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Usually, when I travel I have a problem. Sometimes more than one problem . . .

Like the time I came to the USA for a writer’s conference. My train from Rotterdam to Amsterdam airport was delayed for an hour due to a cow on the train tracks eating its breakfast.

Like the time I travelled back from another conference and the whole of the public transport system was on strike, so no trains. I had to wait for hours to get a cab back to Rotterdam with all of the other stranded travellers. That cost 200 Euros (about $300 - ouch). Fortunately, another stranded Rotterdamer shared the cab and the fare with me.

Like another time when I travelled to Hamburg to meet Oh Patient One there for a company social occasion (the launch of a huge container ship followed by a party). Not only was the public transport system on strike again and I had to get a cab to Amsterdam’s Schiphol airport (sigh, another 200 Euros), not only did the airline have the bloody cheek to have put me on ’standby’ without telling me when I booked the ticket (no, I didn’t want a gift voucher - I wanted on that plane!), but on the way back a bolt of lightening had shut down the train system so we had to get a cab back then, too.

Like yet another time flying to Dallas for another conference, I forgot to lock the bathroom door (how? how?) and a male passenger opened it while I was still in there. Fortunately, he didn’t see anything. On the return journey back to New Jersey a storm had delayed all of the flights by hours and hours and hours.

So, you get the picture. Me and travel. Not a good mix.

A few weeks ago I went to the RWA national conference in San Francisco. There was no point me worrying about anything that could go wrong, because what was the point? Why worry about the inevitable? There was sure to be something.

Got my train to Amsterdam airport, no cows, no delays, no unlocked bathroom doors, no problems. Got my flight to Newark’s Liberty International, ditto. Connecting flight to San Francisco, ditto.

Okay, thought I, something would happen in San Francisco. My very good friend Alesia Holliday and I had tickets to vist Alcatraz, so maybe there’d be a problem in the cab or on the ferry. Nope. It all went well and we had a fab time, except for getting a bit lost on the way out of the actual prison building (we found our way out and I jokingly said to Alesia that we had escaped from Alcatraz).

Maybe disaster would strike on the way back to Rotterdam?

My flights were all on time, I even slept most of the way on the red-eye from Houston to Amsterdam. I bought my train ticket from Amsterdam to Rotterdam from the machine while I waited for my luggage to make its appearance on the conveyer belt. The next train was in 20 minutes. Perfect. I’d go sit in the sun for a few minutes outside the airport terminal, grab a coffee, and make my way to the appropriate platform.

The train was on time, I was back in Rotterdam before I knew it. Yes! Maybe my luck was changing.

Wait, Michelle, I hear you all cry. Surely something must have gone wrong?

Nope. Not a thing. Except . . .

Well, when I came back into the terminal building to grab a coffee I accidentally forgot about my luggage, which I’d left sunbathing outside. It was nearly my turn to get coffee when I remembered it! With despairing thoughts about the airport authorities surrounding my luggage and carrying out a controlled explosion of my clothes and stuff (I took the good stuff with me to the conference), I ran like the bionic woman back outside the airport. Fortunately, my luggage was there waiting for me . . .

Michelle, Relieved in Rotterdam

PS. San Francisco was completely, utterly fab. I am going to take Oh Patient One there someday.