My back, pressed flat against the clammy brick wall in the darkened alley wet with rain, shivered. Thoughts raced, my turgid mind was ready to explode as I dizzily stared down the barrel of the travel agent's pen. "Sign here, and we'll take care of the rest," he repeated, his face only inches from my widened eyes of disbelief. "You know, you have no choice don't you? "

"Just how badly do you want to go to the Summer Olympics anyway?" he sneered with a ghoulish grin. I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat stuck and I choked. I planned this trip for years, and now this! How could this be? I stretched out my trembling hand to take the pen from Cartan, whose ink surely was my own blood. Did I have to sign the contract that included forfeiting my life savings, various body parts and my first born for a sacred 5-night stay in Sydney? A drop of sweat fell from my blinking lid, rolled down to my chin and dropped silently on the wet pavement. My knees weakened and my stomach churned at the thought of it. How badly did I want to go, I wondered? How badly?

Blinded, a flashing beam of light suddenly caught Cartan in the hideous act of gouging, casting his writhing shadow on the graffitied wall. The pen leapt fiery hot from his hand echoing his failure with the ching-ching of metal and asphalt while the contract held before me ignited and curled, black and ashy in my hands, then drifted to the alley floor. Who, I wondered, could fight such villainy with naught but honesty and fairness? He drew near and reached out his hand, "Let me help you find your way," he smiled and peeled me from the wall that was sure to leave permanent scars on my traveling soul. "I'm Tom White. Eola Travel and I will be more than happy to help you find what you need." He continued as he put his arm around my shoulder. We walked in quiet thought to a brighter place where hotel rooms are affordable, rental cars are included and the plane fare is; well... fair.

Okay, I know... my analogy is a bit extreme, but not by much. Since attending the Summer Olympics in Atlanta in 1996, I had planned to get myself and my faithful travel buddy to Australia for the games in 2000. We saved and schemed, watching the websites and reading the papers, following a dream that promised to be the trip of a lifetime. Our duckies were all in a row. Preparing for Atlanta had given me a taste of what to expect, so I knew what I was getting into. Or did I?

Confirmation of most of our first choice event tickets, except for the closing ceremonies, was the first thrilling step. We had pored over our choices and were delighted to have opportunities to see some great contests that we hoped would have American teams in them. Some gold medal rounds of women's football and track and field, a bit of the horses, field hockey and we even took a swing at softball. It's not only the sports; it's actually being there, rooting for the American teams, meeting different people, learning new cultural traditions, a bizarre twist of wanting to fit in and stand out all at the same time. I get sucked into the hype of it all; I'm not ashamed to admit it. It's all part of the fun, the camaraderie, the star spangled banner as it flies high in a foreign land; goosebumps and all. Yeah, it's patriotic sappiness, but we need some of that now and again.

Tent City Taj Mahal?

About a year out, I began fervent efforts to secure accommodations through various services on the web and directly with hotels that were somewhat centrally located to the events for which we had our tickets. No replies came from any of the hotels, not even a note to say "Sorry mate, what were you thinking?" I did get one reply from a nice gent whose studio was for rent. His place was not available for the time we needed, and he assured me that both of us, along with thousands of other visitors, would be sleeping in pup tents under the bridge. Everything was booked. No problem, Atlanta was the same way.

Undaunted I called upon Larry, our local travel agent of Stars and Stripes Travel to see what he could do for us. Bingo! $94 a night hotel, rental car, great airfare - whoa. The rooms were available, but only to exclusive agents. He tried for 3 weeks to work around it, to no avail. The all but satanic chant of "Cartan, must... use... Caaaartan..." kept rearing its ugly head. Water; water everywhere and not a drop to drink, unless we had really deep pockets. These were the feelings that filled me and my heart sank. I confronted Cartan directly and they said they were not the problem. They mentioned that it was the corporate sponsors of the games who held the largest blocks, reassuring me that they did not have all the rooms in Sydney to themselves. Of this point I am sure they are telling the truth in a twisted sort of way, so I gave in. "Send us the packages so we can see what we need to do to salvage our trip." I sighed.

The travel booklet came days later and I reviewed it, trying to figure the best package for this first leg of our trip. Cartan calls them waves. Crashing, drowning waves that threatened to all but wash away every penny I had managed to muster for this trip. I am not made of the sacred green presidents, nor do my balmy palm trees sprout the new Sacagawea dollars in spring. The inflexible 6 day 5 night wave we had originally planned our ticket selection around would cost us 6-10K per person and we still had to get ourselves to Los Angeles, rent a car, and plan the rest of the trip. Sure, that included airfare and the hotel transfers and taxes and all the hidden charges that go along with travel, but I could go around the world for less than that. Besides, I was not going to Australia for 6 days, only to turn around to come home again! I was strung tighter than Tiny Tim's ukulele (what possessed that analogy I will never know) and ready to pop.

Don't misunderstand me. I never once had a rude encounter with Cartan, and the individuals I dealt with were always courteous and very professional. However, I will stop just short of calling them crooks; very short. How could the IOC and USOC turn blind eyes to this? How could they approve only one company to offer such packages, allowing them a monopoly type attitude in pricing? If one agent could find a $94.00 per night room, what was up with these $400-$900 per person nights in a hotel, double occupancy?

Eola Faire, you're the only one who can...

Who would fight for the common man (or women in this case)? The wealthy should not be the only ones able to attend the games, though it seems this is more the case with each passing Olympiad. Is it fated that "He who has, gets more." and "He who has not as much, gets taken for all he has and then some."? I don't think so! It was now the principle of the whole ordeal that burned me. Cartan is raping the American public with prices that are beyond even the expected inflation of mammoth events such as these. I would not yield. (Yes, I am prone to cutting off my nose to spite my face, as it were.) I had all but given up on going, much to my great disappointment. We could not cancel our event tickets and they would not arrive in time to sell them to anyone before the games started. Oh, the agony of defeat.

Then my travel buddy discovered our answer, or at least what we hoped would be. Out of the travel section of the Orlando Sentinel and into our hands rode our White knight, almost literally: Tom White and Eola Travel, specialists in Aussie travel. We had nothing to lose and as I spilled to him our plight, he just nodded in amazement (at least I presume he did, through e-mail it is hard to see) and set about to complete his task. Within 36 hours of my plea, he had an itinerary ready for us. It included 8 days in the Blue Mountains just west of Sydney, 4 days in Cairns, 2 days in Fiji, all airfare, taxes, transfers, rental car, first class train passage, many meals, and a few tours to boot for under $4600.00 per person from Orlando, not Los Angeles! Elated, I was ready to kiss the feet of our savior. I tip my hat to this most wonderful man and the agency that employs him. They have taken on the Goliath of the 2000 Olympics and won this battle for us, the little guys. From those of us who dream of travels to far away lands with still enough change in our pockets to afford to eat once we get there, we salute you!

Gail Boysen brings us more adventures in future issues of Get Lost Magazine.