Every job in the world has its perks … and its lurks; the butcher
is a legally sanctioned killing machine who gets to walk around all day with a lethal
weapon at his hip … but spends his days up to his nuts in guts; the baker makes
tonnes of dough*, but is up at 1am and covered in flour; the candlestick maker does
a roaring trade each year during Earth Hour … but has hands covered in burns;
the primary school teacher get 38.4 weeks a year holiday … but those bloody kids;
and the podiatrist gets around in a Maserati with a hooker on his lap … but suffers
a daily ordeal of toe-jam and horny old nails.
Obviously, in business as in life, there’s no such thing as
a free lunch, and in order to enjoy the good, you have to put up with a bit of
the bad.
Here in Vanuatu, the good is most certainly the fantastic
climate, the laid-back pace, the wonderful people and the brilliant, sparkling
sea, and understandably it is not uncommon for adventurous folk from places
like Australia and New Zealand to move here and sign-up for an extended,
working tropical holiday through managing small scale tourism businesses such
as resorts and restaurants.
Over Easter, the Donkeys visited one such establishment
where a young couple taking a break from a year or two on the backpacking
trail, had recently arrived to service the needs of their fellow travellers,
and at the same time, enjoy living on a stunning coastline in one of the world’s
few remaining tropical coastal wildernesses.
But instead of being happy with the perks they enjoy every
day, at three weeks, they are at each other’s (and their resort guests’) throats;
he wanting to hang-out all afternoon with the young [and female] guests and she
wanting to visit the local tourist sites because, as she would tell all within
earshot, “it’s not fair. I have been
here for weeks and I never get to go anywhere”.
Every job has its perks, people … and its lurks. The explosive sunrises, azure reefs and balmy
evenings aren’t free; you might also have to do some work, like stock the
larders, fix things, clean things and look after guests. One thing’s for sure, as someone who paid for
my explosive sunrises, azure reefs and balmy evenings, I was not entirely happy
with the nagging lurk of a disgruntled and dysfunctional resort
management.
Still, life has a way of working itself out, and looking
around at the haunted looks of my fellow guests every time one of these
managers walked out onto the balcony, I have a feeling that they may soon find
themselves enjoying far more ‘me time’ than they’d signed-up for. It’s called hospitality for a reason … and it
aint about you!
Bit of a mixed metaphor here, but the point is that even
these guys suffer lurks in return for the perks of their jobs … and they don’t
look to be complaining. Pic: http://www.robertabaird.com
*urgh – that was terrible
