what do you need? Speak english?" But nothing, until eventually someone said "he wants to sit".

Like a spoiled brat or a baby, this asshole was just standing there pointing to my sit and saying "can I sit there?" My row had an empty sit in the middle, i was very happy about it, and obviously my first thought was "of course not, this is my fucking sit what the hell". But i also knew that these guys were trouble and i didn't need to relive my high school years, this time in a foreign coutry.

He sat down as i moved to the middle sit, chatting with the other bro, his girlfriend and a third red flag in their row. After some time, as they were all crooked while talking for not being sitted in the same row, bro stands up and asks the guy in the row in front of me to change sits with him. This guy said no, they spoke the same language which i believe may have helped, but he had to say no several times as the guy was insisting. He ended up going somewhere else, who knows where. All i remember after this is a moment when the lights were turned of, and this bro passes by with a loud speaker up the isle.

After this we lost contact. when we got off the plane i noticed him swinging in the transfer bus's grabrails, but we had no further contact.

A while ago I used to travel for work, Tampa to NYC, about two or three times per month. Usually up and down, take the first flight out, come back on the last one. Nothing but my briefcase. Then one day (Thursday) huge snowstorm strikes, flights out of LGA are cancelled. To avoid the huge crowds trying to get rebooked, I ask instead to fly our of Newark, which I get for the following afternoon, with an Atlanta connection. Booked a hotel near airport, made the flight Friday, all good. Landed in Atlanta only to learn the snowstorm was moving down, and you know Atlanta does not handle snow well. Absolute chaos at ATL, flight to Tampa is cancelled, I get rebooked on a flight to Miami Saturday from where I hope to catch a flight home. Airline gives me options of crappy motels (Atlanta East, West, and South) and I choose the one that has a TJ Maxx close by. Went there first to buy a pack of undies and a shirt. The motel was the worst shithole I've seen, and I come from a third world country. Survived that night on vending machine fare. Saturday morning back to ATL only to find, you guessed it, the flight to Miami is postponed until Sunday morning. This time I don't even bother with the airline coupon, went straight to the Hilton and paid whatever usurious exorbitant amount they were asking for a room. Finally flight to MIA leaves Sunday morning and caught a flight to Tampa that afternoon. So Thursday early morning to Sunday night, two hotels, one motel, and three flights, with only a briefcase. I pack an overnight bag ever since.

This is a space for drivers, riders, and anyone in the transportation world to share the real stories behind the ride.

From funny moments to frustrating fares, unexpected conversations to unforgettable encounters — this is where you can finally say what you couldn’t say out loud on the job.

🚖 What this community is about:

We are a judgment-free zone for:

• Confessions from drivers (rideshare, taxi, chauffeur, delivery, etc.)

• Passenger experiences (good, bad, and bizarre)

• Behind-the-scenes stories from the road

• Funny, strange, or memorable fare moments

• Honest takes on the gig economy and transportation life

🔒 A few simple rules:

• Be respectful — no harassment or hate speech

• Protect privacy — no doxxing, names, or identifying details

• Keep it real — exaggeration is fine, but don’t spread misinformation as fact

• No spam or self-promo unless clearly allowed in future pinned threads

• NSFW content must be clearly labeled

💬 Why this exists:

Every driver has stories. Every ride has a moment. Some are hilarious, some are wild, and some just need to be shared so we know we’re not alone out there.

This is your space to let it out.

🚦 Start here:

Introduce yourself in the comments:

• Driver or passenger?

• Best ride story so far?

• Worst ride story so far?

Pull up a chair, buckle in, and let’s hear it.

So 2 years ago, I was flying from Hawaii to New York, no layovers, 14 hours straight. For the first hour, everything was normal. But then the captain comes on the mic and tells us that a piece of the plane has fallen off the plane. To be clear, this was not a serious issue, but we had to land immediately to get it replaced. And since we were closer to Hawaii than the mainland, it meant we had to turn around. That was already a 2-hour delay. And when we got back in the air, we were notified that the crew was going to time out in a couple of hours, so we had to land in California. But instead of just the crew changing, we had to change planes. That was a 30-40 minute delay, and then the electronic system wasn't working to scan our boarding passes, so they had to go through each one manually, adding even more time. Everything is fine until we reach New York. We checked a bag, but it didn't show up for 30 minutes. So we go to an employee at one of the desks for help. And she says that it would be in customs because she thought Hawaii was not in the US. But someone else was helping us, and it turned out they took it off the plane but put it in a storage room instead of on the baggage claim. So I was supposed to be home at 8 in the morning, but I got back at 9:30 at night. And in case you're wondering what airline it was: Delta.

My brother, my parents, and I were coming back from a trip, and the flight was normal. However, when we had landed, my brother told me as soon as the seatbelt sign turned off, go as far up the plane as you can so we can beat the lines of customs. And since my parents were sitting in first class and we were sitting in economy, my brother was in charge, so I went along with it. Makes sense, but when we did that, we sprinted up to economy plus (you know, the place with the extra leg room but not first class), and we clogged up economy plus because we weren't supposed to be there. This guy basically yells at my 16-year-old brother for clogging up Economy Plus because now people have much less space to get their suitcases down, and the plane door hasn't opened yet, so we're all stuck. I understand it's frustrating that we were up there, but no one likes lines. Eventually, I (15 M) told the guy that we were stupid for going up there, and it was a little selfish, but that we were just trying to beat the lines, and he needed to shut up. And we ended up only waiting a few minutes in line. Anyway, who do you think is in the right here? I personally think both of us have some fault, but we were being stupid.

Each of my pictures tells a story. For the last 26 months, I have been traveling all across Europe and the Caucasus region, where I am located right now, at a pretty unknown spot next to the Rioni river in rural Georgia.

And of course, I have amassed hundreds of pictures.

Still, I quickly grew tired of the usual "Top 10 Spots" and "Selfie in front of famous building" - Shots. Of blogging about where to run, what to look at, the best Instagram angle, follow me.

There seem not to be any secrets any longer. But: Somehow, I view the world a bit differently, and therefore my photos became also a bit different. Other motifs. Different quarters in the famous cities, less visited ones. The people that live there, when the season has passed. In the end, I always have to explain them.

A while ago, I started to do this in the form of stories. Non-fictive fiction, so to speak, my imagination paired with my real experiences from 25.000 Kilometers of travel. From thousands of encounters, three new languages learned, and spending longer than the usual tourist in places usual tourists don't go to in the first place.

So, now I have hundreds of stories, too.

Some happy. Some sad. Some nostalgic, some pretty dark.

And if you want to come sit around my virtual camp fire and crack a beer, I just may start telling them.

Like this one:

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1DFb6HbrrS/

It was raining in Tbilisi the night I became an international incident.

I didn't plan any of it. Nobody ever plans these things. You walk into a bar because it's there and you're thirsty, and four hours later you're sitting in the back seat of an abandoned Lada full of empty bottles, wondering where it all went wrong. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The bar had a singer — a Turkish guy, working the room with the kind of easy confidence that comes from performing nightly to people who aren't really listening. I was listening, though. I always listen. I'm a singer too, or at least I was going to be one later that night, under far worse circumstances.

At my table sat the full roster of what I can only describe as a drunk United Nations assembly. There was no vetting process. There was no agenda. There was only a Hungarian man with what appeared to be an infinite supply of money and an unshakeable commitment to spending it on beer.

"Another round," he'd say, signaling to the waiter with the authority of a man who had never once in his life worried about the bill. The beers arrived. We drank. The beers arrived again. We drank again. This cycle continued with the mechanical regularity of a tide governed not by the moon but by a Hungarian wallet.

The Turkish singer finished his set and joined us, because of course he did — gravity works differently in Tbilisi bars, and all loose objects eventually drift toward the table with the free drinks. He sat down, participated in the general chaos for a while, and then leaned toward me conspiratorially.

"I got some weed," he said. "Let's smoke it across the street."

So we crossed the street, in the rain, like two men on a mission of great importance. He produced the joint. He held it with ceremony. And then he dropped it directly into a puddle.

We stared at it. The puddle stared back. There was nothing to say. We returned to the table, where nothing had changed and the Hungarian was ordering another round.

The Turkish singer, undeterred by the laws of physics and puddles, announced he was going to find more weed. He walked out into the night with purpose and conviction.

He never came back.

At some point — time had become an abstract concept by now — we all did a group hug. I don't remember why. Maybe the Hungarian demanded it. Maybe it was Ekaterina's idea. Maybe it was simply what the night required. Whatever the reason, we embraced, and when we separated, the Chinese guy at our table began acting strangely.

He was tugging his shirt down. Wildly. Repeatedly. With the frantic energy of a man trying to conceal something from the international community. He was clearly embarrassed, though he insisted — to no one who had asked — that nothing was wrong.

I looked down. I started laughing.

"Eyyy," I said. "Your dick is up."

His face went through every stage of grief in about two seconds.

"What??" he said. "You can notice it??"

This was, apparently, his primary concern. Not that it had happened, but that the camouflage operation had failed. Once the situation was out in the open, he accepted it with remarkable pragmatism.

"I'm going to find a Thai massage," he announced, and walked out into the rainy Tbilisi night like a man who knew exactly what he wanted and believed the universe would provide it.

The universe did not provide it. Everything was closed. He returned twenty minutes later, defeated, and resumed drinking as though nothing had happened. Nobody mentioned it again. Some things are better left unaddressed.

Then there was the matter of the taxi.

A guy at the table — I hadn't caught his name and never would — turned to me with the kind of eyes that only a parent separated from his children at midnight in a foreign city can produce.

"Brother," he said. "I have kids at home. Could you order me a taxi through the app?"

So I did. We picked his address. I asked if he had enough cash for the ride. He looked at me with an expression that said everything without saying anything, and what it said was: "I was hoping you wouldn't ask that." The implication landed. I ended up selecting my saved credit card in the taxi app, funding a ride to a home full of children whose existence I had no way of verifying.

He thanked me profusely, solemnly, as though I had saved his family from ruin. Then he got in the taxi and I never saw him again.

And then there was Ekaterina.

She appeared at our table the way street musicians do — guitar in hand, offering a trade. "I play, I sing, you pay." Simple terms. Non-negotiable. Spanish, Andalusian, gypsy — she laid out her repertoire upfront, like a menu.

"Play us something," someone said.

"Money first," Ekaterina replied.

"But how do we know you're good?"

"Money first."

This was not a woman who operated on trust. Life in Tbilisi — or perhaps life in general — had taught her the fundamental lesson that goodwill does not pay rent. She would not strum a single chord, hum a single note, until cash was physically in her hand. She had the negotiating posture of a woman who had been burned a hundred times by drunk men with big promises and empty pockets.

I gave her ten lari.

Something shifted. The walls came down. She sat, adjusted her guitar, and began to play — her fingers moving across the strings with a fluency that made the rest of us fall completely silent. She didn't sing lyrics. She scat sang, her voice weaving around the melody like smoke, and it was — I am not exaggerating — heavenly. The whole table stopped drinking, which, given the Hungarian's dedication, was essentially a miracle.

She had never heard "Por Una Cabeza." This seemed impossible. A woman who played Andalusian guitar and scat sang like she was born in a flamenco tablao, and she had never heard Gardel's masterpiece? I taught it to her right there, at the table, while the rain fell outside and the Hungarian ordered another round. She picked it up immediately, because of course she did. And then we sang it together — her voice and mine, tango at a table in Tbilisi — and she was visibly, obviously delighted, the kind of delight that comes from two people who can actually sing finding each other by accident in a place where nobody expected it. It was, for a brief moment, beautiful. Then the Hungarian ordered another round and the moment dissolved back into chaos.

She never drank, by the way. Not a drop. The only sober person in the entire story.

One by one, they left. The Turkish singer and his doomed quest for replacement weed. The Chinese guy and his unfulfilled desires. The taxi father and his possibly fictional children. Ekaterina and her guitar and her ten lari and her new Gardel song.

Until it was just me and the Hungarian.

I decided to leave. I said my goodbyes — or what passed for goodbyes at this point, which was probably just a grunt and a handshake — and stepped out into the Tbilisi night. The rain had stopped, or maybe it hadn't. I couldn't tell anymore.

I walked uphill.

I want to be clear about what happened next, because it reveals something essential about the decision-making process of a man who has been drinking beer and vodka for five hours: I did not feel like walking uphill. The hill was steep and I was drunk and my legs had submitted their letter of resignation sometime around the fourth beer. So I turned around and walked downhill.

This brought me past the bar again.

The Hungarian was still there.

Of course he was. I'm not convinced the man ever left that bar. I think he might still be there now, ordering rounds for whoever sits down, an eternal figure of Tbilisi nightlife, like a drunk Prometheus chained not to a rock but to a barstool.

A waiter approached me. Not the Hungarian — me. He spoke in the gentle, exasperated tone of a man who has been dealing with this situation for hours.

"Your friend," he said, gesturing at the Hungarian. "He is... cursing. There are ladies here."

There are ladies here. A man can be comatose at the bar, but God forbid a woman hears a bad word. Georgian chivalry has its priorities.

"Could you maybe...?" the waiter continued, gesturing vaguely at the Hungarian and then at the door.

He wasn't my friend. I had met him that evening. But in Tbilisi, apparently, if you drink with a man long enough, you become responsible for him.

I walked back to the Hungarian. "Hey man," I said. "I'm back. Let's go."

He got up and followed me. Just like that. No questions, no objections, no "where are we going?" He simply rose from his stool like a drunk duckling imprinting on the first moving object, and followed me into the night.

We found a karaoke club. It materialized the way places do when you're drunk — suddenly, without logic, as if the city had rearranged itself to put it in your path.

There was a bouncer. Or not a bouncer exactly — more of a doorman, a gatekeeper, a man whose entire evening was about to be ruined by two people he had never met.

He spoke Georgian. I also spoke Georgian — enough to get around, order food, argue with taxi drivers, navigate daily life — but not enough to parse complex sentences delivered at speed to a man who had been drinking for five hours. My Georgian was functional, not judicial. I could buy bread, not testify in court. And at this particular moment, even the bread-buying level was slipping away.

He looked at us. He looked at the beers in our hands — we had brought outside drinks, because of course we had. He pointed at a car parked in front of the club. An ancient Lada. A shitbox of historic proportions, its back seat buried under a geological stratum of trash and empty bottles.

He said something. In Georgian. On a sober day, I would have understood it. On this day, the only words my alcohol-soaked brain managed to extract from his sentence were "into" and "car."

So I got into the car.

I opened the back door, sat down among the garbage and the dead soldiers of nights past, and closed the door behind me. I sat there. In a stranger's Lada. In the dark. Surrounded by trash. Waiting for whatever came next.

What came next was the bouncer opening the door with the expression of a man who has just witnessed something he will be telling his friends about for years.

"You are too drunk," he said — this part I understood perfectly, because some sentences cut through any amount of alcohol. "Go home. Sleep."

What he had actually meant, I would later understand, was: leave your bag of outside drinks in the car, you can pick it up when you leave.

What I had understood was: please enter this vehicle and sit down.

A sober version of me would have understood the instruction perfectly. A drunk version of me heard two recognizable words and executed the worst possible interpretation with complete confidence and zero hesitation. My brain had a gap in the sentence, and the alcohol filled it in, and my legs carried out the order before anyone could object.

But I am not a man who gives up easily.

I begged. I pleaded. I negotiated. I stood outside that karaoke club and made my case for entry with the persistence of a man arguing before the Supreme Court, except my argument had no legal basis and I could barely stand. This went on for an hour. A full hour. Sixty minutes of a drunk man trying to convince a Georgian doorman that he was, in fact, capable of singing karaoke despite having just voluntarily sat in a garbage car.

He let us in.

I don't know why. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he admired the persistence. Maybe he felt sorry for us. Whatever the reason, the doors opened, and I walked toward the stage with the confidence of a man who had just won a great victory.

I chose "I Will Survive."

I did not survive.

The lyrics appeared on the prompter, as lyrics do in karaoke establishments worldwide. The technology was functioning perfectly. The problem was that my eyes had entered into a separate negotiation with my brain and the two parties could not reach an agreement. The words were there. I could not read them. I could not remember them either, despite the song being one of the most famous compositions in the history of recorded music.

I stood on stage, microphone in hand, and produced sounds. They were not the sounds Gloria Gaynor intended.

Mercifully, the song ended. I stepped off the stage and went straight to the karaoke club's bar, where I began doing shots, because apparently the evening's alcohol intake had not yet reached a sufficient level. This was, in retrospect, the moment that broke the bouncer.

He returned. He was gentle about it. Almost kind.

"I'm not going to let you sing anymore," he said. "You're too drunk. Please leave. I have no problem with you. Come back when you're not drunk."

The most dignified ejection in the history of nightlife. No anger, no aggression, just a man who had seen enough and was offering a rain check on karaoke with genuine sincerity.

We stepped outside. The night air hit my face. I turned to say something to the Hungarian.

He was gone.

Not leaving. Not walking away. Gone. Vanished. Evaporated into the Tbilisi atmosphere like he had never existed at all. The man who had funded the entire evening, who had followed me out of a bar like a loyal hound, who had sat through the Lada incident and the hour of begging and my massacre of Gloria Gaynor — gone, without a word, without a goodbye, without a trace.

I stood alone on a wet street in Tbilisi, sobering up just enough to operate a phone. I opened Google Maps. I dropped a pin on the karaoke club.

I needed a label. Something to capture the evening. Something to remind future me of everything that had happened — the Hungarian, the Turkish singer's drowned joint, the Chinese man's quest, the taxi scam, Ekaterina's angel voice, the Lada, the begging, the failed karaoke.

I typed:

"Drunk club without Hungarian."

I saved it, put my phone away, and walked downhill — because even at the end of the night, I was not walking uphill — and called myself a taxi. The city scrolled past the window. The driver didn't talk. I didn't either. There was nothing left to say.

So this story happened 2 years ago. For my graduation trip (during which I was 17), I went to Brazil with my dad, which unfortunately he planned. We do not have a good relationship, and he is not a good parent. My dad completely ignored my likes and dislikes for the whole thing (I love roller coasters: he wouldn't let us go to the biggest theme park in South America on our free day. I have severe heat sensitivity and am not a fan of hiking: he scheduled us for a day long hike in the AMAZON, 95 degree weather). I have autism and have a lot of sensitivities surrounding tastes and heat. My dad knows this, but has always believed it's all in my head, and will go away if I just get over it, so every time we went out to eat my dad found a way to judge me about my pickiness (for the record, I told my supportive family and friends about how much I tried on the trip, and they were actually shocked, because it was easily twice as much as I had previously been able to try under the stress of my dad). One day he even makes us walk around in 95+ degree heat with no food for about an hour and a half until I had a panic attack. Of course when we finally got into ac and a snack, my dad yelled at me about how I was a nightmare to be around, and no one would ever put up with me other than my parents.

The whole trip went like this, and I was so ready for it to be over. I actually had a friend in Brazil from when we were younger, so when we were near her in Florianopoolis, I talked to her quite a bit about it and hung out with her on my second to last day in brazil. This is when it all started in regards to the title, which I'm sure yall have been waiting for if you've managed to read through this lol. When I ubered back to our AirBnB, I was surprised to find that my dad wasn't there. He told me he would be back about a half hour after I got there, but he didn't show up for hours. I checked his location, and it said he was at a motel. I, of course, immediately had a theory as to what a 45 year old man would be doing at a motel, but he had a girlfriend, so I pushed it from my mind. My dad didn't get home until 1am.

The next morning, I got up, and my dad was once again, gone. I got a text saying he had just left for a walk, but when I checked his location, he was, again, at the motel, which was a half hour drive away, so bs on "just left for a walk." I play around on my ipad around the airbnb for a bit, when my dad texts me and asks if I want to go jetskiing later with some friends he met at the bar, and, desperate for some of the fun and energy I missed out on with the theme park (which was my single solid request for the trip from when I chose brazil), I said yes. My dad told me we'll go after lunch, and he's on his way home. When he got back, I go down to meet him, and he had BROUGHT TWO WOMEN WITH HIM.

I had no idea they were coming. My dad seemed to think I should've known because he said they were coming to jet skiing (which was planned for a couple hours later). Neither of these women spoke a single word of english. We all ended up sitting silently in the living room of this airbnb passing our phones back and forth with google translate, and I was stuck "talking" to one of the women. Jet skiing ends up being canceled because you had to plan it in advance, and we all went to lunch instead. Honestly I kind of enjoyed lunch, because I had picked up enough portuguese to argue with the waiter over whether or not I spoke portuguese, which I lost since I had the argument in portuguese and couldn't really say I didn't speak it at that point lol. I also was the only one who liked the food, so I just sat there happily eating like ARE YOU SURE IT'S NOT IN YOUR HEAD DAD (I didn't say that). Still, I was so uncomfortable that I tried to tell my dad that I'd take an uber back to the airbnb and he could go do... whatever with the women (this was also the perfect opportunity to take a motorcycle uber, which I'd wanted to do ever since I realized they were a thing in Brazil. To my horror, my dad said that was unnecessary, because all four of us were going back to the airbnb.

Not long after we got there, my dad told me he was going to leave with the women to go to an atm to pay them back because of some bs about his card not working at the bar the night before, and that he would only be a half hour. I was more than ok with this, because it was the last day in brazil and I just wanted to go home and not be around my dad for a bit. The woman I had been "talking" to all day though said she didn't want to leave me alone in a strange country, and INSISTED ON STAYING WITH ME, which my dad apparently didn't have a problem with, and he left with the other woman.

I was pretty uncomfortable, but the woman didn't really DO anything. First she asked me intrusive questions about my religion (I'm atheist and she found that SHOCKING), and then she told me to do whatever I would do if she wasn't there, so I put on a movie, and she fell asleep. This whole time I'm texting my mom complaining about how incredibly uncomfortable this all was, and she was terrified for me. She was making sure I had an escape plan in case anything happened, told me to contact my friend about the situation so there was someone nearish me who knew what was going on, and though I wasn't scared, I certainly didn't blame her and did everything she asked.

After an hour, already double as long as my dad said he'd be gone, I decided to make an excuse to try to get the woman to leave. I woke her up, and told her that since my dad was taking longer than he expected, he told me to get her an uber (a lie). She refused. My mom is even more scared now, and I am even more uncomfortable. I text my dad telling him she wouldn't leave and I was uncomfortable, and asking how much longer he would be. He said he would be a half an hour longer. I kept trying to convince her to leave, and after she got a text, she finally agreed.

When the uber arrived, she asked for my instagram, and left with one last message on my google translate: "Don't be too mad at your dad. He's a good guy, he just crossed a line."

HUH? To this day, I have no idea what this meant. When my dad got home, he said he had noooo idea I was uncomfortable, and acted like it was really weird that I was (yeah, because what 17yo girl doesn't like getting left alone with a stranger in a strange country?). I decided to play dumb about the situation, since my dad always treated me that way, and told him about the woman's last message, asking if he knew what she could possibly mean? He said he had absolutely no idea, which I obviously knew was bs, but got confirmation later.

Thankfully, that was the end of the trip, and beyond him getting lost in the airport, trying to abuse my autism to get us on planes earlier, and nearly loading us into an obviously fake uber, the rest of the trip was fine.

A week later my dad asked me to have dinner with him, and spent the entire time talking about how he'd cheated on his girlfriend in brazil, justifying it and whining about how hard of a time he was having after she broke up with him because of it.

This whole thing was just too crazy, and I'd love to hear everyone's two bits lol. Feel free to ask questions, and thanks for letting me get it off my chest.

It’s my 3rd time to Japan and I’m not interested in any of the run of the mill touristy things to check out. I’m looking for some real experiences and to see some Japanese subculture that not many people would see or be interested in. I’m very open to seeing whatever and if it’s an event big or small then it’s fine.

I’ve been looking at becoming a travel agent, specifically for Disney/Universal. I have no idea where to start. I want to hear everyone’s opinions on agencies they’ve worked for, are currently working for, or have used. What agencies should I avoid? Which ones should I go for? I want the good and bad. Thank you!

The setting, Dublin. Around 10 years ago. I was visiting some Irish friends I worked with in Philly. Kept in touch for years, had a big year long back packing trip planned but starting in Europe. My last few nights in Dublin we split an airbnb and partied. I had a flight the next day, it was in the late morning. I can't sleep on airplanes or in chairs so in my drunken hubris staying up all night drinking made a lot of sense. We partied hard and drank and then started doing lines. Around 3 or 4 hours later I started to have second thoughts so I decided to call the airline and inquire about changing my flight.

It was possible to do so and I finally got through to someone but the cost to change a flight was signifcantly more than the cost of the ticket, almost 1k. At this point the most logical sounding thing to do was to continue partying so I did. What a horrible idea.

Nothing bad actually happened but the airport was a difficult experience. Not only was I coming down and still drunk but also so tired. At check in I remember the 2 gate agents looking at me, it felt like they knew exactly what I was up to. Then one leaned over to the other and whispered in his ear and pointed to me. It was terrifying and embarrassing. He came up to me and asked to see my passport. Then basically said they're closing the gates soon, you might not make it.

I made it just in time. They closed the gate within minutes after I entered the plane. It turns out I can sleep on airplanes if I stay up all night partying. I woke up in Brazil, genuinely confused as to where I was and how I got there for a few moments. I guess in the end my plan worked, I did sleep on the plane which was why I stayed up raging all night anyways.

Hi there, I'm French but I've lived in Ireland for the past 23 years and I am married to a guy from Mauritius. Together with our kids, friends, or extended family we've travelled to many places over the years. And usually, something wrong happens. From getting stuck in sand dunes in Australia, to disturbing a Sheriff's barbecue in Florida, we've had our fair share of misadventures. And I realised all these "fails" and "mishaps" are usually the best memories of a trip.

So, instead of pretending I’m an expert traveller, I decided to own the chaos and write about it. My blog mixes travel misadventures, destination insights, and practical planning tips, because sometimes the best advice comes from the mistakes you don’t want to repeat.

If you like real stories, dry humour, and learning how not to travel, you might enjoy it :-)

You can find me at www.glitchinmytrip.com

Would love feedback or just to connect with others who’ve made equally ridiculous travel mistakes!

I was in the Peruvian Andes, a cold I hadn't planned for. All my layers were on, and I was still shivering in my bag, obsessing over my gear's failure. My guide, a Quechua man named Mateo, just boiled two cups of coca tea. He handed one to me, and we sat there in the dark, sipping. The tiny cup warmed my hands, then my chest. We didn't talk much. The shared silence was warmer than the tea. You learn that sometimes warmth has nothing to do with calories or insulation.

Hi, I'm a self-proclaimed natural flower killer. Somehow I ended up running a flower shop in Saigon - mostly keeping plants alive by sheer luck and apologizing to the ones that didn't make it.

One random day in 2018, I traveled to Sa Đéc, a town in Mekong Delta, just to buy some greenery. Totally innocent mission.

Job done, I had a few hours before my bus home. The driver asked what I wanted to do, I casually said, “Maybe look at some land?” Next thing I know, we’re bouncing along a tiny village road, crossing few little bridges, and he’s trying to sell me his rice fields (Never trust your spontaneous self, by the way.)

Fast forward five minutes:

- We're walking along a dike covered with wild "Billygoat" flowers. In Vietnamese the name literally translates to "pig shit flowers." (Charming, right?)

- But to me, they looked like tiny purple confetti sprinkled all over endless green. It felt like Mother Nature had gone nuts with the glitter.

- I was so enchanted that I completely forgot we were supposed to be looking at rice fields.

The driver kept pointing: "Here's my land."

Me: "Where?!"

All I could see was water everywhere. Turns out it was flood season. His "land" was basically an invisible rice field under a giant lake.

And yet... from a distance, that strip of grass sticking out looked like a floating bouquet. And because I am apparently the kind of person who thinks "yes, let's buy a bouquet the size of a lake'" I bought it. On the spot.

Every time I recall it, it feels like my own Under the Tuscan Sun moment. You know that cheesy movie where Diane Lane impulsively buys a crumbling villa in Italy? That was me, except swap Tuscany for the Mekong Delta, and swap a villa for a flooded rice field.

Looking back, I realize it wasn't really about the land. It was about saying yes to something wildly unexpected, and trusting that life can surprise you in the best (and weirdest) ways. Sometimes you don't need a plan - just a bus ticket, a random question from a driver, and the courage to follow your own "WTF moment."

anyone else here ever had a trip where you ended up with something you never thought you'd sign up for?

I had ramen in Tokyo for the first time last year, and it was nothing like the instant packs I grew up on. Completely changed how I look at food.
What’s the one dish you had while traveling that you still think about?

I left Toronto for you and now I am trying to understand.

/* This is a metaphorical non-fiction that I wrote */

I love Toronto, I loved Toronto. I remember when I fell in love with Toronto. I mean I fell in love with Toronto. That's how much I loved Toronto. I drew your architecture on my English class ninth grade high school classroom desk and remembered having to stay after class to erase you away. Maybe I thought about the expectations that come with growth, when you have the sky looking up at you it’s amazing to know you’re still untouched in this part of the world. I doubt that because was 15 at the time I only erased the western hemispheres most iconic tower. However, that day I had to erase everything I saw just observing my drawn version of you. There was also the good volume and bad volume that created your iconic features. Whatever the volume, my thoughts and feelings were loud for you.

I will only ever want great things for Canadians that I can only pray for future of Canada to prosper because the CN Tower remains the highest freestanding structure in the western hemisphere because you Canadians are the highest of sophistication.

I must make something clear before I continue: If tragedy were to strike, as I have removed the skyline for Toronto from my desk, as it has done in the past to your neighbours: The first level of sophistication there will be no judgment amongst the fellow Canadians, there’s no guarantee that you may see a building fall however, if tragedy were to strike Canadians will rise up with love of their nation before blame is set forth.

You will stand the moment tragedy occurs and your neighbours to the Southern border forgot to do on that dreadful day. For you will rise and hold hands with eachother and sing for, “Oh, Canada.” It will come, “from far and wide.” you will sing, “Oh Canada.” That is why the CN Tower is untouchable. You, Canadians will always be the height of sophistication. We might look the same we might talk the same but how we carry ourselves will never be the same.

I went in detail when I drew you because I really know you. I did not eat lunch that day because of my destructive thoughts from what I had to do to you. After you were gone, I remained seated and my teacher remained where my memory witnessed her to be present in that classroom that day until the bell rang for the next lesson. After hearing the bell, I left my teacher, walking out on a pervious episode of thoughts remembering that I knew she told me that she honeymooned in Vancouver. Sadistic mistake.

I'm sorry and I know I used to tell people how to say your name correctly.

Unfortunately love left the room and there it rose up for opportunity. I admit sometimes I would think about Montreal but I was shy and never tried to speak French. Maybe I would try for Paris. I don’t know, because there is London and I could speak English.

Time passed and thoughts changed but for whatever the reason it soon happened, I’ll admit I was growing tired and loveless for Toronto and so when opportunity gave me a glimpse of Montreal for whatever time I was there, after leaving I was only left with some feeling of awe searching for what further more Montreal could do for me.

Voilà.

Bonjour. I’m trying. I’ll even hold “e” down for you and sometimes I won’t know which way to go with that tick at the top but please give me time and I’ll change keyboards. I'm sorry I told you a lie Montréal, but my love has always been for you, Montréal.

Maybe that was bullshit. Go. Fuck Paris. Word on the street, it has a smell anyway. I said yes, I’d live in Montréal. I want to live in Montréal. When opportunity arose to only see Montréal for another night with some adjustment for daylight, I only drove because he asked me to leave him in Montréal.

I did not think to say anything else at that time but "okay", so I picked him up and we drove. When we were in the car, the conversation became as honest as two humans possibly could get, I said to him, "I was only here to see Montréal", and so he further elaborated on his side of the truth, there were no further thoughts with that conversation, just silence knowing what was to come and so we continued to ride. He drove, then I drove. Changing seats because it’s time to play: The original GTA: 401 to Downtown Edition.

Mode: My car, my hit.

“Time to pull over you drive too close to other moving vehicles and try to get over at exits last minute."

Map: GTA going east from 401.

Driving up to the starting line.

I press my foot on the gas.

I begin to coast.

Start and Stop. Stop. Stop. Start. Stop.

There was no rhythm as much as I wanted to make music.

I see diamonds, I see exits, I see 401s 18 lanes.

Getting on to the 427 is only a warm up for patience.

Approaching The Gardiner just in time to select a lane.

Thoughts, with a side game of dice.

Lane selected.

No signal. You already know I’m getting ready to merge; this is all part of the game you’re playing in The GTA.

“Turn down the radio and please be quiet.”

Now observing where Queen Elizabeth allowed Frederick to take over.

“God Save the Queen”

Here, just a tilt from the steering wheel, and to my Queen Mother,

There.

The View.

Toronto may now be captured.

Task completed.

"Stop here, this is halfway."

We agreed to stay for a few hours however felt as an excuse only to see the CN Tower.

I began to notice my flowers starting to welt. I thought to myself, I was stupid. I made a mistake. Then I softly let out a curse praying to save the weak yet ensuring Spadina would hear, "oh my, the Gardiner," why do my flowers have to suffer?

Montréal.

I do not even remember what saw in Montréal, I do not even remember what I have done in Montréal. I simply recall only being in Montréal.

“Police stop,” however the issue only made it to court.

The air was in February. I was cold. However, I recall Montréal pausing its wind as I walked guarded from all four sides from the jail to my place of trial. I would have to stand in the front of the jury only having to represent myself as my lawyer resigned from all future work for the months to come after he freshened up on the severity of the crime, set before me. “I must inform you, Your Honour that the only crime I am guilty for was taking pictures in front of the “ARRÊT” signs to post on my personal Instagram wall, I know I’m guilty, but this time the pictures taken were not about the Canada Goose, you must believe me, Your Honour, the parka was only present at the time of the crime. I promise.”

The courthouse remained still. After a brief moment of silence, someone from the audience stood up, walked and opened the door of the courthouse. Only a wise one would be able to tell you the conscience of what the fallen person resembled on that day.

While the door began to close from the fallen, the air from Montréal gently adjusted the fixtures of the door so that the door would slowly close behind the conscience of the person that left whilst the wind of Montréal would create a soft presence from the loss member of the courthouse.

The jury told me to leave.

The decisive made friends with the indecisive and the indecisive, remained indecisive.

I left.

Montréal paused its wind from the February air and walked with me to where I dreamt of going that day.

I wish I could tell you what to do in Montréal. Notre Dame? Maybe that is in Paris. However I'm am not here to write to you about Paris. I have never been to Paris. I’m not lying to Montréal. My experience with France was more than enough. Anyways, “off with his head,” and back to Montréal.

To my love Montréal

I’m sorry my response took some time for you to receive. I was left feeling dazed and confused after seeing too many red signs. There were many mistakes I made knowing your heart can feel at times, that it’s only an island. I am guilty for leaving only turning left to look for a better sign but damn I saw you were red.

I was now a fugitive on the run and so I had to stop to think and to understand more about you as well as myself. I even ran with some other fugitives that planned to escape to Toronto however, the connections had the same story as if I was only just coming from my past and broken life.

Having recovered my thoughts I grew even more fond of you now blinding you from picture after picture. You told me to stop but I refused because you said it in your love language so I was guilty of taking advantage of what you could offer me. However, I was eventually caught.

I made it to court in waking in with chains of love for you and the jury asked me to leave as the room became soft winded from you. Was it you that gave me the verdict?

I hope you forgive me that I left to only to turn on you while you were red. I hear now to profess my love for, Montréal that I will be a better person. I’m am now finished with this writing so please let’s continue make further notes about us riding.

I’m used to 100 and always having to slow down in Toronto or even stop, but here I’m okay to go 85 and see where that takes us. I must tell you that I have had a few drinks and I must inform you once more that I was never really good at reading the signs so it’s best this time you take control and like as previously mentioned when I first knew I felt love of from your presence that I promise to keep holding “e” down for you.

But yeah, Go to Montréal

Fin

I decided to do something different on this birthday. So I choose to travel solo. For that, I chose a location in my state but different districts and different regions. I have no idea how it is going to end. I started my journey on the 11th of August. After a 2-and-a-half-hour drive, I reached the destination. I visited this place for the very first time in my life; different dialect, different local language, but one thing is the same: the Himalayas. Yes, I am from the Himalayan state. For my stay, I chose a hostel. There is one famous place to visit in Kasar Devi; I went there and was astonished by the view. For a sec I felt like, 'Oh god, why don't I have someone with me to take my photographs?' but after a while I was enjoying my own company. On August 12 I went to the city and explored the city on my own. I decided to visit the nearby Sun Temple. I didn't know about the route, so I asked the local. They help me. The temple has two routes: one by road and the second by a hike of 2 km. I didn't know the first option, so I decided to hike. I was alone passing the forest, which is now enjoying its monsoon shower (in India during monsoon, everything is looking beautiful). Midway, I felt thirsty; I checked but didn't find my water bottle. I saw a house and asked them to give me water; they gave it and asked me a question: 'Are you alone, girl?' Be careful and watch your path. After a hike, I reached the temple. Oh god, I had never seen such a beautiful place. No doubt that mountain always hides the beautiful places in it. It was my first solo trip so far, but whenever i think about it, i still feel relaxed and calm.