Dave Barry: Dave Barry’s Only Travel Guide You’ll Ever Need

Federal Airline Administration regulations state that each passenger may have up to 17,000 pounds of carry-on luggage provided that he or she can jam it all into the overhead baggage compartment. I am a veteran traveler, but I am still amazed at how much stuff some people will try to get up there. Entire households, sometimes. These people are always directly in front of me. “What do you mean, I can’t carry this on?!” they’ll say to the airline personnel. “I ALWAYS carry this on!”

“Sir,” the airline personnel will say, “that’s a lawn tractor.

“But look!” the person will say. “It fits in the overhead baggage compartment!” And the person will actually attempt to shove it in there, which is of course impossible because (a) the tractor is too large, and (b) the compartment already contains some other passenger’s upright piano. But this will not stop the person from trying. No human emotion is more powerful than the grim determination of an airline passenger attempting to shove an inappropriate object into the overhead baggage compartment.

There are two major schools of thought on how to pack for traveling. These are known technically as “my school” and “my wife’s school.” My school of packing is that you should never carry more things than you can fit into a standard sandwich bag. This way you never put yourself in a position where you have to turn your belongings over to a commercial airline’s crack Luggage Hiding Department (traces of airline luggage have been found on Mars). So I travel very light, and I’ve found that this is really not a problem, once I get adjusted to the stench resulting from wearing the same shirts and socks and, of course, underwear for as long as two weeks running. The advantage of this is that I get plenty of room to stretch out on airplanes, because nobody will sit near me. The disadvantage is that the flight attendants also stay away, preferring to serve my dinner entree by flipping it at me Frisbee-style from as far as 25 feet away, and some of those airline entrees are hard enough to kill a person (Such as lasagna).

My wife, on the other hand, would not think of leaving the house for even a half hour without sufficient possessions in her purse alone to establish a comfortable wilderness homestead. So when we travel, she packs many, many items. She buys these giant suitcases, manufactured by shipbuilders, and she packs them with items for every conceivable contingency. Like, if we’re going someplace in the tropics, she’ll naturally pack an entire set of lightweight outfits, but she’ll also pack an entire set of medium-weight outfits, in case we have a cool snap; and a set of heavy outfits, in case we get locked inside a meat freezer; and a waffle iron, in case we get hungry for waffles while we’re in there; and so on. So we generally arrive at the airport with virtually all of our worldly possessions, looking like Cambodian refugees, except that we appear to be actually taking Cambodia with us. Our carry-on luggage alone is enough to prevent many planes from ever leaving the ground. They’ll taxi down the runway, gaining speed, then, after a violent grunting effort to take off, they’ll continue right on taxiing, sometimes right into a harbor. This doesn’t worry us, however, because my wife always brings plenty of scuba equipment.

Lay the suit on its back on a flat surface such as a tennis court. Take the sleeves and place them at the side. Take the left sleeve and place it on the suit’s hip, and hold the right sleeve over the suit’s head as though the suit is waving in a jaunty manner. Now put both sleeves straight up over the suit’s head and shout, “Touchdown!” Ha ha! Isn’t this fun? You may feel stupid, but trust me, you’re not half as stupid as the people who think they can fold a suit so it won’t come out wrinkled.

One of the great things about being an American, aside from the constitutionally guaranteed freedom to have obscene bumper stickers, is that so many foreign people speak our language (English). You can walk the streets of just about any major city in the world, and as soon as the natives realize that you’re an American, they’ll make you feel right at home.

“Stick them up!” they’ll say. “Please to be handing over your American Express traveler’s checks! Don’t leave home without them!”

Yes, they are clever, those natives. Nevertheless, you may sometimes find yourself in a foreign situation wherein members of the local population, because of a poor educational system or sheer laziness, have not learned to speak your language fluently. This can lead to serious problems, as when for example you’re in Spain, attempting to obtain a chicken-salad sandwich, and you wind up with a dish whose name, when you look it up in your Spanish/English dictionary, turns out to mean “Eel with the Big Abscess.” This is why I strongly recommend that before you travel abroad, you learn to speak a foreign language, ideally the same one that is spoken in whatever country you’re going to.

Of course you probably think it’s hard to learn another language, because you spent years studying foreign languages in high school, and all you can remember is being forced to confiscate verbs and memorize those moronic dialogues wherein everybody seemed to be obsessed with furniture:

PIERRE: Voici le bureau de mon oncle. (“Here is the bureau of my uncle.”)

JACQUES: Le bureau de votre oncle est right prochain de la table de ma tante. (“The bureau of your uncle is right next to the table of my aunt.”)

MARIE: Qui donne un merde? (“Who gives a shit?”)

I took an estimated two thousand years of high school French, and when I finally got to France, I discovered that I didn’t know one single phrase that was actually useful in a real-life French situation. I could say, “Show me the fish of your brother Raoul,” but I could not say, “Madame, if you poke me one more time with that umbrella I am going to jam it right up one of your primary nasal passages,” which would have been extremely useful.

So what you need, as a traveler, is to learn practical foreign expressions. Let’s say you’re in a very swanky Paris restaurant that has earned the coveted “Five-Booger” ranking from the prestigious Michelin Guide to How Snotty a Restaurant Is. You cannot be asking these people to show you the fish of their brother Raoul. You will want to use simple, foolproof phrases such as the following.

Garr,on! Je suis capable de manger un cheval! (“Waiter! I could eat a horse!”) Apportez-moi quelques aliments franqaise ici pronto sur la double! (“Bring me some French food immediately!”) Mettez-le smaque dabbe sur la table. (“Put it smack dab on the table.”) Attendez une minute au jus dernier! (“Wait just a darned minute!”) Qu’est-ce 1’enfer que c’est? (“What is this the hell that this is?”) Attemptez-vous A yanquer ma chaine, boudet? (“Are you trying to yank my chain, buddy?”) Je donne madam CHAT plus viande que cette! (“I give my damn CAT more meat than this!”) Sacre moo! Ce EST mon chat! (“Holy cow! This IS my cat!”)

Nous sommes suppose a faire peepee ICI? (“We’re supposed to pee HERE?”)

Mais nous sommes droit dans le friggant RUE. (“But we’re right in the goshdarn STREET.”)