You never know who you’ll meet traveling. The late Oscar winner Ernest Borgnine and wife Tova owned a cosmetic company. At one party a place card alongside mine read “Sasha.” No last name.

Suddenly chains rattled, people scuffled. The guest was 8 feet long. Not tall. Long. Yellow eyes. Electrolysis-like whiskers. Sasha — full size, full grown, full-length, full fur, chains rattling — was a black panther.

Holy s - - t. What’s her main dish? The busboy? Tova’s growling skin care logo came with handlers. On a truck. The elevator guy required resuscitation. Her chain — a battleship anchor. I reached to pet her. She growled. I stopped petting.

Tova: “Sasha’s done movies.” Figures Sasha, lying center of the room, doesn’t audition. She’s already got the part. Our waiter was serving slowly. Very slowly.

Trainer: “If she doesn’t like somebody we have to take her out. She’ll let you know. Reverse is if she gets turned on by you. Certain colognes affect her. She’ll rub against you and drool.”

OK, so that was in Los Angeles. It’s springtime. Travel. To reach beyond the reach of Bernie Sanders’ spit, to lose bartender AOC in a poker game — what’s better — Syria? Iran? Iraq? Russia? Downtown Ukraine? Afghanistan? You like better fascism? Socialism?

Once when I was in Rome a smartass who was hustling Parker pens fell in step with me. He offered one for $3. Stupidly figuring it’s a bargain I put two in my white shirt pocket. Before I reached the Colosseum, my shirt had turned blue.

Another time a travel expert schlepped me 150 miles Baden to Aden. Our plane turned northeast to Waddi Bejhan where — veering left — there’s Salalah. As any fool knows, that became an overnight camel hop to Taima an early city buried under the sands which archaeologists have unearthed. Like schlepping Boston to Chicago through Newark.

A favorite journey? Nothing elegant like flying Delhi to Kathmandu. Beats East Hampton and the Rockaways. We’re talking a single engine aircraft. Guy balancing a wooden crate on his lap with a live chicken had the seat behind me. Suddenly the pilot — I never spied a co-pilot — in his everyday clothes came walking through the seated passengers’ cabin barefoot!

Istanbul. Great city. Great food. Great sights. Great shopping. But not so great — their salespeople. Want a piano that fits in your car? No problem. They have it. A car that fits into a piano? Wait five minutes and they’ll get it.

There’s this underground department store — a souk — that goes for miles in every direction and has everything. Food? They got it. Gold? They got it. Clothing? They got it. Depending partially on what a buyer’s wearing or carrying — a price is called flexible.

So I saw a necklace I liked. Seller: “Madam, this one-of-a-kind piece to not be replicated or seen anywhere else, laid on the neck of Her Revered Majesty’s actual Queen Oomaglooma of history.” Despite bargaining, prominence made it too costly so I left without buying it and continued shopping. Two alleys away, cheaper and in a window, the exact necklace. Oomaglooma must’ve had a neck the length of a giraffe. I bought it and still have it.

So happy summer, happy travels. If you can’t get away, be happy you’re in New York. Our new laws will warn you: “The life you save may belong to a pedestrian going to remove his car from the parking place you’re looking for.”

Only in New York, kids, only in New York.