What Were Your Strangest, Wackiest, Most Unusual Travel Assignments?

[EnLinea Media]

Most of us have at one point or another taken an assignment or two that've made us think, "I can't believe I'm doing this." Do share!

[Allan Lynch]

I've twice gone iceberg watching, but both times I sold the editor on the idea.

On my last trip when the cruise I was to go on was cancelled because of bad weather, I found a lobster fisherman who loaned his boat - and a friend to handle it. I was five miles out in the North Atlantic, bouncing off white caps, unable to tell if the water was coming from the blinding rain or the waves, when the guy handling the boat started to tell me all the ways we could be killed by the iceberg: if it tipped, if it suddenly broke up, if part fell off, if, if, if ... I started to think I wasn't being paid enough for the feature.

Allan Lynch
Nova Scotia

[Ed Wetschler]

I was supposed to write about a Caribbean resort that was coming back from a hurricane, so I visited the resort and found that its reopening had been delayed. How long, asks I? Confidentially, says the p.r. rep, a year. My editor thanked me for the inside information and for not making the publication pay for a story that it couldn't/shouldn't run.

A few days later, the publisher insisted that I write up the resort anyway and make it seem as if the place would reopen soon, certain that this would result in an ad. The p.r. rep told me that this would be a bad thing to do, and when someone representing a property tells you that he/she doesn't want coverage, you should listen. So I told the publisher that we shouldn't do this, you don't need to pay me, and you sure as hell don't need to look bad.

The publisher still insisted that I write the story. I refused. This went back and forth for several weeks before he/she finally grokked that I wasn't going to write the story. In the end, it wasn't the assignment that was wacky, but the publisher. Now, I know what you're thinking: A pushy publisher? An unscrupulous publisher? Hard to believe.

[David Paul Appell]

Several years ago I was asked to help out with a travel guide for a major pharmaceutical corporation. You're wondering, "um, a travel guide for a drug company?" The pills in question were for bladder control, and the booklet Where to Stop, Where To Go was part of the company's marketing campaign, designed to provide touristic overviews and itineraries in top U.S. cities, interwoven with the best pit stops along the way. At first I was both amused and slightly mortified by the prospect, and couldn't help wondering, "To pee or not to pee? That is the question."

The answer turned out to be not so hard -- the pay was considerably better than average, and in a strange way I figured this was a worthy if someone unusual public service of sorts -- so I figured, what the heck, I'd go with the flow, so to speak. And thus it was that one summer I found myself tromping and driving around the tourist tracks of several U.S. cities, including Miami, Fort Lauderdale, Orlando, Seattle, and Chicago, seeking out bathrooms, restrooms, toilets, loos, johns, comfort stations, WCs, whatever fine moniker you wish to use. The fieldwork yielded nothing particularly amusing or outrageous, alas -- despite a run-in with an automated toilet near Pike Place Market and my feeling of disgust at the heartlessness of just about every single establishment along Millennium Park, posting stern signs reading "Rest rooms for customers only!"

By the way, you can still get a copy of this little gem at outlets such as the National Association for Continence Web site (www.nafc.org). Enjoy.

So anyway, if memory serves, I never did manage to make it over to Europe that summer as I'd intended, but instead of Euro-travel, at least I got in plenty of uro-travel...

[Chelle Koster Walton]

Don't you love when editorial is driven by advertisers!

Ed Wetschler said:

I was supposed to write about a Caribbean resort that was coming back from a hurricane, so I visited the resort and found that its reopening had been delayed. How long, asks I? Confidentially, says the p.r. rep, a year. My editor thanked me for the inside information and for not making the publication pay for a story that it couldn't/shouldn't run.

A few days later, the publisher insisted that I write up the resort anyway and make it seem as if the place would reopen soon, certain that this would result in an ad. The p.r. rep told me that this would be a bad thing to do, and when someone representing a property tells you that he/she doesn't want coverage, you should listen. So I told the publisher that we shouldn't do this, you don't need to pay me, and you sure as hell don't need to look bad.

The publisher still insisted that I write the story. I refused. This went back and forth for several weeks before he/she finally grokked that I wasn't going to write the story. In the end, it wasn't the assignment that was wacky, but the publisher. Now, I know what you're thinking: A pushy publisher? An unscrupulous publisher? Hard to believe.

[Chelle Koster Walton]

I fondly remember the time my editor for Carnival Currents asked me to do a Mocko Jumbie trial run. In case you're not familiar, these are the stiltwalking carnival characters you find throughout the Afro-Caribbean.

"The first time is always frightening," Willard John, my instructor in St. Croix, assured me as he fastened 11-foot stilts above and below my knees with cloth strips. "[Students] survive only when their desire is greater than their fear."

I had expected the two-footers on which other instructors begin their (noticeably younger) students, once they've learned the principals of balance and, heaven forbid, falling. But like Willard, I was to have my first experience on long sticks. He delivered a lesson on the psychological aspects, whereby you learn that you're going to be scared stiff, pardon the pun, but that you WILL learn if you persevere. I WOULD stand and walk myself around the Christiansted bandstand railing (in full sight of downtown traffic!), Willard asserted. This is how beginners learn, with something to hang onto. They naturally let go when they are ready.

With more desire than fear, and a lot more exertion than I expected, I pulled myself eye level with the bright red berries of a Christmas palm tree. Willard took my hands and held me away from the railing, to demonstrate my center of gravity, "the key concept to the art." I took my first step.

"Don't DRAG the stilt, LIFT it," he told me for the first of repeated times. Feeling nothing like the graceful, towering, carefree characters I've witnessed on the Mocko Jumbie stage, I hung up my stilts after a dozen or so steps, exhausted. And yes, frightened. Certainly awkward. Not in the least bit superhuman like the African religious figures the Mockos descend from.

[Allan Lynch]

Oh yeah, I forgot, I have gone to Paris for lunch. About to recreate that in the fall for a different editor.

[José Balido]

Wow. For somebody with a fear of heights, I can appreciate your bravery! What we won't do for a story!

Chelle Koster Walton said:

I fondly remember the time my editor for Carnival Currents asked me to do a Mocko Jumbie trial run. In case you're not familiar, these are the stiltwalking carnival characters you find throughout the Afro-Caribbean.

"The first time is always frightening," Willard John, my instructor in St. Croix, assured me as he fastened 11-foot stilts above and below my knees with cloth strips. "[Students] survive only when their desire is greater than their fear."

I had expected the two-footers on which other instructors begin their (noticeably younger) students, once they've learned the principals of balance and, heaven forbid, falling. But like Willard, I was to have my first experience on long sticks. He delivered a lesson on the psychological aspects, whereby you learn that you're going to be scared stiff, pardon the pun, but that you WILL learn if you persevere. I WOULD stand and walk myself around the Christiansted bandstand railing (in full sight of downtown traffic!), Willard asserted. This is how beginners learn, with something to hang onto. They naturally let go when they are ready.

With more desire than fear, and a lot more exertion than I expected, I pulled myself eye level with the bright red berries of a Christmas palm tree. Willard took my hands and held me away from the railing, to demonstrate my center of gravity, "the key concept to the art." I took my first step.

"Don't DRAG the stilt, LIFT it," he told me for the first of repeated times. Feeling nothing like the graceful, towering, carefree characters I've witnessed on the Mocko Jumbie stage, I hung up my stilts after a dozen or so steps, exhausted. And yes, frightened. Certainly awkward. Not in the least bit superhuman like the African religious figures the Mockos descend from.

[Ted Alan Stedman]

There have been a few. The boiled ram's testicles in Iceland. The poisonous sea snake that chased me in Panama. Oh, yes...the crazed klepto writer who fancied herself as a witch while we toured Africa and stole trinkets from Masai villagers (you know who you are!) But here's one: a few years back I was doing another piece on Cozumel. It'd just gotten whipped by Wilma and some other hurricane. When you cover Caribbean islands it's a given that a few are always trying to get back on their feet after a storm...happens just about every year. So my editor said to find another way to story-tell how Cozumel was getting back into the game. That's when I struck upon the idea: Search for Elvis. Here's the link if you're interested.
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15419807/

[Bob Ecker]

One of my oddest, but most satisfying assignments was covering Burning Man some years ago. Journalists were discouraged from attending but I convinced them to let me attend.

One funny part (that did not make it into my story) was that insted of sleeping in my friend's van as expected, I had to sleep in my Mazda Miata. (Tiny two-seater) It turns out he picked up someone and I was squished into my little car for a few cold nights. Not very comfortable. Burning Man was amazing but I finally had to leave to deliver my story to the Oakland Tribune. As I prepared to leave "The Playa" at around 11:00 PM, what should appear but a gigantic meteor streaking across the black Nevada sky. It was huge and left a trail of fire in the heavens. The crowd roared! It was the largest meteor I had, or have ever seen in my life. After a long, tough drive down from Gerlach, to Reno, over the Sierra and back to the Bay Area, I was able to deliver my film (film!) for processing in Oakland, then, race home to write my story. I was dead tired but still buzzing with impressions. The story was well received.

I now publish it as an "evergreen" year in year out. Here's the link to my story if interested:

http://www.examiner.com/x-4791-SF-International-Travel-Examiner~y20...

Enjoy.

Bob Ecker

[EnLinea Media]

Film? What is that? LOL

Bob Ecker said:

One of my oddest, but most satisfying assignments was covering Burning Man some years ago. Journalists were discouraged from attending but I convinced them to let me attend.

One funny part (that did not make it into my story) was that insted of sleeping in my friend's van as expected, I had to sleep in my Mazda Miata. (Tiny two-seater) It turns out he picked up someone and I was squished into my little car for a few cold nights. Not very comfortable. Burning Man was amazing but I finally had to leave to deliver my story to the Oakland Tribune. As I prepared to leave "The Playa" at around 11:00 PM, what should appear but a gigantic meteor streaking across the black Nevada sky. It was huge and left a trail of fire in the heavens. The crowd roared! It was the largest meteor I had, or have ever seen in my life. After a long, tough drive down from Gerlach, to Reno, over the Sierra and back to the Bay Area, I was able to deliver my film (film!) for processing in Oakland, then, race home to write my story. I was dead tired but still buzzing with impressions. The story was well received.

I now publish it as an "evergreen" year in year out. Here's the link to my story if interested:

http://www.examiner.com/x-4791-SF-International-Travel-Examiner~y20...

Enjoy.

Bob Ecker

[Mary Alice Kellogg]

A few years ago on a summer trip to Finland, the press group was "treated" to a picnic on a rural island. The sea was choppy and unfriendly clouds galore gathered ... heralding things to come. The boat was small, wooden and had seen better days, but what alarmed us the most were the provisions: a couple of bags of hot dogs/buns ... and cases of vodka and beer, with one bottle of water and about ten soft drinks. There were 12 of us in total, writers and crew. With the captain swilling perhaps his fifth beer of the morning, we set off for an hour and a half of choppy seas, damp and mal de mer, hoping to find land.
The island was just that -- a barren rock with no vegetation or facilities of any kind. But it was land. Under cloudy skies the beverages were unloaded first, then the "food." We were instructed to explore the rock for an hour, and to bring back any firewood to cook our lunch. (Oh, and watch out for the snakes! And would you like to take a beer with you on your adventure? Oy!) After an hour, we had gathered the only burn-able stuff we could find, four handfulls of finger-sized twigs, evidently blown there years before from somewhere in Siberia.
Our hosts and boat "crew" were deep into the Finnish Chicken Soup (ie: Finlandia vodka) on our return, and promptly set about taking the twigs to make a fire to cook our hot dogs. The resulting blaze was enough to warm the end of one hot dog, then ... nothing. We ate raw hot dogs under the disapproving gaze of our hosts, who couldn't understand why we weren't making a dent in the alcohol they had lugged ashore. (While they were speaking their indicipherable native tongue, I'm sure I heard the words "American" and "wuss" in the same sentence.) Thus passed our jolly picnic. Thank God for the rain that began to pelt down!
I will spare my colleagues details of the treacherous boatride back, save to tell you all that at one particularly dark moment I promised God that if I lived, I'd become a nun. The crew was snockered and the second mate kept trying to grope our government escort, an attractive woman who kept telling us "This is why I don't date Finnish men."
The "gift" in all this -- aside from the fact we lived -- was that I can now say in all confidence that the Finns win the drinking-all-others-under-the-table award. And that includes the Russians. I wrote about saunas, but never revealed our Dark Day On The Rock. Until now.

Mary Alice Kellogg

[José Balido]

Great story, Mary Alice!! As someone whose idea of hard drinking is a Diet Coke with no caffeine (and no, I'm not a Mormon, I'm just a little odd), I can totally relate to your predicament. I have fond memories of Stockholm in 1992 during the summer solstice, which that year coincided with a Swedish victory in some football tournament or other. Well, it was awfully nice of the sun to keep us up all night so we could stare out the hotel window at all the nice young men hurling their herring all over the sidewalk after a long night of carousing. Herre Gud! (roughly, Mr. God!), those Scandinavians could drink a fish under the table (please don't take that literally)!

Mary Alice Kellogg said:

A few years ago on a summer trip to Finland, the press group was "treated" to a picnic on a rural island. The sea was choppy and unfriendly clouds galore gathered ... heralding things to come. The boat was small, wooden and had seen better days, but what alarmed us the most were the provisions: a couple of bags of hot dogs/buns ... and cases of vodka and beer, with one bottle of water and about ten soft drinks. There were 12 of us in total, writers and crew. ..................

Mary Alice Kellogg