So, literally, only one night in Bangkok.
A beautiful balmy night and I’d taken the incentive group for dinner at Vertigo, the restaurant on the roof of the Banyan Tree Hotel. We didn’t tell them about the venue and the first glimpse of things to come was after they’d exited the lift and walked two flights of stairs. Bam! Suddenly there they were, on the open roof, with the whole of Bangkok, lit and twinkling beneath them. It took their breath away. Occasionally, someone suffers from the same name as the restaurant and we seat them at a romantic table in the restaurant on the floor below but on this night even the Vertigo sufferers didn’t want to miss out so they groped their way to their seats and spent the rest of the night feeling very proud that they’d overcome their fears.
Dinner was superb as always and as we neared the end of the meal I was just waiting for someone to ask the question. No one had yet, but someone would – they always do……
And finally, some brave soul did indeed ask.
Um Lisa, how far is Patpong from here?
I grinned and walked around our tables. Yes, I had two coaches downstairs waiting for us. Yes, if people wanted to visit the night markets and/or Patpong I could arrange for one of the coaches to do this while the other took the remainder back to the hotel. No problem, just say the word etc etc.
Strangely enough I found myself on the coach to the markets/Patpong. I was now “off duty” and had meant to go back to the hotel but the VIP pulled a fast one and collared me on the way to the coach with some “very important questions” and shortly there we were, merrily on our way to the bustling street.
Oh well, I thought, if you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em so I explained to everyone that the markets run the length of the street and the bars/clubs line the sides etc etc. In short order we arrived, jumped off and hit the markets en masse.
I have no intention of saying how many of the group peeled off into the bars. You know, what goes on in Patpong stays in Patpong and all that. I simply kept my head down and helped the shoppers. Anyway, I couldn’t wait for the stories which would be told over breakfast in the morning!!
About an hour later I calculated that as the 30 people still with me were carrying more or less their own body weight in fake Rolexes, Ed Harvey T-shirts and D&G handbags, they were about ready to go back to the hotel. We gathered on the corner and began the fine art of bartering for cabs and tuk tuks. We’d all picked a target and the whole process was conducted with much laughter, us arguing with our cabbie or tuk tuk driver and then shouting to other members of the group further down the street to make sure we were getting a good deal. It was a riot!!
Hence, we all piled into our transports at about the same time and set off. Now normally the ride back to the hotel takes about 10 minutes but our high spirits must have been contagious as the drivers all wheel spun away into what was obviously the first ever Bangkok F1 street race.
Cabs vied with Tuk tuks, red lights were ignored, road etiquette unheard of as we wove in and out of the rest of Bangkok’s unsuspecting drivers.
I was one of the first back to the hotel and stood under the portico to give a rousing welcome to those who came behind, in a seemingly never ending convoy.
And come they did, racing up the drive and skidding to a halt, the occupants helpless with laughter as they spilled onto the carpet and paid their money.
I noticed that a few were still missing and was about to ask if anyone had seen them when in the distance, over the night-time noises of busy Bangkok the "duff duff duff" of a severe sound system gradually got louder and louder. Out of sight at the entrance to the hotel we heard a screech, the duff duff swelled and around the corner came a tuk tuk unlike anything I have ever seen before. Disco lights mounted on every available surface (inside and out) and flashing in time with the music, ultra violet tubes which lit the ground from underneath the chassis, a TV screen mounted in the back (showing god knows what but I think it was XXX rated) and the now deafening pounding of what was obviously a very popular club hit.
The tuk tuk showed no signs of slowing down and I assumed that it was going to carry on, nothing to do with our group, but at that moment the driver performed the most stunning extended wheelie which lasted more or less the entire length of the hotel and revealed the hysterical faces of the missing three of my group.
They ‘dismounted’ with cheers and much back slapping, having literally showered the driver with Baht for his prowess at the wheel (and I’m assuming for his knowledge of where they could get the beer that they hadn’t spilled a drop of) and the tuk tuk duff duffed off into the night.
At breakfast the next morning the pimped up tuk tuk got as much airplay as the other events in Patpong, surpassed only by the story of how many darts it took for one Thai hostess to pop 6 balloons. (I didn’t ask……..)
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
What’s for Dinner?
I have two wonderful memories of my overnight stay in Agra. The first was the Taj Mahal. Yes, the monument itself was as pretty as in all the pictures – although be warned, if you want to get the classic photo of the Taj Mahal’s reflection in the water you have to lie absolutely flat on the ground within sniffing distance of everyone else’s hot dirty feet... But by far the best thing was an encounter with the locals.
After we’d walked through the monument to the other side of the building we found the steps packed with a group of Indian people from a remote village up north, come to pay their own respects at the shrine. None of them spoke English, most of the women were heavily tattooed on their arms and necks (the real thing, not just henna) and the whole group of about 60 people had about 10 teeth between them.
While we were waiting for the rest of our group we ‘mimed’ to these visitors that we’d like to take a photo with them. They welcomed us into their ranks and we assumed the position waiting for our guide to press the button. However, the locals had other ideas – within seconds the ladies had whisked off their headscarves and were draping us girls and the gents were busily wrapping up the heads of our male colleagues into expert turbans. They were all smiling and laughing and everyone within reach had an arm on our shoulders or were holding our hands.
It was beautiful. We were as strange to them as they were to us. They didn’t want a ‘tip’ for posing in our photos, they were just happy to have met someone different and enjoy the moment. As were we.
The second thing took place as I was sitting on my balcony at the hotel in the late afternoon. I’d positioned my feet on the railing and was admiring the view of the Taj Mahal dead centre between my dusty toes - every single room at the hotel has this view – (although admittedly most don’t have my dirty feet in them which would improve the view somewhat……).
Suddenly my attention was diverted to a small family of goats in the near distance that were happily trotting along the wall of the hotel gardens. They made such a pretty picture against the immaculately manicured lawns that I grabbed my camera but at that moment one of the littlest goats simply fell off the wall and into the hotel grounds. (I didn’t actually think that was possible – aren’t they supposed to be really, really surefooted?)
Suddenly, all hell broke loose. The goats still on the wall were running up and down its length anxiously, the little goat on the grass couldn’t figure out how to get back up, all of them were bleating at the top of their voices. It was heartbreaking. This went on for a few minutes (It was better than telly and I was glued to the action, would the little goat make it back to its family, tune in next episode etc etc)
Then (and this is when a scary soundtrack would have been perfect) two hotel employees appeared from around the corner of the hotel, brandishing big sticks and running towards the little goat. The rest of the goats took one look and legged it, leaving little goat alone and defenseless.
The men chased the little goat across the lawn, around a tree a couple of times and then out of sight into a wooded ditch (Perhaps the music would need to change to a Benny Hill soundtrack at this point). All that could be heard was the pitiful bleating of the goat and the occasional shout of one of the men.
I’ll never know if the men were just trying to herd the goat back to where it could rejoin its family or if they were up to something more sinister. However, I will say that we ate in the hotel restaurant that night and I chose the vegetarian option…………
After we’d walked through the monument to the other side of the building we found the steps packed with a group of Indian people from a remote village up north, come to pay their own respects at the shrine. None of them spoke English, most of the women were heavily tattooed on their arms and necks (the real thing, not just henna) and the whole group of about 60 people had about 10 teeth between them.
While we were waiting for the rest of our group we ‘mimed’ to these visitors that we’d like to take a photo with them. They welcomed us into their ranks and we assumed the position waiting for our guide to press the button. However, the locals had other ideas – within seconds the ladies had whisked off their headscarves and were draping us girls and the gents were busily wrapping up the heads of our male colleagues into expert turbans. They were all smiling and laughing and everyone within reach had an arm on our shoulders or were holding our hands.
It was beautiful. We were as strange to them as they were to us. They didn’t want a ‘tip’ for posing in our photos, they were just happy to have met someone different and enjoy the moment. As were we.
The second thing took place as I was sitting on my balcony at the hotel in the late afternoon. I’d positioned my feet on the railing and was admiring the view of the Taj Mahal dead centre between my dusty toes - every single room at the hotel has this view – (although admittedly most don’t have my dirty feet in them which would improve the view somewhat……).
Suddenly my attention was diverted to a small family of goats in the near distance that were happily trotting along the wall of the hotel gardens. They made such a pretty picture against the immaculately manicured lawns that I grabbed my camera but at that moment one of the littlest goats simply fell off the wall and into the hotel grounds. (I didn’t actually think that was possible – aren’t they supposed to be really, really surefooted?)
Suddenly, all hell broke loose. The goats still on the wall were running up and down its length anxiously, the little goat on the grass couldn’t figure out how to get back up, all of them were bleating at the top of their voices. It was heartbreaking. This went on for a few minutes (It was better than telly and I was glued to the action, would the little goat make it back to its family, tune in next episode etc etc)
Then (and this is when a scary soundtrack would have been perfect) two hotel employees appeared from around the corner of the hotel, brandishing big sticks and running towards the little goat. The rest of the goats took one look and legged it, leaving little goat alone and defenseless.
The men chased the little goat across the lawn, around a tree a couple of times and then out of sight into a wooded ditch (Perhaps the music would need to change to a Benny Hill soundtrack at this point). All that could be heard was the pitiful bleating of the goat and the occasional shout of one of the men.
I’ll never know if the men were just trying to herd the goat back to where it could rejoin its family or if they were up to something more sinister. However, I will say that we ate in the hotel restaurant that night and I chose the vegetarian option…………
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Poor Piggy
When choosing menus for a group you have to be very, very careful. There are some truly delicious and some very scary local delicacies throughout the world but for every person on an incentive trip that would be keen to try there are twenty more who couldn’t think of anything worse. As a result I tend to choose beautiful food but food that is easily identifiable as something familiar and not too ‘exotic’.
So I was very surprised when at least half of the members of my group to Peru approached me within the first few days on the trip saying that they’d been challenged by the folks back home to try ‘Cuy’ (or Guinea Pig as you or I would say).
With those sorts of numbers I needed to give them what they wanted. But, never one to give everything away, I just nodded sympathetically and said that I understood but that I had to cater for everyone so it probably wouldn’t happen. I then slunk off to the caterer for my gala dinner and had a quiet word.
When Cuy is served ‘formally’ at an event it’s cooked just like a suckling pig and arrives on the silver platter with a cherry tomato in its mouth. I arranged for two Cuy, one as a ‘presentation pig’ (for the photo opportunities) and one that would be chopped into small pieces so that everyone could have a taste.
At speech time, before dessert and after the VIP had said his thing I took the microphone and centre stage.
“Hello everyone. I hope you’ve enjoyed your time here in Peru and are as sad as I am to be leaving tomorrow. Now, most of you have told me at some point on the trip that you would have liked to have tried the Guinea Pig.
Well I tried and tried to get hold of one and finally today, while we were in Ollantaytambo I had a bit of luck...”
(At this point the waiters appeared bearing the sacrificial guinea pig and were greeted with spontaneous cheers and applause from the group. I waited a few seconds until people had started to try their mouthful of guinea pig and carried on….)
“I do hope you enjoy it and please don’t be at all distressed at the thought that at this very moment, there’s a little girl in Ollantaytambo who is saying to her mum “Mummy, why did little Pedro have to go away…..?”
Heartless lot!
PS: For those of you who are wondering, it tastes just like pork (strange eh)……..but crunchier.
So I was very surprised when at least half of the members of my group to Peru approached me within the first few days on the trip saying that they’d been challenged by the folks back home to try ‘Cuy’ (or Guinea Pig as you or I would say).
With those sorts of numbers I needed to give them what they wanted. But, never one to give everything away, I just nodded sympathetically and said that I understood but that I had to cater for everyone so it probably wouldn’t happen. I then slunk off to the caterer for my gala dinner and had a quiet word.
When Cuy is served ‘formally’ at an event it’s cooked just like a suckling pig and arrives on the silver platter with a cherry tomato in its mouth. I arranged for two Cuy, one as a ‘presentation pig’ (for the photo opportunities) and one that would be chopped into small pieces so that everyone could have a taste.
At speech time, before dessert and after the VIP had said his thing I took the microphone and centre stage.
“Hello everyone. I hope you’ve enjoyed your time here in Peru and are as sad as I am to be leaving tomorrow. Now, most of you have told me at some point on the trip that you would have liked to have tried the Guinea Pig.
Well I tried and tried to get hold of one and finally today, while we were in Ollantaytambo I had a bit of luck...”
(At this point the waiters appeared bearing the sacrificial guinea pig and were greeted with spontaneous cheers and applause from the group. I waited a few seconds until people had started to try their mouthful of guinea pig and carried on….)
“I do hope you enjoy it and please don’t be at all distressed at the thought that at this very moment, there’s a little girl in Ollantaytambo who is saying to her mum “Mummy, why did little Pedro have to go away…..?”
Heartless lot!
PS: For those of you who are wondering, it tastes just like pork (strange eh)……..but crunchier.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Beer and High heels in Machu Pichu
The five words most guaranteed to strike terror into the heart of any incentive travel Director is “we’ve run out of beer’.
Now I go to great lengths to make sure that this doesn’t happen. On each site inspection I spend an extraordinary amount of time discussing this issue with suppliers. In fact, I stress the importance of sufficient quantities of beer so much that I’m sure they think that it’s got nothing to do with my group at all and that I am in fact a closet dipso.
They just won’t believe me when I say that Australian groups drink a lot of beer and that should the worst happen and supplies run out then it could get ugly…….
Fortunately, most of my suppliers humour me and functions swing happily along with no disasters but once in while, despite my best efforts (and due to the best efforts of my beer-loving companions) the worst happens. And wouldn’t you just know it, it always happens in the most impossible location.
Take Peru. Chugging through the mountains between Cuzco and Machu Picchu on the Orient Express, one of the most luxurious trains in the world. Fine dining, stunning views and a carriage full of excited Aussies, all looking forward to climbing the famous ruins. On the outbound journey they were all very well behaved and heeding my warnings about drinking at high altitude with the prospect of some heavy exercise ahead.
Machu Picchu….. we arrived, we walked, we climbed, we marveled, we took a group photo, we had afternoon tea.
(I’m not being flippant, I just can’t begin to put into words how special this place is so please, please, if you ever get the opportunity, go and see it for yourself)
At this point I must mention a very special woman. I had been incredibly specific about the clothing and footwear necessary for Machu Picchu in the itinerary and everyone had appeared in the required attire. All except one. This lovely lady turned up in 4 inch wedges and refused to change them even when I begged. I started the day anticipating multiple broken limbs or at the worst, her tripping and freefalling down into a Canyon but she walked, climbed and scaled with the best of them with not a single complaint and not a single blister. Not that she’d have dared utter a word I suppose after my entreaties of the morning…..
By the end of the day she’d escalated from foolhardy to a goddess in my eyes. Talk about stamina!
By the time the group had had a quick squiz around the markets at the train station and was back on board the train they were ready to really enjoy themselves on the three hour or so journey back to Cuzco.
Dinner was served and savoured and then, not wanting them to miss out of the entertainment in the bar I led a 60 person strong conga line down the train to start things off. Waiting there were two of the best musicians I’ve found in a long while – armed with nothing but a guitar, a tambourine and a wooden box seat which doubled as a drum they swung straight into Waltzing Matilda (They didn’t speak a word of English so I’d sent them the words and music and they’d learnt it especially for the group). From there into Beatles, Rolling Stones and so on and so on and the party began.
About 1 hour into the trip the train manager, looking very concerned, pulled me to one side.
“Miss Lisa, we’ve run out of beer…..”
“What? We went through this, you promised me you’d triple your supplies just so this didn’t happen!!”
“We did Miss Lisa! But they’ve drunk everything!”
“Well, where can we get some more?”
She gave me a very odd look and at this point even I realized how stupid my last question was. We were chugging through the mountains, dark, quiet, not a house in sight.
“Are you telling me there’s not a single village between here and Cuzco?” I asked.
“Well no, there is one about 10 minutes up the track. There is a small station but we don’t stop there.” She replied.
“We do now”
15 minutes later some very surprised, sleepy villagers were roused from…..whatever they were doing, putting the llamas to bed or something……and relieved of every bottle of beer they possessed. They charged a very reasonable price (if the beer had been Moet & Chandon that is) and beerless but happy they waived our train off.
My group, still partying in the bar, greeted the beer with cheers and applause – keen to try the local brew.
Whatever was in it worked. I’d have given my left arm to have been standing on the platform in Cuzco when our train pulled in. The entire train was empty, except for 60 jumping, dancing, crazy Aussies bouncing around to the music in the bar car. Our coach drivers, waiting on the platform couldn't speak for laughing and I had to more or less physically hold them back from boarding the train to join in.
So reluctant was this incentive group to call it quits it took me 30 minutes and the combined efforts of the train manager, the train guides, the train driver and the chef to get them off the train. And the lady in the heels? She carried on dancing all the way to the coaches. Ah me, what a night........
Now I go to great lengths to make sure that this doesn’t happen. On each site inspection I spend an extraordinary amount of time discussing this issue with suppliers. In fact, I stress the importance of sufficient quantities of beer so much that I’m sure they think that it’s got nothing to do with my group at all and that I am in fact a closet dipso.
They just won’t believe me when I say that Australian groups drink a lot of beer and that should the worst happen and supplies run out then it could get ugly…….
Fortunately, most of my suppliers humour me and functions swing happily along with no disasters but once in while, despite my best efforts (and due to the best efforts of my beer-loving companions) the worst happens. And wouldn’t you just know it, it always happens in the most impossible location.
Take Peru. Chugging through the mountains between Cuzco and Machu Picchu on the Orient Express, one of the most luxurious trains in the world. Fine dining, stunning views and a carriage full of excited Aussies, all looking forward to climbing the famous ruins. On the outbound journey they were all very well behaved and heeding my warnings about drinking at high altitude with the prospect of some heavy exercise ahead.
Machu Picchu….. we arrived, we walked, we climbed, we marveled, we took a group photo, we had afternoon tea.
(I’m not being flippant, I just can’t begin to put into words how special this place is so please, please, if you ever get the opportunity, go and see it for yourself)
At this point I must mention a very special woman. I had been incredibly specific about the clothing and footwear necessary for Machu Picchu in the itinerary and everyone had appeared in the required attire. All except one. This lovely lady turned up in 4 inch wedges and refused to change them even when I begged. I started the day anticipating multiple broken limbs or at the worst, her tripping and freefalling down into a Canyon but she walked, climbed and scaled with the best of them with not a single complaint and not a single blister. Not that she’d have dared utter a word I suppose after my entreaties of the morning…..
By the end of the day she’d escalated from foolhardy to a goddess in my eyes. Talk about stamina!
By the time the group had had a quick squiz around the markets at the train station and was back on board the train they were ready to really enjoy themselves on the three hour or so journey back to Cuzco.
Dinner was served and savoured and then, not wanting them to miss out of the entertainment in the bar I led a 60 person strong conga line down the train to start things off. Waiting there were two of the best musicians I’ve found in a long while – armed with nothing but a guitar, a tambourine and a wooden box seat which doubled as a drum they swung straight into Waltzing Matilda (They didn’t speak a word of English so I’d sent them the words and music and they’d learnt it especially for the group). From there into Beatles, Rolling Stones and so on and so on and the party began.
About 1 hour into the trip the train manager, looking very concerned, pulled me to one side.
“Miss Lisa, we’ve run out of beer…..”
“What? We went through this, you promised me you’d triple your supplies just so this didn’t happen!!”
“We did Miss Lisa! But they’ve drunk everything!”
“Well, where can we get some more?”
She gave me a very odd look and at this point even I realized how stupid my last question was. We were chugging through the mountains, dark, quiet, not a house in sight.
“Are you telling me there’s not a single village between here and Cuzco?” I asked.
“Well no, there is one about 10 minutes up the track. There is a small station but we don’t stop there.” She replied.
“We do now”
15 minutes later some very surprised, sleepy villagers were roused from…..whatever they were doing, putting the llamas to bed or something……and relieved of every bottle of beer they possessed. They charged a very reasonable price (if the beer had been Moet & Chandon that is) and beerless but happy they waived our train off.
My group, still partying in the bar, greeted the beer with cheers and applause – keen to try the local brew.
Whatever was in it worked. I’d have given my left arm to have been standing on the platform in Cuzco when our train pulled in. The entire train was empty, except for 60 jumping, dancing, crazy Aussies bouncing around to the music in the bar car. Our coach drivers, waiting on the platform couldn't speak for laughing and I had to more or less physically hold them back from boarding the train to join in.
So reluctant was this incentive group to call it quits it took me 30 minutes and the combined efforts of the train manager, the train guides, the train driver and the chef to get them off the train. And the lady in the heels? She carried on dancing all the way to the coaches. Ah me, what a night........
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Serves Me Right or, What goes around comes around………..
Coach travel is boring and should be avoided at all costs.
(There is only one exception to this rule and that is when travelling between Hanoi and Halong Bay. By coach is the only way to travel. It’s about a 3 hr drive on more or less a single lane road and all you can see coming in the opposite direction is a constant stream of trucks, cars and mopeds carrying men, women, children, pigs or the kitchen sink (and sometimes all five at once). It’s the best game of chicken I’ve ever played. They all hold their course and at the last moment the most cowardly driver swerves out of the way – it’s brilliant!!!. I don’t think my group were as impressed – at one point I turned around to look and they had all moved on to the ‘kerb’ side of the coach ‘just in case’. With 30 people on a 45 seater coach this meant that nearly half the passengers ended up sitting on someone else’s lap but at least it meant that the group had bonded well and I put the high spirits at dinner that night down to the sheer joy of having survived the trip!! Of course I wasn’t at all nervous. I was sitting at the front of the coach and kept my eyes on the driver’s hands. I figured that as long as his knuckles didn’t turn white we were all going to be fine.)
Anyway, back to my point. Coach travel is boring. Even when there is no other way to get from point A to point B there’s always a way to break up the journey, sometimes by visiting point C on the way or sometimes by arranging a little ‘technical hitch’ en route and having an alternative method of transport available just to cover the last stretch.
And this is what we’d done in Prague. We boarded the coaches in the morning to head out to Nelahozevez Castle. The journey was about an hour and a half or so and the last bit was through some beautiful countryside, perfect for a bike ride along the river. All we had to do was stage a fake breakdown at a designated spot.
The coach driver took his new acting career very seriously and starting pumping the brakes about 10 minutes too early. Finally the coach came to a juddering halt at which point I explained to the group that obviously there was something wrong with the engine thingy and that Second In Command and I would just take a quick sprint up the road to see if we could fetch help. (Can’t believe they swallowed that one, it had been pretty obvious up to that point that neither of us could speak Czech so God knows what sort of help we’d have come back with if it had been a real emergency).
We disappeared around the corner to check that our fleet of beautifully branded bicycles were waiting in the arranged spot and 5 minutes later the guide led the group after us. I’m assuming that they’d decided that Second in Command and I were bound to get in trouble and need rescuing.
They were all delighted at the sight of the bicycles, and after donning the appropriate safety gear we happily set off along the river with the fairytale castle in the distance as our final destination and the sun shining brightly overhead – idyllic!
They loved it. They also loved the elegant morning tea that we’d arranged with the real live Prince who owns the castle and were fascinated at his stories of how his family reclaimed their many properties and treasures from the State following the fall of the communist government. They loved his personal tour of the castle and they loved the fine lunch set up in the courtyard and the very impressive synchronized cloche removal from the plates by the waiters.
All in all a success. Finally it was time to reboard the coach and head back to Prague. The clouds were closing in and it was about to rain but everything was set and it was time to leave. The driver took his seat and………nothing. He turned the key a couple of times more but the engine was dead so he let off the handbrake and cruised down the long drive of the castle. The group was so busy chatting about the morning’s activities that they didn’t notice at first but when the coach failed to jump start itself and came to rest just as it reached the road they couldn’t help but figure out something was wrong..
Normally in this situation a group would get cranky and impatient. Their afternoon was free for shopping and if there’s one thing you absolutely never do with a group it’s get between the girls and their shops.
However, this time their reaction was one of triumph. A lot of these people are regular attendees of the annual incentive trips and are used to (and expect) our little surprises and tricks. We catch them every time and our subterfuges have to get more and more complicated every year. Each time they find out what we’ve done they scold us affectionately and say something along the lines of ‘Oh, you girls. What will you come up with next…..”
The group was jubilant. Our little stunt with the coach breakdown in the morning had come back to bite us in the bum and they couldn’t have been happier.
The hysterical giggling didn’t start until I got off the coach to head up the drive to ask Prince Lobkowicz for help. I’d got about 20 metres before the torrential rain started. Hence I had to beg a bona fide royal for assistance looking like a drowned rat. He jumped into action (didn’t seem to hold it against me that I wasn’t in the mood for curtsying) and immediately organized for a spare battery to be brought from his storage dungeon or some such.
Thirty minutes later we were all fixed and on our way back to Prague with plenty of time for shopping.
This group have never let me forget it though. Every time something ‘unexpected’ happens to them now on a trip I can just see them waiting for me to get my just desserts………
(There is only one exception to this rule and that is when travelling between Hanoi and Halong Bay. By coach is the only way to travel. It’s about a 3 hr drive on more or less a single lane road and all you can see coming in the opposite direction is a constant stream of trucks, cars and mopeds carrying men, women, children, pigs or the kitchen sink (and sometimes all five at once). It’s the best game of chicken I’ve ever played. They all hold their course and at the last moment the most cowardly driver swerves out of the way – it’s brilliant!!!. I don’t think my group were as impressed – at one point I turned around to look and they had all moved on to the ‘kerb’ side of the coach ‘just in case’. With 30 people on a 45 seater coach this meant that nearly half the passengers ended up sitting on someone else’s lap but at least it meant that the group had bonded well and I put the high spirits at dinner that night down to the sheer joy of having survived the trip!! Of course I wasn’t at all nervous. I was sitting at the front of the coach and kept my eyes on the driver’s hands. I figured that as long as his knuckles didn’t turn white we were all going to be fine.)
Anyway, back to my point. Coach travel is boring. Even when there is no other way to get from point A to point B there’s always a way to break up the journey, sometimes by visiting point C on the way or sometimes by arranging a little ‘technical hitch’ en route and having an alternative method of transport available just to cover the last stretch.
And this is what we’d done in Prague. We boarded the coaches in the morning to head out to Nelahozevez Castle. The journey was about an hour and a half or so and the last bit was through some beautiful countryside, perfect for a bike ride along the river. All we had to do was stage a fake breakdown at a designated spot.
The coach driver took his new acting career very seriously and starting pumping the brakes about 10 minutes too early. Finally the coach came to a juddering halt at which point I explained to the group that obviously there was something wrong with the engine thingy and that Second In Command and I would just take a quick sprint up the road to see if we could fetch help. (Can’t believe they swallowed that one, it had been pretty obvious up to that point that neither of us could speak Czech so God knows what sort of help we’d have come back with if it had been a real emergency).
We disappeared around the corner to check that our fleet of beautifully branded bicycles were waiting in the arranged spot and 5 minutes later the guide led the group after us. I’m assuming that they’d decided that Second in Command and I were bound to get in trouble and need rescuing.
They were all delighted at the sight of the bicycles, and after donning the appropriate safety gear we happily set off along the river with the fairytale castle in the distance as our final destination and the sun shining brightly overhead – idyllic!
They loved it. They also loved the elegant morning tea that we’d arranged with the real live Prince who owns the castle and were fascinated at his stories of how his family reclaimed their many properties and treasures from the State following the fall of the communist government. They loved his personal tour of the castle and they loved the fine lunch set up in the courtyard and the very impressive synchronized cloche removal from the plates by the waiters.
All in all a success. Finally it was time to reboard the coach and head back to Prague. The clouds were closing in and it was about to rain but everything was set and it was time to leave. The driver took his seat and………nothing. He turned the key a couple of times more but the engine was dead so he let off the handbrake and cruised down the long drive of the castle. The group was so busy chatting about the morning’s activities that they didn’t notice at first but when the coach failed to jump start itself and came to rest just as it reached the road they couldn’t help but figure out something was wrong..
Normally in this situation a group would get cranky and impatient. Their afternoon was free for shopping and if there’s one thing you absolutely never do with a group it’s get between the girls and their shops.
However, this time their reaction was one of triumph. A lot of these people are regular attendees of the annual incentive trips and are used to (and expect) our little surprises and tricks. We catch them every time and our subterfuges have to get more and more complicated every year. Each time they find out what we’ve done they scold us affectionately and say something along the lines of ‘Oh, you girls. What will you come up with next…..”
The group was jubilant. Our little stunt with the coach breakdown in the morning had come back to bite us in the bum and they couldn’t have been happier.
The hysterical giggling didn’t start until I got off the coach to head up the drive to ask Prince Lobkowicz for help. I’d got about 20 metres before the torrential rain started. Hence I had to beg a bona fide royal for assistance looking like a drowned rat. He jumped into action (didn’t seem to hold it against me that I wasn’t in the mood for curtsying) and immediately organized for a spare battery to be brought from his storage dungeon or some such.
Thirty minutes later we were all fixed and on our way back to Prague with plenty of time for shopping.
This group have never let me forget it though. Every time something ‘unexpected’ happens to them now on a trip I can just see them waiting for me to get my just desserts………
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Walking Wounded In Vietnam
Occasionally on our travels someone in a group will become ill or hurt themselves but to have three injured on the same trip is unusual to say the least.
Our stay in Vietnam was half over. We’d done Ho Chi Minh; the group had been rendered speechless at
a) the sheer numbers of mopeds and bikes and
b) the amount of cargo it’s possible to load onto the back of one (4 people at a time, a fridge, a door – you name it we saw it wobbling along).
We’d visited the Cu Chi tunnels (one of the group got stuck) and now we’d arrived in Hanoi for one night before heading up to Halong Bay.
The first casualty occurred as we checked into the hotel and funnily enough it wasn’t a member of the group at all, it was my Second in Command. She was very helpfully trying to assist one of porters with someone’s case (why?) and just like that – pop – her back went.
That was her 'out' for the rest of the trip but the very reason we tour managers travel in pairs is in case of situations like this so I mentally prepared myself to have all 66 of the group to myself. Like Hermione Granger in the Harry Potter Books, I’d need to be in several places at once but I’m pretty fast on my feet so I dashed up to get changed for dinner, did a quick advance check of the local restaurant and was waiting to greet the group as they boarded the coaches.
Dinner was superb. It was at Bobby Chin’s - Vietnam’s answer to a celebrity TV chef - and I knew the group would love it. The food was superb, the décor was quirky and we’d brought in a DJ for after dinner.
Come 10.30pm the dance floor was crowded and the party was in full swing. Energy was high and at least 50 mature, well-heeled, successful dealers were strutting their stuff like something out of High School Musical.
The first sign of potential trouble was when the very glamorous wife of one of the dealers hiked up her skirt and did a cartwheel across the dance floor. I was mid-dance myself and stumbled uncertainly for a moment, not quite believing what I’d just seen as the culprit was now bopping about quite demurely on the edge of the crowd but the expression on everyone else’s face convinced me that I hadn’t imagined it and we all carried on. (Under sustained interrogation the next day the perpetrator told me that it’s her party trick, she waits for the right moment, knocks out a little cartwheel and then carries on innocently. I tell you, it’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch and whoever said life begins at forty got it spot on!!)
This display of acrobatics seemed to ramp up the energy on the dance floor and chuckling to myself I turned to get a drink, just in time to see another of the wives finish a startling Billy Elliot impression and then crumple to the floor.
We got her to a quite corner, summoned waiters, ice packs, doctors and whatever else we thought might make her more comfortable. (Someone offered tequila but I’ve never seen it on any list of acceptable medical treatments so felt I should put my foot down at that point (which is more than my invalid could do).
One visit to the casualty department later and her leg was impressively strapped up with an official diagnosis of a torn hamstring.
The next morning, I left her and Second in Command settled comfortably at the hotel (being lovingly attended by a fleet of hotel staff) and departed for the train station so that the group could get to Halong Bay for an overnight stay on a beautiful boat.
All I had to do was get them on the train. They had to get off the coaches, walk about 5 minutes along the street and then onto the train platform. Sounds simple eh?
But no, another one of the wives (yes, I know, what was it with the girls on this one?) was so distracted by the sight of a passing moped carrying 3 people, 4 cages of chickens and 3 boxes of fruit that she stepped off the kerb into a pot-hole. You didn’t need to be a doctor to figure out that she’d dislocated her ankle – it was hideous!!.
I had 64 people waiting for me to get on a train so the only thing to do was to get my latest casualty and her husband into a taxi and send them off to the local emergency room with one of my English speaking guides. I rang the hotel and Second in Command and told them to expect the wounded and to make sure that they were taken very good care of overnight until the group returned from Halong Bay.
Deciding not to take it personally that my group appeared to be dropping like flies I pressed on and the rest of the day/night proceeded smoothly and with no further disasters. The train ride was fun - especially when the group saw the local farmers and water buffalo that we’d positioned in one of the fields en route – all wearing client t-shirts (yes, even the buffalo) and waving branded flags. Everyone loved Halong Bay, loved the candle lit dinner in a remote cave even more and by the time we returned to Hanoi late the next day they were relaxed and in very good spirits – the perfect mood to undertake one of our specially created team challenges in Hanoi’s old markets..
And what of my 3 wounded soldiers? Concerned that they’d been bored and in pain whilst we’d been off enjoying ourselves, the first thing I did on setting foot back at the hotel was call their rooms and try to track them down to make sure everything was OK.
It took me half an hour. When I eventually located them they were lined up on sun-loungers by the pool, mid manicure/ massage/facial, complimentary cocktails in hand, drunk as skunks and in the process of the longest giggling fit I’ve ever seen. It was like a Beverly Hills 90210 remake of M*A*S*H and it appeared they were quite happily recovering without me - so leaving Second in Command to convince the hotel that more alcohol was the only solution I resisted the temptation to prod a few bandages to check for malingerers and left them to numb the pain to their hearts’ content while I went to check that the troupe of vietnamese dancers I'd booked for our colonial french gala dinner had learnt how to do the can-can (now that nearly gave me my own injury.......)
Our stay in Vietnam was half over. We’d done Ho Chi Minh; the group had been rendered speechless at
a) the sheer numbers of mopeds and bikes and
b) the amount of cargo it’s possible to load onto the back of one (4 people at a time, a fridge, a door – you name it we saw it wobbling along).
We’d visited the Cu Chi tunnels (one of the group got stuck) and now we’d arrived in Hanoi for one night before heading up to Halong Bay.
The first casualty occurred as we checked into the hotel and funnily enough it wasn’t a member of the group at all, it was my Second in Command. She was very helpfully trying to assist one of porters with someone’s case (why?) and just like that – pop – her back went.
That was her 'out' for the rest of the trip but the very reason we tour managers travel in pairs is in case of situations like this so I mentally prepared myself to have all 66 of the group to myself. Like Hermione Granger in the Harry Potter Books, I’d need to be in several places at once but I’m pretty fast on my feet so I dashed up to get changed for dinner, did a quick advance check of the local restaurant and was waiting to greet the group as they boarded the coaches.
Dinner was superb. It was at Bobby Chin’s - Vietnam’s answer to a celebrity TV chef - and I knew the group would love it. The food was superb, the décor was quirky and we’d brought in a DJ for after dinner.
Come 10.30pm the dance floor was crowded and the party was in full swing. Energy was high and at least 50 mature, well-heeled, successful dealers were strutting their stuff like something out of High School Musical.
The first sign of potential trouble was when the very glamorous wife of one of the dealers hiked up her skirt and did a cartwheel across the dance floor. I was mid-dance myself and stumbled uncertainly for a moment, not quite believing what I’d just seen as the culprit was now bopping about quite demurely on the edge of the crowd but the expression on everyone else’s face convinced me that I hadn’t imagined it and we all carried on. (Under sustained interrogation the next day the perpetrator told me that it’s her party trick, she waits for the right moment, knocks out a little cartwheel and then carries on innocently. I tell you, it’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch and whoever said life begins at forty got it spot on!!)
This display of acrobatics seemed to ramp up the energy on the dance floor and chuckling to myself I turned to get a drink, just in time to see another of the wives finish a startling Billy Elliot impression and then crumple to the floor.
We got her to a quite corner, summoned waiters, ice packs, doctors and whatever else we thought might make her more comfortable. (Someone offered tequila but I’ve never seen it on any list of acceptable medical treatments so felt I should put my foot down at that point (which is more than my invalid could do).
One visit to the casualty department later and her leg was impressively strapped up with an official diagnosis of a torn hamstring.
The next morning, I left her and Second in Command settled comfortably at the hotel (being lovingly attended by a fleet of hotel staff) and departed for the train station so that the group could get to Halong Bay for an overnight stay on a beautiful boat.
All I had to do was get them on the train. They had to get off the coaches, walk about 5 minutes along the street and then onto the train platform. Sounds simple eh?
But no, another one of the wives (yes, I know, what was it with the girls on this one?) was so distracted by the sight of a passing moped carrying 3 people, 4 cages of chickens and 3 boxes of fruit that she stepped off the kerb into a pot-hole. You didn’t need to be a doctor to figure out that she’d dislocated her ankle – it was hideous!!.
I had 64 people waiting for me to get on a train so the only thing to do was to get my latest casualty and her husband into a taxi and send them off to the local emergency room with one of my English speaking guides. I rang the hotel and Second in Command and told them to expect the wounded and to make sure that they were taken very good care of overnight until the group returned from Halong Bay.
Deciding not to take it personally that my group appeared to be dropping like flies I pressed on and the rest of the day/night proceeded smoothly and with no further disasters. The train ride was fun - especially when the group saw the local farmers and water buffalo that we’d positioned in one of the fields en route – all wearing client t-shirts (yes, even the buffalo) and waving branded flags. Everyone loved Halong Bay, loved the candle lit dinner in a remote cave even more and by the time we returned to Hanoi late the next day they were relaxed and in very good spirits – the perfect mood to undertake one of our specially created team challenges in Hanoi’s old markets..
And what of my 3 wounded soldiers? Concerned that they’d been bored and in pain whilst we’d been off enjoying ourselves, the first thing I did on setting foot back at the hotel was call their rooms and try to track them down to make sure everything was OK.
It took me half an hour. When I eventually located them they were lined up on sun-loungers by the pool, mid manicure/ massage/facial, complimentary cocktails in hand, drunk as skunks and in the process of the longest giggling fit I’ve ever seen. It was like a Beverly Hills 90210 remake of M*A*S*H and it appeared they were quite happily recovering without me - so leaving Second in Command to convince the hotel that more alcohol was the only solution I resisted the temptation to prod a few bandages to check for malingerers and left them to numb the pain to their hearts’ content while I went to check that the troupe of vietnamese dancers I'd booked for our colonial french gala dinner had learnt how to do the can-can (now that nearly gave me my own injury.......)
Monday, August 10, 2009
Another thing to blame President Bush for......
Have you ever played airport cricket? You should, it’s…..different.
But before you dash down to your local airfield to set up your stumps perhaps I should explain the rules.
1. Your group must be checked in and waiting patiently at the departure gate to board their flight
2. The floor of the departure gate must be tile, not carpet
3. There can’t be a sporting equipment shop within 30 miles of the airport
4. There must be a bar within 30 feet of the gate
5. The airport has to have stopped all flights in and out due to President Bush’s decision to fly into Europe that morning.
Picture the scene, a few days spent exploring the wonders of Prague (more of that in the next blog) and now we were off to Dubrovnik. However, having discovered that flying direct between the two cities was impossible (save for one Wednesday a month, at about 2.30am, in a leap year etc etc) we’d chartered our own plane, checked in at Prague Airport, done the security thing and were waiting happily to jet off to Croatia.
15 minutes after our flight was due to board, the gate staff informed me that there would be a short delay. 30 minutes after that they told me the same thing. By this time the group was ‘over’ the excitement of having their own plane and had become bored and a bit cranky.
Now, getting assertive with airport staff is a skill which needs to be finely honed – one false move and they’ll accidentally lose your luggage or put you to the back of the queue with air traffic control but sometimes there’s nothing for it but to roll up your sleeves and wade in. Finally, I got some proper answers – dear old President Bush was flying into Europe and all the airports had closed the flight paths to let him through. Now I supposed that’s a better reason than many to give a group but I knew it wouldn’t go down well. Especially as the airport couldn’t give me an updated departure time and as a charter we would be well down the priority list when the flights opened again.
Half the group was now happily ensconced in the bar but the other half were still at the gate. What to do, what to do…….?
Food first, then some form of entertainment. We bought out the nearby sandwich shop and distributed the spoils to the group. Once they were happily munching we went in search of some inspiration. After wandering around for a while we were losing hope but suddenly, in the distance, wonder of wonders, a toy shop!! Surely we’d be able to buy some sort of game in there?
Nothing, nada, zip. This situation obviously called for a bit of improvisation which is why 5 minutes later I proudly presented a medium-sized children’s “Sleeping Beauty” umbrella and a small stuffed turtle (the cuddly toy version, not a dead stuffed version - Prague airport isn't that bad!)to the remaining sober members of the group as our equipment for the inaugural Prague Airport Cricket Test.
They took to it with gusto. Once they’d mastered the limitations of Sleeping Beauty as a bat, figured out the aerodynamics of the stuffed turtle and pulled in a rubbish bin to act as stumps they were hitting sixes all over the terminal. Things got even more exciting when the noise lured the rest of the group out of the bar to join in.
Meanwhile, I was making calls all over Europe getting our flight re-routed and our departure time pushed up.
End result, we took off the moment the airport re-opened, before all the scheduled flights, and the stuffed turtle was adopted as the group’s mascot for the rest of the trip. (Stuffed Turtle – renamed Lobbie - got up to some amazing antics but that’s another story……..)
And the funniest thing? The amount of times the gate staff had to duck as the stuffed turtle whizzed past their heads and smashed into the wall behind them – it was almost as if the group were doing it on purpose – surely not…….
But before you dash down to your local airfield to set up your stumps perhaps I should explain the rules.
1. Your group must be checked in and waiting patiently at the departure gate to board their flight
2. The floor of the departure gate must be tile, not carpet
3. There can’t be a sporting equipment shop within 30 miles of the airport
4. There must be a bar within 30 feet of the gate
5. The airport has to have stopped all flights in and out due to President Bush’s decision to fly into Europe that morning.
Picture the scene, a few days spent exploring the wonders of Prague (more of that in the next blog) and now we were off to Dubrovnik. However, having discovered that flying direct between the two cities was impossible (save for one Wednesday a month, at about 2.30am, in a leap year etc etc) we’d chartered our own plane, checked in at Prague Airport, done the security thing and were waiting happily to jet off to Croatia.
15 minutes after our flight was due to board, the gate staff informed me that there would be a short delay. 30 minutes after that they told me the same thing. By this time the group was ‘over’ the excitement of having their own plane and had become bored and a bit cranky.
Now, getting assertive with airport staff is a skill which needs to be finely honed – one false move and they’ll accidentally lose your luggage or put you to the back of the queue with air traffic control but sometimes there’s nothing for it but to roll up your sleeves and wade in. Finally, I got some proper answers – dear old President Bush was flying into Europe and all the airports had closed the flight paths to let him through. Now I supposed that’s a better reason than many to give a group but I knew it wouldn’t go down well. Especially as the airport couldn’t give me an updated departure time and as a charter we would be well down the priority list when the flights opened again.
Half the group was now happily ensconced in the bar but the other half were still at the gate. What to do, what to do…….?
Food first, then some form of entertainment. We bought out the nearby sandwich shop and distributed the spoils to the group. Once they were happily munching we went in search of some inspiration. After wandering around for a while we were losing hope but suddenly, in the distance, wonder of wonders, a toy shop!! Surely we’d be able to buy some sort of game in there?
Nothing, nada, zip. This situation obviously called for a bit of improvisation which is why 5 minutes later I proudly presented a medium-sized children’s “Sleeping Beauty” umbrella and a small stuffed turtle (the cuddly toy version, not a dead stuffed version - Prague airport isn't that bad!)to the remaining sober members of the group as our equipment for the inaugural Prague Airport Cricket Test.
They took to it with gusto. Once they’d mastered the limitations of Sleeping Beauty as a bat, figured out the aerodynamics of the stuffed turtle and pulled in a rubbish bin to act as stumps they were hitting sixes all over the terminal. Things got even more exciting when the noise lured the rest of the group out of the bar to join in.
Meanwhile, I was making calls all over Europe getting our flight re-routed and our departure time pushed up.
End result, we took off the moment the airport re-opened, before all the scheduled flights, and the stuffed turtle was adopted as the group’s mascot for the rest of the trip. (Stuffed Turtle – renamed Lobbie - got up to some amazing antics but that’s another story……..)
And the funniest thing? The amount of times the gate staff had to duck as the stuffed turtle whizzed past their heads and smashed into the wall behind them – it was almost as if the group were doing it on purpose – surely not…….
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Hitting the Wall in China
Normally making your VIP’s wife cry is something to be avoided but on this occasion my inner party-monkey was doing triple somersaults of glee.
The group was in Beijing and all we’d told them was that we’d be visiting the Great Wall ‘on the way to dinner’. We were actually having dinner on the Wall itself but they didn’t need to know that, it would be a nice surprise right?
Anyhoo, the coaches arrived at the Wall (which was deserted – all the tourists having gone home at 6pm) and the group was greeted by costumed Chinese warriors barring the way, each holding an evil looking spear adorned with the client’s flag. One word from me and the way was clear, the group set off up the steep steps of the wall.
My carefully planned schedule allowed them half an hour or so to meander upwards meaning that they’d still be within earshot when my drummers and Lion Dance began to entice them back down.
Schedule be dammed, they’d all been watching too many charity walk documentaries and set off as if their lives depended on it. Within 5 minutes the leaders were almost out of sight and unless I took drastic action I’d be eating dinner by myself. I dispatched a round up crew to rein them in……..
The less energetic returned quite quickly and happily stood around surveying the view, watching the Lion Dance and sipping drinks. Finally, everyone was accounted for (bar one but I’ll get to him later) so I gave the nod to the drummers and they began to lead the group down the steps to a part of the wall where we’d set up for dinner.
It had been raining in the morning and the marquee builders had been working all afternoon to set up an amazing tent covering the beautifully set tables (a blessing in disguise as it meant that no one had been able to see the dinner set up while they were scaling the Wall earlier). We had client gobos projected in all directions, a full stage and lighting rig and the catering was being done by St Regis (with one fully white tie and tailed waiter per two guests). It all looked rather stunning – if I do say so myself.
Back to the client’s wife - she took one look and promptly burst into tears. Of course I rushed over, heart in my boots, to see what was wrong only to be caught up in a huge hug and an emotional ‘thank you, thank you, it’s just unbelievable’.
Hence the inner party-monkey’s acrobatics.
The reason for the dinner was to recognize the client’s dealers’ efforts in earning their places on the trip and the entertainment for the night had to be very impressive. We had traditional musicians, a troupe of 14 year old contortionists (I could hear the group gasping in sympathy from backstage), diabolo performers, a 15 strong fan dance and two ‘face off’ performers. Now Face Off is something that just has to be seen to be believed. With each flick of the head or swish of the fan a different mask is revealed, culminating in the client’s logo painted onto the performer’s face. It’s one of the coolest things I’ve seen in a long time and I’ve no idea how it’s done. It’s a centuries old art and they make up in secret to preserve the mystery.
All in all once of the most impressive dinners I’ve ever done and a real career highlight.
But what about the intrepid explorer, last seen disappearing into the hills? He joined us for dinner eventually although the poor guide sent to get him chased him for nearly an hour. (He said later that he kept looking back at this girl in the distance and was amazed at how fit she was – honestly, we were the only people in the area, you’d think he’d guess that she might have been trying to get his attention…..). She eventually caught him and brought him down.
He was invigorated and elated - she didn’t look so hot though, I think she spent the rest of the night recovering on the back seat of one of the coaches.......
The group was in Beijing and all we’d told them was that we’d be visiting the Great Wall ‘on the way to dinner’. We were actually having dinner on the Wall itself but they didn’t need to know that, it would be a nice surprise right?
Anyhoo, the coaches arrived at the Wall (which was deserted – all the tourists having gone home at 6pm) and the group was greeted by costumed Chinese warriors barring the way, each holding an evil looking spear adorned with the client’s flag. One word from me and the way was clear, the group set off up the steep steps of the wall.
My carefully planned schedule allowed them half an hour or so to meander upwards meaning that they’d still be within earshot when my drummers and Lion Dance began to entice them back down.
Schedule be dammed, they’d all been watching too many charity walk documentaries and set off as if their lives depended on it. Within 5 minutes the leaders were almost out of sight and unless I took drastic action I’d be eating dinner by myself. I dispatched a round up crew to rein them in……..
The less energetic returned quite quickly and happily stood around surveying the view, watching the Lion Dance and sipping drinks. Finally, everyone was accounted for (bar one but I’ll get to him later) so I gave the nod to the drummers and they began to lead the group down the steps to a part of the wall where we’d set up for dinner.
It had been raining in the morning and the marquee builders had been working all afternoon to set up an amazing tent covering the beautifully set tables (a blessing in disguise as it meant that no one had been able to see the dinner set up while they were scaling the Wall earlier). We had client gobos projected in all directions, a full stage and lighting rig and the catering was being done by St Regis (with one fully white tie and tailed waiter per two guests). It all looked rather stunning – if I do say so myself.
Back to the client’s wife - she took one look and promptly burst into tears. Of course I rushed over, heart in my boots, to see what was wrong only to be caught up in a huge hug and an emotional ‘thank you, thank you, it’s just unbelievable’.
Hence the inner party-monkey’s acrobatics.
The reason for the dinner was to recognize the client’s dealers’ efforts in earning their places on the trip and the entertainment for the night had to be very impressive. We had traditional musicians, a troupe of 14 year old contortionists (I could hear the group gasping in sympathy from backstage), diabolo performers, a 15 strong fan dance and two ‘face off’ performers. Now Face Off is something that just has to be seen to be believed. With each flick of the head or swish of the fan a different mask is revealed, culminating in the client’s logo painted onto the performer’s face. It’s one of the coolest things I’ve seen in a long time and I’ve no idea how it’s done. It’s a centuries old art and they make up in secret to preserve the mystery.
All in all once of the most impressive dinners I’ve ever done and a real career highlight.
But what about the intrepid explorer, last seen disappearing into the hills? He joined us for dinner eventually although the poor guide sent to get him chased him for nearly an hour. (He said later that he kept looking back at this girl in the distance and was amazed at how fit she was – honestly, we were the only people in the area, you’d think he’d guess that she might have been trying to get his attention…..). She eventually caught him and brought him down.
He was invigorated and elated - she didn’t look so hot though, I think she spent the rest of the night recovering on the back seat of one of the coaches.......
Sunday, July 19, 2009
A Brush With The Law in The Rockies
Months. I'd been working for months in the lead up to the Canadian Incentive Trip to get a real, live Mountie to come and meet my group but all my attempts had been in vain.
I lost count of the emails and phone calls and still no one would agree. So, in the true spirit of artistic license I stuck by the old classic, 'if you can't get the real thing, make it up'. Accordingly, I left the Fairmont Banff Springs hotel on the afternoon of the gala dinner to head to Lake Louise for rehearsals with my evening's actors and musicians, secure in the knowledge that the group's coach would be happily 'hijacked' by an authentic looking Mountie half way between Banff and Lake Louise - read the riot act about speeding etc etc and then allowed on their way having had a little thrill and with something to tell the folks back home while my 'actor' headed to the nearest bar for a well earned pint.
All had proceeded according to plan. My second in command had called to tell me that the fake Mountie had performed very well (and that half the ladies in the group were in love.....) and that they were now all cheerily having cocktails on the terrace in front of the lake, arguing over the true colour of the water - blue, green, blue, green and so it went on.
I returned to perfecting the art of a Gold Rush bar room brawl (which needed to spill out of our temporary saloon at the very moment that our guests were to arrive in their horse drawn carts) and instructing my saloon girls on the fine line between flirting with the punters and sexual harassment but it wasn't long before I was called out to the front of the venue by the manager. "Um, Lisa - there's someone to see you" he stuttered.
Tutt tutting to myself - it would be only a few minutes until the group arrived - I walked around the corner smack bang into a very young and very handsome guy (wearing what I had discovered during my months of begging the Royal Canadian Mounted Police was regular uniform ie Blue, not Red). I mistakenly assumed that this was my Mountie actor. About to launch into a tirade (about specifically requesting that he wear the Red 'dress' uniform and asking why he was here, his gig was over- was he expecting a tip) I looked over his shoulder and caught sight of the vehicle parked behind him. An honest to god police car! He was actually the real thing - my perseverance had paid off. His timing was off obviously but at least he'd made an effort. Mental high fives and Irish jigs galore - I'm sooooo good at my job!!
I'll never know what stopped me from launching myself at him in gratitude for turning up to see my group and abject apology as I'd sorted something else out and that he was too late, we'd already moved onto another 'theme'. I guess someone was watching over me that day as I restrained myself long enough to hear the first of his questions.
"Ma'am, are you aware that it is illegal to either impersonate or hire someone to impersonate an officer of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police?"
Needless to say, there was some seriously fancy footwork undertaken in the next 5 minutes (and let me tell you, it was a lot harder than talking your way out of a speeding ticket).
Looking back on it later I felt incredibly noble in that not only had I risked arrest, all in the name of my job, but that all I could think of as I was trying to talk my way out of legal proceedings was not that I would very shortly be locked up in a cell in the Canadian Rockies but that this guy was going to ruin the effect of the beautiful bar room brawl that we'd been working on all afternoon.......
Things to see/do in Banff: Maple Leaf Restaurant, Fairmont Banff Springs, White Water Rafting, Lake Louise (winter or summer!!)
I lost count of the emails and phone calls and still no one would agree. So, in the true spirit of artistic license I stuck by the old classic, 'if you can't get the real thing, make it up'. Accordingly, I left the Fairmont Banff Springs hotel on the afternoon of the gala dinner to head to Lake Louise for rehearsals with my evening's actors and musicians, secure in the knowledge that the group's coach would be happily 'hijacked' by an authentic looking Mountie half way between Banff and Lake Louise - read the riot act about speeding etc etc and then allowed on their way having had a little thrill and with something to tell the folks back home while my 'actor' headed to the nearest bar for a well earned pint.
All had proceeded according to plan. My second in command had called to tell me that the fake Mountie had performed very well (and that half the ladies in the group were in love.....) and that they were now all cheerily having cocktails on the terrace in front of the lake, arguing over the true colour of the water - blue, green, blue, green and so it went on.
I returned to perfecting the art of a Gold Rush bar room brawl (which needed to spill out of our temporary saloon at the very moment that our guests were to arrive in their horse drawn carts) and instructing my saloon girls on the fine line between flirting with the punters and sexual harassment but it wasn't long before I was called out to the front of the venue by the manager. "Um, Lisa - there's someone to see you" he stuttered.
Tutt tutting to myself - it would be only a few minutes until the group arrived - I walked around the corner smack bang into a very young and very handsome guy (wearing what I had discovered during my months of begging the Royal Canadian Mounted Police was regular uniform ie Blue, not Red). I mistakenly assumed that this was my Mountie actor. About to launch into a tirade (about specifically requesting that he wear the Red 'dress' uniform and asking why he was here, his gig was over- was he expecting a tip) I looked over his shoulder and caught sight of the vehicle parked behind him. An honest to god police car! He was actually the real thing - my perseverance had paid off. His timing was off obviously but at least he'd made an effort. Mental high fives and Irish jigs galore - I'm sooooo good at my job!!
I'll never know what stopped me from launching myself at him in gratitude for turning up to see my group and abject apology as I'd sorted something else out and that he was too late, we'd already moved onto another 'theme'. I guess someone was watching over me that day as I restrained myself long enough to hear the first of his questions.
"Ma'am, are you aware that it is illegal to either impersonate or hire someone to impersonate an officer of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police?"
Needless to say, there was some seriously fancy footwork undertaken in the next 5 minutes (and let me tell you, it was a lot harder than talking your way out of a speeding ticket).
Looking back on it later I felt incredibly noble in that not only had I risked arrest, all in the name of my job, but that all I could think of as I was trying to talk my way out of legal proceedings was not that I would very shortly be locked up in a cell in the Canadian Rockies but that this guy was going to ruin the effect of the beautiful bar room brawl that we'd been working on all afternoon.......
Things to see/do in Banff: Maple Leaf Restaurant, Fairmont Banff Springs, White Water Rafting, Lake Louise (winter or summer!!)
Memories of Moscow
“How am I going to tell my boss that I’ve lost our VIP client and the rest of his team on the Moscow underground?”
The answer to this question eluded me as, standing in the middle of Red Square I frantically dialed and redialed the client’s mobile number,
The trip to Russia had started according to plan. The incentive group had been suitably impressed by Domodedevo Airport’s intimidating immigration officers and the drab, 60’s style blocks of flats lining the roads on the way to the hotel. It felt right, austere, forbidding, very Russian.
We’d visited the Kremlin and the armoury (full of gold, silver, sparkling Faberge creations and deliciously macabre weapons), Red Square and St Basil’s Cathedral (Lenin was off on his annual vacation with Chairman Mao, being reembalmed), met some authentic Moscovites (stern and dour looking but with a heart of gold) and tried some real Russian food (waistlines beware).
Our last day in Moscow also started well. The sun had made a stunning appearance (I don’t think it had a permit but it showed up anyway, bouncing off the golden domes of the Kremlin and turning the Moskva river into a sparkling conveyor belt of diamonds. The locals, obviously taken by surprise, also sported the beginnings of a smile and even considered removing at least one layer of clothing.
We split the group into teams and briefed them on their morning activities – KGB training. Each team, given their own minibus and driver, was given several tasks to complete at various Moscow locations and following these simple events we’d all meet for lunch at the designated spot and toast the winning team’s efforts with copious amounts of vodka. We’d been planning this activity for months, every eventuality had been thought of and nothing could go wrong – or so we thought.
However, my VIP, showing true leadership abilities, decided to bypass my ‘spotter’ in the metro station and take a short cut (to where no one knows). Thus, during one of my regular ‘calls from HQ’ the last words I had heard from him were “Don’t worry, we’re just getting on the train now……..”
Like a mother who has lost her child, images of every single possible horror that could happen to my lost sheep ran through my brain as I consulted the metro map to figure out how and where we could intercept the rogue team before they reached outer Siberia.
Suddenly, and I’m sure that this couldn’t happen on many underground systems in the world, my call was connected. “Hi Lisa”, the client said breezily.
‘GET OFF THE TRAIN!” - my desperate plea echoed around the square and was made only slightly more embarrassing by the arrival of the rest of the teams who, rapidly understanding what had happened, started whooping and cheering and generally creating an atmosphere of happiness (causing several passing policemen to consider arresting us all for a public display of hilarity)
To cut the rest of the long story short, the team got off the train, were immediately apprehended by my scouts and escorted back to the meeting point. They were so excited by their close encounter with…..what exactly?….that looking back I think it was one of the high points of their trip. The vodka was indeed consumed over their tales of daring exploits and acts of bravery (bear in mind they were only on the train for 20 seconds). This group loved Moscow and its sense of life and ongoing change, vigour and vibrance and youthful fascination with Western commercialism but in truth I’m considering losing the next group too – on purpose and in a very controlled way….of course!!
Musts in Moscow: Hotel Kempinski, Genetsvale Restaurant, The Bolshoi, A ride along the river and above all interaction with the locals……
The answer to this question eluded me as, standing in the middle of Red Square I frantically dialed and redialed the client’s mobile number,
The trip to Russia had started according to plan. The incentive group had been suitably impressed by Domodedevo Airport’s intimidating immigration officers and the drab, 60’s style blocks of flats lining the roads on the way to the hotel. It felt right, austere, forbidding, very Russian.
We’d visited the Kremlin and the armoury (full of gold, silver, sparkling Faberge creations and deliciously macabre weapons), Red Square and St Basil’s Cathedral (Lenin was off on his annual vacation with Chairman Mao, being reembalmed), met some authentic Moscovites (stern and dour looking but with a heart of gold) and tried some real Russian food (waistlines beware).
Our last day in Moscow also started well. The sun had made a stunning appearance (I don’t think it had a permit but it showed up anyway, bouncing off the golden domes of the Kremlin and turning the Moskva river into a sparkling conveyor belt of diamonds. The locals, obviously taken by surprise, also sported the beginnings of a smile and even considered removing at least one layer of clothing.
We split the group into teams and briefed them on their morning activities – KGB training. Each team, given their own minibus and driver, was given several tasks to complete at various Moscow locations and following these simple events we’d all meet for lunch at the designated spot and toast the winning team’s efforts with copious amounts of vodka. We’d been planning this activity for months, every eventuality had been thought of and nothing could go wrong – or so we thought.
However, my VIP, showing true leadership abilities, decided to bypass my ‘spotter’ in the metro station and take a short cut (to where no one knows). Thus, during one of my regular ‘calls from HQ’ the last words I had heard from him were “Don’t worry, we’re just getting on the train now……..”
Like a mother who has lost her child, images of every single possible horror that could happen to my lost sheep ran through my brain as I consulted the metro map to figure out how and where we could intercept the rogue team before they reached outer Siberia.
Suddenly, and I’m sure that this couldn’t happen on many underground systems in the world, my call was connected. “Hi Lisa”, the client said breezily.
‘GET OFF THE TRAIN!” - my desperate plea echoed around the square and was made only slightly more embarrassing by the arrival of the rest of the teams who, rapidly understanding what had happened, started whooping and cheering and generally creating an atmosphere of happiness (causing several passing policemen to consider arresting us all for a public display of hilarity)
To cut the rest of the long story short, the team got off the train, were immediately apprehended by my scouts and escorted back to the meeting point. They were so excited by their close encounter with…..what exactly?….that looking back I think it was one of the high points of their trip. The vodka was indeed consumed over their tales of daring exploits and acts of bravery (bear in mind they were only on the train for 20 seconds). This group loved Moscow and its sense of life and ongoing change, vigour and vibrance and youthful fascination with Western commercialism but in truth I’m considering losing the next group too – on purpose and in a very controlled way….of course!!
Musts in Moscow: Hotel Kempinski, Genetsvale Restaurant, The Bolshoi, A ride along the river and above all interaction with the locals……
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