Thousands of Brits around the world this week will be chuckling as they read their menus and hotel directories. Wonky translations into English can make your day. In Mallorca last weekend I noted that the hotel we were staying in offered 'cervical massages' which made me wince as the only thing I've heard of along those lines was a cervical sweep offered by my midwife to bring on labour. A quick look in the dictionary put my mind at rest. The hotel was actually offering back massages (mistranslated from the ' masaje de cervicales ').
Don't you just love proprietor-run holiday companies and hotels? Owners with direct involvement in a business can make improvements quickly without focus group meetings or committees. If a customer requests bath salts in the bathrooms, or the latest Disney DVD in the library, it can happen straight away. No memos to head office and waiting for the whole chain to implement the change. But one thing I had never thought of was how owners can play Cilla Black or Claire Raynor. You should have seen the glow of pride from Tara Wood of Wild Fitness describing how her three-year-old business has led to the wedding of two clients who found love in Kenya. And scouring the bookings for the following week she noted equal numbers of men and women with a wicked smile. Meanwhile, Suzanne Dixon-Hudson of Ferme de Montagne chalet in the French Alps confided that nothing gives her greater job satisfaction than seeing her hospitality fix marriages under stress. She described regularly opening the chalet door to weary parents with young children who clearly haven't had a proper conversation in six months beyond 'have you put the dustbins out?' and seeing them leave like new lovers after a week of good food and pampering. I can't imagine having this same conversation with the bosses of Thomson or Hilton.
It's good to see the French attitude to service is as impressive as ever. In Les Gets last week, a waiter slapped a paper place mat on the table in front of me with a map of the Alps on it. 'So where are we on here?' I asked in a making conversation kind of way. 'I don't have time!' he said, turning his back and waving his hand.
If we sometimes feel shocked by the French, British train stations take the biscuit. Gatwick Airport railway station is an obstacle course and you wonder if the main function of the staff is to prevent hot, sticky, tired, confused travellers from travelling anywhere. The train changed platform three times and the dozen or so ticket inspectors who were preventing people from getting from one platform to the other unless they had the right ticket were telling people to get on the wrong trains. (They told me a train was going to London Bridge when it was not - thankfully I didn't trust their advice). If a London resident of 35 years with a reasonable command of English has difficulty fathoming it out, what happens to all the tourists from elsewhere? If Gatwick airport station with its rows of complicated, cranky, ticket machines and long queues to buy an expensive ticket from a human being is visitors' first taste of British service, they would be right in taking their money and holidays to countries that better deserve their custom.
