CHAPTER TWO Ooh! Ahh! Cantinaar!

Three weeks later I found myself having undergone two rather grueling interviews, taken a train journey to Durham, and in my first placement as an “Overseas Holiday Representative. “Strange?” you might think. “It might be the North of England, but it certainly isn’t overseas.” Well, this was my training. If I could survive three weeks with changing groups of over-sixties plus, I must be able to do the job. Then would come the real thing, distant lands.
Well, I did survive and, not only that but surpassed. Those three weeks showed me the true value of life. I was a holiday guide for groups of people who had so much experience in all the things good and bad in life. One eighty five year old lady was passionate about Manchester United, “OOH! AHH! CANTINAAR!!!” She would cheer after a few beers, proudly showing off her red and white stripped rinse. “Come on you Reds!!!” My particular favorite was a seventy year old “superstar”, who could hardly walk but when the band played a waltz she was Ginger Rogers with Fred Astaire. These are only two examples of the range of personalities I mixed with in Durham, an older age who knew how to enjoy themselves and whose personalities overflowed. Where did they get the energy? I was the one who went to bed shattered every night. Bingo and line dancing, mystery walks and karaoke, what would I think of for them to do next? As each week came to an end and the groups would go home I would feel sad. I felt as though I was losing a surrogate mother or father.
I had forgotten my agenda but my address book was rapidly filling up. In just three weeks I had learnt so much. Now I didn’t just have a job but a “way of life.” Not a sales target in sight.
Well, that was how it all started. That was my initiation into the world of “repping.” My three weeks over I now must eagerly await the letter, my
placement for the next ten months. “I wonder which part of France it will be.
Spain is such a lovely place but it is not France. You can imagine my consternation when the letter arrived. I discovered that for the next ten months my home was going to be a small seaside resort in Southern Spain. They had employed me because I spoke French and then sent me to a totally different Country. Still, “What the heck! Another new adventure!”
I arrived at Malaga airport at 05.00 feeling somewhat punch drunk and tired. My friends who talk about pigs in the pub had given me a send off to remember and, as I waved through check-in at Manchester, I promised to send endless amounts of postcards and keep in touch regularly. I must admit I felt rather alien walking into arrivals, not knowing whether I would be met or really where I was going. I had studied the library guidebooks but no one seemed to have heard of Almunicar, not in the UK anyway. The airport seemed huge with only what can be described as a lot of Spanish people milling around. “Please let there be a friendly face!”
As I ran the gauntlet of “You want Rentacar” men I finally saw my name held high. It was Garth. He was with me on the training course so; at least, there would be someone I knew. He quickly shuffled me to the nearest coffee shop and, thankfully, did the ordering in what to me seemed very good Spanish.
Explaining that he had been there for three days already, I began to feel slightly relieved as he ran through our programme for the next week.
The journey from airport to resort seemed endless. My first experience of local taxi drivers guaranteed that I stayed awake even though my eyes wanted otherwise. We followed winding coastal roads, Garth giving a running commentary as we passed through the quaint villages. Looking out the taxi window I found myself muttering “One small step for mankind, one giant step…..” How did that phrase go? Did Neil Armstrong really feel like this? It was 8.30 by the time I closed the bedroom door, having agreed to meet Garth and David, he was to be my new boss, at 10.30. As I lay on the bed my mind was in a swirl. I dozed off wondering if I had done the right thing.
Walking into the dining room later that morning I realized how honeymooners must feel as, self-consciously, eyes followed me to my table. Phrase book in hand, I pretended to know what I was doing as I glanced down the breakfast menu, decided to be simple and just took the croissants and coffee. “Gracias.” I had just spoken my first Spanish.” This language isn’t too bad.” All I had to do was meet David.
“The guests don’t arrive for two weeks.” David explained. I don’t know if he had got the wrong impression but he seemed to think I knew what I was doing. “They’ve never had British here before so we have two weeks to get everything ready.” “Here’s your map! Go out and get to know the town! Garth will show you around.”
Well, that was a challenge. Now I was to “boldly go where no Welshman had gone before.” None of the restaurants or bars had English menus. In fact, no one seemed to speak a word of English. Garth and myself were designated the gigantic task of changing everything in the hope that they would be welcoming. Actually we were quite successful. People were very friendly, especially when they saw the extra pesetas to be made. We did see some amazing sights appear on the menus. “Grilled Stack and Friend Egg” made us wonder what exactly they were going to offer our adventurous Brits. One day I ordered a cup of tea with milk and was proudly presented with a glass of hot milk with a teabag floating in it. Maybe this was a Spanish tradition?
By the end of the first week I pretty well knew my way around the town. In deed some of the locals had taken on the role of being our best friends. I realized that I was actually enjoying myself and began to wonder
why I hadn’t thought of this before. I felt a strange buzz out of being amongst the only Brits amidst a field of Real Madrid and Barcelona supporters. Now all we had to do was get two hundred and fifty guests to the hotel in one piece.
Well, the first arrival day went without any hiccups. We didn’t lose any bags, and more important, all of the guests managed to check-in without a hitch. The next big step was the Welcome Get Together. I had done many a sales presentation in the past. But to be confronted by two hundred and fifty over sixties seated in a room was somewhat daunting. Every one of them had their own expectations and they all had to be pleased. They were all seasoned travelers, so would they realize that this was my first time? I took what I thought would be the easy way out. David and Garth would conduct the meeting. I would take them all later, in small groups, on what we decided to call “a resort walk.” At least this way I stood a good chance of getting to know them. Show them around the town, give some information, throw in a few jokes and that should be it. Finishing the walk off in a bar should break the ice. What I hadn’t worked out was that those who weren’t happy would use this opportunity to air their grievances rather than wait to see David and Garth at the end of their meeting. At first I was a bit flummoxed but time and experience soon told me how to handle this. I was a spy working behind the lines, gathering the information, and staying one step ahead. “I will take that on board.” Became the phrase and later my colleagues and myself would sort things out.