This week, I have been traveling through the Canadian Rockies via airplane, train, ferry, bus, floatplane, raft and shuttle.  Cramming all those methods of travel into one short week brings to mind a multitude of thoughts about the magic of traveling, both in real life and in Hollywood lore.

Between the train ride and our last stop at the Banff Springs Hotel which can only be described as a luxurious English castle complete with outstanding history, rich decor and breathtaking views; it made me long for what must have been the heyday of true luxury travel, even if it never really existed outside of the silver screen.  I romanticized how amazing it must be to travel by train by watching Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint board their lavish train compartments in “North By Northwest;” but, let me tell you, forget everything you might have seen in those old movies.  The sleeping quarters on rail trains are nothing like that!  This is my third or fourth experience of traveling overnight on a train and I can attest the rooms have no cozy arm chairs, fancy light fixtures, attentive valets, or stylish vanity bathrooms.  Instead the room is decorated with very cold industrial metal walls, fixtures, hooks and cubbies, featuring an airplane-like toilet crammed inside a miniature closet.  Even the sink can’t fit in the minuscule bathroom closet, so it has been positioned in the main room where it doubles as a table (fold up the table to use the sink, or cover up the sink to have a table).  And, let’s not forget the one foot per rung ladder which is used to climb to the folding down, top bunk bed (the lower bed is fashioned from the two chairs that make up the tiny sitting area during the day).  What a shame!  It always seemed like such a dreamy way to travel in the movies.  I have heard that some of these extravagant, Hitchcockian, wonderful trains do exist, but only somewhere over in Asia or Europe – so I guess I have to do a little better travel planning on my next train trip.

No need to put in too much pre-planning though, because what takes you on those unplanned routes can also bring about the best adventures.  After all, the multitude of means of travel on this trip, most immediately brought to mind the main focus of admiration in this post: “Planes, Trains and Automobiles.”  Besides the inspired partnering of straight-man Steve Martin with the comic genius of John Candy, there are so many reasons to love that film.

First off, there aren’t many Thanksgiving movies, but of the bunch, this is the best.  It is my 2^nd yearly Thanksgiving Day feature to watch, when time allows.  The first is “Home Alone,” merely for the fact that the VHS copy was the Columbia House Video Club’s pick of the month* in November of 1992; and, was delivered to me the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.  I could barely wait to rip off the plastic wrap and immerse myself in the magic of the cutest, young Macaulay Culkin on my own television set, which I did on that Thanksgiving and almost every one since.

The second reason is that, like “Home Alone,” “Planes, Trains and Automobiles” was written by John Hughes.  There is no one that could write like John Hughes.  Besides being the king of 80s teen movies (which really requires a post of its own), he could write lovable comedic characters, situations and dialogue like no other.  From “Vacation” to “Dutch” (his other Thanksgiving movie) to “Sixteen Candles” to “Mr. Mom” – he really is untouchable.

Then there is the Kevin Bacon factor.  After the fun of “Footloose” wore off, Kevin Bacon didn’t really do a lot of memorable roles; but, John Hughes, again being the mastermind he was, gave Kevin a cameo racing Steve Martin for a taxi amidst New York rush hour.  For those 80s teen movie fans, it gave us an unknown glimpse into what John would be bringing us next – “She’s Having A Baby.”  Cameos can be tricky.  You don’t want to put someone recognizable in at the wrong time so that it takes away from the flow of the film or distracts from the film’s dialogue, etc.  Kevin was perfectly placed in one of the first scenes, even before we are introduced to John Candy.  It gave us the right amount of time for recognition and reflection, and put the little hint of Kevin Bacon into our brains so when we shortly after saw the trailer for his next film, we were ready.  Brilliant.  It is still one of my favorite movie cameos.

Next, Paul Young’s Every Time You Go Away was the perfect song with which to end the film.  I can’t help think of Neal Page (Martin) & Del Griffith (Candy), carrying the oversized trunk down the middle of the street, surrounded by the snow covered roofs of family suburbia after Neal has come to the realization that Del is truly alone and gone back to get him.  I get a wave of emotion that I can feel pass through my heart, bring on goose bumps and a well of tears fill my eyes just thinking about the ending of that film.  After all the fantastic fun, it leaves you all warm, empathetic, touched, happy, sad, and just plain hopeful.

It also features some of the most inventive travel scenes in any movie: the car rental confrontation, the melted speedometer, “you’re going the wrong way,” selling shower curtain rings in the bus station, and freezing in the back of the truck are just a few that I adore – again, thank you John Hughes.

Finally, all Neal is trying to do is get back to Chicago.  Ahhh, Chicago.  Having spent a year and a half living in downtown Chicago, I can’t say enough wonderful things.  Granted, I lived in a prime location (directly across from what is now the absolute best Ralph Lauren store in the world – thank goodness it wasn’t there when I lived there, I certainly would have chosen Polo shirts over school books every time).  Whether it’s the fantastic public transportation or activities galore (museums, the Shedd Aquarium, sporting events, historical sites, boat rides, the Hancock and the Sears/Willis Tower, incredible shopping), it really is “my kind of town” – weather and all!  I don’t care who you are, the Christmas lights glistening through a new snowfall on Michigan Avenue is nothing less than breathtaking.

And, I can’t call this post complete without mentioning the only two dreadful travel adventures that I have lived through – both trying to leave Chicago.  There was the move back from Southern California that gave me an overnight layover in the Windy City.  I landed at O’Hare and the weather looked like it was getting a little iffy.  It was before the days of cell phones and public internet, so I secured myself an airport payphone and called my father at some New England hotel where he and my mom were staying.  From his vacation, he started calling many of his Chicago hotel contacts, in case I was stuck there for the night.  Well, it was one of those times when probably every departing passenger who was supposed to check out of their hotel, found it a better option to stay put – so, things weren’t looking too promising.  I watched as the departure time on my flight to Cincinnati kept pushing back the delay: ½ hour, 2 hours, 3 hours and…cancelled!  If you have ever witnessed the shutdown of flights at an airport, you will know the sea of passengers I encountered waiting at the ticket counter.  By the time I got to the front of the line, I was told by the airline representative that the only available hotels were too far out from the airport; not exactly in a safe neighborhood; or, not accessible due to the weather, which is something I already knew, thanks to dad.  It was smarter if I just stayed where I was – which was the only option I had really anyway.  I was handed an airline pillow, blanket and travel necessities bag and told my flight to Cincinnati would depart at 12:30 the following day.  17 hours in the Chicago airport, hooray!  You haven’t witnessed a truly eerie travel scenario until you have watched every store, restaurant and info booth in an airport terminal completely shut down.  During the overnight hours, the gates go down, the lights dim, and the left behind travelers try to stay far away from each other, finding their own small nooks and tiny spaces scattered throughout the terminal.  It would make a great horror film (I’ve got the premise, if anyone has time to write it).  So, I slid myself underneath a row of back to back chairs, looped my arms though my backpack, put the pillow on top and made the best of it.  I consider it one of my most interesting travel exploits.  Odd occurrences, in my book, aren’t really bad.  It gives you an experience that not everyone else has had.  I turn them all into adventures without complaint.

And, that brings me to travel story number two, the Farasey trip.  It was almost a comedy of errors, looking back, because no one was hurt and everything ended up okay – but the day is a day to remember.  My cousins, Betsy, Brian, Matt and I packed up my mom’s car and headed to Chi-town for a weekend of fun filled, proud-to-be-a-tourist excitement.  We did it all laughing, singing and enjoying every single minute, until it was time to leave.  Heading toward the highway, we were side-swiped by an uninsured driver, knocking my mom’s car head first into an L-train trestle.  It was totaled.  We hadn’t even made it out of the city!  A helpful police officer carefully moved the car to the curb and from that moment on, it was anybody’s guess.

First, there was the accident investigation.  The lovely group of teens assured the police that they were only in town because the driver had a job interview; otherwise, they wouldn’t have broken the law by driving without insurance.  Interesting, going to a job interview in cut-off jeans and a ratty t-shirt; I wonder what kind of job she was trying to get?  After it was confirmed we were not at fault, we were put in the back of a police car for a trip down to the station to figure out our next steps and make some calls home (again, before the days of cell phones).  Even when you are innocent, you sure feel like a criminal when you are in the back of a black & white, unable to open the doors yourself and separated from the driver by a scary metal grate.  Yikes!  Before we pulled away, we inquired about leaving the crashed car there on the side of Wabash Avenue and were reassured by the policeman that it would be fine until we got back to pick it up.

Once at the station, we started making calls – our parents, AAA, rental cars, etc.  No idea how we would get home.  After finding a rental car company that would let us return the car in Cincinnati (which was its own feat), we had a plan.  AAA said the tow truck driver picking up the car could take us to O’Hare to get the rental car and drive home.  That plan lasted less than 10 minutes, as the rental car company would be closing for the evening and they would not wait for us.  We never would have made it.  On to plan B:  We would spend the night in Chicago and get a rental car the next day.  All we had to do was wait for AAA, get the stuff out of my mom’s car and find a hotel.  No problem.  We waited outside of the police station for the tow truck.  On his way and due in twenty minutes…gave us time to joke about the passing L-train noise that blocked out our conversation in a very comical way.  “Guys, there is something very important I need to tell you…(L-train passes loudly)…and that is all I have to say about that.”  We laughed each time the train roared through, happy that we had a plan and although delayed, we were all safe and sound.  Twenty minutes turned into an hour.  An hour turned into two.  The time kept ticking by.  It was no longer funny each time the L-train passed by.  Restless, hot and hungry.  Any minute now.  We waited and waited, sitting on the curb outside the police station, hoping we’d soon see the tow truck.  Finally, it arrived.  But, the driver would only take two of us back to get the car due to company policy.  I quickly calculated the situation.  Not enough cash for a taxi and no ATM insight. I handed Brian and Matt the few dollars I had in my purse for a snack and pointed them in the direction of Michigan Avenue.  “Do you remember the hotel we stayed at a couple years ago when we all came up for the Cubs/Reds game?”  I don’t think they did, but we had to make a speedy decision.  “When you reach Michigan, turn left.  Keep walking and don’t cross the river.  The last hotel you will see is the Hyatt on Wacker Drive.  Betsy and I will get all our stuff and meet you in the lobby.”  We had to hope the four of us would survive another hiccup in our plan and still end up none the worse for wear.

And, we were off.  The tow truck drove the eleven blocks back and around the corner so he could pick up my mom’s car, but, unlike the policeman said, it wasn’t there.  Were we on the right corner?  Did we miss a street?  Oh no.  Where could it be?  The tow truck driver started making inquiries on his CB radio and informed us that it was likely in the city’s impound lot.  Ugh!  Could this day be any longer?  Answer:  Yes.  Because when we got to the impound lot and were directed to the row which held my mom’s white Cadillac, there was a completely different white Cadillac sitting in the spot.  Hmmm…  The impound attendant was nothing less than helpful when he uttered, “I guess it ain’t here.”  Okay, so WHERE is it?  Off we went to another lot.  This one was deep under the bowels of the city and barely any sunlight peeked through the concrete and metal mesh of the girders surrounding several rows of cars and a shabby trailer subbing as an impound office.  “Go check in there,” I was instructed.  I walked into the trailer to find some more “helpful” people that told me I was welcome to look around at the cars to see if any were mine.  Are you kidding me?  I climbed back in the tow truck and we slowly drove back and forth, scouring the rows of cars around us.  Finally, in the distance, I thought I spotted it.  We were back in the game.  I noted the spot number and headed back into the trailer.  We would get our stuff and AAA could take the car.  Not so fast missy!  The impound lot would not release the car without us paying the impound fee.  I helplessly tried to explain that I wanted to put it in a parking lot, but the policeman put the car by the curb and assured us it would not only be safe there, but not be towed away.  It wasn’t like I intentionally illegally parked or had outstanding tickets; an official city of Chicago police officer put the car there until we could come back with the tow truck!  “We don’t work for the police,” I was told.  Okay fine.  I unhappily relented and handed the desk attendant my credit card.  What a rip off, but what else could I do?  “We don’t take credit cards.”  Well, I might have some extra cash in my bag in the car, but guess what?  I was told that I wasn’t allowed to get anything out of the car until I had paid the fine.  Well, that isn’t going to help.  I explained the entire story to the attendant, tears included, hoping he would understand what an unfortunate situation I was in and show a little mercy.  No mercy was to be had, he wouldn’t let me get anything out of the car!  Time to come up with Plan C.

I think at this point the tow truck driver either felt a bit guilty for how long he had taken to get to us or that he made me leave my young teen cousins alone with no money and no plan, or he truly sympathized for the ongoing list of mishaps that seemed to have come our way in the past five hours – but, whatever the reason, thankfully, he arranged to tack on the impound fee onto our AAA membership somehow and gave us the cash to get the car out.

Then, and what will remain in my mind as one of my favorite travel images, the tow truck pulled up to the Hyatt hotel, lowering the back of the platform so I could jump up and get everything out of the car.  Tossing suitcases, duffel bags, CD cases, papers, umbrellas; pretty much everything I could grab from the truck and car’s interior down to Betsy (note: if this ever happens to you – don’t forget the garage door opener from the visor).

The bellmen cautiously asked us if we needed any help.  I don’t think they had ever seen anything like that before and what a sight we must have been.  Luckily, the hotel had a room for us, took credit cards and had an ATM.  The trip didn’t come to an end without one more predicament to lead our plans astray.  When we called back the rental car company to confirm a pickup time, the national office informed us that due to my age, they could not allow us to drive the car over state lines.  Well, what did we expect, really?  When in a nightmare, don’t try to get too comfortable.  By the time we settled down in the hotel and got some dinner, it was twelve hours later.  Not a total disaster, but what a day!  For the record, we got home via Greyhound bus.  Heck, another exciting and memorable journey – and, I couldn’t imagine a better group of people to live through it with.

So what have we learned?  Whatever the travel gods give you, roll with the punches.  It may not be exactly what you imagined and it might cause some temporary headaches and hassles.  But, as long as everyone is okay in the end, hopefully when all is said and done, you’ll have a new adventure experienced and a heck of an amusing story to tell.  Heck, it may even wrap up with a John Candy smile, a memorable soundtrack and the melancholy happiness of a John Hughes ending; and, nothing could end better than that.  #50WeeksTo50

*For all the suckers out there that joined the Columbia House cassette or VHS clubs, I actually believe I am one of the few that got a great deal – but, since VHS tapes are pretty much extinct, maybe they got the last laugh after all.  Long live the “attach the penny” postcards!