Tips on Cancellation, Change, and Refund Policies

1. Ask your airline about its hurricane policies. Will your ticket be refunded? 2. If you become stranded, how will your airline help you? Find out ahead of time. 3. Will your deposit for a prepaid room be refunded? 4. What are the city/island/resort's evacuation plans? Are there hurricane-proof facilities for tourists? 5. What are your options once the storm hits? The city of New Orleans learned a lot from the Katrina disaster and now has a master evacuation plan in place, which includes a partnership with Amtrak. The Caribbean Tourism Organization does not have any organized evacutation plans at this time; it's best to check directly with each island's tourism office.

The 2006 hurricane season officially started on June 1, and word is it could rival last year's string of deadly storms. Peak storm month: September Last day of 2006 Hurricane Season: November 30 Travelers to hurricane-prone regions, such as the Caribbean and Gulf of Mexico, should plan ahead. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) recently released its annual forecast predicting at least eight hurricanes, four of which could be Category 3 or higher. As many as 16 tropical storms have already been named, with some even expected to reach as far north as New York City. The closer you travel to the equator, an area with limited wind conditions, the less likely you are to wind up in a hurricane's path; hurricanes need warm waters and favorable wind patterns to form. Islands with the lowest chance of being hit: Aruba, Bonaire, Curacao, Trinidad and Tobago; according to NOAA, you have a two percent chance of being hit by a hurricane in the southerly Caribbean isles ONLINE HURRICANE RESOURCES Noaa.gov National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration's official website: One-stop hurricane information, including weather pattern analysis and maps Weather.com The Weather Channel: Hurricane tracking and airport closings Stormcarib.com Caribbean Hurricane Network: Daily island-by-island weather information

11 A.M. I am impressively tan, considering my normal state, in which I could pass for a Da Vinci Code villain. Kate is brown like a nut. I hate Kate. Of course, I don't, and even if I did it wouldn't be because she tans like George Hamilton. It would be because she chose our poolside seats today and the screaming children, it turns out, have some kind of three day weekend. I think the holiday they're being let off for is National Eardrum-Piercing Scream Day. To be fair, she's even more peeved than I am. Her malevolent glare reaches Blue Steel-level intensity and yet the children remain unaffected. They have puffy swim wings of kryptonite or something. We're heartened that we're not alone in our stressful state of we-love-kids-but-just-not-these when another woman gets up and gives the business to the head screamer's parents. "This is the adult pool, she reminds the attendant. We nod vigorously. (Our only exercise of the weekend.) We bond. Our consolation is the pre-check-out bill that was slipped under our door. It's remarkably lower than it has any right to be after so many lobster quesadillas and, um, margaritas. BUDGET TRAVEL, we congratulate ourselves. BUDGET TRAVEL! We are checking out at noon, and then hope to spend some quality time in the spa area before heading home. Betting on the lack of sound-barrier-breaking munchkins at the spa, I duck out early to retrieve my bag and head for the sauna. 7 P.M. The Ritz-Carlton does not have many German employees in Miami, but they clearly brought one out here for the sole purpose of expertly humiliating Kate and me during check out. Please imagine the role of Elsa (a guess) being played by Marlene Dietrich. Kate: Wait, this can't be right. Ana: No, it can't. This is so much more than the bill we got this morning. Kate: Can you review some of these charges? Elsa: But of course. What would you like me to look at? Kate: How about these two charges? They're both for around $50. Could they be duplicates? Elsa: Hmm. [Raises eyebrow.] At 11:30, you ordered margaritas and a lobster quesadilla. At 1 PM, you ordered margaritas and another lobster quesadilla. And French fries. Ana: And what about... Elsa: At 2 PM, you ordered margaritas and a lobster quesadilla. Yesterday, you ordered lobster quesadillas and... Ana: Stop! Here, this mini-bar charge! We didn't actually have that stuff. I just took it out to make room for the... [Elsa's eyebrow is raised so high it meets her hairline.] Ana: ... leftover wine... Elsa: Very well. I will take off the charge for $12.75. Kate and I huddle meekly, ready to surrender our credit cards. At that very moment, our bartender from our final good-bye drink runs to the counter and alleges, wrongly: "You forgot to pay for these!" Elsa does not seem surprised. In the cab on the way back to the airport, our Socratic dialogue with Elsa gains hyperbolic proportions, and we find ourselves giggling through security, shouting apparent non-sequitors to each other -- "YOU HAD NINE THOUSAND LOBSTER QUESADILLAS!" When we're asked if we want our $100 upgrade, we figure that after eleven hundred margaritas, we deserve it. MIDNIGHT On a capacity-filled plane, a $100 upgrade starts to seem like a bargain. We unwind in our spacious seats and continue to giggle about Elsa. Our good mood stands out and is, apparently, contagious. The harried flight attendant, fresh from cleaning up a, uh, "whoopsie" in the coach lavatory, smiles at us as she refills our drinks. She's clearly frazzled, and we ask her to join us. Wisely, prudently, she declines. But we chat throughout the flight and it's clear that being a flight attendant is a career for those of great calm and good humor. On the way out the door, she smiles and hands us a wine bottles wrapped in a napkin: "It's from our European leg," she says, "I think it's good." Budget travel. Back to day one

3 P.M. The children. Something must be done about the children. Kate is reading up on TomKat's plan for a silent childbirth and comes up with a better idea: silent childhood. Where have they come from and why are they here simply to scream? The thing about children is that they do not respond to Kate's and my preferred method of discipline: withering irony and a malevolent glare. Also they like to throw things. They are amusing at times, however. Like the three kids playing in the sand who turned out to be channeling Donald Rumsfeld: "Why won't you help me?" "Because we're not allies." Also the preteen curled up with Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul. That one could stay. If anything, we plotted how to slide an Us Weekly her way to prevent her from winding up collecting Precious Moments figurines and playing John Tesh ballads at her wedding. The sun is gorgeous and the tans (and freckles) are coming along nicely, but the periodic shrieks distract from the fourth lobster quesadilla of the trip and the umpteenth margarita. (We decided lobster quesadillas are, in fact, saving us money because we're not ordering anything else.) 10 P.M. Dinner in the hotel restaurant provides another budget travel rationalization. After all, we're saving money by not leaving the hotel. Surely, we're dodging a multi-venue excursion. Dinner also provides another photo session opportunity, but there's one misstep: a rather impressive and costly mistake in our wine order. Budget Travel, I keep telling Kate, Budget Travel. As we drink it, we rationalize that we're consuming, in effect, an additional night's stay in the hotel. It made sense at the time. After dinner, there's another photo session on the lawn of the hotel's grounds, courtesy of hotel employee who's wearing, mysteriously, rubber gloves. We dance barefoot--much cheaper than a club, right?--and hope that tomorrow all the screaming children go back to school. The quiet and cute ones, like the blond kid who convened a marathon magic tournament in the shade, they can stay. Day three: A nasty surprise during checkout