For whatever reason, when I travel, interesting (if not disturbing) events seem to happen to me. I've devoted quite a bit of time to investigating why this has been so, but can't seem to come up with an answer. It is not as if I go out of my way to encounter accidental situations, but this doesn't matter. In any case, instead of trying to analyze this foible, I'll relate a few episodes and let Scotland's police force have an indication of what they are to expect when I arrive.

In 1984, I was working for Dollar Car Rental and was happily ensconced in my beloved Montreal, but had basically sold myself out of a job, thus was offered a new posting that required relocating to Chicago. At that time, I was ready to embark on a new adventure (I'd broken off with a girlfriend and was going through some other changes) and so the prospects of "trying something new" were appealing.

One fine morning, I flew into Detroit and strode up to Dollar's airport location where I was to pick up the keys to my shiny new company car. The counter representative bid me a fond welcome to The United States and then asked if I required directions to Chicago? I said, "yes, I sure do." She dangled a set of car keys from her hand, extended a shapely finger towards the West and said "you won't be able to miss it. Head West, young man, head West." (That wasn't quite how it went, but I'm old now and my memory isn't what it used to be.)

Within five hours of departing Detroit, I crossed over the Indiana border and began being presented with what would seem to be a zillion exits (shouldn't that be entrances?) for Chicago. I was heading for a suburb that is situated in the vicinity of O'Hare airport and so took the very first ramp that bore the airfield's name (at the time, I wondered if O'Hare was named after an Irish rabbit, but soon came to understand that it wasn't).

Three hours later, I was nowhere near O'Hare and had managed to motor my way into a very unsavory sector of the city. It became readily apparent to me that it wasn't possible for large aircraft to land anywhere close by and that if I wasn't careful, I might never get to see the airport or even another day for that matter. I desperately began to search for a police officer who would not only ensure the continuation of my life, but provide directions to my destination.

In time, I would not only find one very helpful officer, but, as I made my way through almost every part of Chicago, a veritable battalion of constables was encountered. To each officer, I'd say "help. I'm Canadian and haven't a clue where I am." I didn't do anything to improve relations between The United States and Canada that day as a result of managing to keep numerous policewomen and men from their appointed rounds.

Four years ago, I decided to enjoy a vacation in the gorgeous city of Seattle, Washington. As I departed the airport and conducted my rental car toward the hotel where I was registered, I gazed in wonder at the magnificent vista being presented before me. The scenery was spectacular and I knew that my choice of vacation sites had been an exceptional one. Nothing could go wrong on this trip! My days of being an accident-prone tourist were well behind me, or so I thought.

After depositing my bags in my hotel room, I changed clothes (into something very non-tourist looking) and then departed for the charming streets of Seattle. I was on a wonderful adventure and was really going to enjoy myself!

Following a few hours of exploration, I decided that it was time to visit the world famous Pike Street Market. I hadn't bothered to ask a hotel clerk for directions, so hadn't any idea as to where this landmark was located. I stumbled about the city for quite sometime until it became obvious that there was no chance of reaching my destination before nightfall.

Eventually, I made a decision to return to a tried and true method of seeking a source of information. It was then that I spied a policeman who was engaged in a conversation with a seemingly harmless looking person. I walked up to the pair and said "excuse me, but I can't seem to locate Pike Street Market. Can you help me?" The officer replied, "give me a minute, sir."

I patiently waited for at least four minutes to pass and then approached the policeman once again. "I'm really sorry to disturb you, but could you tell me how to get to the market?" The constable turned to the gentleman and said "hold on. I'll just be a moment." He then very graciously stated, "all right, sir, turn right at the next street and then hang a left. Pike Street Market is located at the bottom of the hill." I offered thanks for his help and then waved goodbye to the other man.

upon reaching the street corner, I turned back toward the officer and gazed in shock as he put a set of handcuffs on the man who he had been talking with. "My God," I exclaimed out loud, "I interrupted an arrest!" As I walked at a very fast pace down the street, I realized that I had once again interfered with the duty of a constable and all for the sake of obtaining directions.

The point of this column has been to provide notice to the police officers of Scotland that I will be visiting your country later this year and that you must get prepared. As it is entirely possible that I'll end up hopelessly lost basically all of the time, you should be onthe lookout for me. It might even be a good idea for your local department to hire additional constables, during September, solely in order to provide directions for this wayward traveler. That would be a very nice gesture.

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You can find more articles in the archive under Reflections on a Dream