As a collective, seasonal workers don't always enjoy the greatest of reputations. But the seasonal worker comes in different guises. Some are business owners - bars, attractions, excursions, hotels, yacht charters and so on. The owner is every bit as seasonal as the personnel he or she employs, a fact determined by the inherent seasonality of Mallorca's tourism. If there weren't seasonality, there wouldn't be seasonal workers.
Such seasonal employment has always existed. Or at least since the tourism boom of the early 1960s. This said, seasonality was a factor before the industrial revolution of Mallorca's tourism. Agriculture abides by the seasons. Always has done, always will do. For tourism there is the same perpetuation. There always will be seasonality, regardless of the desires and efforts of government and others. Seasonality, as with seasonal workers, shouldn't be decried. There is very little that can truthfully be done to alter the determining factors of weather and daylight hours: climate change and dabbling with the clocks may have an impact but the Earth's voyage around the Sun is likely to remain stubbornly as it is.
The tourism seasonal worker was originally home-bred or from the Spanish mainland: Andalusia especially. The farms saw their workers relocate to the coasts for a new type of seasonal employment. Some would return in winter. Others headed for the building sites. Ultimately there was to be the hurry for the dole queues, with contracts confirming qualification for the "paro".
As Mallorca became cosmopolitan because of its tourism, so it attracted its foreign seasonal workers and seasonal business owners. For some of these workers, principally reps, this was to provide different stepping-stones. Marriage was one. Another was business ownership; a further one was management with hotel chains and various businesses. The reps of yesterday reside in current-day Mallorca. Those still in the tourism industry have amassed enormous experience and knowledge of the industry. Having come from the coal face and often still being at it, there is little or nothing they don't know about tourism and tourists.
These would have been seasonal workers who, yes, had come to enjoy themselves but had sufficient nous and ambition to work with seriousness, to gain excellent references with CVs that were to lead them in directions they probably hadn't planned. But because they were good, they succeeded. Look at them now: you'll know ones as well as I do.
These were the lucky ones. They rose above the less serious, the frivolous and not terribly good workers. But the unevenness of employee attribute fostered the less than good reputation of seasonal workers. Then, and because of cost-cutting and the introduction of technology (often misplaced), came the shedding of workers. Perversely, this led to the more mature worker being sidelined. It was all a question of cost. This cycle is being put into reverse. Tour operators understand the value of knowledge and a cool, experienced head.
There is a vast army of seasonal workers: highly competent and responsible or highly incompetent and irresponsible. Think for a moment of the Spanish waiter or waitress who takes pride in the professionalism of the job. But not all. I recall once having been in the Pollensa office of the owner of a chain of establishments, his desk a mass of CVs and of dismissal documentation. He typically only employed Spaniards. "Want pay, won't work."
Part of this army pulls the rest back, undermining its reputation. Here we find different characters. There is the peripatetic drifter, occupying a rootless existence at the margins of society. He or she may be adept, until the manifestations of the rootlessness appear - drink and/or drugs. Or of delusions, the products of their own make-believe. There is the younger worker for whom work is an inconvenience in the pursuit of pleasure and hedonism, however it may be achieved.
Want pay, won't work is a mantra, it has been put to me, which is ever more evident this season. Bar owners laying off workers (British most often) almost as soon as they have been taken on: want pay, won't work. There again, this is a reverse variation on the exploitation of seasonal workers: those taken on with dubious or non-existent contractual agreements and suddenly let go, only to be replaced by others who are similarly dismissed.
Now, for one category of seasonal worker - the British - come the uncertainties of Brexit. One bar owner tells me that his gestor (who is advising various other owners) has told him not to take on any British employees next season: not the seasonal arrivals at any rate. This seems unnecessarily pre-emptive. But if so, it'll be a case of want pay, can't work.
Strip away the idle and the useless and you are left with the majority: the hardworking and the committed. Mallorca wouldn't work without seasonal employees. They deserve their pay. And more often than not, more than they get.
Showing posts with label Seasonal workers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Seasonal workers. Show all posts
Thursday, July 28, 2016
Saturday, April 27, 2013
The Kings Of The Resorts: Seasonal workers
It was the summer of 1981. Greece. The island of Poros, or was it Paros? It doesn't matter. The tour operator was, as was typical at that time, a small, specialist concern. The tour rep was a few years older than myself. In her thirties. She was very pleasant, knowledgeable, helpful, spoke some Greek. What you might hope for from a tour rep, in other words. She also had, so I was to discover, a reputation. It was said that she gave the best blow-job in the Aegean.
Four years later, a different Greek island, a different tour operator, but the same tour rep. I mentioned to friends the tales of four years previously. I remember her name, but I'm not about to state it. She was still living up to her reputation.
Age should not be a barrier to having a good sex life and certainly not when it comes to a holiday or being a tour rep. The rep-sex relationship is the stuff of legend. There has rarely been one without the other. But there are legitimate levels of enjoyment and there are levels which go beyond the legitimate. Just as there are legitimate levels of what should be expected of reps - their knowledge etc. - and those which fail to meet these expected levels. And for reps, read also seasonal workers in bars and in other businesses.
Once upon a time, reps, whether they were interested in gaining similar reputations to the lady in Greece or not, did tend to be more mature, as in they weren't very young. As the summers and seasons went by, they became more mature. Even if they were inclined to enjoy pleasures of the flesh, as one in Greece did, they were valued by tour operators because of their knowledge and their understanding of resorts and destinations. Younger reps did of course come onto the scene, especially as there were so many positions to be filled. But older reps might typically have continued for many years, their experience being unmatched.
Then, and this has been the case in recent times, tour operators started to lose their experienced reps. They didn't renew their contracts. It might have cost them, especially if they were reps in Mallorca operating under the peculiarity of the Spanish "fijo discontinuo" employment contract (basically, one that means permanent seasonal work but which gives an entitlement to benefits), but the tour operators needed to save money, to cut the number of reps and to dispense with more highly paid ones. As a consequence, there are far, far fewer reps than was once the case, and those that there are tend not to be particularly experienced, if at all.
To paint one picture of the tour rep of today would be unfair, but that picture has increasingly become that of the unknowledgeable party animal and little more. And today's rep has also become far less important in the hierarchy of resorts. Time was, reps ruled resorts. They certainly don't now. Far more important are the seasonal workers, especially the ones who return every season or who actually live in resorts all year. Many, most of these workers are highly professional and responsible. Oh yes, they certainly know how to party and they are not necessarily abstemious angels, but they take their work seriously and they have the knowledge. They are the ones to whom holidaymakers turn, and not the reps.
There is, though, another category of seasonal worker. One who doesn't understand or obey the rules. A seasonal worker can and does get drunk, he or she can and does get laid or maybe take drugs. But the seasonal worker who gets on knows that as soon as he or she steps over the mark, his or her name becomes mud. The whole resort gets to know. And overstepping the mark can be done in different ways - not turning up for work, being clearly drunk or stoned while at work or throwing a made-up sicky.
I am of course not going to identify the bar owner, but he took on one such seasonal worker who plainly didn't understand the rules. He arrived in Mallorca only a few days ago. He is on his way out of Mallorca, more or less as I write. It is his fortune to be leaving in one piece, so angry had he made his employer. He failed to turn up for work twice in the space of a handful of days. The reason? A combination of things, and you can imagine what.
For some young people (and not always young people), a summer job in Mallorca is only about getting hold of the wherewithal (money) in order to spend it on drink and drugs, it is only about partying, getting laid and going to the beach. And for some, or one certainly, this can mean being sent packing very quickly. They are fools to themselves, because, if they are good, if they play by the rules, they can keep coming back. And when they come back, they will find that they have a status. The kings and queens of the resorts. But these are titles reserved for the responsible and professional ones.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Four years later, a different Greek island, a different tour operator, but the same tour rep. I mentioned to friends the tales of four years previously. I remember her name, but I'm not about to state it. She was still living up to her reputation.
Age should not be a barrier to having a good sex life and certainly not when it comes to a holiday or being a tour rep. The rep-sex relationship is the stuff of legend. There has rarely been one without the other. But there are legitimate levels of enjoyment and there are levels which go beyond the legitimate. Just as there are legitimate levels of what should be expected of reps - their knowledge etc. - and those which fail to meet these expected levels. And for reps, read also seasonal workers in bars and in other businesses.
Once upon a time, reps, whether they were interested in gaining similar reputations to the lady in Greece or not, did tend to be more mature, as in they weren't very young. As the summers and seasons went by, they became more mature. Even if they were inclined to enjoy pleasures of the flesh, as one in Greece did, they were valued by tour operators because of their knowledge and their understanding of resorts and destinations. Younger reps did of course come onto the scene, especially as there were so many positions to be filled. But older reps might typically have continued for many years, their experience being unmatched.
Then, and this has been the case in recent times, tour operators started to lose their experienced reps. They didn't renew their contracts. It might have cost them, especially if they were reps in Mallorca operating under the peculiarity of the Spanish "fijo discontinuo" employment contract (basically, one that means permanent seasonal work but which gives an entitlement to benefits), but the tour operators needed to save money, to cut the number of reps and to dispense with more highly paid ones. As a consequence, there are far, far fewer reps than was once the case, and those that there are tend not to be particularly experienced, if at all.
To paint one picture of the tour rep of today would be unfair, but that picture has increasingly become that of the unknowledgeable party animal and little more. And today's rep has also become far less important in the hierarchy of resorts. Time was, reps ruled resorts. They certainly don't now. Far more important are the seasonal workers, especially the ones who return every season or who actually live in resorts all year. Many, most of these workers are highly professional and responsible. Oh yes, they certainly know how to party and they are not necessarily abstemious angels, but they take their work seriously and they have the knowledge. They are the ones to whom holidaymakers turn, and not the reps.
There is, though, another category of seasonal worker. One who doesn't understand or obey the rules. A seasonal worker can and does get drunk, he or she can and does get laid or maybe take drugs. But the seasonal worker who gets on knows that as soon as he or she steps over the mark, his or her name becomes mud. The whole resort gets to know. And overstepping the mark can be done in different ways - not turning up for work, being clearly drunk or stoned while at work or throwing a made-up sicky.
I am of course not going to identify the bar owner, but he took on one such seasonal worker who plainly didn't understand the rules. He arrived in Mallorca only a few days ago. He is on his way out of Mallorca, more or less as I write. It is his fortune to be leaving in one piece, so angry had he made his employer. He failed to turn up for work twice in the space of a handful of days. The reason? A combination of things, and you can imagine what.
For some young people (and not always young people), a summer job in Mallorca is only about getting hold of the wherewithal (money) in order to spend it on drink and drugs, it is only about partying, getting laid and going to the beach. And for some, or one certainly, this can mean being sent packing very quickly. They are fools to themselves, because, if they are good, if they play by the rules, they can keep coming back. And when they come back, they will find that they have a status. The kings and queens of the resorts. But these are titles reserved for the responsible and professional ones.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Monday, March 14, 2011
The Adventures Of Alice In Mallorcaland
Alice was sitting by the canal's edge in a dingy English town. It was drizzling, as it always seemed to be drizzling. Alice was day-dreaming. Of a summer away from the greyness of her unremarkable town. Of a place far away, where the sun always shines, where the drink is cheap and the boys are plentiful.
Suddenly, she was jolted from her thoughts by the strange sight of a White Rabbit. Was it Comic Relief, wondered Alice. She followed the White Rabbit who was muttering to himself: "Oh dear, oh dear, I shall be too late". "What shall you be too late for, Rabbit?" asked Alice. "The plane of course. The plane." And with this, the White Rabbit disappeared into a travel agency into which Alice also ventured, only to find herself falling, falling, gliding and then touching down. Touching down where?
Alice looked around. She could see a small terrace and a sign that said "Drink Me". Wicked, thought Alice. A Red Bull with a cough medicine and vodka mix. She became first very small; small enough to pass through the keyhole and then very large.
"You're a big girl," said the Mat Hatter. "There's no room, no room for you here."
"There's plenty of room," replied Alice. "Who are you, anyway?"
"Maybe he's he or maybe he's not he. But he is from Luton," declared the March Hare.
"Why are you talking in riddles?" inquired Alice.
"We always talk in riddles. We talk complete gibberish. All the time." And the March Hare started to cackle a lunatic cackle.
"You're mad," said Alice.
"Not as mad as the Mad Hatter. He's from Luton."
"Why is he here? Why are you here?" asked Alice.
"We've no idea. Have some wine."
"There isn't any wine."
"Then have some tea," said the March Hare. "It's always tea time. We sit around all day and it's always tea time. Time for tea. Time for tea."
"Is this all you ever do?" Alice wanted to know.
"Sometimes we get up. Sometimes we sit down. Sometimes we come here. Sometimes we go there. There's always time for tea."
"Who's that you're resting your feet on?"
"That's the Doormat. We slag him off all day. Oh, that's what else we do." And the March Hare and the Mad Hatter cackled together.
"You might just as well say that you run me down when I'm here as I'm there when you run me down," murmured the Doormat.
"Now he's talking in riddles as well!"
"Yes, rubbish. That's what we do."
"I've had enough of this," said Alice. "This place is so, like, oh my God, total pants. No wine. I'm off to The Queen of Hearts. To look for a job. And I will, unlike you, do something."
"Do something!? Do something!? Off with her head! She's off her head."
Next time: Alice finds herself at the Croquet and Golf Ground where there are more strange characters not doing anything.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Suddenly, she was jolted from her thoughts by the strange sight of a White Rabbit. Was it Comic Relief, wondered Alice. She followed the White Rabbit who was muttering to himself: "Oh dear, oh dear, I shall be too late". "What shall you be too late for, Rabbit?" asked Alice. "The plane of course. The plane." And with this, the White Rabbit disappeared into a travel agency into which Alice also ventured, only to find herself falling, falling, gliding and then touching down. Touching down where?
Alice looked around. She could see a small terrace and a sign that said "Drink Me". Wicked, thought Alice. A Red Bull with a cough medicine and vodka mix. She became first very small; small enough to pass through the keyhole and then very large.
"You're a big girl," said the Mat Hatter. "There's no room, no room for you here."
"There's plenty of room," replied Alice. "Who are you, anyway?"
"Maybe he's he or maybe he's not he. But he is from Luton," declared the March Hare.
"Why are you talking in riddles?" inquired Alice.
"We always talk in riddles. We talk complete gibberish. All the time." And the March Hare started to cackle a lunatic cackle.
"You're mad," said Alice.
"Not as mad as the Mad Hatter. He's from Luton."
"Why is he here? Why are you here?" asked Alice.
"We've no idea. Have some wine."
"There isn't any wine."
"Then have some tea," said the March Hare. "It's always tea time. We sit around all day and it's always tea time. Time for tea. Time for tea."
"Is this all you ever do?" Alice wanted to know.
"Sometimes we get up. Sometimes we sit down. Sometimes we come here. Sometimes we go there. There's always time for tea."
"Who's that you're resting your feet on?"
"That's the Doormat. We slag him off all day. Oh, that's what else we do." And the March Hare and the Mad Hatter cackled together.
"You might just as well say that you run me down when I'm here as I'm there when you run me down," murmured the Doormat.
"Now he's talking in riddles as well!"
"Yes, rubbish. That's what we do."
"I've had enough of this," said Alice. "This place is so, like, oh my God, total pants. No wine. I'm off to The Queen of Hearts. To look for a job. And I will, unlike you, do something."
"Do something!? Do something!? Off with her head! She's off her head."
Next time: Alice finds herself at the Croquet and Golf Ground where there are more strange characters not doing anything.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Gissa Job
It's that time of year once more. The time stretches from March till now and on a bit into May. It is the work-searching and pulling-your-hair-out time. Hair being pulled out by both those looking for work but especially by those employers who thought they had their staff lined up, only for whatever to go wrong. It can be the variation on the dog chewed my homework. Unreliability is thy middle name, Mallorca, and thy seasonal workers. It seems crazy, when there is some nervousness among employers in taking people on, that those who get a promise might get a note from their mum. But what of some of those who go in search of work? Would you employ that some? There is not always a great deal of thought given to their personal presentation. Perhaps they're just hacked off with being rejected. Can't blame them totally, but it goes with the territory: traipsing around bars, shops, restaurants making the scripted request and being told no, we've got everyone we need, not at the moment. Some leave a CV. It happened in Eroski one day. Three came in, spoke to a girl at the checkout and handed over the gen. The three CVs were probably filed fairly soon afterwards.
If you're a tourist with a hire car, you can be forgiven for getting things wrong, for taking the wrong turning and looking to hurriedly correct your mistake. Usually you will be ok, except when you effect your remedy just as plod on a scooter is emerging from around the corner. At the turning towards the port in front of Alcúdia church a hire car with what looked like Brits or maybe Germans did just this. Went right when they didn't want to, and slung a U-y across the pedestrian crossing. "Hola, hola, hola. What have we got here, then?" The car drove off, behind it a peeping plod, revving the poot-poot into something approximating maximum 40kph speed. Chances are the driver thought this was just some lunatic local hitting the horn for the hell of it. Wrong. Finally, the car stopped. I trust they had enough in their wallets. The exchange was still going on some ten minutes after it happened.
Restaurants continue to change hands or be taken on anew. In Puerto Alcúdia what was once New Delhi, next to Comics, is now a Mexican. More Mex than Tex says Jose Luis. The restaurant is called El Cuate. On the corner of this road is Alcúdia's only Dakota. Two Tex-Mex's in one street. Yet of course in Puerto Pollensa, home to the Dakota trinity, Nico's is more or less next door to one of them. Nico's, I guess, is the home kitchen contrast to the industrial Dakota, and so it seems to be with El Cuate.
And ... Who turned on the oven? Suddenly it's not just warm, it's verging on the hot. It's easy to forget the heat. It can come as a bit of a shock. Talking of warm weather. As I am launched, as of today, into the official fourth estate of Mallorca, I felt that a newspaper moment should not pass without comment. Moreover, it concerns "The Sun". Not my paper of choice, but can yesterday's front page and headline ever be bettered? Four people in deckchairs on a beach. The gloomy news about the Budget, and there it is: "At Least It's Sunny". Brilliant.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Teenage Fanclub (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PAMqJP4VvdE). Today's title - which drama made this famous and who was the actor?
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
If you're a tourist with a hire car, you can be forgiven for getting things wrong, for taking the wrong turning and looking to hurriedly correct your mistake. Usually you will be ok, except when you effect your remedy just as plod on a scooter is emerging from around the corner. At the turning towards the port in front of Alcúdia church a hire car with what looked like Brits or maybe Germans did just this. Went right when they didn't want to, and slung a U-y across the pedestrian crossing. "Hola, hola, hola. What have we got here, then?" The car drove off, behind it a peeping plod, revving the poot-poot into something approximating maximum 40kph speed. Chances are the driver thought this was just some lunatic local hitting the horn for the hell of it. Wrong. Finally, the car stopped. I trust they had enough in their wallets. The exchange was still going on some ten minutes after it happened.
Restaurants continue to change hands or be taken on anew. In Puerto Alcúdia what was once New Delhi, next to Comics, is now a Mexican. More Mex than Tex says Jose Luis. The restaurant is called El Cuate. On the corner of this road is Alcúdia's only Dakota. Two Tex-Mex's in one street. Yet of course in Puerto Pollensa, home to the Dakota trinity, Nico's is more or less next door to one of them. Nico's, I guess, is the home kitchen contrast to the industrial Dakota, and so it seems to be with El Cuate.
And ... Who turned on the oven? Suddenly it's not just warm, it's verging on the hot. It's easy to forget the heat. It can come as a bit of a shock. Talking of warm weather. As I am launched, as of today, into the official fourth estate of Mallorca, I felt that a newspaper moment should not pass without comment. Moreover, it concerns "The Sun". Not my paper of choice, but can yesterday's front page and headline ever be bettered? Four people in deckchairs on a beach. The gloomy news about the Budget, and there it is: "At Least It's Sunny". Brilliant.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Teenage Fanclub (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PAMqJP4VvdE). Today's title - which drama made this famous and who was the actor?
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
I Feel So Broke Up, I Wanna Go Home
"The others, the youngsters who make up the majority, are different. Theirs is a simple motivation: a bit of work and a lot of partying - they hope. In truth it's the other way round, and often they get disenchanted when they discover that a bar owner does actually want you to turn up on time, look as though you have not been out till six in the morning and to work eight hours or more. And once they have hired you, they don't want you walking out or feigning "the sick"." (5 March 2008, Keep On Moving.)
The above has not lost its relevance over the months of the season. Primarily it is the youngsters, but not exclusively. The turnover of staff during the season is a problem that afflicts many an establishment. Some staff have to be dismissed; other staff just walk out or hand in their notice. For various reasons, they can't hack it: a boyfriend or girlfriend issue; hours are too long; it's not what they thought it would be; they're too regularly hungover; family. Any number of reasons.
Superficially, it all looks so attractive. A summer in the sun, a load of laughs and a bit of work to finance them. The reality is often rather different. Some pack it in very quickly; others stagger on until finally they've had enough. Some are just not equipped to be away from home for so long, but have been seduced by the apparent romance of the summer in the sun of Mallorca. I recall once being in the Club del Sol near Puerto Pollensa. A girl, a member of the entertainment team, was pouring it all out to a sympathetic receptionist. She was sobbing and complaining about the hours and how she had never been told what to expect. Maybe she hadn't been, but maybe she was also a bit naïve. The other day, apparently, three reps from a hotel in Alcúdia just left without saying anything. Perhaps they hadn't been told what to expect. About the long hours, about the complaining tourists. There is perhaps some sympathy for the kids who come as reps. They are generally ill-informed, but as they are the main point of contact for the tourist they are the ones who bear the brunt of problems or questions. And because they are ill-informed, they go on making the same sort of errors. It's a small example, but a few days ago a rep, from the hotel in question, directed a guest to the bus stop for Palma. It was on the wrong side of the road; there is no bus to Palma in that direction. How many people had previously stood there in a vain wait for a bus that didn't exist?
The pay is not great, be it for bar staff, reps, entertainers. There can be the perks, in some instances, such as accommodation paid for, but the money is not huge. And at some point, the routine, the sometimes sweaty and cramped conditions, the hours or the endless babble of tourists causes a breaking-point. Not in all cases, far from it of course. I think, for example, of a group of Dutch kids who were the entertainers at the Red Lion a few years back. They kept their enthusiasm and vitality up till the bitter end. And most do, but not all.
Perhaps it just comes down to character: character that enables the appreciation that the job comes first; that can cope with being away from home for a long period and maybe also for the first time; that can repress the temptations of which there are many, some of which can age even the most bright-eyed over the course of a season.
The seasoned of the seasonal workers are different. They are the pros. The ones who have seen it all before and have probably been there before and got the t-shirt. These are the workers who come back, often to the same establishment, year after year, because they are reliable and because they know it is work rather than play that their employer demands. And those poor employers who have to go through the bureaucratic rigmarole and the expense attached to it, only to then find themselves in the lurch. The employers who can also be presented with the member of staff who goes on the sick and may then return with a fine tan or be seen dancing on a table, having partaken of many a cold drink. How is it that quite so many seem to get sick here? Ok, the employers may not pay huge wages, but then no one does, and it is, after all, they who take the risk of the business in the first place, who face the raft of regulations, who might cop it from the likes of the noise police*.
But come next year and there will be a new bunch of kids hoping for the same adventure. Doubtless I will be contacted by a few seeking advice, as I have been before. And you just hope that they come with their eyes wide open and that those eyes stay wide open, rather than become dulled by lack of sleep and what the island has to offer, which isn't perhaps quite how the tourist understands it.
* I understand that the Jolly Roger in Puerto Alcúdia, just a couple of minutes past the midnight curfew, were dobbed on to the noise police the other day. Result: a fine.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - well, I reckoned this was pretty obscure, but, damn me, up popped John with the right answer; it was The Bonzo Dog Band, "Shirt". Today's title - one from those normally associated with summer fun.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
The above has not lost its relevance over the months of the season. Primarily it is the youngsters, but not exclusively. The turnover of staff during the season is a problem that afflicts many an establishment. Some staff have to be dismissed; other staff just walk out or hand in their notice. For various reasons, they can't hack it: a boyfriend or girlfriend issue; hours are too long; it's not what they thought it would be; they're too regularly hungover; family. Any number of reasons.
Superficially, it all looks so attractive. A summer in the sun, a load of laughs and a bit of work to finance them. The reality is often rather different. Some pack it in very quickly; others stagger on until finally they've had enough. Some are just not equipped to be away from home for so long, but have been seduced by the apparent romance of the summer in the sun of Mallorca. I recall once being in the Club del Sol near Puerto Pollensa. A girl, a member of the entertainment team, was pouring it all out to a sympathetic receptionist. She was sobbing and complaining about the hours and how she had never been told what to expect. Maybe she hadn't been, but maybe she was also a bit naïve. The other day, apparently, three reps from a hotel in Alcúdia just left without saying anything. Perhaps they hadn't been told what to expect. About the long hours, about the complaining tourists. There is perhaps some sympathy for the kids who come as reps. They are generally ill-informed, but as they are the main point of contact for the tourist they are the ones who bear the brunt of problems or questions. And because they are ill-informed, they go on making the same sort of errors. It's a small example, but a few days ago a rep, from the hotel in question, directed a guest to the bus stop for Palma. It was on the wrong side of the road; there is no bus to Palma in that direction. How many people had previously stood there in a vain wait for a bus that didn't exist?
The pay is not great, be it for bar staff, reps, entertainers. There can be the perks, in some instances, such as accommodation paid for, but the money is not huge. And at some point, the routine, the sometimes sweaty and cramped conditions, the hours or the endless babble of tourists causes a breaking-point. Not in all cases, far from it of course. I think, for example, of a group of Dutch kids who were the entertainers at the Red Lion a few years back. They kept their enthusiasm and vitality up till the bitter end. And most do, but not all.
Perhaps it just comes down to character: character that enables the appreciation that the job comes first; that can cope with being away from home for a long period and maybe also for the first time; that can repress the temptations of which there are many, some of which can age even the most bright-eyed over the course of a season.
The seasoned of the seasonal workers are different. They are the pros. The ones who have seen it all before and have probably been there before and got the t-shirt. These are the workers who come back, often to the same establishment, year after year, because they are reliable and because they know it is work rather than play that their employer demands. And those poor employers who have to go through the bureaucratic rigmarole and the expense attached to it, only to then find themselves in the lurch. The employers who can also be presented with the member of staff who goes on the sick and may then return with a fine tan or be seen dancing on a table, having partaken of many a cold drink. How is it that quite so many seem to get sick here? Ok, the employers may not pay huge wages, but then no one does, and it is, after all, they who take the risk of the business in the first place, who face the raft of regulations, who might cop it from the likes of the noise police*.
But come next year and there will be a new bunch of kids hoping for the same adventure. Doubtless I will be contacted by a few seeking advice, as I have been before. And you just hope that they come with their eyes wide open and that those eyes stay wide open, rather than become dulled by lack of sleep and what the island has to offer, which isn't perhaps quite how the tourist understands it.
* I understand that the Jolly Roger in Puerto Alcúdia, just a couple of minutes past the midnight curfew, were dobbed on to the noise police the other day. Result: a fine.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - well, I reckoned this was pretty obscure, but, damn me, up popped John with the right answer; it was The Bonzo Dog Band, "Shirt". Today's title - one from those normally associated with summer fun.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Moving, Keep On Moving
And so they come. Another season beckons and once more they come. They come, looking for work or to take up offers they have received. Every year they come. New faces, new hopes, new chances for fun. Reps, bar and restaurant workers, chefs, entertainers, kids clubs' nannies, yachties' helpers, shop assistants. They all come. They are the constant that is always inconstant, the transient and the peripatetic, the young looking for a good time and a just adequate wage, the older who seem to drift from resort to resort in search of ... . Sometimes you are never quite sure.
I have this image of a diaspora of resort refugees carrying their belongings in a battered suitcase from country to country, endlessly seeking the chance to serve some beer or fry a burger. It seems a strange life of mobility and rootlessness. A season here, a season there. This is a labour force at some kind of fringe of economies, dislocated from conventional life, traversing the Mediterranean as though they had become stateless. These are the hardened ones. The others, the youngsters who make up the majority, are different. Theirs is a simple motivation: a bit of work and a lot of partying - they hope. In truth it's the other way round, and often they get disenchanted when they discover that a bar owner does actually want you to turn up on time, look as though you have not been out till six in the morning and to work eight hours or more. And once they have hired you, they don't want you walking out or feigning "the sick".
But this would be unfair to many of the kids who come here. You meet some and think how on Earth do they keep it going. The entertainers especially. For months on end, the similar routines, just the faces of the audiences change. Somehow they do keep going, and for the most part they keep smiling. You know something, I'm full of admiration.
And totally unconnected with all the above ... I dropped by Café del Món in Playa de Muro for a coffee. Georgi was watching Nordic skiing on the TV. It really was skiing and not some geriatric Germans shuffling along with pretend skis over the pavements of Alcúdia. Anyway, the ads and trailers came on, and there was one for "Little Britain", as in the comedy show. Yes, "Little Britain" is on Spanish TV. I guess characters like Emily, Daffyd, Sebastian and Bubbles work ok in any country, though I'm not so sure about the mini Dennis Waterman. Georgi said it was very funny, it was like, and he paused, paused a bit more, it was "like Benny Hill". There you go, I'm sure Messrs Lucas and Walliams will be pleased to know that there is a part of Majorca in which they are known as the new Benny Hill.
And also ... a note about another bar that's opening up. Festas Bar in Puerto Alcúdia from tomorrow.
QUIZ
Yesterday - Bob Dylan. Today's title - brilliant single by a Brit band from, er, about eight years ago or so.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
I have this image of a diaspora of resort refugees carrying their belongings in a battered suitcase from country to country, endlessly seeking the chance to serve some beer or fry a burger. It seems a strange life of mobility and rootlessness. A season here, a season there. This is a labour force at some kind of fringe of economies, dislocated from conventional life, traversing the Mediterranean as though they had become stateless. These are the hardened ones. The others, the youngsters who make up the majority, are different. Theirs is a simple motivation: a bit of work and a lot of partying - they hope. In truth it's the other way round, and often they get disenchanted when they discover that a bar owner does actually want you to turn up on time, look as though you have not been out till six in the morning and to work eight hours or more. And once they have hired you, they don't want you walking out or feigning "the sick".
But this would be unfair to many of the kids who come here. You meet some and think how on Earth do they keep it going. The entertainers especially. For months on end, the similar routines, just the faces of the audiences change. Somehow they do keep going, and for the most part they keep smiling. You know something, I'm full of admiration.
And totally unconnected with all the above ... I dropped by Café del Món in Playa de Muro for a coffee. Georgi was watching Nordic skiing on the TV. It really was skiing and not some geriatric Germans shuffling along with pretend skis over the pavements of Alcúdia. Anyway, the ads and trailers came on, and there was one for "Little Britain", as in the comedy show. Yes, "Little Britain" is on Spanish TV. I guess characters like Emily, Daffyd, Sebastian and Bubbles work ok in any country, though I'm not so sure about the mini Dennis Waterman. Georgi said it was very funny, it was like, and he paused, paused a bit more, it was "like Benny Hill". There you go, I'm sure Messrs Lucas and Walliams will be pleased to know that there is a part of Majorca in which they are known as the new Benny Hill.
And also ... a note about another bar that's opening up. Festas Bar in Puerto Alcúdia from tomorrow.
QUIZ
Yesterday - Bob Dylan. Today's title - brilliant single by a Brit band from, er, about eight years ago or so.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
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