A Watermelon Named Tito and Other Travel Mishaps That Make Life Better

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The Travel Stories You Only Tell After Saying “Don’t Judge Me”

There is a kind of travel memory that never makes it into shiny photo books. The things you don’t tell your parents right away. The ones that begin with “Okay, don’t judge me,” right before everyone laughs so hard someone nearly chokes on tea.

If you’ve been on a trip, you know the genre well.
If you’ve been to a lot of places, you probably have your own Tito.

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1. How a Watermelon Ended Up Sailing in the Adriatic

Some trips start with spreadsheets and packing cubes.
This one started with a watermelon.

I was on a cruise through the Adriatic, where the water looked like painted glass and the islands floated like sugar cubes. Somewhere in the market in Dubrovnik, I spotted a watermelon the size of a toddler. Too perfectly round. Too suspiciously flawless.

Naturally, I bought it.

Don’t ask me why. I couldn’t carry it. I couldn’t store it. It weighed enough to detach my arm from my body. But in that moment, it felt destined.

I named him Tito.

Once you name a watermelon, you’ve committed. You can’t abandon him. You take Tito through narrow corridors. You roll Tito down a dock like he’s a royal egg. You cradle Tito during a gentle boat ride. People stare. Crew members sigh. Children ask if they can play with your “ball.”

A woman on deck said, “I thought I’d seen everything on cruises.”
She pointed at Tito. “I was wrong.”

By sunset, half the passengers knew his name. Someone said he deserved his own passport. A Belgian man asked if Tito “slept well.”

Before leaving Croatia, I gifted Tito to a local family. The mother laughed so hard she had to lean on her husband for balance.

Later she messaged me: “We cut Tito. Sweetest watermelon we ever had.”

Amazon: Where Have I Been All My Life

A legacy. A legend. The end. 

2. The Jellaba Dance with the Belly

You’d think the Tito incident would be enough chaos for a decade. You would be wrong.

Picture Morocco: a jellaba shop buzzing with haggling, travelers pretending they’re not buying what they desperately want, shopkeepers shouting encouragement like auctioneers.

The owner handed me a dark green jellaba embroidered with gold. Regal. Beautiful. Potentially sultan-approved.

“Try,” he said, waving me in like a stage manager.

I should have checked the size. I put it on instead. And then it stayed on. Half over my head, half locked across my shoulders. Arms frozen. A human pretzel.

I twisted. I tugged. I rotated like a disgruntled rotisserie chicken. The shopkeeper shouted things like “Relax!” which has never helped anyone escape clothing prison.

In my struggle, I knocked over scarves, then slippers, then the entire idea of dignity. I slipped on the fallen scarves and performed what can only be described as “accidental belly dancing.”

A kid clapped.
Customers stared.
The shopkeeper laughed until tears streamed down his face.

He eventually yanked the jellaba off me with the intensity of sailors pulling ropes during a storm.

I bought it out of shame.

Months later, a friend saw it in my closet and asked, “Do you wear this?”
“No,” I said. “But it taught me balance.”

3. How to Deal With Rogue Toilets and Melting Chocolate

Every traveler has a story they only tell when they lower their voice.

Mine happened in Venice, in a café with excellent espresso and plumbing that held deep personal grudges.

The flush button didn’t work. Instead, the entire bowl erupted like it had been summoned by Poseidon. Water shot upward. I prayed the ceiling survived.

I stood there dripping, reevaluating every decision that led me to this moment.

The server didn’t speak when I emerged looking like I had been rescued from a canal. He simply handed me extra napkins and said, “È Venezia.”

Somehow, that explained everything.

Later on the same trip, I bought artisanal chocolate, the kind described using poetic words and prices that sting. I tucked it neatly into my backpack.

Hours later it had transformed into one giant philosophical chocolate slab.

A kid asked if it was “modern chocolate.”

“Yes,” I said.

Travel forces you to own your mistakes.
Sometimes proudly.
Sometimes sarcastically.
Always humbly. 

4. Why We Laugh Most When We Look Back

It’s strange how travel disasters become comedy legends.

At the time, these moments feel horrifying. Toilets exploding. Jellabas trapping your limbs. Lugging around a watermelon named Tito. All of it feels overwhelming in the moment.

Give it a month.
Give it a year.

Suddenly they’re your best stories.

The ones that warm up a room.
The ones whispered during long train rides.
The ones readers send back to you with confessions like:

“My mom carried a pineapple for four days because she didn’t want to abandon him.”

Travelers know.
The silly things connect us.

 

5. Why Imperfect Adventures Are the Best Ones

Here’s the truth: you won’t remember the perfectly planned days. The flawless itineraries. The photos taken in fifteen different poses.

Those melt away.

You remember the chaos.
The mistakes.
The laughter that arrives after embarrassment.
The watermelon you treated like a newborn.
The clothing that nearly ended you.
The toilet that tried to assassinate your dignity.

Those are the adventures that stay warm in your memory.

And honestly? You’ll crave more of them.

Because mistakes mean you actually stepped into the world instead of watching it from the sidelines. You opened yourself to the absurd, the accidental, the unforgettable.

And that openness, more than any postcard scene, is what makes you feel alive.

A Last Little Nudge

If you enjoy stories that are funny, humble, chaotic, and a bit unhinged, stick around.

These are the tales that remind us life feels better when we loosen our grip and let ridiculous things happen.

Subscribe if you want more.
Or tell me the weirdest thing that ever happened to you while traveling.

I won’t judge.

Unless you traveled with two watermelons.
Then we need to talk.