bout de papier, Vol. 27, No. 4 (2013) — Winter 2013–14 // Hiver 2013-2014, p. 30
Many years ago in a galaxy far away (aka: my first posting, in Mexico) I had what might have been described as the consular job from hell – there were two of us with over 230,000 Canadian tourists a year in the country, some portion of whom had an unerring instinct for trouble. Our job was to help get them out of it and, more important to the Ambassador, never let a case find its way into question period in Parliament – never. Not to overdramatize, but basically we had two options: a) find every opportunity for fun and stay sane; or, b) shoot yourself.
I opted for Plan A. Trudeau had visited Mexico some time earlier, planning to scuba dive; the Ambassador wasn’t going to let the PM out of his sight, knew the RCMP officer was a NAUI trainer, and so began a short tradition of scuba instruction at the Embassy. Eight weekends of six hours each in a murky, cold pool with an instructor who would step firmly on your hand if you dared rest for a moment hanging onto the side of the pool. However, the open sea test over Palancar reef in Cozumel was absolutely fantastic and the rigours of the pool were instantly forgotten.
What has any of that to do with Australia? Well, there’s a buddy system in diving and mine was the Australian Ambassador, a bachelor and somewhat eccentric intellectual. Do you know what damage was wrought by Walt Disney’s trivialization of nature? He did. But I digress; the Ambassador needed hydrotherapy after a nasty car crash and had joined the scuba training course.
One evening I was invited to the Algerian Ambassador’s for dinner; his spouse was an anthropologist by training, something we shared. The Australian ambassador was the guest of honour… and he clearly had no idea who this third secretary and vice consul might be. Amused, and a bit of a tease, I chatted amiably but did not give him the slightest clue as to why I should address him so familiarly.
We were soon called to dinner. Toasts, mercifully brief remarks, and then liqueurs in the living room. I found myself with the Ambassador again. Taking pity (that, or he was visibly annoyed by now), I explained that we were diving buddies. God’s truth, he looked at me with astonishment and said loud enough for all to hear in that unmistakable down under speak: “Oh my GAWD, I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on”. Ouch. Purely a coincidence I am sure, but I don’t remember being invited back.
Flash forward a few weeks and we are in Cozumel. His Excellency, commenting on our first dive, offered a few thoughts to the lot of us on good aspects and a suggestion for the not so good. Thinking earnestly in my Canadian way, I said, “you know that’s not such a stupid idea!” How was I to know that Ambassadors are a sensitive bunch? Brow furrowed and eyes narrowed, he pointed his nose at me and said: “Thank you VERY much”. Afterwards he always turned to me first in making a suggestion, cock his head to one side, and say “With your permission…”. My “revenge” may have been completely inadvertent, but still delicious. I have opted for Plan A ever since.
Stuart Hughes is a retired Foreign Service officer and Editor of bout de papier. (Have a favourite vignette? Send it!)
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 27, No. 4 (2013) — Winter 2013–14 // Hiver 2013-2014, p. 30. Read the rest of this issue →
