Captain Adrian

For the 44 Indians on a 13-day UK-Ireland Group Tour the Tour Operator had hired a 55-seater Mercedes Benz piloted by two Coach Captains - Mr Craig for the London-Manchester leg, and Mr Gibbons for the remainder of the trip - who were as different as apple from coconut. Craig welcomed each guest including the kids with a smile and his signature greeting: Good Morning, don’t enter my coach without a smile. Keep smiling all through the day, that’s the best way to make the most of your holiday.

Very sensible advice. Why feel grouchy about trifling matters like the unpredictable English weather, CC’s strict punctuality and ‘No food inside the coach’ rules, and spoil the holiday mood?

Adrian Gibbons was nearly seven feet tall with the solid build of a star footballer, large tattoos on both his forearms, a bald head, and an inscrutable face that revealed little about what was going on in his mind. He could have been a fearsome bouncer before he became a Coach Captain. If one were to see this frowning bull-dozer of a man approaching on a lonely street, a most natural response would be to quickly step aside or even better, turn back and run.

He spoke little, smiled less, and even the Tour Manger (Jayesh Mhatre, a Marathi manus from Mumbai) despite his 25 years of experience of European Group Tours struggled to make sense of his brief, matter-of-fact, business-like announcements in a heavy Welsh accent. Adrian opened his mouth on a strict need-to-speak basis, focused on his driving, and was an excellent driver.

‘Reaching in five minutes, Dublin Sea Point Beach, our last photo-stop for the day,’ announced the Tour Manager.

After a visit to the sprawling and sombre Titanic Museum at Belfast, the tourists had driven for more than two hours through rain to reach Dublin in the evening.

‘Please hurry. No coach is allowed to stop here but Coach Captain has made an exception owing to the bad weather.

There is a light drizzle and a strong wind, so please take your umbrellas and raincoats. Those who do not wish to get down may stay in the bus which will wait in the Parking Lot and return at the assigned time to pick up those who got down. Halt here is for 20 minutes only, enough time to click a few photos.’

The weather was rather nasty, not unusual for spring in Dublin. The sky was a darkening grey, the wind whistled menacingly, tall waves crashed angrily on the concrete blocks dumped on the shoreline to prevent the sea from devouring the promenade. The beach front was forlorn except for the determined few of this group of Indian holidayers who wanted full value for their money. Stepping out of the bus they unfurled their umbrellas and the skimpy, portable Chinese umbrellas immediately turned turtle. The poor visibility did not deter the determined photo-shooters including the bubbly couple with the selfie-stick, but they got only hazy shots.

Before the bus could drive off to the Parking Lot, the few tourists who had stepped down got a little soaked and hurried back to the bus. A senior-citizen couple at a little distance was also returning to the bus. The Coach Captain, usually reticent, spoke agitatedly, ‘Please hurry. I am not permitted to stop here.’ He had already risked a parking ticket. There was no policeman, but the cameras were at their job.

Tour Manager hailed the couple to hurry and board the bus. The rather brief stop much upset a gentleman in his forties who spoke sharply to the Tour Manager,

‘What non-sense is this, why are you asking us to hurry back? Didn’t you say this stop was for 20 minutes? Why change the plan?’

‘Sir, I did NOT change the plan. All who had got down returned immediately owing to the bad weather. Should you and your family wish to enjoy a further stroll on the sea-front, you are most welcome; the coach would wait at the Parking Lot and pick you back at the agreed time. All the Coach Captain is saying is that he cannot park HERE.’

The gentleman was infuriated. The visit to the Titanic Museum at Belfast earlier in the day, the long drive from Belfast to Dublin through rain and haze, and the gloomy weather could have had something to do with the tourist’s irascibility. Maybe, he was yet to get over the shock from losing all his credit cards and cash on Day 1 of the trip. While he merrily shot photos of his wife and daughter in front of the crowded Buckingham Palace, his wife had been quietly relieved of her purse by a pickpocket.

He raised his voice a pitch higher, and further harangued the Tour Manager. A few bitter remarks were exchanged. Since the gentleman and the Tour Manager were still standing, the Coach Captain could not drive the coach.

‘Please be seated,’ requested the hapless Tour Manager, but the gentleman seemed determined not to take his seat till the TM’s explanation along with apology was to his satisfaction. He stood near his seat at the back of the coach and gesticulated at the TM upon which the latter rushed towards the tourist, whether to get him to take his seat or to engage in a fist-fight was not clear.

Before TM could reach the gentleman tourist, the coach reverberated with a stern, stentorian voice not unlike a heavy metal ball being dragged on an uneven stony surface and the tourists found the front of the bus filled with the towering frame of Adrian Gibbons, looking like an alpha gorilla male thumping his chest.

‘I am the Coach Captain, and I won’t permit any nasty occurrence in my coach. Gentleman at the back, please take your seat. Tour Manager, please return to your seat. Fasten your seat-belts since I am driving off in a minute.’

Gibbon’s thunderous command had been so effective that no one opened their mouths again except to eat the buffet dinner at the designated Indian restaurant later in the evening.

The minor mutiny had been quelled with an iron hand by Adrian, Coach Captain and Boss, and for this once no Indian resented the foreign hand!

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