From Edinburgh to Glasgow and then on to the Republic of Ireland. So many shades of green beyond the latest Celtic football strip, looking on from above as we approached Dublin airport. Always a joy flying out of Glasgow, this time enhanced by a passenger not appearing on the list thanks to a recent change of marital status and thus her passport. To be fair, genuinely enhanced by the Aer Lingus staff working miracles to make sure we could all travel together, although looking back this seemingly started the role shift from tour director to mentor and relationship counsellor. There usually comes a point on tour when I shift from service provider to fellow traveller, but this time around it took a different turn. Mediator, motivator, marriage counsellor, far beyond cultural educator. An important job of the tour director is to manage not only relationships with, but between travellers. Sometimes this is about resolving conflicts, even heading these off at the pass when you can see them coming. At other times it involves intervening (hopefully not interfering) when there’s friction between individuals, whether they know each other already or not.
Dublin presents so much contrast and comparison to the Scottish capital and its counterpart in the West, Glasgow. There are so many connections. Church, history, conflict, human geography – all draw out similarity and difference. Struggle with centuries of English governance have led to enmity at one extreme, entertainment at the the other. A visit to a pub on the outskirts of Dublin clearly confirmed how support for anyone facing the English is etched on the Celtic psyche, and perhaps with good reason. England were playing Argentina in soccer’s World Cup, and it was an entertaining eye-opener to see how many celebrated when Argentina scored and especially when they knocked out Scotland’s and Ireland’s Auld enemy. Then we have the potential political balancing act of Democrat vs Republican, North vs South of the Mason-Dixon, and the experienced vs the novice traveller. And, in the final 48 hours of the tour, relationships can always go one way or another. People become tired, previously tight connections strained. It’s amazing what travelling with someone can reveal about them. Married couples may become frustrated with each other, perhaps more experienced, more chilled, more ambitious partners, can find the efforts or expectations of others a challenge. We arrived in Galway on a big day. A birthday. A decade passed, maybe perceptions of ageing heightened by the slightly bohemian buzz that had fallen on the city as it hosted an annual arts festival. On the way back from the centre to the hotel, I bumped into one of the younger members of the group looking for his wife, whose birthday it was. Different expectations, preoccupations maybe, and a husband’s efforts to make a perfect day taking the day on a different track, causing conflict. I always find it difficult not to try to help, and who knows, of course, whether it made a difference.
Dublin, too, had done its best to paint me as older and wiser, despite my own relationship failings. I was so pleased to be able to catch up with two students, now friends, who live in Dublin. New apartment, new baby cementing they’re relationship, and here I am demonstrating how, 30 years on and more, people can grow apart. But then maybe my own failure to keep a marriage alive, particularly after time to reflect, means I was the right person to point out where the pitfalls can lie and how to avoid them. Right person, right time? All a matter of perspective.
On tour, particularly towards the end, I do tend to treat myself once or twice to a good meal, one that isn’t a supermarket bargain or some fleeting fast food. Galway is soooo good for seafood I just had to return to Kirwan’s, the very restaurant that saved my sanity after a particularly tough walking tour (my first) where I managed to take everyone in completely the wrong direction, bypassed a couple of key planned to see, but muddled my way to the Spanish Arch and Claddagh land – the home of the heart-carrying rings the area is well-known for. That time I arrived at the restaurant in search of some culinary therapy only to find that kitchen had just closed and there was almost literally no room at the Inn. Seeing my desperation mid afternoon for a late lunch, they acquiesced as I looked out the cold seafood platter on the menu – no cooking required. It may not have been the cheapest lunch but restored me to humanity (ably assisted by a glass of Albariño from the Rias Baixas) and I couldn’t help but recall the experience and head straight there for dinner this time around. Once again, the restorative effect of good food and wine was proved – well you have to keep experimenting, don’t you…
The next day we were off in the still unseasonable sunshine to the Cliffs of Moher in County Clare and the starkly beautiful Burren (aptly the ‘rocky place’) with its 300 million year old limestone pavement (no, not ‘sidewalk’ this time). The last day of my tour with this group who had quickly coalesced into an extended family even beyond the one third of the group who actually were connected, by the Green genes of Alabama. Plans for the following day’s early departures already in play, we spent a spectacular day between coach and cliffs, passing through Lisdoonvarna, home of the Matchmaker Inn and Festival, a month- long event dating back (in both senses of the word) a century and a half to connect singles and make many a marriage.
And then departure day. Return home day too, for me. Crazily we ended our tour in Galway, about three hours’ drive from Dublin, where we’d all be catching our flights home. This meant the usual rise-and-shine at 5am turned to 3am, to pour my East Texas girls into a minibus (no mere taxi would suffice for the extra purchases over the past ten days), and then another departure at 5.30. Leaving at 7.30am with the last batch, I was of course delighted to get the news that the 5.30 driver had stopped for breakfast – for him as much as for them … but for an hour. A flurry of targetted extra-curricular emails and texts from me had a number of results – the driver was ‘encouraged’ to get on the road, the travellers made their flight by the skin of their teeth and another soul probably joined the job-seeking community. Consequences.
“Parting is such sweet sorrow”, or so the bard said. A double-edged sword. After close to a fortnight on the road together, on other tours frequently longer, it’s inevitable that you make connections, and this tour was no different. Handshakes and hugs, invitations to Dollywood and DC. Heartfelt thanks for a ‘job well done’ warms the heart and a little tip-filled envelope keeps the fire going. The message is clear… generally. Satisfaction in making someone’s day, their vacation even, is one of the reasons I enjoy this job so much, and why on the odd occasion I just don’t quite get it right I can take it personally. Gladly on this occasion the thanks were genuine, the constructive comment was warm and well-intentioned feedback. And everyone got on their way – to hire cars and hotels for extended stays, or into the air for a day and night’s travel for most. And me? Another week, another airport and heading home. Is that Dire Straits I hear in the background?
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