I have discovered the ultimate travel companion: the flying disc, a.k.a. the Frisbee. Other than a phrasebook, there’s no more useful tool. A portable plate, a mobile table, a mosquito swatter, a fan, and a sun shield, the Frisbee is also an invaluable device for making friends. I cherish my Frisbee. You can pick my pocket, swipe my passport, steal my digital camera—just don’t touch my Frisbee!

Since the disc was introduced to America circa 1957, Frisbee fascination has leapt the oceans and spawned clubs from Japan to Brazil to Denmark to Pakistan. World federations govern international competitions, and the Internet has numerous Frisbee-centric chat rooms. Despite its popularity, the Frisbee remains a novelty in much of the world. This is where being a Frisbee ambassador can pay dividends.

Do you want to win the hearts and minds of local children, but can barely manage bonjour? Throw a Frisbee at ’em. No, really, it’s that easy. After years of intense, scholarly study on the beaches of Thailand, Malaysia, Jamaica, and Cuba, it is my understanding that, to a child, the only thing more satisfying than throwing an object at another human is being told to throw an object at another human. Give the kid a go, and you’ll have a new best friend. No need to make plans for dinner because there’s a good chance you’ll be the guest of honor at the house of a newly ordained Frisbee fanatic. (Caution: Spur-of-the-moment ’bee tossing will attract a curious crowd, so ready yourself for an onslaught of anxious pupils.)

Sound effects are highly recommended. I introduced the Frisbee to a friend’s Thai fiancée, who upon release of each throw added a “Whoosh!” for extra emphasis. She was so adorably funny that, while keeled over laughing, I took a Frisbee to the mouth. Mind you, she’s a grown adult, which just proves that the allure of the Frisbee knows no bounds.

The usefulness doesn’t end there. Too intimidated to initiate conversation with that cute foreigner? Chuck a Frisbee at ’em. This is the “Hey, do you know where the gym is?” line for the slacker set. It’s a guaranteed in—most of the time.

Case in point: I was throwing the ’bee with my buddy Ethan on Koh Tao, Thailand’s narrow Sairee beach, when two Scandinavian goddesses approached. I immediately decided to launch a pass at the blondes, who floated in the shallows on inflatable beach chairs. Ethan was supposed to catch the Frisbee just as it neared the young women, thus preventing a collision and giving us a totally spontaneous conversation starter.

Ethan, however, couldn’t quite reach the disc, which of course had nothing to do with my overthrowing it, and it smacked the face of the unsuspecting Nordic gal nearest us. It turns out that young women aren’t nearly as excited about Frisbees as are kids. Tall, blonde, tan, and exotically gorgeous isn’t really my type anyway.

I am not alone in my Frisbee strategy. Marc Becker, an author and Latin-American history professor at Truman State University, never embarks on remote research trips into the Amazon without his favorite plastic implement.

“When I opened up my backpack, all the kids gathered around to stare,” he says of his 1994 trip. “A bright purple Frisbee disc looks oddly out of place in a Huaorani community situated in the middle of the lush, green rainforest on a high plateau at the junction of two rivers.”

The power of the Frisbee, Becker suggests, has yet to be fully realized. “In college,” he says, “our Ultimate Frisbee club used to take out an ad in the college yearbook that said, ‘World Peace Through Frisbee.’ Maybe somehow my disc will help bring that about.”

The January sale of Wham-O, the disc’s manufacturer, to a Hong Kong-based toy distributor, can’t hurt. The company plans to bring the Frisbee—along with the Hula Hoop and Slip ’N Slide—to new markets all over the world.

So, stuff a disc in your rucksack and join the Frisbee diplomacy movement. Look for us on the beach surrounded by mystified kids and angry Scandinavians.