My Dad was a workaholic and was told to find a hobby. When the ship-in-a-bottle didn't work, he started traveling. He and my mother had been to the USSR before me, and he insisted I should go, despite being scared to death. And I was completely wrong. Under Gorbachev, things were improving for the people and they were really pleased to meet Americans - and they're more worldly than we are, most spoke English. 
My Dad would spend a whole year planning a trip (they took guided tours) and my Dad was a real "people person," fortunately for them. On one trip they visited Israel, then Egypt (thanks to Jimmy Carter ) and were on a plane headed for Jordan. My Dad struck up a conversation with the gentleman seated next to him, asked "Do you think it'll be as hot in Amman as it is here in Cairo?" And the man answered "This plane does not go to Amman, this plane goes to Baghdad!" They were on the wrong plane and got off just in time or they would have ended up in Iraq! So my father's friendliness paid off! Whew! 
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