Tourist season has arrived in Alaska, and my life as a tour guide has kicked into full steam. As a child, I never dreamed of being a tour guide, but during my time spent overseas and in Alaska, I’ve had the misfortune privilege many times.

I’m always amazed that visitors mistakenly believe I am an expert on all things about my current locale. I vividly remember when my in-laws came to visit us in Greece. It’s a prime example of my life as a tour guide.

This is how the conversation went as we drove through the glorious Greek countryside:

“What are those?” inquires Mom.

“Sheep.” is my well-informed reply.

“What kind of sheep?”

“White ones.”

“What are all those trees?”

“Olive trees.”

“When do they pick the olives?”

“When they’re ripe.”

“How do they make olive oil?” The questions keep coming fast and furious.

“In the olive oil factory.”

“What are those pretty red flowers?”

“Wild poppies. They are one of the first things to bloom in the spring.”  Finally, I can reply with more than one syllable.

“What do they do with them?”

“I think they simply enjoy looking at them.”

Eventually, my replies disintegrate into a long string of “I don’t know. Dear Husband, do you know?” Of course, Dear Husband is too busy staring at the road and listening to the GPS to be of any assistance. Though I suspect he’s faking it to avoid answering any questions.

I am on my own.

I hate giving uneducated replies and sounding dumb. A little imp of mischief rises within me, and I begin to embroider my answers. Just a little. Since the old folks’ memories are not what they used to be, I get a second chance to polish my answers.

The next round of questions goes like this:

“What are those?” inquires Mom.

“I believe those are sheep.” My voice rings with confidence.

“What kind of sheep?”

“They are a special hybrid sheep found only in Greece. Europeans worry about mad cow disease, so the Greeks are breeding a sheep that tastes like beef. They export them all over Europe.” Their eyes widen in wonder at my explanation.

“What are all those trees?”

“Olive trees.”

“When do they pick the olives?”

I glance furtively around, my voice dropping to a whisper. “That is a highly guarded secret among Greek olive growers. That is why they have the best olives in the world.”

“How do they make olive oil?”

“Have you seen the episode of I Love Lucy where she goes to Italy and stomps on grapes with her bare feet? Greeks use the same process to make olive oil. It is quite a festive holiday, and the olive oil makes your feet as soft as a baby’s butt.”

“What are those pretty red flowers?”

“They are wild poppies. They bloom prolifically in the spring, and you can find fields of poppies all over this part of Greece.”

“What do they do with them?”

“The poppies are picked and exported to Afghanistan for opium production. Next to olive oil, and the hybrid sheep, this is the third-ranking export out of Greece.” Gasps echo in the car at my revelation.

Okay, the conversation only went like this in my head. By the third or fourth round, I sounded like quite the polished tour guide. At least in my mind.

So, when you come to visit in Alaska, please sit back and enjoy my tour. Ask me about the life-cycle of the mosquito, the height of Denali, and how to survive a bear attack. I’ll gladly give you an answer.

No fact checking allowed.