Lutz is FINALLY off our cook crew… though honestly, he never really did anything anyway. With the departure of Jeff and Caroline, crews needed to be swapped around… which meant we lost dead weight. Bye, Lutz.
The other night when he was grumbling about having to do cook crew, I told him that if he didn’t want to participate, perhaps he could clean the truck instead. Not once had he shown up for our ‘clean crew,’ so I thought that might be a reasonable compromise.
I thought so…
He proceeded to inform me that he “always” cleans the truck. Hmmmmm…. I must “always” be off doing something else… or “always” sleeping, because I’ve never seen that. I “always” see him playing with his tongue… yet rarely cleaning.
But… he’s 84, so we let it go. He can sit around, sleep, play with his tongue, never cook and “always” clean. No skin off my nose.
He’s been moved on to the team with Graham and Karen. That should be interesting. Cannot wait to complain about that meal…
Watch out, Karen.
I’m coming…
Of course, there are many things about this tour that I don’t necessary mention as we’re rolling down the highway. By now, I’m well-acquainted with most of the quirks, though every so often, something new and unexpected pops up… and I’m temporarily blindsided.
Mr. Bean sits there, muttering to himself, his big lips flapping away. Persnickety whines about everything to whoever is within ear shot, her slow & moronic voice droning… as she repeats herself incessantly. Then there’s Lutz and his tongue… like an enormous great slug on an exploratory journey through his mouth… and beyond. While he’s playing with his tongue, he’s usually watching random videos on his iPad… volume up. For as long as I live, I will never understand why people don’t think this is wrong… or rude. I’m always tempted to turn on videos or music on my phone (full blast) to counteract the disrespect, but so far, have not mustered up the nerve.
Sue moves through the bus, snapping pictures of random birds flying by. She’ll scream out what bird she thinks it is (or isn’t), as if we’re all supposed to share the interest. Birders are a strange breed. Meanwhile, Mr. Meat sits at the back, quietly muttering commentary about everything that’s happening. And Mickey? She’s always at the front… glued to her beloved guides, ready to reprimand the rest of us and keep us in line if she deems it necessary. It’s like she’s deputized herself as the bus police, watching over us with a smug sense of duty.
“You people!”
Ya… us people.
Rosanna’s birthday is on Boxing Day and Mickey has been running making all these secret and very, very serious plans… though I’ve yet to see anything besides a homemade card. Like back in junior high, she sent around a folded up note written on a ripped piece of cigarette package the other day. Written on it was something along the lines of, “make a video of yourself wishing Rosanna a Happy Birthday and then send it to Martin’s email or WhatsApp.”
Well… someone didn’t read the room.
Wtf? The majority of people on our bus are over 70 or not tech-savey … or don’t speak English well. This video was already a recipe for disaster, so I turned to Mickey and did what I do best… offered up my time, my patience, my creativity and my skills to not only personally go around and video everyone saying Happy Birthday, but also compose the entire video.
After my benevolent offer, the conversation went something like this…
“You just do it then, if you want to do it.”
If I want to?? There wasn’t even a hint of gratitude or the teeniest tiniest bit of relief at having a significant creative burden lifted off one’s shoulders… no joy whatsoever.
“I don’t necessarily WANT to do it… I’m just offering because I don’t think the majority of this crew will be able to get this done on their own.”
“Ok… then if you want to do it, you can.”
“Again… I don’t WANT to do it, I’m offering as a courtesy.”
“Ok… just ask Martin if he wants you to do it all.”
Wow.
Enough said.
I was out…
“You know… I’m good. I have enough to do.”
Mic drop…
It’s true.
I already have plenty on my plate with writing and editing my blog, taking photos, creating videos, posting on various social media platforms… all while trying to soak in the view of new horizons, explore new countries… and… of course… sit, relax and do absolutely nothing.
Ya… I’m good.
Persnickety made the catastrophic mistake of mentioning Rosanna’s upcoming birthday, much to Mickey’s dismay. As soon as Rosanna was out of earshot, Mickey issued a stern reprimand to the entire group, “Listen up, PEOPLE! No one is to mention Rosanna’s birthday ever again. DO YOU HEAR ME?”
Ugh… get me outta here.
I think I’ve mentioned the disgusting habit the Geisha has of burping and farting in public, usually right in front of us. I might be able to tolerate it, somewhat, if he showed even a shred of common courtesy afterwards. A simple “excuse me” goes a long way. But no… manners are foreign.
Karen burps a lot too.
A LOT.
At least she follows up with a “pardon me” after each belch.
The burping and farting, though revolting, aren’t even the worst of it. The real issue is the Geisha’s constant hacking up of phlegm. Imagine a grown man openly spewing up throat snot… in public. How rude. You’d think after over 60 years on this planet, he’d have learned some appropriate behaviour.
Yet, here we are.
Every time he does it, I feel like saying something… it’s that revolting. It shakes us to the core with sheer disgust. My facial expression says it all, but I think it’s time someone actually speaks up. Maybe that someone should be me.
Maybe not.
That usually gets me into even more trouble than I bargained for.
It might be hard to picture, but imagine a pompous, large, Trump-supporting gay man flouncing through camp, his shorts riding up and bunching at the crotch, all while loudly hacking up snot balls. As surreal as it sounds, it’s my reality.
All true.
Not fake news.
Vic and Tania are… fine, I suppose, but as I’ve mentioned before, they have a tendency to be quite snarky. The other morning at breakfast, I had barely stepped into the restaurant when Vic was right in my face, jokingly accusing me of being inconsistent with my enthusiasm for the tour.
“Am I not cheerful and positive enough for you, Vic?” I asked, barely concealing my annoyance. I was not impressed.
Cue the awkward backpedaling. He stumbled over his words, trying to explain that he hadn’t meant it as an insult. No, apparently, according to him… he and Tania just never know whether I’m on the verge of leaving the tour or not.
Right, Vic, let’s set the record straight… every single day on this tour is a bad one, and every single day I consider leaving. Clear enough for you?
Lesson learned… keep my distance and be mindful of what I say around them, though I don’t really think I’ve said anything at all to them. I haven’t really said anything to anybody… especially about leaving the tour. Sounds like someone’s been sneaking a peek at my blog…
Eeeeeekkkk…
Meh… whatever.
Everyone is odd… even Kind Brian, to a certain extent. I overheard him speaking to someone the other day, proudly declaring something along the lines of, “I’m an American citizen, and I’ll do whatever I want.”
Americans.
Where does this overblown sense of entitlement even come from? It’s been obvious throughout this tour, with all of them. Mr. Meat will cross streets, ride escalators, stand in lines… gesturing like he’s directing traffic… all while proudly and loudly announcing, “V.I.P. here! American citizen! I’m an American citizen!”
Ya… the self-proclaimed V.I.P. who discards half his food across the table and steals fruit by stuffing it down his pants.
The Geisha has a habit of inserting himself into every conversation to remind everyone of America’s role in freeing, rebuilding, restructuring, financing, fighting for or saving others… it’s exhausting. He talks as if he’s personally been on the front lines every single time.
Kind Brian is another one who’s considered leaving the tour on numerous occasions. He refers to it as the “crazy train.” He’s never been much for group travel… to the point where he’s so determined to not be a “sheep,” that he ends up missing out on genuinely fun and unique experiences. He skipped the camel races, just because he refuses to do anything that makes him feel like a clone. Alright, Kind Brian… congrats on being original… I guess.
Meanwhile, I find myself checking flights every day… followed by my bank account.
Foiled again.
I’m stuck with these people.
And to top it all off, the entire truck reeks of bad body odor. I considered purchasing deodorant for everyone as a Christmas present…
“Use it if you need it!”
… but decided against it…
On my final day in Kuwait City, I decided I was just going to walk. I had this itch to escape…from people and plans. I didn’t have any idea of what I wanted to see or do, but I figured if I just set out, the day would unfold. I was perfectly happy being alone today.
At breakfast that morning, I sat with Graham, who mentioned he had no plans for the day. On a whim, I invited him to join me. My assumption? He’d walk with me along the Corniche to the Kuwait Towers… and then head back, leaving me to explore the rest of the day solo.
Everything was still going according to plan.
After I’d eaten, I returned to the room I was sharing with Rebeka. She asked about my plans for the day and I mentioned the walk with Graham. Just like that… I was blindsided… she decided she was coming with us.
Oh.
Okay.
Brilliant.
Within 15 minutes, I went from having a solo day to being a tour guide for two. Even Rosanna asked me, “How did that happen?”
Good question.
We started along the Corniche, heading toward the iconic Kuwait Towers. It was quite lovely meandering along the winding paths, parks and beaches of the Kuwait Arabian Gulf.
Rebeka struggled to keep up… as usual… lumbering a few metres back… but Graham and I kept pace, swapping complaints about Persnickety. Along the way, we fed some stray cats, strolled the pier… and eventually made it to the base of the Towers. No one was particularly interested in going up, so we took a ton of photos.
Then came the inevitable awkward pause.
“Bye!” I wanted to holler out, wave and move on with my day… but I didn’t.
What now?
The answer was simple… they were following me. Hmmmmm… I let them know I planned to keep walking and they both agreed to tag along. I had marked a few spots on my map, starting with the Marina. My original plan was to pop into the Souq Marina for some Christmas shopping, but that idea was quickly scrapped. Neither of them wanted to go in. We took a few photos and moved on.
The next stop on Joanna’s walking tour of Kuwait City was the Grand Mosque. Graham was firm about not wanting to go inside. I had brought the appropriate attire and scarf, just in case, but wasn’t particularly fussed either way.
When Rebeka caught up with us, she seemed puzzled as to whywe weren’t going in… and asked when we’d be coming back to go inside. I assured her she was welcome to stay and explore if she wanted. We would keep walking. She looked utterly disappointed but decided to stick with us, saying she’d come back later.
At that moment, I realized this casual “walking tour” was sliding from frustrating to dreadful. I hadn’t signed up for a guilt trip. My philosophy on the road is: If you want to do something, just do it.
The next destination was the Al Mubarakiya Souq, about 20 minutes from the Grand Mosque. Graham and Rebekah trailed along behind me… and when we finally arrived at our destination, it turned out to be more of an open-air, alleyway mall than a traditional souq. I felt guilty for dragging them both here.
While I love to shop and had Christmas shopping to do, it was clear neither of them wanted to be there. They insisted it was “fine,” but the vibe was awkward, and their discomfort made the whole experience… miserable.
I just wanted to send them back to the hotel so I could shop and explore in peace, but that proved impossible. Every time I suggested Graham take a cab, he’d insist he was fine walking back… but what he meant was walking back with me. The trouble was, I wasn’t walking back right away. So he had no intention of leaving until I was ready to head back.
Christmas shopping and personal day excursion: Abolished.
Commence: Nightmare.
Rebeka wasn’t much better. She kept insisting she was “fine”to shop… but she wasn’t shopping and it was obvious she wasn’t enjoying it. I made a few attempts to persuade her back to the Grand Mosque… but all I got in return was, “I’ll just stick with you.”
I was trapped.
After what felt like an eternity, I finally managed to put Graham into a taxi… and then, after another hour of Rebeka, I convinced her to go her own way.
Finally. I was free!
Exactly how I like it.
Exactly how I wanted it.
I managed to (almost) finish my Christmas shopping. I drew Denise for Secret Santa… awkward. If I thought she wasn’t speaking to me before, I was sadly mistaken. The silent treatment continues. Fun times on the fun bus… in the fun, dry country…
If I’d gotten Karen for Secret Santa, I’d have gifted her instant porridge… and her very own pot.
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