TRAVEL TROUBLESHOOTER

Cartoon of a woman photographing the front of a rental car with her phone in a parking lot, a Turo sign behind her.

Turo charged me $2,338 for damage I didn’t cause. Can I get a refund?

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Georgina Montalvan rented a car through Turo in Los Angeles and dropped it off a day early so she could catch an earlier flight home. The next day a text arrived: the owner said she had damaged it. Turo sent photos showing a scratch on the fender and a small hole in the bumper. But Montalvan had done the one thing that should end an argument like this. She had photographed the car when she picked it up, and her pictures showed the scratch was already there. She sent them in, Turo reviewed the evidence, and the claim was dropped as normal wear and tear. That should have been the end of it. A week later Turo reopened the claim and charged her credit card $660, with no itemized bill. Then came a second invoice, this one for $1,678, for what the company described as hidden damage, illustrated with a photo of a larger hole she says she had never laid eyes on.

Cartoon of a distressed mother holding a swaddled newborn at an airport counter while an unmoved agent stands with arms crossed.

Aeromexico rescheduled my flight and expected me to sleep in an airport with a newborn. Can I get a refund?

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Allison Turpen booked a round-trip Aeromexico flight from Washington, D.C. to Oaxaca, and then the airline moved her connection to the next day. The new itinerary had her landing in Mexico City at 9:30 at night, with the onward flight not leaving until 6:15 the next morning, a layover of more than eight hours. She would be traveling with a newborn, and spending the night in an airport with a baby was not something she could do. So she asked to cancel and get her $1,360 back. She called nearly a dozen times. Aeromexico finally answered, and denied her, pointing to a line in its contract that says flights are subject to change. But Turpen was holding a ticket for a flight departing the United States, which raises a question a lot of travelers never think to ask: when an airline is the one that rewrites your trip, can it really hide behind “subject to change,” or do federal rules say something different?

Cartoon of a shocked couple with rolling suitcases at an airport as a grinning airline agent throws up his arms amid floating dollar signs beneath an Aer Lingus sign.

My airline ticket disappeared. Why did I have to pay $8,206 to get home?

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Steve Miller thought he and his wife had valid tickets home. He had booked a Minneapolis-to-Dublin roundtrip through Orbitz, and when Aer Lingus canceled a segment, Orbitz rebooked them and confirmed the new itinerary. The My Trips page showed the change. The Aer Lingus app showed them booked. Everything said they were good to go. Then, at the gate in Dublin for the flight home, Aer Lingus refused to let them board, saying Orbitz had never properly confirmed the change. It turns out there is a critical difference most travelers never think about: a reservation holds a seat, but a ticket is the payment for it, and you can have a confirmation code with no valid ticket behind it. In the airline’s computer, the couple existed as passengers who had not technically paid. Stranded overseas and needing to get home that day, Miller was told the only seats left were in business class, at a price that ran into the thousands.

Muted digital illustration of a distressed man in a suit sitting with his head in his hands at an airport, blurred travelers passing behind him.

The $1,863 mistake: Why a missing last name cost one passenger his ticket

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Saurabh Kumar had a passport, a plane ticket, and a plan to visit family in Delhi. He was good to go, or so he thought. The trouble was hiding in plain sight on his passport: his full name sits in the given-name field, and the surname line is blank. That is ordinary in parts of the world, but a headache for Western airline systems that insist on a last name. When Expedia’s booking form demanded one, Kumar did what most people would do, he split his name into a first and a last and clicked buy. He had done it before and flown without a hitch. This time, at the Toronto airport, the Porter Airlines computer stopped him cold. The name on his ticket did not match the name on his passport, and to a security system built to screen millions against international watchlists, close enough is not enough. Porter said only the ticketing airline, Qatar Airways, could authorize a fix. Qatar was not at the counter. And the clock was running out.

Cartoon of a grinning car salesman with a cash-filled thought bubble gesturing toward a white SUV as a customer stands with arms crossed at a dealership lot.

How to get the car you reserved without falling for the upsell scam

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Have you ever heard of the car rental upsell scam? Neither had Steve Sphar. When the business consultant from Sacramento arrived to pick up a compact car from Europcar in Granada, Spain, the company had run out of vehicles. So it handed him an SUV and said he could swap it for his reserved model the next day, a seemingly generous fix. Then he made the swap, and Europcar charged him a $423 “customer choice” fee. It looks like a clever variation on an old rental-counter ploy, and experts say it is spreading as fleet shortages and inflation squeeze the industry. Running out of cars and then charging extra for a bigger one is legal, they note, but that does not make it right. The industry standard when a company oversells is simple: upgrade the customer for free. Some companies, though, see an oversold lot as an opportunity, offering two bad choices, wait for hours or pay a ransom, and betting you will not want to delay your vacation. Sphar contacted Europcar to reverse the charge.

Cartoon of a shocked woman standing between two twin beds with visibly stained sheets in a hotel room, a city skyline through the window behind her.

They advertised two queen beds and a clean room. I got neither—and a $922 charge.

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Rebekah Singleton booked a room with two queen beds at a Brooklyn hotel through Booking.com because she specifically needed the queen beds. What she got was something else entirely. The beds measured out to roughly 50 inches wide, a full size, not a queen, and the room itself was filthy: sheets marked with grease stains, hair, and what looked like suspicious red stains. The second room she was offered was worse, with red splatter across the floor. She did not feel safe, so she left that night and found another hotel. Then the real ordeal began. The hotel denied her photo evidence. Booking.com dragged the matter out for weeks and offered only a small goodwill credit. She disputed the $922 charge with her credit card, which briefly credited her before rebilling the entire amount once the merchant pushed back. She was left out nearly a thousand dollars for a room she never used, caught between a property, a platform, and a card issuer, each pointing elsewhere, and left asking what a booking site actually owes you when the room it sold bears no resemblance to the one you paid for.

Cartoon of a distressed woman at an airport with a red suitcase, reaching toward her boarding pass as it floats away in a glowing puff, vanishing from her hands.

My wife’s airline ticket vanished, then Hawaiian Airlines charged me an extra $575

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James Phillips did everything by the book. He booked two first-class, round-trip tickets through the Hawaiian Airlines app, one for himself and one for his wife Linda, purchased one after the other on the same credit card. Within minutes, he had written confirmations for both. Then they got to the Honolulu airport. The agent told him his ticket was fine, but Linda’s, confirmed and paid for, had simply been voided. No one could say why. Her seat had already been sold to someone else. To get her on a later flight, Phillips had to buy a brand-new ticket that cost $575 more than the one he had already paid. The airline first hinted his card had been declined, then tried to pin it on a third-party booking channel he had never used, even though he booked directly and had the confirmation to prove it. Who should eat the cost of a mistake the passenger did not make, and what it took to get a straight answer, is where this case turns.

Illustration of a worried woman in a tank top standing at a cruise ship railing, shading her eyes with one hand as she scans the horizon against a clear blue sky.

SAS lost her luggage—then a motel in Stockholm found it

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After Patrice Krecek’s suitcase did not arrive at Stockholm’s airport, she did everything right. She filed a Property Irregularity Report with SAS. She submitted a claim. She called customer service, more than once. Maybe she should have checked the Motel L Alvsjo, a 40-minute drive away, because that is exactly where her luggage turned up five weeks later, how it got there a mystery wrapped in pink duct tape. Inside that bag was most of her clothing for a 14-night cruise, including a new sweater she had bought just for the trip and never got to wear. Her husband had wrapped the case in hot pink tape so it would be easy to spot on the carousel, a detail that would matter more than he could have guessed. The motel could only hold the bag for a month before donating it. SAS had the address, the photos, and clear instructions, and still the suitcase sat 4,000 miles away. What it took to finally get it moving, and whether a claim filed one day late would cost the Kreceks everything, is where this case turns.

cartoon of a worried older couple standing on a river cruise deck while a mechanic kneels over a smoking engine behind them, with green hills and a castle along the Rhine in the background.

Can this company refuse to cover my costs for a canceled river cruise?

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Michael Cawley and his wife had been looking forward to a relaxing six-day Rhine River cruise with CroisiEurope, a gentle start before they carried on to Dublin. What they got instead was a series of mechanical problems and a lot of anxiety. The ship stopped cruising early the first night. The next morning, scuba divers worked under the hull, the departure ran late, and an excursion was scrapped. Then, around midnight, the ship hit something. The hull shook, and at 1:30 a.m. every passenger was roused and herded into the lounge. By the next morning the verdict was in: the cruise was canceled, a bad motor. With nonrefundable travel waiting at the far end and no help yet in sight, the couple booked their own train and hotel to keep their connection, only to be offered an alternative too late to use. CroisiEurope returned the cruise fare. What it decided to do about the rest of their money, and the European law it leaned on to justify it, is where this case turns.

Line cartoon of a worried woman holding a boarding pass and pulling a suitcase as her family of three sits anxiously in airport gate seats behind her.

“A travel nightmare”: United changed my flight but never told me — now I’m out $2,000

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Krupa Singampalli had booked a United trip home from Australia for her family of four, with business class upgrades bought using miles and a copay for each passenger. The outbound leg went smoothly. The return became a nightmare. At 1 a.m. in Cairns, she opened the United app and saw her 74-year-old mother’s seat had quietly slipped to waitlisted. A schedule change had rerouted the whole family through Sydney, except the message announcing it had never reached her inbox. When they got to the airport, the partner airlines could not find their reservations, the agents pointed at one another, and a flight departed without them while she was still on hold. Desperate and unwell, she bought four new one-way tickets out of her own pocket just to keep moving. Only later did she learn what United had done with the seats she thought she still had, and what the airline would say when she asked it to make the whole thing right.