Clash of the cultures.
Yesterday, I took a Japanese couple for a photo flight over Lake Powell. The wife was the photographer; she was shooting photos for a book she’s writing. Both spoke English reasonably well, although with a somewhat limited vocabulary. We communicated well as long as we all spoke slowly and clearly using simple words.
Here’s a frame capture from the video my GoPro Hero shot during our flight. The light gets much better after 4:30 PM this time of year; we started our flight at 2:30 PM. In the photo: Gunsite Butte, Padre Bay, Navajo Mountain.
We flew for an hour in mid-afternoon. The flight was nice, the lake was beautiful, the light was a bit harsh for serious photography. When we got back to the terminal, we planned another flight for the next day during the “golden hour” when the light would be softer and redder.
The husband handed me a credit card to pay for the flight. I ran it through the swiper on my laptop, processing the sale immediately with the building’s WiFi connection. I entered his e-mail address to e-mail him his receipt and gave him back his card.
The wife turned to the husband and said in an undertone, “Do you have bucks?”
At first, he didn’t appear to hear her. It had been a hot flight and I think we were all a bit dehydrated. He was an older man and I don’t think he was accustomed to the heat.
She turned to me and said, “Yes, tomorrow afternoon the light will be better.” Then again to her husband in a lower tone: “Do you have bucks? You know, for coffee.”
He heard her that time and started rummaging around in his wallet and then pocket. She turned to me and continued a conversation. I’d already packed up my things and was ready to go. She was trying to stop me without telling me why.
Eventually, he produced $30 and handed it to me. “For coffee,” he said.
She seemed embarrassed. “For coffee or lunch.”
“Or dinner,” I said, taking the money. “Thank you so much.” I bowed my head and shoulders in a short bob as I so often do when dealing with Japanese people. My bow was likely more natural to me than tipping was to them.
And that’s the thing. My understanding is that the Japanese don’t tip. In fact, I’ve been told that most of the world does not tip. But these folks knew the American custom and wanted to make sure they did things right. I thought the whole thing was pretty cute. Especially, “Do you have bucks?”
If you’re wondering how to tip a tour or charter pilot, I don’t think the 15% rule applies. I think the tip should be based on the amount of time you’re together and the quality of the flight. For a 30-minute tour, I think the pilot would be tickled pink to get $5 to $10. For a lengthier flight — especially a custom flight where the pilot met your requests — $20 to $50 would be good. The $30 tip I received from the Japanese couple was quite generous; I think $10-$20 would have been just as appreciated.
As for me, I get tips about 1/2 of the time that I fly. My flying services are not cheap and I suppose many folks feel that my hourly rate is enough. When people do tip, the amount varies widely. I once did a $750 flight from Page to Monument Valley and back for two Italian men. They tipped me $3. I was not insulted; I know they probably did not understand how to tip. Another time, I took three folks from Phoenix to the Grand Canyon — a flight that cost them $1,800 — and was tipped $300. One photographer I’ve flown many times would end each flight with a crisp $100 bill in my hand. Sweet. The best tip I ever got was $600 from a couple I took on one of my multi-day excursions. That really made my day.
I appreciate all the tips I get and don’t usually feel slighted when I don’t get tipped at all. The only exception is when I spend a great deal of time with clients and provide services beyond what should be expected. Then I usually expect something — but again, I don’t always get it.
That’s part of being a tour/charter pilot.
It’s funny. The guys get everything from pocket change — literally! — to $20 bills. We laugh about the change, especially when it includes pennies. If an American tipped like that, we’d know he was insulting us on purpose. But when a European does it, we know it’s because he just doesn’t know any better.
With the dollar amounts ranging so wildly, a tourist from a non-tipping society might be wondering what’s a reasonable tip for a tour pilot. Here’s what I think. For one of these 30-minute flights the guys are doing, I think $5 per passenger would be a reasonable minimum tip. That’s less than 5% of the cost of the flight. $10 per person would be extremely welcome. Anything more than that would give the pilot bragging rights back in the pilot lounge between flights — which isn’t such a bad thing, either.
A cruise is the ultimate lazy person’s vacation. You get on board on day one, unpack in your own private room, and go to any number of onboard restaurants for free meals just about any time of the day. In the evening, your moving hotel departs the port and moves gently through the sea, arriving at the next port on the next morning. Once there, you can get off the ship and do all kinds of excursions, ranging in trolley tours of the local town, big production shows (the Great American Lumberjack Show comes to mind), active activities (such as biking or hiking), or “adventure” activities (such as helicopter landings on glaciers or sled dog trips or float plane flights). At the end of the day, you’re back on board in your comfy, maid-serviced room, eating free food, seeing free shows, and/or throwing money away in the casino as the ship moves on to the next port.
We spent much of our two “at sea” days in our cabin on the balcony, reading, talking, and taking photos of the things we passed. In fact, as the ship turned away from the Hubbard Glacier to continue on its way, we came back to the room to relax on the balcony with a bottle of wine and our cameras.
And speaking of gratuities, you’re expected, at the end of your cruise, to tip your lead and assistant waiters in the main dining room, the head waiter in the main dining room, and your cabin attendant. Our dining room service was very good — both waiter and assistant waiter were extremely professional without being stiffs. We joked about things, they gave us advice on wine for when we got home, and they didn’t have any trouble giving Mike and Syd (one of our two table mates) seconds and thirds of lobster tails on Tuesday night, when lobster was the popular choice on the menu. But the head waiter obviously only came around to be friendly and secure his tip, so we didn’t tip him. Many people didn’t show up for dinner on Thursday night, the last night of the cruise, to avoid tipping the dining staff. (More on cheapskates in a moment.) We tipped our cabin attendant the suggested amount, even though we didn’t like her. She did her job, but drew the line there. No special service, as we’d had with our last cabin attendant.
Ketchikan was a good example. The day we were there, three cruise ships were lined up at the dock facing the port shopping area. This was roughly 6 to 9 blocks of solid shopping — mostly for jewelry and t-shirts — with the vast majority of shops owned by cruise ship companies or their affiliates. The Great American Lumberjack Show was on the outskirts of this — this tourist attraction does four or five or more shows a day with people lined up to see them. (We saw highlights of this on television, on a show purportedly about Alaska, so we didn’t need or want to see it in person.) This area was very crowded.
Yet less than 1/2 mile away was historic Creek Street, the former red light district of the town, which had been converted into small, mostly locally owned shops. It was nearly deserted. And on the town’s walking tour was an interesting totem pole museum and fish hatchery, both of which were empty.
Of course, the beauty of Alaska still lies beyond all this. Sure, we did excursions, but we did the ones that took us away from the cruise ships and shopping cities they’d built. One excursion took us by helicopter to land and hike on two different glaciers. Another was supposed to take us by helicopter to a mountaintop, where we’d do a 4-mile hike with a guide and return to the ship by train. (That one was cancelled when low ceilings prevented us from getting to the mountain top; we later rented a car to see what we’d missed: on that day, fog.) Another excursion took us by float plane up the Misty Fjords, passing mountain lakes, waterfalls, and glacial snow before landing in a mountain-enclosed bay. (You can see now how we managed to spend $1,800 in extras.) And at the end of each excursion, we walked the town, going beyond the shiny gift shops to walk among the historic buildings and, in more than one instance, panhandlers and locals who weren’t fortunate enough to get jobs selling jewelry to tourists at the docks.
An exception to all this: Icy Straits Point and the indian village of Hoonah. This port had no dock, so our ship anchored offshore and used three tenders (specially configured lifeboats) to ferry passengers back and forth.
Mike and I did the 1-1/2 mile walk (each way) into town where bald eagles waited in treetops for the local fishermen to clean their fish. We stopped at a local bar, where a man had covered the pool table with old photos of the town and more recent photos of a 25-foot snowfall. Then we went to the Landing Zone restaurant at the bottom of the zip line and had a great lunch of chowder and fried halibut and salmon, prepared fresh and served by locals.