Don't Tell Mum: Hair-raising Messages Home from Gap-year Travellers

by Hoggart, Simon

  Take This Job and Shove It

  Some gappers are lucky and have parents who pay for their travels. Others have to earn the money. One way of doing this is by taking a job, frequently in an office. The attempt to get early experience of an ineffably tedious future in the world of work is often a mistake. This young woman, saving for a world trip, contacted her sister in desperation.

  Am seriously in need of help. I have to type up this letter and email it to some joker in Newcastle within the next half hour. There are only three minor problems:

  (1) it is audio typing and the guy has a REALLY strong Geordie accent.

  (2) there is no spell-check on the programme, so I never knew that Newcastle had places as exotic-sounding as ‘Glennorrrayyend’ which has featured at least 7 times so far.

  (3) I have just deleted the audio so now can’t even check what I have done so far and have to send it.

  Two and a half hours later:

  Okay, so … Just emailed that audio-typed email (all wrong but I figured something was better than nothing) TO THE WRONG PERSON. My sent items automatically delete and I don’t have the audio message to do it again, due to aforementioned spastic error on my part. The MD, who I was doing it for, has gone back to Newcastle now, so, shall I just not tell anyone? Am leaving in two days. I’m slightly concerned that it was marked ‘PRIVATE’ and I sent it to the other property agent, the rival company. Remind me, when I am a highly successful businesswoman, to NEVER hire incompetent temps. I am officially rubbish.

  But of course businesses never learn. Usually it’s because the temp is the daughter of a good friend or business contact, and they are happy to do him – and her – a favour. This is generally a mistake.

  HELP HELP HELP. I just shredded some documents that I was meant to file, and filed the ones I was meant to shred. HHHHEEEELLLLPPPP!!!! Fu*k, Fu*k, Fu*k. Fu*k. I can’t even take out the ones I filed, cos I can’t remember which ones were which. Shall I email the bank and get them to send the documents through again? I am not sure my flirting is up to them not telling my boss. Suggestions please. My happiness, and therefore your happiness, depends on me keeping this job. All love, a desperate and soon to be unemployed Jessica.

  This girl got a job in a London department store.

  Hey, all, you’re probably wondering why I am emailing midday. Well, I have been sent home from the shop, after an embarrassing but mildly funny morning. Got so plastered at Baz’s bar last night that while I was serving a customer this morning in the home section, I could feel those little drips of water inside my mouth which are a forewarning of the imminent hangover vomiting session. Yes, I smiled at the customer facing me over the till, and ran out of my section, and promptly spewed all over the floor of the next-door showroom. My boss immediately assumed I was coming down with the flu and sympathetically sent me home. So here I am, relaxing at home, preparing myself for the Tropicana tonight. And I didn’t even have to clear it up! See you all tonight.

  One can only admire the magnificent way our students feel the need to recover from a hangover purely in order to prepare for the next hangover. This young man, however, appears to have had a less exciting time.

  If you don’t already know, I am in the lush and verdant pastures of sun-drenched Aberdeen, deep within the tropical paradise that is north-east Scotland. I work with a large multinational engineering company, who love throwing big lumps of metal into the North Sea to suck up the oil from underneath. It’s all very entertaining. I make a mean cup of coffee and can now photocopy blindfold standing on my hands using only my two big toes. My colleagues are about as fun as an unexploded party popper, i.e. I would rather be just about anywhere on earth.

  Others go into teaching, which frequently ends in tears. This young man went back to his old prep school.

  I hate little boys. I hate little boys. I hate little boys. I hate little boys. I hate little boys. [This rubric is repeated 27 times.] Why, when I was so desperate to leave when I was 13, was I ever persuaded to return to my prep school, and tuck the little runts into bed, at the exploited rate of 62p an hour? Matt kindly told them I am gay, which, if you remember days at prep school, was the ultimate insult, but I also seem to recall one was a ‘gaylord’ if you were last in the classroom, missed a goal in football, or for pretty much anything.

  Nevertheless it’s not so great because they complained to the headmaster that they don’t want me to go back to do their lights because ‘Jeremy is a gay’. I got back on Matt by telling the dysfunctional little psychos that he had a girlfriend, which apparently is far worse than being gay. Half-term next week. Whooooo-peeeeeee!

  Another serious mistake is to become a chalet girl. Few people do this twice. They go out imagining a relaxing few weeks spent with like souls sharing quarters in a lovely mountainous area. A little light housework and cooking will be followed by a day on the piste and a night on the piss. This is sometimes, but rarely, the case.

  Guys, I’m back from Courchevel. Got fired, my boss was a wanker. Anyway, women were shite and I can’t be arsed cooking for ungrateful guests. Never go on a ‘Ski-mania’ holiday. They are all tossers. Does anyone have a job for me?

  This young woman went to Val d’Isère.

  I’m looking after a nine-man chalet and as a result I’ve done 75 hours’ work in the last four days, they are squeezing every last drop out of me, but things are looking up because I think my guests this week are giving me a massive tip. Quite right too. Nightmare, though, cos I’ve got two veggies staying and have managed to give them minestrone soup made with chicken stock, which they lapped up, completely oblivious, in raptures, then last night they were less amused when I whacked a plate of jelly in front of them, I soooo nearly told them to get stuffed, but bit my tongue, just.

  Last night one of the guests was complaining that she had the runs, and I had to break it to her that the company had run out of loo roll. Day off today, so she’s been without for 24 hours! Not pretty when cleaning the loo tomorrow morning.

  This is also from France.

  I am the most shit chalet girl ever. The idiot I was working with left me and fucked off as I’m apparently too laid back, so have had to cook for 12 people all by myself, which has been a disaster, and this gap-year malarkey has made any brain cells I did have completely disappear, so I made a cake using olive oil, which tasted more like Mediterranean salad and which I left in the oven too long, so I had to cut about 5cm off the edge, which made it more of a cupcake, gave everyone red wine diluted with white wine instead of kir, which was undrinkable, and then forgot to put any baking powder in my scones so they burned in the oven and looked more like little piles of poo. Then I had to remake my mince pies as they all stuck in the pan (yes, you have to grease the little bastards), which was a bugger.

  Have had the most awful guests this week – a whole lot of peasants who think they’re really great. I overheard them bitching about me the other day, which just made my day, and they keep shouting at the table, fuck off halfway through supper and grumble that the food is cold, complaining about everything including the fact that their breakfasts didn’t come out all at the same time, so they had to wait, the fact that I won’t make them lunch; and next week have a whole load of rich French and Italian guys who are turning up with their hookers, which should be interesting, but will get an enormous tip.

  The excitement of having free / cheap drinks has meant that I have had only 2 nights in since I’ve been here, so now I have lost my voice, which doesn’t even sound cool and husky but more like a 13-year-old schoolboy or according to the rep, a telephone sex hotline, and look like a wreck after no sleep. Have also managed to wreck a pair of seriously nice skis, which have now been binned as I lost control completely and bombed down a steep run without turning over all these rocks. Apart from that it’s loads of fun.

  Mistakes made, horrible people encountered, but money safely tucked away, our gappers head off for their spell abroad. Many do voluntary work, and the most common occupation is teac
hing. This can be a joy and a delight – and a useful learning experience too.

  Life in Sri Lanka seems to be getting better every week. Love working here, partly because the students are older so give me no sh*t and secondly because they all worship me, as I’m a volunteer, here to save them. So my mission to save the world is going quite well. The orphans are so cool, I was told one of the cutest boy’s story, and cried … his dad killed his mum by cutting her leg off then beating her in front of him and his 5 brothers and one sister. He is only 12 and this was 4 years ago. Love him. The boys at the orphanage are amazing. They don’t understand yet what we’re saying, so when we play Pictionary it’s a little difficult. Have decided to kidnap one of them, he’s 8 and called Kalum, cutest boy ever in the whole wide world. I adopted him when we had to go to the school sports day. Had to don a sari for the day, my, my, my, have never been so hot, maybe won’t be doing that again in a hurry. It’s awesome though! Everyone loved it that we made an effort, so we were the centre of attention, which was annoying as no one watched the sport, but we loved it!

  This fairly catastrophic event took place in Malawi.

  Had sports day yesterday which was sooooooooo stressful as we all went out the night before and had to boil 60 eggs for the egg-and-spoon race and do all the score sheets very early in the morning, but all the students loved it. We got so sunburnt and then Jack and I had to walk to the market to get supper for everyone in the torrential rain, so we also got very cold and wet – weird sensation! Then, just to top it off, we realized that we had lost the sports day results, so had to kind of make them up.

  This young woman in Kenya accompanies her pupils to an inter-school music competition:

  Next to the other schools, our primary children look like a Kenyan version of the Bash Street Kids. The neatness of the other competitors only made us more fiercely loyal to our little darlings, and the music teacher, Mr Wafula, said that we sounded like a hundred people cheering rather than three. I was also filled with maternal pride when they came second, a feeling which surprised me as I spend most of my lessons confiscating ingenious catapults made from a hollow biro and an elastic band, unsticking small children from the wall in art lessons, or avoiding eagerly offered snotty hands.

  They are also getting bolder and wander into the house without warning. This means it’s not unusual to come out of the bedroom wearing nothing but a towel to find three small children in the kitchen trying to take apart the gas stove. I’m doing reading lessons to help a 4-year-old called Tracey, and it’s going well. You may think that Tracey is an odd Kenyan name, but I teach Wayne, Brenda, Maureen, Kelvin, Brian and Eric. I’m also helping with a national art competition, although I had to explain to Mr Okingo that ‘helping’ was not the same as ‘doing 20 entries myself and getting the children to write their names at the bottom’, which is what he wanted me to do.

  If those names sound curious, they are as nothing compared to those this young woman encounters in Malawi.

  Teaching is getting better and better and my class are all so adorable. (Really want to bring them home with me!) Teaching them sport is also amazing as they are all so eager, because they don’t do sport unless the volunteers take it. Played Stick-in-the-mud and British Bulldog for a bit of fun and the boys were literally diving under each other’s legs and wiping each other out while others were looking up the girls’ skirts! We have had to abandon any form of dodgeball with the kiddies as it becomes so violent, so we are playing lots of netball, volleyball and rounders instead. The English teacher returned yesterday after being ill for a week, but he is seriously pervy so Luce and I are avoiding him at all costs. Got my first marriage proposal yesterday from a boy student in the top form called ‘Precious’! Having a real issue with all their names, like ‘Computer’, ‘Warehouse’, our night guard is called ‘Diamond Cabbage’ but especially with a girl in my class called ‘Labia’ – very hard to keep a straight face when talking to her!

  On Monday Luce and I taught our first proper PE lesson so we put on our shorts which actually aren’t that short as far as shorts go, and couldn’t understand why the entire school just stood still and stared! Turns out that if you bare your knees by wearing shorts you are a prostitute, so they went quickly back into our bags!

  Sports can be a hazard, as this young woman found in South America.

  Well, day two of Spanish school in Guatemala and wasn’t really sure of the form, so in an effort not to seem aloof and too British signed Ness and me up for all activities. Ness and I are now playing in a friendly football match with our fellow pupils against the teachers this afternoon. Never really played football before, but have watched it on TV, although that approach hasn’t always worked in the past – see home decorating.

  The job is not always agreeable. This is from southern India.

  First day of teaching today, they don’t understand anything and all we are meant to teach them is the alphabet, and how to pronounce it – so, incredibly dull and it’s only one-on-one so not even a real class. Anyhow, trying to keep positive about it, but am finding it hard as all I did this afternoon was make a poster with wild animals drawn on it – I have now found my talent in life of making children’s posters but all my animals looked pregnant and seriously deformed, but never mind.

  Eventually booked somewhere for this weekend with me, Jan, Maeve (now a regret, as she is a nightmare) and Hamish, so random cos saw him for like an hour and he said ‘just book me with whatever you’re doing’ and haven’t told him since, and we are going tomorrow night and spending 12 hours in non-air-conditioned bus all the way to Goa. Basically it’s all trial and error.

  This is from a school in India.

  Teaching is interesting and to a certain extent rewarding, except the children are reminiscent of the devil and the teachers have the same warmth towards us as an Arctic glacier. I have taken to teaching my children the most useful things they need to know about English culture – last week we learned about Sloanes, pikeys, Geordies, wide boys and lager louts. I have become the chief slayer of insects, having combated cockroaches in my sleeping bag, wash bag, pants, loo seat, hairbrush, as well as taking on a spider the size of a small elephant. I am indestructible! – though the dysentery wasn’t great. Had a nasty run-in with a leper carrying a python this morning, but being invincible, and the worldly girl I have come to be, I took him on. I am now slightly worried how contagious leprosy is. Hope you are all well and disease-free.

  Some placements can be quite horrible, such as this one in Tanzania, where the young female teacher meets a Third World Wackford Squeers.

  I only have another 5 weeks in the school – v. sad but on the other hand, can’t wait. The school is run by an Indian man and his family, and he is possibly the biggest s**t that has ever graced the planet. He was in India for the first 6 weeks of our time here, thank God, but the month or so we have had with him has been horrid. Yesterday he repeatedly kicked a 6-year-old for making too much noise (the boy has loads of scars all over his face, so evidently has a pretty tough time at home). He smashed two 5-year-olds’ heads together and threw desks around in the direction of the children. I walked into the classroom just after this had happened and I have never seen children look so scared. Luckily I had them for next recreation, so took them outside and played. The worst thing was that the children were all kicking each other and fighting more than usual, obviously as a result of what they had just seen.

  Here is a classic instance of a gapper, in Malawi, finding comfort and consolation in the midst of trying circumstances:

  I made a big boo-boo in the staff room last week. We were all chatting and I said ‘cheeky little monkey’, referring to a really cute but naughty student, only to find the whole room had stopped in horror, thinking I was being really racist! Managed to laugh it off but won’t be making that mistake again! Very sad also as the brother of one of the teachers died and another’s wife died during labour this week, I think the funerals are next week. On a cheerier note, had a
very hectic weekend as all 22 volunteers came to stay at our house to celebrate T’s birthday! Had to cook sausages for everyone in the smallest saucepan I have ever seen, but with all the delicious Malawian gin and vodka (not!!) no one seemed to mind the long delay, or the fact that they had to sleep on the stone floor.

  I’m on a Gap Year – Get Me Out of Here

  The whole point of a gap year is for youngsters to keep their eyes and minds – and their nostrils – open to new experiences. Unfortunately they often don’t greatly care for the new experiences. Many people simply want to be home again. Generally, it is in the earliest part of the gapper’s trip that he or she is likely to be most homesick. Arriving in a strange and alien place, without family or friends, knowing this is your life for the next few weeks or months, can be one of the bleakest experiences a young person can have. This girl wound up in Shanghai.

  Couldn’t find driver at airport for ages, but eventually got here. Seriously dingy apartment in an equally dingy-at-best, grim-at-worst part of downtown west Shanghai. The school have given me a bedroom with peeling paper, then tried to glam it up with a new fridge, toaster, TV (all strange Chinese dancers and business news) and water machine – water not drinkable … roads filled with drivers exactly like me, perhaps worse, people rely on fate over indicators, signs or eyes to transmit their destination. Nearly got run over by a Chinese lady on a moped piled high with boxes – got yelled at for ages. Noise of traffic everywhere – bedroom filled with it. Smells disgusting.

  This message from Bangalore was even more glum. India can be very disconcerting to someone arriving for the first time.

  I know you will say ‘stick with it, it has only been a week’, but believe me when you come to this armpit of a city you will understand my predicament. Yesterday we had to find something to do, so we went to the ‘bustling city market’ which turned out to be yet more fly-ridden fruit stands and a few stalls selling those hat things that Sikhs wear, why they thought I as an 18-year-old English girl would want one I have no idea, so abandoned that idea and read that there was the ‘highlight of Bangalore’s palaces’ (yet another excellent reference from Lonely Planet – which I want to burn), so looked for about a squillion minutes and eventually found it. I had to pay 100 rupees, whereas the locals only have to pay two, talk about prejudice, and managed to find one thing to comment on: it was symmetrical. Great. Kath and me are planning our escape, which I still think is imminent – may be able to stick it out for another few weeks, but another 7 – you have got to be joking.