By Carol Goddard

There is no doubt about it. Travel enriches. It broadens the mind, introduces you to other cultures, presents you with experiences, places, foods, lifestyles and fashions that you may never have encountered before.

The sheer excitement and stimulation of overseas travel can however also have an irritating downside.

Sometimes things do not go to plan.

More often than not in my travelling life, things just about never go to plan. As long as it isn't a life threatening change, or a dangerous one, that's totally fine with me.

It will most definitely appeal to my adventurous spirit. Almost always.

But then there are those travel glitches, those little annoyances which make me momentarily contemplate why I travel at all.

Such as the accommodation which isn't quite what I expected, or paid for.

Hubby, two young children and I arrive in Kingston Jamaica. We are shown to our rooms, the kids are irascible, it's definitely time for a rest before we hit the streets. The 10-year-old complains of noises in his room and the 12-year-old agrees.

I employ selective deafness, escape to my room and lie down on the bed. Then I hear noises too. Coming from above my head. Squeaking, mewling noises. Hubby goes to investigate.

We'd noticed on our arrival a few cats slinking around the reception area.

They were permanent residents of the hotel, entering via a small roof hole and living comfortably in the ceiling of our twin rooms.

Mama Cat had just had a litter, hence the mewling. Our reception staff, being super cool Jamaicans, were most relaxed when we pointed this problem out. It was a case of "Hey mon, no problem".

On the buses, Cuban style.

Wish I could be so calm, visualising a sleepless next few days. We were relocated to a cat-free accommodation. Slowly. We were on Jamaican time.

Another travel inconvenience is the queue.

Queues so long I could easily leave for the day, go shopping , get my nails done, have a meal, return, and I'd still be in the queue.

Now these days, it's possible to prebook places that you know are going to be crazily busy. A Skip The Queue prepaid ticket is a wonderful thing.

But back in the day, let's just say I spent a fair bit of my travel life waiting, waiting, waiting.

And generally when I finally arrived, whether it be the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles, or the Mona Lisa in the Louvre, I'd be jostling for a view, given I'm also vertically challenged.

And now, and I've saved the worst for last, my pet grievance, the transfer who doesn't turn up.

Imagine, once again travelling with young children, arriving late at night into a foreign airport after a very long and tiring journey.

You can't speak the local language, you don't as yet have a working phone, and you are without local currency .

There's no need for concern because you have already paid for a representative of your travel company to meet you and transfer you to your accommodation. Couldn't be easier.

Except the transfer doesn't turn up.

This has happened so many times to me over the years, that I now come to expect it.

But back in my early travelling days, being stranded in an airport for a time was intimidating to say the least.

We were backpacking with two of our young children and Cuba was the destination. Fabulous Cuba, stamping ground pf Hemingway, the place of music and dance and Cuban cigars and black beans and rice, and Mojito and Cuba Libre.

And old vintage American cars.

As a treat, we had prebooked an old limousine to take us to our hotel from the airport. And of course it didn't arrive. Leaving us stranded.

The kids bunked down on their backpacks on the airport floor and promptly fell asleep while hubby searched for help. I just stood guard over the kids while inhaling the blue air, as cigar smoke curled its way all around us.

Hubby managed to find help and finally we were on a local bus to our hotel, at 1am. I rue to this day that I didn't learn Spanish.

Years later,and in another part of the world, it happened again. No limousine was booked this time, just someone waiting for us in the pickup area at the airport with a little piece of paper with our name on it. Please be there.

Just as riots were erupting in Athens, we arrived at the airport, child free, to start our dream trip to Greece. Our hotel was in the Old Town, the Plaka, walking distance from Syntagma Square, which also happened to be the centre of the unrest.

All of this we were unaware of, until we were forced to hail a taxi.

Yes, our transfer hadn't arrived.

He was possibly a rioter, or at least caught in traffic.

As were we, in our taxi.

After many detours, during which we were stopped more than once by riot police pursuing rioters, we arrive at our hotel. Our driver, speaking no English, nevertheless gets across to us that he only accepts cash, a detail overlooked by him at pickup.

We have no cash.

What ensued was scary then, funny now.

In no uncertain terms, I was encouraged to stay put in his taxi, with meter running, while hubby hurriedly found an ATM in a nearby hotel lobby. Thankfully it worked. Paid in cash, the taxi driver sped off, having set me free.

We could now start our Greek experience.

After all these hiccups, and they have happened constantly over the years, I still have the travel bug.

The glitches that weren't meant to happen, as long as no one is harmed, have made the best and most memorable stories.