For my first visit to the U.S., I accidentally packed my visa in my checked suitcase instead of my carry-on briefcase. When I changed planes in Paris, the French authorities told me that I could not board the flight to the U.S. without the visa. Luckily the gendarme was a Senegalese immigrant. He led me to the baggage room, against the rules, and I retrieved the precious document.
One time I flew to attend a close friend’s wedding in a small town near Berlin, but on arrival found there was no room at the only hotel in town. The only option was an expensive hotel miles away. But a Bangladeshi bellboy was willing to listen to my woes and told me to have a drink in the bar. Ten minutes later he returned with the key to a top-floor room.