Page 25 of Tour Wars
By now, everyone had ordered an aperitivo—a refreshing pre-dinner cocktail meant to whet their appetites. They clustered in small groups, taking up most of the dark leather booths and armchairs in the dimly lit bar. At this stage, they were still strangers, but that would change after they spent the next ten days together touring Italy.
Emilia sipped her Pellegrino. Though she’d been tempted to order an Aperol spritz—tonight’s drink of choice—she wanted to pace herself since they’d be having wine with dinner. Under no circumstances could she drink too much and lose her inhibitions. TJ stood beside her, drinking a Coke. Like her, he’d changed out of the hideous red Buon Viaggio polo shirt into attire more suitable for an evening out. Just khakis and a dark green button-down, but they looked good on him. She was wearing one of her few decent outfits—an embroidered blue sundress topped with a cream-colored cardigan.
TJ set his drink on a nearby table and caught her eye. “Ready?”
A wave of nerves rolled over her. She’d met most of the group when they’d checked in earlier, but they’d all been so tired and travel-worn that she’d barely interacted with them. All she’d done was secure their room keys, hand out their welcome packets, and order their luggage sent up to their rooms. Now it was time for her to be a tourleader.
“You’re speaking first, right?” she asked.
“Naturally. I’ve got this.”
While she could have done without his smug attitude, she envied his self-confidence.
“Before I start, are you sure you don’t want to do an icebreaker with the group?” he said. “Something to kick-start the bonding process?”
“Absolutely not. No trust falls, no games, no improv.” The thought of engaging in a team-building exercise made her cringe. She hated forcing anyone out of their comfort zone.
To his credit, TJ didn’t argue. “Okay, then. I’ll just warm them up myself.”
“Thanks. Go for it.”
Without a hint of shame, he clambered onto a chair and called the group to attention with a whistle. “Buonasera, everyone! I’m so glad you arrived in one piece. I’m Dr. Theodore Joseph Mayer, Jr, but I go by TJ.” He gestured to Emilia. “This is my lovely co-leader, Dr. Flores, but you may call her Emilia. We’re archaeologists from the United States who’ve been working at Pompeii for the past three months. When we’re not digging up artifacts or studying ancient history, we love giving tours of the site. Lucky for you, Pompeii’s one of the stops on your itinerary, so we’ll get to tell you all about it.”
His cheerfulness appeared honest and unforced. All day, he’d maintained that level of enthusiasm, whereas Emilia had already gotten testy when one of the guests had complained about the size of his room. She’d been tempted to say, “Get over it, buddy. European hotel rooms are just smaller than American ones.” Instead, she’d apologized and begged the clerk to put the guy in a bigger room.
TJ continued. “Now that I have your attention, I need to share a little secret. This is the first time Emilia and I have ever managed a tour like this. Sure, we’ve done plenty of full-day tours at Pompeii, but we’ve never led a group for ten whole days. I know what you’re thinking. A couple of newbs, right?”
Emilia hadn’t asked him to address this issue, but she appreciated his decision to tackle it right away. At check-in, a few of the Buon Viaggio regulars had expressed their disappointment at Mateo’s absence.
“Here’s the thing,” TJ said. “Em and I might be new to this game, but it means we’ll be trying extra hard to create an exceptional experience for all of you.”
An older man spoke up. Giles Mangold, age seventy. A retired financier from New York. He and his wife, Irene, had traveled with Buon Viaggio twice before and were known for leaving detailed reviews. He was the type who docked hotels a whole star for the slightest misstep, like an elevator outage or a forgotten wake-up call.
“What happened to Mateo?” he asked. “I thought he was in charge. He did such a good job with our tour of Tuscany.”
Mrs. Mangold nodded. “Such a charming man. He told the most fascinating stories.”
“Sadly, Mateo suffered a hiking injury while leading a group up Mt. Etna,” TJ said. “He’s still not able to navigate stairs very well, so he’s out for another few weeks. Emilia and I will do our best to stand in for him. Not only will you learn a lot, but there will also be fabulous food and wine at every city we visit. I can’t wait to get started.” He gave a little bow, then focused his attention on Emilia. “Now, my partner is going to fill you in on a few of the details.”
When he reached down to offer his hand, she repressed a groan. Standing on a chair made her feel like a kid trying to get the attention of the grown-ups. But she couldn’t leave him hanging. She climbed onto the chair next to his.
Remember to smile. Act like you want to be here.
“Buonasera,” she said. “I just wanted to remind you that all the information you need, including the itinerary for our entire tour, is in the welcome packets we gave you at check-in. You also received your lanyards, which you should bring along for every excursion. Each day’s activities are listed in the itinerary, and they’re also on the Buon Viaggio app, if you chose to download it.”
“What if we don’t want to be glued to our phones?” demanded an older woman. Sylvie Galloway, age seventy-six. A wealthy owner of a gallery in New Mexico, clad in attire that screamed “upscale artsy.” Today’s ensemble included a dark green caftan and an exquisite, seven-strand turquoise necklace. “I hate how you need an app for everything these days.”
Her clique—three other women, all her age—nodded in solidarity. Emilia itched to remind them that apps weren’t a brand-new invention. Instead, she gave the four older women a knowing smile. “You’re in luck because all the information on the app is also in the welcome packet, which is printed on good old-fashioned paper.”
“If we need to get hold of you, what should we do?” Mrs. Mangold asked.
“We’ve listed our cell numbers at the top of the itinerary,” Emilia said. “You might want to enter them into your contacts now so that if one of us calls, you won’t think we’re a telemarketer asking if you’d like to refinance your mortgage.” For that, she got a few chuckles, which went a long way in boosting her confidence. “If you have any questions or wish to sit out an excursion, just let us know. You can call or text us at any time—day or night. I mean it.”
She didn’t. Not really. If she was asleep, she didn’t want to be woken by needy questions, but she was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.
TJ took over, giving a brief rundown of the evening’s dinner and the following day’s activities. “We’ll leave for the restaurant in fifteen minutes,” he said. “It’s a short walk from here—about three blocks. Any more questions?”
Davis McGowan raised his hand. Of all the guests on the tour, he was the easiest to recognize because of his travel videos. Tall and rangy with a deep tan and floppy blond hair, he looked like he belonged on a Malibu beach, though his profile listed him as being from New Jersey. “Are you two a couple?” he asked.
