By Carol Goddard

Over my adult life, I’ve traveled extensively, both in Australia and overseas.

My parents never had the desire to explore beyond Bondi. For them, our coastal suburb was enough. But not for me. As a child, I vowed to explore the world, and I’ve kept that promise.

Some of my travels have been serene and relaxing, but the majority have been adventurous, challenging, and often physically demanding. It’s these adventures that I treasure most. They’ve created memories that are special, unique, and occasionally very funny. Along the way, I’ve met extraordinary characters - many of them tour guides.

Gomel

Gomel in pink

I met Gomel in 1999 while trekking the Annapurna Circuit in Nepal. This simple, resilient man earned his living guiding tourists between Kathmandu and Pokhara. He spoke little, could have been 40 or 70 years old, and had only one hand.

Yet Gomel was intrepid. Trekking in Nepal, like living there, is not easy. Temperatures vary chaotically depending on elevation, and back then, guesthouses were scarce. We slept in tents, and the rugged Annapurnas offered no flat terrain. You were always either climbing up or descending steeply.

Gomel’s pace was steady, regardless of the incline. When I felt I couldn’t take another step, he was there, leading by example. His strength, resilience, and quiet determination inspired me to push on. Even now, when faced with a strenuous task, I think of him and “do a Gomel.”

Pierre

Pierre

Pierre, however, was a different story.

In the south of France, I joined a guided coastal walking tour marketed as a “not-to-be-missed culinary experience.” Our guide, Pierre, was supposed to take us to village markets, gather fine fare, and prepare a picnic for our group.

The group was diverse, ages ranged from mid-20s to mid-70s, with varying fitness levels. But Pierre seemed oblivious, charging ahead at breakneck speed. Those unable to keep up stumbled or slipped, though fortunately, no one was seriously hurt.

Pierre’s pace suggested he was training for a sporting event, perhaps speed walking or a marathon. Still, we anticipated the promised culinary highlight.

When the moment came, out of Pierre’s backpack emerged one baguette, a tiny amount of cheese and cold meat, and half a bottle of wine - meager rations for a dozen people. No olives, no macarons, no “culinary experience.” Disgruntled, we suspected Pierre had pocketed the food allowance. One wonders how long he kept his job.

Filippos

Filippos

Filippos was everything Pierre was not - caring, professional, and endearing.

I met him in Athens, where he guided our group to Crete and Santorini. A former dancer, Filippos emphasised frequent stretching during our hikes and took great care of us. He nicknamed my husband and me his “naughty children,” laughing at our antics. Being the only Australians in the group gave us an edge - tour guides seem to adore Aussies!

One unforgettable memory was our ferry ride from Crete to Santorini. The Aegean Sea was rough that day, and the journey lasted several hours. The ferry was filled with stylish travelers, families, and tourists. Strategically placed black plastic bags hinted at what lay ahead.

As the ferry pitched and rolled, seasickness overtook many passengers. The cacophony of retching, combined with the smell, was unforgettable. My husband, immune to seasickness, remained unfazed, while I relied on Zen techniques, focusing on the horizon and sucking a mint.

Poor Filippos wasn’t as fortunate. His green-tinged face peeked out from under his seat, where he lay curled in a near foetal position. Not even my offer of a mint could revive him until we reached Santorini. Once ashore, he recovered, and we laughed about the ordeal, continuing our adventure on dry land.

Mr Shand

Mr Shand

In Rajasthan, I encountered Mr Shand, a charismatic driver from Shimla at the base of the Himalayas. He chauffeured us in a rickety white Ambassador at breakneck speed, weaving through chaotic traffic with alarming confidence.

Whenever something outrageous occurred - which was often - he would throw up his hands and exclaim, “This is India!” Sweet and accommodating with us, he showed no mercy to anyone - or anything - that dared obstruct his path. His driving was terrifying but memorable.

Mr Driss

Finally, there was Mr Driss, who drove us through Morocco with charm and ingenuity. He somehow procured alcoholic beverages despite local restrictions, shared strong coffee, and introduced us to exotic shops brimming with rugs, spices, and beauty products.

Mr Driss often spoke of his very young wife and even taught me a few Arabic phrases. Where he spent his nights was a mystery, but every morning he appeared promptly, dressed impeccably in a fresh outfit. His sartorial elegance was matched only by his resourcefulness.

Travel creates great memories, and for me, the best ones involve people from cultures vastly different from my own. These fleeting encounters have left lasting impressions. There are countless more stories of tour guides I’ve met along the way, but those are tales for another day.