Turn around
Every now and then I get bit a little lonely and you're never coming round
As befitted a loud tour guide and Welsh coach driver, we were already singing along.
Turn around
Every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sounds of my tears
We're heading through the Croatian countryside down to the Dalmatian town of Split. We've got maybe an hours worth of driving left, then dinner & drinks before everyone goes their separate ways. Some will head with Owen back up to Prague; some will join me and fifty of my closest friends on boat tours down to Dubrovnik and back. Some will make their own way to Dubrovnik; one couple not just to sightsee but to become man and wife.
Turn around
Every now and then I get a little bit nervous that the best of all the years have gone by
As Owen and I get into our spontaneous karaoke, another voice joins in behind us. Then another, and another.
Turn around
Every now and then I get a little bit terrified and then I see the look in your eyes
It's not long before the first two rows have assumed choral duties.
Turn around, bright eyes
Every now and then I fall apart
Turn around, bright eyes
Every now and then I fall apart
We're all singing along, and for me it's pretty amazing: for most of the previous two weeks I was about to fall apart.
TWO weeks earlier I couldn't have been happier. That 2009 European summer had started well as I felt I'd finally cracked the secret behind good Greek Island tours, balancing telling people a little about where they visiting with the inevitable excessive alcohol consumption. Towards the end of my two-month stint there I'd started to get tired and was pretty happy to head to new pastures. And this was well and truly new pastures: I was heading to Eastern Europe on an itinerary that read Split-Prague-Split-Dubrovnik-Split over four weeks; the final two weeks on-board boats where "work" was attending breakfasts, small walking tours and making sure no-one was arrested. Living the dream, eh?
It started well enough. The stretch from Split-Prague went fairly well, with the driver a useful ally as I travelled many of the sectors for the first time. The group had a good dynamic and I got to jump off a 12m bridge.
Coming out of Prague we changed drivers and dynamics. Heading into Budapest I'd nearly lost some of the passengers by not knowing enough about what to do in the Polish mountain town of Zakopane, before complete and utter disaster hit. I woke up the first morning covered in bed-bug bites, with respite only coming after someone kindly passed on some anti-histamines. That night I met two people joining the tour; the next morning I downloaded our manifest and discovered we had five people joining the tour.
And two vacant seats.
I handled things pretty badly from here. The next hour was spent playing phone tag with two different bosses and trying to placate three angry passengers. I eventually had to leave them to deal with the bosses directly so the rest could start to head down. When I got on-board I asked how everyone was, when someone asked back how I was. I snapped: "Well, I've got bed-bug bites, and just had to leave three people behind. I'm going to sit up the front and sulk". Which is pretty much what I did, and pretty much where I lost the tour. Matters weren't helped when a Plitvice barbecue turned into an opportunity for the driver to try and fill his pockets, charging people five Euros each for 4 small sausages, some bread, lettuce... and that's it. Of course I was the one that had to tell people this and collect the money.
I snapped: "Well, I've got bed-bug bites, and just had to leave three people behind. I'm going to sit up the front and sulk".
Which is pretty much what I did, and pretty much where I lost the tour.
ONTO Croatia then and things didn't get better. My first tour was a combination of people who wanted to chill and a pack of fucking idiots. By now I'd decided to try raise money for charity by staying off the booze, something extremely difficult when you're on a boat and all there is to do is eat, swim and drink to excess. Coming back from Dubrovnik was a lot better with a more relaxed group; however I still felt like I was being wasted there. I'd always considered storytelling and relating history my tour-guiding strengths, yet here the focus was more on socialising - something I'd always struggled with. I told the boss as such and she agreed, changing my sequence from another pair of sailing tours to the Split-Prague-Split tours.
Naturally, I was pretty happy. Coming into Split I was disappointed to find the man making way for me was someone I very much respected as a guide, someone that continually received great reviews from clients. Nonetheless I met a couple of girls on the tour and it seemed like we'd be in for a good tour.
I lost the tour again.
This time the driver really didn't help. A great tour driver isn't just someone who gets you from A to B without crashing or getting lost along the way, but someone that helps out in the smooth running of the tour. In this case the driver spent all his time with the pretty girls, meaning that I ended up spending most of my time with everyone else lest they feel they were a couple of cup sizes short of getting our attention. Despite this, I didn't realise how badly I'd lost the tour until I overheard one girl at the final dinner loudly exclaim how she'd sent a complaint letter to the company about me.
ANOTHER day, another tour. The drivers changed again and I couldn't have been happier - I knew that Owen was a true professional and a man who could easily have slipped behind the microphone if he wasn't so damn good behind the wheel. We did the introductions coming out of Prague before pulling up at Kutna Hora for the "bone church". While everyone went and had a look at the artfully arranged skeletons I had a look at the review forms the old driver had reluctantly handed over. Every single one of those feedback forms wanted the other guide; not one of those people had felt comfortable in handing their form back to me lest I throw them straight in the bin.
Leaving Kutna Hora I decided to do a talk on the revolutions of 1989. I'd done one the day before to find everyone drifting off to sleep; this time I decided that if I was going to go out, if this was how I would leave four years of tour guiding, then I'd bloody well do it with style. I don't think I ever did a better speech than I did that day, taking 40 people through the calamitous events of that year from Solidarity in Poland to the Czechoslovak Velvet Revolution; from the fall of the Berlin Wall to the fall of Ceausescu. When I finished there was stunned silence; hanging up the microphone Owen turned around and nodded his head in a "well done" gesture and I breathed out and let all the tension flow out. Soon after the man I'd picked as being the hardest to impress came up the front to have a chat.
I'd won the tour.
I don't think I ever did a better speech than I did that day, taking 40 people through the calamitous events of that year from Solidarity in Poland to the Czechoslovak Velvet Revolution; from the fall of the Berlin Wall to the fall of Ceausescu.
It still wasn't easy. I was still off the booze - that would end at midnight on the tour's final night - and once again Zakopane almost proved my undoing. During the day one of the bosses had called to discuss the seriously shit reviews, leaving me with a sense that he didn't really rate me. Then another boss (the one who'd changed my tours on request) called with news none of us had expected: the woman who ran the hostel bar in Athens had died. Owen came out of the shower to find on the edge of the bed, head in hands at the loss of a friend. If ever I needed a drink it was now; luckily everyone on tour was pretty keen on seeing me push through and finish the four weeks sober. Had this happened the tour before chances are I would have got on a plane and headed back home to Australia; instead I got to see 15-odd blokes tied together (and piss together) as they made their way through the streets of Split before being filled full of booze after the kind of midnight countdown you normally associate with December 31.
Heading down to Split we said goodbye to a couple of people and picked up another few - although this time we had plenty of seats on the bus. The difference when we hit Plitvice for the barbecue was amazing, with Owen suggesting we get some volunteers to grab the salads while we grabbed the rest. End result was a great barbecue where everyone felt like they'd contributed - and that they got value for money. The whole coach even played a prank on their photograph and Lady GaGa-hating guide: when I jump back on-board after grabbing the room keys I find Paparazzi blaring through the speakers. I sigh and settle in, only for someone to call out behind me. I turn around to find 30-odd cameras pointing my way!
And I need you now tonight
And I need you more than ever
And if you only hold me tight
We'll be holding on forever
By now half the coach have joined in. I'm not sure if we've got everyone on-board belting out Bonnie but that's only because I'm having too much fun. The smile never leaves my face as we get right into this 80s epic.
Once upon a time there was light in my life
Now there's only love in the dark
Nothing I can say
A total eclipse of the heart...
The song fades out to laughter around the coach. I finally turn around to see everyone smiling back, except for one girl sitting directly behind me.
How she slept through that I'll never know.
No comments:
Post a Comment