What would you say if you were a penniless student, resigned to working through the summer in a sweltering Manhattan kitchen, when someone rang up and asked if you'd like to become a guide to a national monument. You'd jump at it, wouldn't you? asks John G O'Dwyer
An entire summer hanging out on the Rock of Cashel, masquerading as an expert on ancient history, meeting all the college girls a twenty-something could dream of - and getting paid for your troubles.
Maybe deep down I knew such fantasies were unrealistic, but my first site tour wasn't the departure point I'd expected either. From Philadelphia, they came puffing up the hill - a portly, middle-aged group clad mostly in shorts, green trousers and plastic jackets. When they could breathe again, they wanted to know why Ireland's premier tourist attraction was in such an inaccessible location - "every visitor centre stateside would be designed with access in mind". I ventured something about the defensive advantages of a hilltop location when Vikings were lurking in the plains below, but they thought a tramway from the bus park would be "just great".
The tour began. I talked of Hiberno-Romanesque churches, Celtic art and high Gothic cathedrals. They wanted to know why Irish kids wore school uniforms, when the British were going to get out of Ireland, and how was it that people didn't get Aids from kissing the Blarney Stone? When I couldn't answer any of these questions I felt I was losing them. They listened to the remainder of the tour in polite silence, but at the end I knew they were disappointed.
In time I got better at it, of course. I came to realise that visitors from Europe liked unblemished historic facts - "Yes, ze round tower is very pretty, but you veel please explain exactly vot it vas for." For those from across the Atlantic, however, stories worked better. My salvation on many an otherwise unprepossessing tour came in the unlikely form of one Bishop Miler McGrath - a long-lived and reputedly much married cleric, who managed to rule simultaneously over the Protestant diocese of Cashel and the Catholic diocese of Down.
The adroit Miler was probably not excessive by the standards of his time, but somewhere along the way he earned the sobriquet "scoundrel of Cashel". And so, as the convenient local fall guy, he proved an invaluable asset. When standing next to his tomb, I could always exploit his unconventional lifestyle for a laugh, especially if tales of his fecundity were embellished to feature five wives and 20 children.
Generally, however, my enthusiasm for guiding marched well ahead of my ability. The heights of accomplishment were the exclusive preserve of the imperious national tour guides who descended in immaculate attire from pristine coaches. These were the true aristocrats of the industry and they knew every trick in the tour-guiding book. How to give an unnoticed nod to a hotel manager when a favourite client sought that room with the lake view. When to slip a discreet fiver, unnoticed in a handshake, to the maître d' and guarantee preferential restaurant service.
And, of course, they were experts on the tastiest eateries, the best-value shops, the nicest hotels and even the Rock of Cashel guides who gave the most interesting tours. And if you failed to live up to these exacting standards, they would very quickly join in with a "clarification" and put you to shame with their encyclopaedic knowledge of what you had just struggled to explain.
Later, when working full-time in the tourist industry, I came to know many of the tour guides much better. It was only then that I realised how demanding their job really is. From May to October they cover the country from Dingle to Donegal and from Wexford to Westport in authentic road-movie style. Equipped with just a microphone, a mobile phone and a green badge, they face a continual requirement to multi-task effectively.
Menus must be unambiguously translated, leaking showers skilfully fixed, lost passports coolly found, ruffled feathers adroitly smoothed and clients seamlessly shepherded through a multitude of crowded visitor attractions. And at the end of it all, success depends on everybody going home firmly convinced that this has been their greatest holiday ever. It is a demanding, exhausting and insecure way to make a living; as one guide put it to me, "You're always just one terrorist attack away from unemployment." So why do guides come back year after year to do it all over again?
I spoke to experienced Dublin based guide Jutta Shannon, who is working with this season German coach tours, and her answer was unhesitating. "Sure, the hours are long and the travel can be tiring, but in what other job would you meet so many diverse and interesting people in such beautiful surroundings?" And when I asked her about job satisfaction from guiding she was equally forthcoming:
"Ireland is the country I love most. The reward comes from seeing the clients leave behind the humdrum world of everyday living and instead sharing with me the wonderful sights and sounds of the Irish countryside."