Travel Tragedy

There was a time when overseas travel was something very special. Growing up in the 60's, my grandfather had just retired and as a seasoned traveller he and my grandmother embarked on a series of adventures commencing with a round the world tour, followed by a series shorter trips to exotic locations. I would categorise my grandparents as being from the twinset and pearls generation and it seemed as if they were both members of some exclusive club which was all very hush hush. I am sure that my grandfather would have played up to this ideal to please me. Everything was conducted in the utmost secret, and he would tell me that he had to go to a meeting with Mr. Cook in London. I didn't know who P & O or Cunard were then, I supposed them to be spies or some high ranking official in the Foreign Office. Eventually I would be told details of their planned excursion and would look forward to the numerous cards and letters that would be sent from each location along the journey. It is a sign of the times that even the service in those days was part of the grand experience. Each booking seemed to come with its own set of baggage labels, stickers, itinerary and telegrams of confirmation. 

 

Maybe there were local travel agents in the 60's, but I can't recall seeing any, all I can remember is that my grandfather made a big thing of his trips to London to book his holidays. There was no internet in those days, package holidays were just taking off, destinations were limited as were the modes of transport.

In the course of my work I have recently had need to visit one of the hundreds of Thomas Cook outlets and I couldn't help wondering what my grandfather would have made of the experience in their modern stores. The impression I have always held of the company is of one of the elder statesmen of the travel industry, slightly staid and formal with a strong sense of tradition.

I guess I inherited the travel bug from my grandparents and generally use the internet to choose and book trips abroad. On the rare occasions that I have used a travel agent I liked the pictures of palm trees, sandy beaches, exotic locations and cruise ships floating majestically into the sunset. Personally I find that the modern travel agent is rather depressing, less photos of exotic foreign landmarks and cities, more mural displays of cocktails, bikini clad models with unbelievably white teeth, kids on waterslides and empty deckchairs posed by pretentious photographers. Even the Thomas Cook logo has been given a makeover – I think they have tried to copy the heart-shaped symbolism that is the current vogue, unfortunately it looks more like a golden urinal.

Maybe I just have an aversion to shopping, or perhaps it is the sales patter I find irritating, (I am not saying that the travel industry is any better or worse than countless other service industries) nothing raises my hackles more than the predatory approach of some shop staff sizing someone's budget up as soon as they walk through the door, the piped music being drowned out by the whirring of cogs as they try to mentally calculate how much your potential custom would contribute towards their weekly sales target.

You don't have to be a maths professor to realise that a great many of the travel agencies are offering virtually identical packages to the same resorts, which can be annoying when looking for that special deal but can be a godsend if you can only travel on certain days. I happened to be working in Bridgend and there must have been 8 to 10 travel agencies in the small Welsh town, at least 5 within 200 yards of each other. I have nothing against competition but when does this become overkill? Maybe I am mistaken but I was under the impression that Bridgend was one of the most deprived areas of the country, where does all the money come from to support this many travel companies?

Returning to the golden age of travel, even if you had only booked a weekend in Bognor you walked out of the shop feeling as if you had purchased a passage on the Orient Express. Sadly, these days, you can book the most luxurious trip to far flung destinations and come away feeling as if you have booked your place on a cattle transporter. Maybe the popularisation and availability of global travel has taken the sparkle off the process or maybe it is the price we have to pay for cheap travel.

There was a time when a map of the world was a staple fixture in any travel agent, I can't remember the last time I ever saw one on display in any agency, which is a shame. It begs the question, do the staff have any idea where they are sending their customers or are we all just numbers filling vacant slots.

Perhaps the dumbing down in the stores is inevitable, for decades the Summer school holiday period has been the cash cow for the travel industry, so it should not come as a surprise to see plastic inflatable planes, buckets and spades and cutouts of Disney characters given pride of place in these stores. The sad fact is that more often when I visit a stores, irrespective of brand, it is usually populated by a stream of pensioners looking for a winter break or booking trips to see relatives who have relocated abroad and the odd couple who popped in just to get out of the cold.

It is a sign of the times we live in that no business ever has enough staff to satisfy demand, such is the need to keep shareholders satisfied that the paying public is expected to wait for almost everything. Hence I found myself looking along the racks of brochures, playing countdown with 'Reykavik' and wondering where Burkina Faso is. I had to chuckle at one glossy brochure that caught my eye, just because it was so out of keeping with the rest. It was a brochure for a coach travel company with a simple photo of what I imagine is the flagship of their fleet on the front cover. A bright red monster coach with curves in places that would give an aerodynamics tester a seizure. The smiling driver clearly enjoyed the unconventional design though I couldn't imagine anything worse than travelling around Europe on what, to me, looked like a suped-up dust-cart.

Ultimately my days work was enhanced by the thought that it is now a matter of weeks before my wife and I will be off on our annual sojourn to the sun. There is a certain mischievous glee I will be packing in my suitcase this year knowing that there are usually a great many Scots tourists who frequent this country. Over the years there have been a number of late night debates about the perceived injustices throughout history. Having had to suffer the interminable blow-by-blow debate regarding the independence of Scotland for the past year or more I will be able to sit on the sidelines and listen to the jingoistic slurs in the knowledge that the Scots will in future get what they voted for (whichever way it goes) not that it will stop them from moaning about something or other.