The Travel Tragic

By John Hart

A story of misadventures and everyday experiences of world travel, Aussie John Hart recounts tales of travel to Turkey and and all around Europe. Funny place names, hilarious happenings and dry observations are all part of this little book.

"John Hart is a very funny man and I know his brand of humour will delight all readers from the ages of 5 to 113. In-fact, any idiot is capable of reading this book. It has less than 15,000 words in it.
"He is a very handsome man who has just turned a grumpy 50. This short story is about his travels overseas and is sure to give you plenty of belly laughs and giggles."

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Hart
• Release date: Jun 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463554937

Book preview

chapter 1. we’re on our way 

It was the long-awaited trip of a life-time. My wife Sharon and I were venturing to the United Kingdom.

The morning of the 5th of May came quicker than we anticipated. After working long hours and travelling 2 hours a day to work and back we figured that we deserved this holiday.

We arrived at the airport and checked in our baggage. We sat down to have a coffee after all the hustle and bustle of the busy Sydney airport. It was then I realised that the next 27 hours had the potential to closely resemble what I thought hell may look like.

Looking across from my table I spotted a 2 year old being restrained by its mother. The kid had a teddy-bear back-pack attached, with one of those restraints that allows you to pull them to an abrupt halt if they get loose. The ones you see on Rottweilers.

The kid starting screaming as the mother reefed on the lead. The kid hit the ground and landed on his podgy little arse. What a great invention I thought. I looked around to see another 6 kids with their Bob the Builder back-packs and their miniature Barbie ports on wheels now circling the coffee shop like white-pointers just before they are about to attack.

I now had visions of a plane full of screaming, crying children for the whole flight. But once on board the aircraft I was to realize a much worse fate.

I was seated next to the toilets and was lucky to hear and smell the Indian gentleman who obviously had a problem with the chicken vindaloo he had consumed the night before. The smell did not however have the fragrance of Indian food. He had obviously received a bad batch.

We were fed quickly and the cabin crew dimmed the lights so we could apparently sleep. The aircraft was now humming with snoring, idle chatter, reading lights going on and off at random intervals and the fragrance of my Indian neighbour with whom I quickly became friends. "Up again

I see, can’t sleep hey?" I asked.

Finally, I had dozed off, only to be woken by the screams of the man two seats behind.

I turned around to find the old fella clutching his chest. It seemed he was suffering a massive heart attack. Shit I thought, you are in deep Indian do-do mate, 35,000 feet up and not a hospital in sight.

Eventually they moved the guy to first class. You lucky, lucky bastard, I thought.

chapter 2. can you up-size me?  

At 6.40am, we hit the tarmac at Heathrow airport and I finally came to leave my new found friends whom in less than 24 hours I got to know so intimately. It was with sadness that I said goodbye to Mr. Vindaloo. I felt we had shared so much together and had built a bond that couldn’t be broken. I was to be proven wrong and the etched memories of him were now rapidly leaving me.

We quickly raced ahead, knocking over a woman in a walking-frame trying to get to the customs area before everyone else. This proved to be a waste of time, as we waited 2 hours to clear. It seems that the Poms are in no hurry to let us Aussies loose on their population.

So you are from Australia then? The Dim-Wit asked.

No, I stole the bloody passport, I’m really from England I said.

Luckily, he thought I was joking, and laughed at my piss poor attempt at humour before letting me proceed to the baggage claim area.

His question reminded me of my days in the tourism industry, when guests would always want to know what time the 4 o’clock boat was leaving, or where the Hamilton Island, South Molle Island and Daydream Island boat cruise went?

I was really pleased Sharon had talked me into tying a bright pink bow and red rose to my bag.

It was certainly easy to identify it from all the other macho- bags that now all looked the same. Sheepishly, I took the bag from the carousel and nodded whilst saying to the guy standing beside me, It’s the wife’s.

I had hired a car for the adventure only to find the Hertz car