Confessions of a tour leader

Cruise Travel, Nov-Dec, 2004 by Gordon Turner

"Hey, you've done the Norwegian Coastal Voyage before," my travel agent said. "Want to be a tour leader if I put a group together?" Thus my new career began.

I've led eight groups now. Most of my tour members have been seniors, who have an endless capacity to surprise and, frequently, to amuse. Incidentally, I'm a senior myself, having just past my 74th birthday.

The coastal voyage, from Bergen up past the Arctic Circle and back to Bergen, lasts for 12 days. The dozen ships that form the NCV fleet have a threefold role: to carry visitors to Norway on a remarkably scenic voyage, to take local residents from one port to another, and to pick up and deliver cargo en route. The nine newest vessels possess amenities and ambiance that equal those of many modern cruise ships.

My first group, though, was booked in the 1964-built Lenten, whose old-fashioned cabins had traditional upper and lower berths. Major Watson, aged 85, stood 6 feet 4 inches and still walked with a military bearing. His wife, slightly younger, was scarcely 5 feet tall, and,

like her husband, rail thin. Infirmities of age prevented either from using the ladder to reach the upper berth, as I later discovered. They solved the problem by sharing the lower berth. Now picture this: The Lofoten's lower berths were a mere 2 feet 8 inches wide, and this was a 12-day voyage. Major and Mrs. Watson defined, for me at least, the literal meaning of togetherness.

Coastal ships make 67 stops en route, ranging from 10 minutes to four hours. Passengers can go ashore anywhere, but I dread the moment when someone asks me. shortly after departure, "Where's Mrs. Jackson? I can't find her anywhere."

Fortunately, I have had only one Mrs. Jackson. She showed up on the dock, alone and abandoned, 10 minutes after we left Hammerfest. A port employee spotted her predicament, whipped out his cell phone, and called the ship. In an unusual concession to a strict timetable, to say nothing of cost, our ship returned to retrieve the distraught and apologetic Mrs. Jackson. 1 took her into the ship's bar, lent a sympathetic ear to her story of mistaking the departure time, and bought her a stiff drink, paid for out of my employer's emergency fund.

A tour leader does not have to be a comedian, but jokes, no matter how stale, seem to work. When crossing the Arctic Circle, King Neptune (a costumed crew-member) initiates newcomers into the northernmost reaches of his watery realm. The ceremony includes ladling a large ice cube down the neck of kneeling passengers. I tell my group to take their ice cubes home as souvenirs. It always gets a laugh. Well, nearly always.

But not everything brings a laugh. The elderly Mrs. Redmond collapsed outside her cabin on the northbound segment of the voyage. The captain radioed for a doctor to meet us at Havoysund, 40 minutes away. A doctor and ambulance were waiting on the quay, and Mrs. Redmond was whisked off to the local hospital. As tour leader, should I accompany her? It would mean missing the ship, which was already running late. Then I recalled the advice I give each group at the start of their trip. In the Biblical parable of the lost sheep, the shepherd leaves 99 members of his flock to search for the one that has gone astray. I operate, though, on the opposite principle: I remain with the flock and hope--pray, even--that the missing member will find me.

Two days later, southbound, we discovered that Mrs. Redmond had been transferred from Havoysund to a larger hospital in Hammerfest, where she rejoined the ship and off we went. In her haste to resume the voyage, however, Mrs. Redmond had left her prescription medicine behind at the hospital. The captain radioed the hospital, which agreed to send it on the next plane to Tromso, where the ship arrived at midnight for a 75-minute stop. Pacing the deck, I wailed anxiously for the airport taxi to show up with the medicine. It did--a mere six minutes before sailing time.

Then there's the story of the elderly Mr. Donaldson, whose cap blew off and lodged itself under the strut of a lifeboat cradle. He was planning to climb the rail and retrieve the cap. I turned pale. If the ship gave a sudden lurch ... I shuddered at the thought. I asked Mr. Donaldson--actually, I ordered him--to desist while I located a nimble young deck-hand who scaled the rail and recovered the cap.

So what have I learned as a tour leader? Try to gain the trust of your group members. Efforts made to solve problems are appreciated, even if solutions cannot be achieved. People may travel in groups but must be treated as individuals. There's more, of course, but these are the essentials.