Alaska: Dreaming of being a tour director

Alaska dreamtime

I'm on my late-night flight to Fairbanks and some guy behind me with bad breath is sighing loudly into my ear, exasperated at the nice flight attendant being trained on check-in. He works at the gold mine, he’s busy at work, he rambles on. The midnight sun is living up to its name.

Stumbling through the airport, I notice the food stains splattered across my shirt from the plane's last turbulence.  I need a shower and a shave to feel human.

I heave my bag onto the bus before making my way to the back. A cozy back corner of the coach beckons; I sink into its welcoming warmth. I close my eyes. I'm jolted back to awareness as the bus pulls up to the door of the hotel.

The murmur of passengers rising from their seats pulls me back to the present. They are wondering if they should wake me. I groan, a nonverbal cue of consciousness, and awkwardly gather myself together.

I shuffle down the steps, rattling against the stairwell, offering the driver a grateful nod as I clutch my bag.

My bag and I engage in a brief skirmish with the revolving door before I stagger into the hotel lobby.

I step aside, letting the guests proceed to the front desk to check in.

Then, as I approach the desk, I greet the receptionist, who always flashes the most lovely smile.

‘I'd like to check—' My words hang unfinished as she cuts in, her brow furrowing slightly. 'We were expecting you yesterday.'

My brow furrows, a mixture of confusion and concern. "Yesterday?"

"Your guests arrived yesterday. The bus driver had to step in for the tour today."

Her words echo in my head, each one sending a sharper stab of panic through me. The reassuring solidity of the desk seems to slip away, and I grasp at it, seeking something stable as the hotel lobby begins to spin.

A weight drops like an anchor into my gut and a frantic pulse thunders in my ears. The edges of my vision narrow as a wave of dizziness washes over me.

A sharp intake of breath jerks me upright in bed, the dim light of dawn revealing the familiar shadows of my room. As I slowly orient myself to my surroundings, I realize that the tour debacle was just a vivid dream.

As the first day of the season approaches, I find myself consistently haunted by this nightmare of arriving late to a hotel and leaving my tour group stranded.

As a seasoned tour director, I've learned to double and sometimes triple-check every detail, ensuring that I never let my guests down. But despite my meticulous planning, life has a way of throwing a spanner in the works.

As the tour season progresses, the recurring nightmare continues to haunt me, jolting me awake night after night with clammy skin and ragged breaths. It's as if my subconscious is telling me to be on my guard. When the dream fades away I know that the season has come to an end.

For six months of the year, I work as a tour director, guiding travelers through breathtaking landscapes and sharing my passion for exploration.

For nearly two decades, I've embarked on a season of journeys, guiding travelers through landscapes that never fail to take my breath away, but now I leave my wife Liz and our home behind.

Happiness swells in my chest as I think of the countless adventures I've led and the people I’ve met. I have seen amazing nature, architecture, and history, but missed birthdays, wedding anniversaries, and funerals. But I've learned that this is the price of my chosen life, and I make peace with it anew each time I pack my bags.