Amalfi Coast
My eyes stung from the salt in my sweat. I shook my head in an effort to dislodge some of the moisture creeping down my face from my sodden fringe. My hands were supporting a very large bottom above me. I steeled myself to push again at the same time exhorting my companion, Mrs Ramsbotham, to keep going.
One step at a time was my mantra but it was being taken literally and I suppressed a sigh as she sank to the ground yet again insisting that she could go no further. I sat on a rock beside her and explained, as gently as I could, that she had no option but to keep clambering up the cliff face. We were still a long way from the rest of the waiting group.
Above us on the cliff top the real villain of the piece our local guide, Alfredo, was looking down on us his face contorted with impatience. His silver shaven head, deep tan and bulging muscles suggested a mid-life crisis. There could be no other explanation for this insanity – leading a group of assorted sizes and mixed ability straight up a steep slope dotted with large tussocks of grass but no discernible path. His agenda did not include racing back down the slope to rescue an overweight damsel in distress - it would have been an ideal opportunity to show off his physical prowess. I encouraged my companion to take a few more steps before she collapsed again. I looked up at the ring of desperate faces above us. My companion was oblivious to the fact we were holding them up. She was sobbing and in between hiccups denounced the person who had ‘allowed’ her to book this walking holiday. I was not happy about it either but as her holiday rep it was my responsibility to ensure that she got the holiday she had paid for. I rolled over and stood up carefully aware that the cliff plunged straight into the sea below. I did not want to consider the possibility that if my guest fell backwards on top of me she would knock me straight into the water.
I was not even supposed to be here. I had been lying on my sitting room floor collating a pile of guides and maps from Sardinia that I had brought back from a trip two days earlier when my telephone rang. It was my boss – could I go to the Amalfi Coast the next day to lead a walking holiday as the original guide was now unable to travel. I loved the dramatic beauty of the Amalfi Coast and welcomed the opportunity to go back there again. This was one of the joys of my job embracing the unexpected.
I found my seventeen guests and led them to the bus but eighteen people boarded it. I had to resort to ticking names on a list. Although I felt my street cred plummeting it had the desired effect and a woman shouted down the bus that she had not heard me call her name. I had not called her name because she was not on my list. Further enquiries revealed that she was travelling with another company but had followed the wrong group out of the terminal building. We had to turn back to the airport to drop her off.
On the road again I gave the group some information about the holiday. I did not have much to tell them as all the relevant information had been sent to the original tour leader and there had been no time to retrieve it. They had all received letters and knew I would be leading the group and they were suspicious about this last minute replacement. I tried to re-assure them as I had been with the company much longer than my colleague and my walking experience stretched from trekking through the Himalayas to rambling in Yorkshire. They were still convinced they had been short changed and I could hear hostile mutterings behind me.
I blocked them out and concentrated on more important matters. A meeting had been arranged with Alfredo and the time was fast approaching. I raced through the hotel check in and then rushed everyone up the road to the annex where we were staying. There was no time to go to my own room so I abandoned my bags in the lobby and organised the porters to deliver everyone else’s suitcases I had just finished when the receptionist appeared on her scooter and I leapt on the back and we raced back to reception.
There was no sign of Alfredo. I searched the marble floored, chandeliered reception area and then checked the terrace outside. The views of Sorrento and the Amalfi Coast stretching beyond it were fabulous but the sight I really wanted to see was a walking guide. He had the programme for the week. I called him and sent him a text but neither received a response. Eventually I had to join the group in the bar and announce the time we would be meeting in the morning. My guess was based on logic rather than knowledge.
There was still no news of Alfredo when I asked in reception on my way to an early breakfast. I had not slept as I was worried about the lack of communication. During breakfast I sent him another text but he did not answer. It was a great relief when I went upstairs to reception after breakfast to find him waiting there. He brushed aside my request to discuss the walks before the group joined us and was clearly annoyed by the absence of my colleague with whom he had worked before. He informed me that all he was required to do was turn up and to lead the walks as per contract. It seemed the contents of this contract were destined to remain a secret. Our brief exchange ended abruptly when one of my guests crashed to the floor.
While I dealt with this new crisis Alfredo gathered the group together and marched them up the hill to our annexe for a meeting. Mrs Feint had suffered a dizzy spell and soon felt well enough to be taken to her room. She agreed it would be better if she did not join us on the walk that morning. Reception was made aware of the situation and she said she would call them if she needed anything. By the time I re-joined the group they were all clutching walking maps and ready to set off. Alfredo acknowledged me, gave me a map and then strode off leaving me to encourage everyone to follow him before taking my place at the back.
The group was soon very strung out as we had a very fast walker, Mr Walker, who had overtaken Alfredo when he stopped to talk about the flowers along our route. Some other people followed him. This did not go down well with Alfredo and he asked me to speak to them. He was better placed to do this but I ran down the path shouting at them to stop and wait for me. When they did stop I asked them ‘in the interests of safety’ to remain behind Alfredo while I made sure everyone was in front of me. Mr Walker reversed his role and walked very slowly at the back. I had to keep stopping to avoid falling over him. He was behaving like a spoilt child and I could do without it as I was already aware I had some naturally slow walkers in the group. I was relieved when Mr Walker moved to the front, formed his own group and stormed ahead of us again. Alfredo hesitated briefly and then rushed after them. When I saw them leave the path and start running up a cliff face there was no opportunity to warn him that Mrs Ramsbotham would struggle on such a steep ascent.
* * *
When we finally scrambled over the edge Alfredo immediately set off again. When I said Mrs Ramsbotham needed a break he just shrugged and said she had already had one. I discovered I had one ally in the group. Mrs Royale said she had to rest a while longer and sat down. She produced a bun she had taken from breakfast and munched and talked until I said we really should get going. We followed the others into a pine forest and walked abreast down the wide path. Mrs Royale talked incessantly. She had not enjoyed the walk that morning and decided to get the bus to Positano the next day in a tone that suggested she expected me to produce a bus timetable from my pocket.
We stopped in the pretty village of Sant Agata for lunch and most people ate in Mimi’s a small restaurant that specialises in delicious home-made pasta. Before joining them I tried to speak to Alfredo regarding the different levels in the group. He responded that each guest had two choices, to walk or not to walk. He was not prepared to modify the walks for the few who had struggled today. It was the first time I had worked with a local waking guide who displayed a total lack of interest in the well-being of the group. I needed time to consider my next move and after lunch I went straight back to the hotel on the pretext I wanted to check on Mrs Feint after her collapse that morning.
Mrs Feint was fine and sun bathing by the pool. She did not react well to the news that Alfredo did not think she should do the walk the following day. In fact he had managed to put doubt in the minds of several other people by announcing that the walk featured several sheer drops. I could see his point but it would have been better not to make a public announcement because now I had to appease three people and not just one. Mrs Feint protested that she was more than capable of doing the walk. We agreed she should see how she felt in the morning and decide then. I asked her if she was an experienced walker and she said “well, I walk the dog”.
Alfredo had insisted he had no idea what time we were leaving the next morning. This was unusual as generally the local guide had responsibility for the transfers. I called my office and all they could tell me was what had happened on the previous trip and assured me Alfredo did have the information. Yet he called me that evening to ask what time the bus was collecting us in the morning – so he did know how to make a phone call. I was having a bath and trying to wash my hair when the phone rang. It was a sit-up bath so I could not stretch out. I had just doubled myself up in the deep end to rinse my hair and as I struggled to get out the floor was soon awash. I repeated the time the office had told me and the phone went dead.
It was only the first day – could it get any worse? Probably. I had a tough week ahead. I had dealt with prima donna local guides before. If I tackled him in front of the group that would be right in the eyes of some of the group but wrong in the eyes of others. I was in a hopeless situation. Feedback forms would be thumping onto the office doormat before I had put my first load of washing in the machine. It was all part of the job.
By Alessia George