Mexico, Central & South America > Peru > Sacred Valley and Machu Picchu > Cuzco & Machu Picchu > Articles > The Tipping Point

I’m ashamed to admit that I recoiled when I first clapped eyes on the couple on my flight. They were part of the tour group I was about to join. The fluoro-orange World Expeditions luggage tags were the brightest things about the pair who had a faded, mid-fifties look. It didn’t help that they wore matching stone-coloured travel shirts, pants and hats. And they were – god forbid – as affectionate as newly weds.

So this is what other tourists are like, I thought. I’d been on a group tour once 10 years ago. The other tourists were English and disdainful and unfriendly. This couple were Australian and looked as bouncy as rabbits. Cue enough for me to be disdainful and unfriendly.

I hid my luggage tag, hung back from the baggage claim area until they’d got their bags and then once I’d located mine looked for the tour representative. My stalling tactics worked brilliantly. They’d gone on without me and now here I was alone at Lima airport at midnight. It took 90 minutes before another tour representative meeting the next flight found me, tired and bewildered, happy to flash my luggage tag at anyone who might recognize it. I should have taken this as a sign.

We met the rest of the group the next day and Marilyn and Gavin (even their names rhymed) fitted in straight away. They were garulous. They were bouncy. And they were still as affectionate as newly weds even though they’d been married for 25 years. Disdainful turned to bitter.

But not when it came to the Worlds Expeditions trip. We were poured seamlessly from one tourist site to another, had laundry dispatched at just the right moment, rest when we needed it and a guide who can only be described as born to the job. When looking for a tour guide always pick one from a household of women. Jose Lugarte had the long-suffering demeanor of a man who’d waited outside a lot of dress shops.

He introduced us to stones, stones and more Inca stones, all of which were just a warm-up for the apex of Inca stone sites – Machu Picchu - after a four day hike. Marilyn and Gavin were still in the thick of things taking copious notes, hundreds of pix (while Gavin spoke into the camera saying when and where he’d taken the image) and constantly practicing Spanish phrases they’d seen. On the hike they were reliably ahead of the pack and their dial was permanently on sunny. “Why does she always moan?” I heard Marilyn ask about me.

Because it cheers me up, I would have told her. Unlike them the altitude, floored me and I was almost always last. Which is not to say I didn’t appreciate the scenery. It was huge, it was magnificent, it was colossal, unsubtle and deafening. Massive mountains, enormous passes, screamingly blue sky and weather which was either freezing or frying.

Though the 22 porters for our group of 14 did the bulk of the work carrying our gear, putting up tents, toilets and cooking meals, most of us found the walk a challenge.

One thing about group tours though is that there are no surprises. Thorough trip notes suggested we tip the porters $US30 each unless we were dissatisfied with their work because, as the notes stated, tipping is voluntary. We soon realised we wouldn’t be here without them and that the word ‘voluntary’ doesn’t really mean you can say ‘no.’ On the final night we agreed to tip $US30 each.

There was to be a ceremony the next morning where, after a few speeches, we handed over the money to the porters. But at breakfast there was disturbing news. We were short. Quite a lot short. The quiet English woman who collected the money was in no doubt. “It was your envelope that was short, Marilyn and Gavin. I don’t want to say by how much.”

The stunned silence lasted a nano-second before Marilyn spat back. “It was not. I put in more. And I don’t appreciate being singled out in public in this manner.” The woman simply said “I opened the envelopes, Marilyn. I saw what you put in.” Someone else said, “So that explains the restaurant”, a reference to a group meal where the bill was also short.

The revelation cast a pall over the group as people digested the news and adjusted their responses.

From then on Marilyn and Gavin were effectively ostracised. No one sat with them at breakfast. No one chatted to them in the bus. No one walked with them. Doubtless this was painful, but to look at the couple you’d never know. They still had each other. They held hands, laughed together and kept taking photos and notes.

Somehow it was worse for us. It niggled and we worried at it endlessly, speculating on why and how much and what would happen next. As the days passed I couldn’t help but notice that our own tipping diminished. We gave less or not at all. Previously generous folk were now quite stingy. By the time it came to the last day no one was much interested in a group donation to the brilliant guide who’d been with us from the start. No they said. Tipping is voluntary.

So the final meal felt awkward. It should have been an occasion. It required speeches and a gift. Someone clinked their spoon against a glass. We all turned to see Marilyn rise, speech in hand, Gavin next to her with a bulging envelope.

Articles

• More from Yvonne Van Dongen