Titillating Tales of Terrible Tourists, v.5: When Cameras Drop

I did it!  I completed my very first tour up here in Alaska.  It went smashingly.  I already miss my people--the 60th Anniversary crew, the honeymooners, the 35th Anniversary-ites, and the girls.  If only we could just travel together all summer!

I'll tell ya what I don't miss though...  I do not miss the unescorted groups that kept getting thrown on my coach with all of their questions, confusion, and general bad attitudes.

My first tour was an intimate affair of 18.  We laughed and didn't cry...except when we had to share our coach with random strangers.  For whatever reason, (well, okay, I know the reason.  We were only 18 people, and the coach seats over 50) other unescorted groups were tossed into our coach.  This wouldn't be a problem, except that the unescorted people kept asking me questions, and, technically, I shouldn't talk to them because they didn't pay for my services.  Alas, I'm a nice person, and I didn't want to be a jerk in front of my own guests, so I helped them out a little--not a lot.

On our last day, I thought I was home-free.  I was positive that we would be the only group on the coach.  And then, I discovered, much to my dismay, that 20 extra people were joining us.  And those 20 extra people were not nice.  They were all angry that they didn't have a tour director, so I had to give this answer, "Well, I'm sorry you're upset, but you chose a tour that is unescorted.  Mmhmm, yes, I do understand your frustration, but when you chose your tour, you opted for one that did NOT have a Tour Director.  Yes, I can see that, and I'm sorry you feel that way.  Well, the simple answer is, the people on my tour paid for a Tour Director, you did not."

And what I really wanted to say after explaining and re-explaining was:

"Because you're cheap."

But those words were never uttered.

Throughout my five-day tour, there was a group of 4 people that kept taking the front seats on the coach.  I still don't know how they did it.  Somehow they managed to stake out a spot that was closer to the coach area than me, so every time I got on board, they were already there.  Knowing that others were getting upset (since I was annoyed myself), I opted to remedy the problem by banning anyone from sitting in the front two seats.  I took one for myself, and the other was to be the "picture seat" where guests could rotate in and out every 20 minutes.  This plan would have been a good one if it weren't for those unescorted people.

One couple from the other group claimed motion sickness and insisted on sitting in the front seat.  And let me tell you, they were a piece of work.  For eight hours, I had to sit next to the unhappiest woman on Earth (or so I thought until I met Scowling Poodle-Face on my second tour).  She had a constant monologue going throughout the ride.  "When are we off this bus?  It better be soon.  That driver better drive fast.  I'm not staying on this bus until 5.  Why aren't we going faster?  Why aren't we taking a different road?  We better not go back to Denali?  I'm never going there again.  That place is horrible.  Why would anyone go there in the first place?  When are we getting off this bus?  Why are we on a bus?  Well, the train was even worse.  Why would we go on a train?  When do we eat?  Why are we stopping?" ...

While those two definitely peppered my experience, it was the couple in the back that lent the comic relief.

Our lunch break was in Wasilla (insert Sarah Palin joke here).  As we unloaded the coach, the couple from the back (who were on the unescorted tour) approached the driver and me with an issue.

"Is it possible to leave the tour early?"  The wife asked.  The driver and I looked at each other, somewhat confused.  "My husband's father is in the hospital, and we have to catch the next flight home."

"Well, I can call my supervisor and see what we can do, "replied the driver.

"We just need to get dropped off in Anchorage.  It shouldn't be that hard."

"Except that we have 36 other passengers that need to get to the ship.  We'll see what we can do."

With that, we went inside the restaurant for lunch.  Upon our return to the coach, the driver worked out a plan to make a detour and drop the couple off in Anchorage.  Everything seemed fine.  All was right with the world.  The complaining motion-sick lady was still complaining.  Once we made the announcement that we were making an unscheduled stop in Anchorage, she started demanding that we take her to Nordstrom.  My people were still delightful, and then tragedy struck.

I was standing in the aisle, chatting with one of my favorite little ladies when I looked up and saw the woman, for whom we were stopping in Anchorage, frantically waving her hands.  I rushed over to her, and she pulled me into the lavatory.

"I dropped my camera in the toilet."  She was panicking and almost in tears.

Baffled, I replied, "I'm so sorry."

"Can you get it out?"  She then thrust her arm down the toilet hole.  "I can't reach it."

"I don't think you'll be able to reach it.  Take your hand out of there."

"I haven't flushed, so it should be there.  Maybe you can reach it?"  She asked, her arm still shoulder deep in the toilet.

"It all goes into a tank.  I'm not sure how deep it is, but I'm not putting my hand in the toilet."

"But your arms may be longer than mine."

"I'm sorry.  I don't think you can retrieve it that way."

"Well, what do I do?"  She cried.

"I'll talk to the driver, but we'll have to drain the tank."

She was getting frustrated. "Can't he just pull over and do that now?"

"No, ma'am.  We can't.  We have to drain the tank at a special facility.  It's illegal and an environmental hazard to drain human waste on the side of the road (ed. despite how much you might think Wasilla is a s-hole)."

"But how am I going to get my camera back?" She shoved her arm back down the toilet.

"We will do everything we can, but there is nothing we can do right now.  How about you come back to your seat?"

She then fumbled with the sink and got frustrated when water didn't come out of the faucet.  "Why won't this work?"

Feeling really bad and a little disgusted, I replied, "There isn't any water.  We only have hand sanitizer on the coach."  As I said that, I was thinking, "And don't get near me, you probably have the Walk AND the Hep now.  Who shoves their arm down a toilet hole in the first place?"

She rubbed hand sanitizer all over her hands, then sat down next to her husband, who was shaking his head in annoyance, and started to cry hysterically.  "I don't know how it happened!  I've had things in my pockets before, and they've never fallen out!"

I sat down across from them and felt great sympathy for her  "I'm so sorry.  We will do everything we can.  We are getting you to Anchorage as fast as we can, but I make no promises about the camera.  Is there anything else I can do that might make you feel better?"

Her husband turned to me, narrowing his eyes, "You can get the camera back, that's what you can do!"

I was taken aback and wanted nothing more than to defend myself and say, "Sir, I did NOT throw your camera in the toilet on a motor coach.  In fact, I was nowhere near the toilet when the camera fell in.  I have NOTHING to do with this.  Your anger is misdirected.  I'm just trying to help here, and you're not even going to tip me...and for the record, no tip is worth risking the Hep."

Rather, I said, "We'll do what we can."

I walked over to the driver to update him on the new situation, and he gave me the same answer I gave them.  When I returned to the back of the bus, the wife decided that the camera wasn't that expensive, so it didn't matter.  Ten minutes later, I walked back to check on them and give them instructions for their departure in Anchorage.  The wife handed me her husband's business card asking me to mail the camera or even just the memory card when we found it.  She also apologized for her outburst explaining that the lost camera was the last straw.

Once we reached Anchorage, the couple exited the bus.  We retrieved their luggage, and the wife gave the driver a hug.  Part of me was surprised that I didn't get a hug, but I was also relieved.  She was unclean after all.  And, I didn't tell the driver that she shoved her arm down the toilet until three hours later, which gave me a little bit of pleasure since he did screw me over first thing in the morning by misleading my group for his own enjoyment and purposely driving away when he knew I was missing two people.

I have no idea what happened with the camera.  I passed the card onto the driver supervisor, and the story is now the stuff of legend.

Moral: Don't carry valuables into the lavatory on a coach.  And if you do, and it falls into the toilet, just walk away.

Close Encounters of the Moose Kind

I know, I know...I went missing.  I've been nowhere to be found.  I'm not much of a blogger.  It's true.  I'll get better, I promise.  I've just been so busy barfing on 6-seater planes, almost falling off of ATV's, and running scared from mosquitos.  There's a lot on my plate, alright?!

This week, I settled into my new apartment in good old Anchorage, Alaska.  It's a sweet pad located two miles from downtown (which means I get in a good amount of walking on a daily basis--minimum distance each day: 5 miles, current record: 14 miles).  I'd love to complain about the walking, but after spending 14 days on a bus, eating nothing but reindeer sausage and goldfish crackers, I needed a little physical activity.

Right next to my apartment is a lovely park.  In addition to being the future home of a million enormous mosquitos (because those f*ers are HUGE....they're like water fo

wl.  It's terrifying), it is the territory of a family of mooseseseses (how does one make moose plural?).

The first moose sighting happened on Wednesday, while I was in Whittier gawking at the bearded and mustached masses that arrived on a Carnival Cruise ship for the International Beard and Mustache Competition (awe-inspiring).  Two of my roommates went on a little walk and happened upon a full-grown female moose quietly grazing near some standing water--500 feet away from a busy playground.  That evening, they told us all about their moose encounter, and our other roommate, a naturalist by trade, decided that she

 wanted to go on a moose hunt.

The next night, we went on our moose hunt, following the same path that the first pioneers took.  No moose were to be seen.  The naturalist decided that she wanted to go home because we walked to fast (and I might be partially responsible since I make no effort to slow down--I'm a fast walker, okay?).  She turned back, and we continued on until we got to the path through the park.  We started walking down the path, which was abuzz with activity at 10pm (which, for the record, felt like 7pm due to the placement of the sun), and as we walked, one of my companions talked endlessly about being attacked by a bear.  The fool read a book about bear attacks right before we went on our walk.  Unwise.

After awhile, a couple of girls walked up to us and told us that there were a couple of baby moose along the path.  They advised that we walk by as quickly and quietly as possible.  The three of us stood there, unsure of what to do.  Should we risk it?  Tentatively, we continued walking, then stopped dead in our tracks.  A moose walked out onto the path, about 500 feet ahead of us.  We stood silently as it wandered across the path and into the trees.

We looked at each other, still questioning whether we should continue.  Our true concern was that the mother moose could be lurking anywhere, and she probably wouldn't ignore us if we were too close to her babies (which were probably yearlings based on their size).  After a couple of minutes, a pair of bikers rode toward us.  "Don't worry," One of them called.  "They're just happily munching.  You can walk by."

We shrugged our shoulders and continued on our journey.  Just as we turned a corner, we spotted the other moose, eating the grass right next to the path.  We walked very slowly, noticed the other moose in the trees about 50 feet from us, and continued.  The bikers were right, the moose was happy, but I didn't want to be the one to make it unhappy.  For whatever reason, I was elected as the leader our trio, and I walked briskly and silently.  As I got closer to the moose, I admittedly became a little timid.  It's back came up to my shoulders, and it wasn't full-grown.  He looked up at me briefly, and I averted my eyes, choosing only to look at it out of the corner of my eye as I faced forward and sped by.  

Once we were far enough away, one of my companions and I stopped and looked back.  The third member of our party was within a foot of the moose, attempting to take its picture until he (the person) got spooked and quickly walked away.  He never got the shot with his iPhone, so we have no proof of our encounter, but it totally happened.  And it was awesome and scary all at the same time.

When we returned to the apartment, we told our naturalist roommate about our experience.  As expected, she was upset, especially since we ended up walking close to the same mileage as her.  The next night, she set out to find the mooseseseses, but came back empty-handed.  Last night, the three of us headed out through the park, and our little moose friends were there again (though not quite as close).

And that's the closest I will ever be to a large wild animal, I hope anyway.

Card Carrying Member of the Sour Toe Cocktail Club

Jealous?

You should be.

I drank a shot of whiskey with a severed human toe in it, and I have a card AND a certificate to prove it!

You see, there's this little club in Dawson City, Yukon Territory, Canada, and all you have to do to become a member is drink a shot of Yukon Jack with a preserved severed human toe in it.  The rules require that you touch your lips to the toe.  Apparently, it's quite a tradition.  I'm the 31,400th member of the club.

You can google it to learn more, but I'll give you the skinny.  Basically, this little club started in the 1970's, and the toe is allegedly the amputated toe of miner from the 1920's.  It's been preserved in alcohol and salt, and it is nasty!  Apparently, people will their toes to the Captain to be used in the ceremony.

Anyone with $5 and an iron stomach can join the club.  You simply need to sign your name, buy a shot, and the Captain (who is this creepy pirate-like guy with bad breath and rotting teeth) will drop the toe in your drink.  The rules are simple, "You can drink it fast, you can drink it slow, but your lips must touch touch this gnarly toe."

We were inducted into the club in groups of three.  He would say each line to each person, and on the third person, he would shove the toe in their face and flap a hang nail/skin flap on the toe.  It was pretty disgusting.  I was in the second group to try the toe, and I was the third person, so I had the image of the skin flap burned on my memory.

Once it was my turn, I readied myself for the barrage of photos, and before I knew it, the Captain had dropped the toe in my glass.  I drank it, but the toe didn't slide to my lips, so I, like everyone else, pulled it out of the glass with my fingers and placed it in my mouth.  The Captain jumped in and announced that I didn't qualify because it didn't touch my lips while I was drinking the shot.  Not wanting to be a failure, I put it back in the glass, and knocked it into my mouth.  And then, I joined the club!

It was totally gross.  What's ever worse is that he charges a $500 fine to anyone that swallows the toe.  Who would do that?  Gross!

The best part about being a member of the club is that I can put the toe in my drinks for free from now on!

Lucky, huh?

You Can’t Stop the “Walk”

Oh Canada!  Blah blah blah blah blah blah….

Yup, you guessed it!  I’m in Canadia!  We’ve been journeying through the Yukon Territory for the past couple of days, and while I’ve taken in the sights, I’ve also taken in a load of information (some of which I may have napped through).  The one topic I did not sleep through was…. (drum roll please) … THE NOROVIRUS!

Yay!

Hey kids, did you know that I have a 60% chance of catching it while I’m up here in Alaska?  I didn’t.  I was blissfully unaware.  Here I thought you had to be on a cruise ship to catch such a thing, but I suppose if you are traveling around in a bus with people who have been (or are going to be) on a cruise ship, it’s pretty likely that this nasty little virus might drop into your intestinal tract to say hello.

Wanna know what it does?  Well, I’ll give you the short version.  It’s bad.  Really bad.  Think projectile vomiting and explosive diarrhea AT THE SAME TIME!  And think of it on a motor coach…and just imagine if 10 other people on the motor coach have it at the same time?!  Doesn’t that sound awesome?!

Once you get it, you’re screwed.  There’s nothing you can do.  AND…you have to be quarantined for 72 hours.  I so hope this won’t happen to me.  All I wanted to do was wash my hands in bleach…repeatedly.

I know what you want to know.  Isn’t there a way to avoid the virus?  Why, yes, there is!  Constant hand washing.  In fact, you may as well wear disposable gloves everywhere you go because this virus hangs out everywhere.  We got a stern lecture on buffet lines, as in, never go to a buffet because it’s a disaster waiting to happen.  Those utensils are like a cess pool of disease.

So guess what we had for dinner?

Buffet.

And guess what we’re doing tomorrow night?

Drinking shots of whiskey with a severed human toe in the glass.

You’ll have to stay tuned for that action.

Hey Alaska, I'm HEEEeeeeere!

Well, I made it.  I'm in Alaska, and I've been here for four whole days.  Yup.  Four days.

My first day, I arrived just before 5pm, and I checked into my hotel.  Once I got settled, I decided that I needed to run outside and check out Anchorage before it got dark.  Funny...it doesn't dark until after midnight.  I can prove it.  I took a picture!

What time do you think it is?  4pm?  Wrong!  I took that photo at 9:15 at night!  I know!

So, around 11pm, I decided to close the curtains; otherwise I'd never sleep.  Once I fooled myself into believing it was actually bedtime, I went to sleep.  And then I woke up at 5am--to bright sunlight.

On my first full day in Alaska, I met my fellow Tour Director Trainees, and we boarded the longest short flight I've ever been on in my entire life!  We flew from Anchorage to Juneau (because there are only two ways into Juneau--air or sea.  But rather than flying direct, we took the milk flight.  What's the milk flight?  Oh, you don't know?  It's the cargo flight that carries supplies to the towns between Anchorage and Juneau, so we stopped in two small towns on the way.  We boarded our flight at 2:45pm and landed in Juneau at 7:35.  A direct flight would have been one hour.  However, I did see some mountains along the way!

Once we arrived in Juneau, I ate King Crab and went to bed.  I know, I totally know how to live it up. But wait!  I had good reason.  We had to be awake at 4:45 in the morning!  Woo!!!

We boarded a coach, stopped to look at a glacier, then headed for the day ferry to Skagway.  It was beautiful!  Not only did I see a ton of gorgeous scenery (on what was apparently a rare sunny day), I also saw sea lions, a dolphin, and some orcas.  It was awesome.

After 5 1/2 hours of ferry riding, we landed in Skagway and were whisked into town (which took about 3 minutes, seeing as how the entire town is 1 mile long).  We wandered around, had a meeting, wandered some more, and then I went to sleep.  And here's a little picture from the ferry ride.

And that's my trip so far.

Yay.

I'll be snarky soon enough, don't worry.

Red Bull

Red Bull? On a plane?  Really?  Who thinks that's a good idea?