A sacrifice to the gods of travel

02-12-2006

What happened to the two yellow plastic bags with the duty free purchases?" asked my wife, Sari.

We had just unloaded our luggage from the car at the end of a nearly flawless, 7-hour journey home from Mexico's Yucatan, a trip about which you can read in next Sunday's On the Go section.

The three of us -- Sari, our nearly 18-year-old son Ben and I -- had departed our hotel at 8:15 that morning and driven 60 miles to Cancun Airport, arriving in plenty of time to squeeze in some duty-free shopping before catching the noon flight.

Sari decided to buy several small flasks of Mexican vanilla as gifts and a nice bottle of brandy for our liquor cabinet. I toted the two plastic bags on the plane and also through the airport in Cincinnati, where we had to get off and clear customs before continuing on to Pittsburgh.

Logistically, the trip had gone like clockwork, and we landed 20 minutes ahead of schedule. After riding the shuttle to the Landside terminal, we parted. I took two carry-ons with me while I went out to get the car, while the two of them went downstairs with the duty-free bags to claim our checked luggage. When I drove up to the curb, we tossed our four suitcases into the trunk and were off, stopping on the way home to grab some dinner.

Two hours later we realized the duty-free bags hadn't made it home.

Now, I don't know what happened to the two bags, but I'm guessing they were put down at the baggage carousel and forgotten. And I don't know who forgot the bags, but Sari says it wasn't her, and out of deference to domestic harmony, I accept her word.

I admit my first reaction was anger, both for the loss of $70 worth of duty-free purchases as well as for the lack of attentiveness. For half an hour, I stewed in frustration, but then it occurred to me no good would be gained by finger pointing or harboring ill feelings. After all, there's no use crying over lost cognac.

I realized it was preferable to consider those lost goodies as sort of a gratuity for an otherwise excellent trip.

We'd returned happily, safely, and with all of our important possessions. Our flights had gone smoothly, and there were no hassles with paperwork or customs. Our rental car hadn't broken down; we hadn't gotten ourselves lost; and no one had suffered sunburn, gastrointestinal distress or unexpected financial setback.

Lagniappe, baksheesh, pourboire, dash, cumshaw, palm grease -- there are many terms for that bit of value smart travelers leave behind as a way of saying thanks or ensuring that things go smoothly. A sacrifice to the gods of travel or an offering to the Super Bowl deities. Seeing the lost duty-free goods in those terms helped me forget my anger, rather than letting it ruin the afterglow of a good trip.

I'd like to think that the person who came across those bags celebrated their good fortune, maybe toasting the Steelers' victory with our brandy. Perhaps they'll even pass on this random act of fortune. Can you imagine how more pleasing incoming passengers would find the airport if this ritual became more common?

Of course, both bags may have been swept up by vigilant security and destroyed as hazardous materials. But I don't want to consider that possibility. It would have been such a waste.

[Back to Articles Main]