How to be a demotivational speaker, and an encounter with an all-purpose tribute band

A quick turnaround after my return from China, and a two week trip to the US. My flight from Shanghai was late on Saturday and it was gone 5pm when I arrived home. Sunday was a blur as I laundered and packed enough clothes for a two week trip (my wife and I have a deal that we do our own laundry. This is based on ensuring that I don’t wreck her clothes by washing at the wrong temperature/speed).

11,15 am on Monday and trusty Paul arrives to take me to my holiday home, Heathrow Terminal 4. I check in for the flight and guess what, it will be an hour late. Head to the lounge, lunch , email, calls, (you get the idea).

Apart from the delay, otherwise uneventful flight. Land in Seattle, immigration fast, baggage fast, and soon I am on my way to Bellevue. I am staying in the Westin, the building that kept me awake on my first trip there (see “Sleepless near Seattle” on my blog).

The Westin building is quite strange. The upper floors seem to be apartments and these have balconies, but the lower hotel floors do not have such ornamentation. This gives the building a lop-sided feel.

I check in and went up to my room to find it has no net curtains, so you have to close the curtains in the daytime to change your clothes- unless you are an exhibitionist.

Unpack and freshen up and off to a dinner for a team I am on. This is at the Rock Bottom Brewery Restaurant on 106th Street. I’ve had some meals here before and it’s ok, if not what US folks would call “upscale”.

We have the upper floor and it’s great to meet Caroline, Stijn, Eric, Roy, Anja and all my old friends. Eric tells me about his recent move to Israel, and being so far from his parents.

We have a pleasant evening and it’s an early night to counteract the jetlag.

Tuesday and the first day of a three day HR conference. Just great to hear the integrity of our leaders, interspersed with funny vignettes from international teams. The Canadian and Central European teams do very funny presentations on what is unique about their geographies, we have a useful functional team meeting and off to the conference party. This is in the “Parlour” a nearby bar and pool hall.

I am persuaded to play pool with Roy from Japan, and get to demonstrate that my pool playing is as good as my waltzing.
I am soundly thrashed (many times).

Have a chat with Ian from China. He has a clash with a course he has to deliver and a key meeting. I’m still fond of China so I offer to teach the class for him.

Next day and some more great presentations, The Germans do another great vignette involving Lederhosen, Bavarian dance and a clapping sequence (Bom Bom BOM. Bom Bom BOM) that provokes an impromptu chorus of “We will Rock you”.

The one dud note (for Europeans at least) was a motivational speaker- to preserve his identity let’s call him Billy.

Billy is a man who has pulled himself up from a tough upbringing. Billy is a successful motivational speaker (allegedly) whose brother is in prison for murder (or something terrible). Billy bounded on to the stage dancing to the tune of Bachman Turner Overdrive’s “Taking care of business”. He wore a sharp suit and designer shoes. I was already uneasy.

Billy is also a man with limited cultural awareness.

An American colleague who has worked in Europe has written a great document on how to present to Europeans (and it’s not bad advice for Asia either).

Some of the key messages:

• Always remember that English may not be the audience’s first language
• Speak clearly, and not too fast
• Avoid hyperbole, slang and cliché
• “Don’t expect the audience to respond easily
1. Asking them to cheer, shout or applaud something or someone often goes badly
2. They may respond out of politeness, but will often be embarrassed and uncomfortable doing so”
• “Avoid using expressions based on the US educational system e.g. Kindergarten, 12th grade, etc (I know German speakers have Kindergartens too)
• “Never assume that someone or something famous in the US is known in Europe
1. Most American sports heroes/ terms do not translate
2. You need to give background for historical figures”
• “Many big American brand names are virtually unknown in Europe
1. Sears, Advil, Tylenol, Gatorade, etc.”
• “A lot of American TV shows are seen in Europe, but certainly not all of them
1. So don’t assume everyone knows “Jeopardy”, “Friends” or “Survivor” etc.”

Billy was an object lesson in breaking every one of these tenets.

He talked at supersonic speed, laced richly with US slang. He encouraged the audience “If you agree with me I want you to shout back “ABSOLUTELY!!”. Do you agree with me?”.

Some of the audience shouted back half heartedly, some close to me muttered things other than “absolutely” which I cannot repeat in a family blog. People from Korea and China went slightly pink.

Billy told the tale of his upbringing and his tough life- he spent a long time telling the tragic tale of how he missed the NFL draft (whatever that is- though Billy obviously thought it was important). By now his audience were 2/3rds confused and by cleverly banging on about sports he cunningly alienated many of his female American listeners too.

Billy’s message can be summarised in three sentences

• You want to have something badly to achieve it (“emotion produces motion”)
• If you try hard enough you can achieve anything
• If you haven’t got there you haven’t tried hard enough
(I’ve always had a problem with this kind of thinking- I’m all in favour of effort , but no amount of it can fully compensate for a complete lack of aptitude).

Billy, however, managed to spin this stuff out for an hour, and as time went on the audience became more silent, with the kind of hushed expectancy that happens as time slows down, and the train wreck is inevitable.

It all went spectacularly wrong when Billy was building to his climax.

The cause was actually quite innocent- in that Billy was telling us about the importance of us finding our personal niche- which he pronounced “nitch” instead of the French “neesh”. My colleague Richard from France whispered to me in French “what does he mean, nitch?” “He means “neesh”” I replied. Richard laughed and whispered to his colleagues.

As Billy was building to the heart-rending climax of his death- bed reconciliation with his estranged father, (his father was on the death bed, not Billy, life isn’t fair), his emotional appeal was distracted by a wave of hilarious laughter from the French speakers as “nitch” was translated.

You could see the sweat on Billy’s brow and the slight look of panic, confused that his tried and tested deathbed story should cause hilarity in the audience at his most bathetic moment. At this point I think he decided to cut his losses and finished rapidly, leaving his international audience wondering how much he had been paid for that speech.

A telling and poignant moment came in the ensuing coffee break as Billy sat at a desk waiting to sign copies of his self- help book. There were five people in the line out of an audience of around 500.

Many including me picked up an unsigned copy (they were free after all), but poignantly, the day after the conference, as I cut through the conference area to get elsewhere, I saw piles of his book, painstakingly autographed, lying abandoned in the deserted conference hall. I wonder what the hotel did with them.

Dinner that night with some colleagues in Seattle, where every question in conversation that prompted a positive answer, was met with a loud and ironic “ABSOLUTELY”. My very good friend Caroline, (she of the Belgo- Swiss chocolate war” was at her scathing and witty best in her comments. “ABSOLUTELY” was a staple response in many emails in EMEA for many weeks afterwards, so I guess Billy was memorable in one way.

The following night we had a team dinner at a local restaurant. This place specialised in fondue. The service gave the impression that when the order was placed the food was put on a plane in Zurich to be delivered to the restaurant, so long did it take to arrive, but I did enjoy my boss’s tale over dinner. The previous night he had attended a dinner given in honour of the Indian HR team, where the main course in the set menu offered had been beef.

I wish I could claim I made that up- but no, it happened.

On my way back to the hotel, I passed the Rock Bottom bar, and was amazed by some brilliant live music coming from upstairs. I had to go in and investigate. Heading up the stairs I saw a three piece band who were quite simply brilliant. “The Popoffs”, as they are called, if seen from behind, look like teenagers with their gelled hair and youthful styling, but when you look at their faces it’s apparent that they are much older, and their faces suggest that they have lived hard and fast, and possibly not been unacquainted with chemical substances- the two guitarists have some facial similarity with Keith Richards.

However they are incredible players, and their set is basically all cover versions of bands like the Beatles, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Bowie, etc.

There are many tribute bands who can do good copies of their chosen heroes- the Popoffs can do almost anybody. They even played a couple of requests, including a very respectable version of “Bohemian Rhapsody”. A three -piece band who can do a very good version of this without backing tapes have got to be good.

Amazing stuff -I was told they play every Thursday at the bar- to paraphrase Mark Knopfler “The boys can play”. My plans for an early night went out the window as I enjoyed some great music.

The end of my first week and the prospect of another live concert in Seattle on Friday evening, but that’s another tale.

A “French guy” in Shanghai

November and my first trip to China. I had been due to attend a meeting the year before, having even undergone the pain of getting a visa, but it had been cancelled.
The Consular section of the Chinese Embassy in London makes little attempt at welcome. To find it leave Regent’s Park tube station, walk round the crescent into Portland Place, and keep going until you find the line of miserable people snaking along the pavement, and you have arrived.

Make sure you won’t need the lavatory for a couple of hours (even if it is freezing), and if you have parked, pay for several hours. If you have to leave the line, attempts to rejoin where you were rightfully stood originally can lead to rioting, (your) public lynching, or both.
After about 90 minutes you finally make it inside the building, a shabby hall with a small number of counters, with the emphasis on removing large amounts of money from you as quickly as possible. I surrendered my passport, a photo, a form and a letter of invitation from our Chinese company. I fared better than the guy in front of me, who had no letter of invitation. Having braved the cold, and having fought his way back in line when he had to refill the parking machine, he was told summarily that he would have to come back and start again another day.

Anyway I had the right documents, so surrendered my passport and documents (£60 for a visa), and was told I could collect it in four days time. You can get “express service “ (same day) if you pay a truckload of extra money, but I had managed my travel so that I could do without a passport for this time.
Back again at the end of the week to do the whole thing again with the collections hall.
Jump forward in time, and I’m arriving at Heathrow Terminal 4, enjoying a chat with my old friend Paul. I check in and am told that there is a “short delay”.
On arriving in the lounge, I was updated on this “short delay” which had grown to 90 minutes. Great, nearly 4 hours to kill at Heathrow.

As a “gold card” holder I am entitled to use the BA “First Class” lounge. Today it was anything but first class, overcrowded so that there weren’t enough seats for everyone, with food and drink repeatedly running put as the weary staff tried (not too hard) to replenish food trays and bottles of wine. It was like watching locusts as entire trays and bottles were emptied within seconds of arrival. I thought about trying the other lounge but was too apathetic to move.
I half heartedly watched a rugby game on the television, and typed up another travelogue. Time dragged on and on but finally we boarded. Flight to Beijing uneventful apart from two hours late arriving. Owing to the time difference, we landed in early afternoon on Sunday, having left London on Saturday evening.
A long wait in immigration, and a sharp interrogation from the immigration officer (I had inadvertently transposed the digits in writing the flight number on my landing card). She obviously knows the flight numbers by heart. She must live an interesting life.
Collect my luggage and have a worrying moment. There’s a driver in the baggage hall with a hotel sign, but with someone else’s name on it. I tentatively left the baggage hall to be greeted by thousands of people. I walked past a long line of drivers and was just beginning to panic, when I finally saw my name at the very end of the line. My driver spoke very basic English, and led me to the car.
The roads were deserted as we sped down the highway into Beijing. The Beijing air is very polluted, and in the near freezing temperature there was a definite smog over the city.
The road signs were occasionally in English, and I was struck by the signs that talked about sixth ring road, 5th ring road, etc. (I checked with a local colleague, and this is a result of central planning. The city does indeed have 6 broadly concentric ring roads, the outer two being constructed in anticipation of future expansion of the city. That’s planning).
We finally turned off onto the third ring road, and finally arrived at the Renaissance. The receptionist spoke charming English and I was soon upstairs to my room to unpack. I was still tired after the flight and spent some time dozing. I had an abortive attempt to find an ice machine, but couldn’t locate one. I went down to the lobby and the receptionist tried gamely to understand my request to find an ice machine, but she clearly could not conceptualise what I was talking about.
Asian hotels differ from Western hotels in several ways. Firstly, there are way more staff, as labour tends to be cheaper. Secondly, there is a natural culture of service which does not expect to be tipped for courtesies (that’s what caused the confusion over the ice- in an Asian hotel the idea of you collecting your own ice does not compute). Another common feature is that the hotels often have “executive rooms” which are more luxurious, and give access to other services.
Early evening, and I went up to the executive lounge which had a happy hour. For the executive guests the hotel provides complimentary appetisers (very nice) and drinks (Chinese wine is rather rough). I finished my book (“Air Babylon”, an exposé of behind the scenes at an airport).
Time to find some dinner. I wandered down to reception and asked the concierge to recommend a place to walk to where there would be restaurants. I was a little worried when he recommended I go to “Lady Street”, thinking he had seriously misunderstood my intent, (I subsequently learned it’s called this because there are lots of shops where you can buy presents for women). Not what you were thinking.
Anyway, whatever exists in Lady Street , I couldn’t find it after walking a couple of kilometres. In sub zero temperatures I was thinking I should start heading back, and had noticed a Thai restaurant which had English signage, so I went to the door and asked a young lady welcomer at the door if she spoke English. “I ought to, I’m from Minnesota” came the reply. There was joke to be made about American English but I decided to be discreet.

Turns out she was the proprietors’ daughter. Her parents had opened a restaurant 7 years previously. I had a very pleasant meal, with the staff who had very little English, having fun trying their limited repertoire and staring at the strange guy, and then a long walk back to the hotel. All the buildings en route have security guards who wear military style uniforms so it felt a little intimidating.
Next day at the office, and my meeting with Susan and Leigh who were organising the logistics for my two events in China. They took me across the street for lunch. Susan is always cheerful and hugely competent. Leigh is a little more shy, with a bewitching smile.

Leigh was also on a mission to teach me some Mandarin. I already knew the words for “Hello” and “thank you”, and Leigh began by teaching me the Beijing dialect words for “yesterday”, “today” and “tomorrow”. This is not easy as the sounds are quite hard for a Westerner, but Leigh was very persistent and repeatedly tested me throughout my stay to check I had retained. (Leigh- I still remember them!).

Evening and we walked to the conference room where the event was being held. Here’s where the extra staff kick in. In Europe you often have to set up rooms yourself. Here a small army moved furniture, stuck posters, tested microphones, and generally asked for ways they could help.

When all was in order we walked to a local restaurant which specialised in Peking duck. Here the chef arrives and carves the duck in front of you, in a ceremony which is clearly considered very important. A great meal, and lots of fun with my Chinese colleagues.

My colleague Barry (from Hong Kong) takes me on a tour to Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City. On the way I see a Beijing branch of “Hooters” (see my Singapore travelogue). Globalisation strikes again. In the freezing rain both are deserted, but both are eerie in the dark. An hour’s ride costs about 7 Euros.
Next day and my first session with a Chinese audience. As normal I test my English with the audience in the first few minutes, and find to my delight that they can follow both my English and my sense of humour. They are smart and eager to learn and we have a great day.
Next day we fly to Shanghai. I was a little worried as I was not sure how e-tickets work in China., but this goes smoothly and we have a smooth flight to Shanghai, descending once again into the polluted air.

The hotel have sent two staff to the airport, one to meet us and call his colleague, the other to drive round and round the airport until we exit and then collect us all.

A short drive to the hotel and we are sent to the “executive check in” on the 23rd floor (why are these always in a less accessible place?).

I unpack and prepare to join my colleague for “happy hour”. I look at the bathroom items and there is a comb in a cardboard box. I open it to look and it is “carved” out of wood. Can’t imagine any other country where one could get a manufactured wooden comb.
We check out the room and do a sound check for next day. This time our flawless admisnistrator is Jo, who again speaks flawless English and is an immensely accomplished young lady.
It’s clear that Shanghai is more commercial than Beijing. In the happy hour you can only have one complimentary alcoholic drink, and the appetisers stop coming 45 minutes before the end, so if you come late then too bad- there’s nothing left.
My colleague Barry is out to dinner with friends, so I have to fend for myself. I ask the concierge for a recommendation and he writes something in Mandarin that I can give to the taxi driver.
Be nice to the concierge in China. You never know when they will write “please take this person somewhere where they get mugged”.

I’m going to a trendy street in Shanghai. The taxi fare is again absurdly cheap- a half hour ride for £3. The video screen in the cab advertises Shanghai’s three branches of “Hooters”. East meets West.

The first thing I see when I arrive is a so-called Munich Biergarten. I walk up and down the street to look at the alternatives. Most are copies of Italian, French etc. One bar claims to be minimalist- “Come in, take off your clothes down to the minimum, and enjoy the freedom with other like thinkers”. I don’t think so.
In the end I decide on the Biergarten. The place seems to be playing an excellent tape of a live performance of a group that plays American west coast music. A duo I have not heard of plays the Orleans song “Dance with me”. This is “our tune” for Janice and I, so I am misty eyed as I think how much I am missing her.
My soup and Schnitzel are excellent. A couple of German guys walk in, chatting in “high“ German. “Great, you can get Wiener Schnitzel here” says one.
Finally I spot a video screen and realise that the live tape is actually a group playing in another area of the restaurant. Duh.
Taken back home by Mr Extremely Morose Taxi Driver. Step into the lift and take it to the sixth floor.
I remember being a little taken aback. There are two women in the lift, and one gets out behind me. Normally when a guy gets out on the same floor, a woman often drops back to see where the guy is going and ensure her safety. I’m conscious of this one matching my pace and she says “excuse me sir”. I turn to help, and cannot understand her next sentence. On the third attempt I understand she is saying “You want special massagey?” (my phonetic spelling) as she starts to rub my arm to illustrate.
I gently decline; I did not expect such a thing to happen in China.
Event next day also successful, and Barry and I go to celebrate. We take a cab to the south side of the river, close to the Bund building ( a landmark). The restaurant overlooks the river, and it’s intriguing to see the buildings that seem to be copies of those in New York, London, etc.

The river has many brightly lit boats which cruise up and down the river with passengers, the view is stunning, and I am struck by a boat which has a giant flat screen, and sails up and down simply as a giant floating billboard.
We walk back towards the Bund, and Barry won’t look at the taxis, who he says are all ripping off tourists (If they are standing outside their cabs this is bad news), and we head to the subway. The steps down are full of vendors selling horribly coloured cuddly toys. As you know I live teddy bears, but there are limits.
The subway is very cheap, but there is no such thing as off peak when you trasport millions. We take a cab later to a place called Hengshang Road to an approximation of a Spanish Bar, and then a cab home to the hotel. This night I get no offers of physiotherapy.
Friday morning. Flights are every other day so I have a day to kill. I do some email for a couple of hours and head for the metro, taking in the obviously Victorian church across the street which claims to be a cathedral. It looks forbidding with gates locked and notices forbidding photography.
Successfully buy a ticket to People’s Square (more horrible cuddly toys), and surface in the sunlight.

It’s grim being a single male Western tourist in Shanghai. I managed about 50 metres before I was stopped by some very friendly Chinese “students”. They spoke flawless English, and were keen to invite me to a traditional tea ceremony “to practise their English”.
(I was told by a colleague that this may be a con trick. You go, have the ceremony, they claim poverty, you pay a fortune for everyone, they collect their cut later).
I didn’t know this but declined their offer because I simply wanted to be alone. I walked in the park to see large numbers of men playing a Chinese variant of checkers, but could not go more than 50 metres without being accosted again.
I left the square and walked to Nanjing Road, apparently the longest shopping street in China. This too proved impossible to navigate as I was stopped again every 50m and offered “genuine” Rolex watches, Mont Blanc pens etc., not to mention several massage variations, and someone who claimed to be selling babies. I got so fed up I decided that I would not speak English and responded only in French.

I was offered invites to calligraphy exhibitions , more massages, etc, but resolutely stuck to French and looks of incomprehension. Even as a “French guy” in Shanghai I soon tired of the constant barrage of “offers”, and took the subway back to Hengshang Road. In early afternoon this was a haven of peace and I found a bar which served food, and enjoyed relative peace. Even here, as I ate and had a regular call with my Indian colleague Sunil, people stopped to stare and take photographs of me. Feeding time at the zoo.

Another call with a European colleague, and back to my hotel.

In London it’s said that the black cab drivers are reluctant to venture south of the river after dark. I tried to get a cab back to the hotel (rush hour was underway), but on giving him the address he signalled to me that he would not take me, since his cab was pointing in the wrong direction on the street, and this was apparently enough to make the fare unviable, so I took the metro again.

I changed, showered and decided that I’d liked Hengshang Road and had seen some promising restaurants, so returned there.
On Friday night it’s a very different place. I had barely left the station when a lady stopped and invited me to go with her for another “special massage”. I pointed out that I was married and brandished my wedding ring. “Yes, but your wife is not here. You need to live in the moment” she said in perfect English.
“Great”, I thought, “an existentialist philosopher “masseuse””.

Existentialist Philosopher Masseuse was very insistent, but I shook her off and headed back to the bar where I had had lunch. It was clear the whole street was changed. I ordered a beer and noticed a set of young women standing in the bar. As I sat outside drinking my beer, they removed their coats to reveal that they were all wearing T shirts saying “Love Time”. At this point the proprietress of the bar barked an order and the “Love time” girls stood to attention while receiving a military style briefing. Goodness knows what they were told.

I still don’t know whether they are waitresses or “hostesses” but I was not staying to find out. Ignoring the restaurants, I took the subway back to my hotel and walked into the nearest chain restaurant. With my six words of Mandarin this was a challenge.

The staff were keen to point out that they were closing soon, and that they would not wait if I was not finished (amazing what you can communicate with sign language). I left most of my food, but it felt more wholesome than “love time”.
Next day, an early start to the airport. Traffic is light, and a smoggy haze lies over the city. We pass the impressive sports stadium, and there is a majestic view of a massive suspension bridge in the hazy distance. Public building can be wonderful in China.
The 48km drive is uneventful and I arrive in good time.
Immigration again hostile, (I’m leaving the country folks-don’t make it hard), and the lounge very primitive. The flight boards late, and we are told about an hour’s delay. I’m upgraded to First Class, but when you are next to a baby who screams for 14 hours , no flight is fun.
Arrive at 5pm in London on Saturday evening, with a ton of laundry to do as I am off to the US for two weeks on Monday.
I love China, and want to return.

A Sauna in Singapore

Dear all,

A trip to Singapore for a “train the trainer” event. Owing to the time zones, I had to fly out on the Saturday- the evening flight arrives at 17.15 on Sunday when you add the time difference.

This will probably mean nothing to many readers , but the day I flew was the final of the world rugby championships. England had defied all expectations by reaching the finals, and the final was that Saturday evening. My flight was scheduled to take off at 9.30 pm, so would board at half time. I was thus in the very rare position of hoping that my flight would be delayed so I could see the second half. I arrived very early at the airport, to ensure I could find a seat near the TV in the lounge. Heathrow Terminal 4 is very empty at that time on Saturday night and I checked in , through security, changed money and in the lounge in only 20 minutes. At check-in a very unpleasant guy was berating a BA employee because he could only have one piece of hand luggage. He was really abusive, as though she had invented the rule herself. He refused to countenance the explanation that it’s an airport authority rule and applies to anyone who flies from Heathrow.

Anyway , into the lounge and Hallelujah, pole position in front of the telly. Caught up on some emails and read some of the more lengthy ones (I hate emails that occupy more than one screen, unless they are written for leisure purposes).

Finally up to date so applied myself to crosswords in the three main dailies, finishing just in time for the rugby. By this stage the lounge had a really lop-sided feel with half of it empty, and a massive crowd gathered around the TV.

The match was very tense and nerve-racking to watch, and worse still the flight was showing on time. England went into half time slightly behind.

The second half had just begun when the flight was called. Reluctantly I left my piece of prime real estate and headed for the gate. I was just leaving the lounge when a roar told me that England had scored. A quick enquiry told me that they had scored a try (a bit like a touchdown in American football). This would put them slightly ahead. Impatiently stood in line to board- in my seat- usual chirpy captain’s announcement- safety briefing- etc. but NO NEWS ON THE SCORE.

Begged the cabin crew attendant who said he would try and find out. Take off- level off- cabin service and NO NEWS ON THE SCORE. I’m begging now, not interested in the food or wine- JUST TELL ME THE SCORE.

Finally I was put out of my misery. Turned out the score as I left the lounge had been disallowed and that England had lost. Renewed interest in the wine at this point.

Landed on time in 32 degrees and sunshine (wasn’t quite the same in London). Into the spotless terminal and my first introduction to another famous aspect of Singapore- its rules. Stood in line in immigration, and the immigration officer took objection to the documents of the person in front of me. Left our line stranded and disappeared for 30 minutes (with all the guy’s documents). Returned unsmiling and reluctantly let the guy in.

He took my papers without acknowledgement, or apology for the hold up, and impassibly and without a word, read my documents, stamped them and I was in. Arrived at the baggage reclaim to see my case on the carousel. Straight out and met by my driver, a cheerful Singaporean of Chinese ethnicity. The sun beat down and the humidity was high. Into the air conditioned cab.

As we drove in I was given a lecture by the driver about Singapore- size of the island- population- percentage breakdown of Chinese, Malays, Indians, and others. I was given more statistics about the number of tons handled by the container port, and had several of the key sights pointed out to me.

Eventually we crossed the bridge to Sentosa Island, the getaway destination for the city. The island is full of tourist attractions, and a huge building site where a huge casino resort is under construction. I can’t think of anywhere that needs a new casino, but that’s just me.

Arrived at the hotel exactly one hour after the plane touched down. The humidity was intense. Checked in and up to my room. My shirt was already very wet, and as I unpacked I counted my shirts, as I envisaged getting through more than usual that week.

I hate being trapped in hotels, so took a walk along the beach, finding a series of cafes, bars and restaurants. Found a place where I could eat later.

Back to the hotel and called my co-facilitator for the event. She agreed to my proposed eatery, and we walked back along the beach, ordered and chatted about our game plan for the next few days.

It was great to sit there on a warm evening feet in the sand with the sound of the sea and the evening lights. This is the great side of travel. The score didn’t matter anymore.

Up next morning, and breakfast in the sunshine on the terrace overlooking the beach. It’s interesting to see man’s impact on nature, at our table we were beset by peahens (female peacocks), who clearly see the hotel as a source for food and come begging at the tables. My colleague threw them some fruit. They turned their noses (beaks?) up at the fruit but when others threw them cheese, meats and sausages they ate happily. Not sure what is the standard diet for a peacock but I am pretty confident that sausages are not normal.

A ride to the office in a cab. Cabs are very cheap and the drivers very helpful and cheerful. I wonder whether there is a government course for cab drivers because again I was given an extended lecture/ advertisement for Singapore once again. Pulled up at the office and up to the 22nd floor, and fantastic views over the Marina and harbour.

A good series of meetings and a cab back to the hotel with my colleagues. Because I was travelling with locals I was spared the Singapore lecture this time.

Our delegates arrived and we did the initial briefing and set off to the hotel seafood restaurant. Great to laugh and joke with old friends from India and China. I was unlucky with my order, which arrived almost an hour after everyone else.

Day 2 and we started the TTT proper. I could tell I was coming down with a cold. I rarely get ill but every three years or so I get a major bout of cold or flu and I could feel this one coming.

The next two days were hugely miserable as I struggled though with the bug. One night I was hugely feverish. My room had twin beds. At 3am I went to the bathroom and came back to bed. Getting back into bed I decided this bed was too wet so climbed in to the other. I am sure they had to change both next day. Somehow I got through most of the days and the TTT sessions.

I began to recover on Thursday afternoon. On Thursday evening we all went to a seafood restaurant on the east side going out to the airport. This was a great meal. There’s something wonderful about eating messy food and using your hands. As we sat down we ordered a set of dishes recommended by a local colleague (lots of seafood). The waiting staff came and tied paper bibs around our necks, a sign of what was to come, and then arrived with trays of chili crab, other crab, shrimp (unshelled), etc., and we had a whale of a time cracking shells and claws.

Friday completed the TTT, and attended a reception on the beach after the management excellence class which was running in parallel. Another warm evening on the beach, like being in a sauna, and after an hour I again needed to shower and change my shirt in the humidity.

I had determined to go into the city that evening, and asked the concierge if he could recommend a place to go to that would not be too crowded. The look he gave me indicated that this was similar to asking for directions to a mountain in central Amsterdam. In the end he recommended a place called Clarke Quay- apparently a trendy place.

Caught a cab there- receiving the statutory lecture. The place was absolutely packed. The place was a series of bars and restaurants, very glitzy and upmarket. There were several unusual places, including a bar called Highlander specializing in Scotch whisky. I’m afraid that locals in kilts didn’t really work for me. There was a fantastic range of interesting places, the only sour note for me was a large branch of an American theme bar called “Hooters”, whose main selling point seems to be scantily clad female serving staff. The bar had a large open air annexe, and I was a little depressed to see how well patronised the place was inside and out. I’m not sure that the Hooters “uniform” really suits Singaporean female physiognomy. Anyway I walked on feeling very self-righteous and tried an Indian restaurant. A cab back to the hotel and another lecture en route. I think I am ready for the Singapore exam now.

I stayed over until Saturday- Friday night flights had been full and the fare £600 more, so Saturday, having checked out I was back to the city for some concentrated tourism.

I started in Chinatown. The city was originally divided into various areas by Sir Stamford Raffles, after whom the hotel is named, (told you I’d pass the exam). This was an interesting warren of stores and streets. I’m the kind of person who is naturally drawn to get off the main streets so immediately dived down the side street. On the positive side, I was rewarded by some very quaint buildings and stores. The downside was that I was completely pestered by the proprietors of every shop and stall. The local sales technique seems to be that no prices are ever displayed, and the task is to inveigle you into the shop and see how well you can haggle. I absolutely hate this kind of process and was soon feigning deafness and avoiding eye contact.

Walking down the street I heard a sound a little like a jazz band, so followed the sound. Around the corner I came to a mound of sandals and flip flops, outside a Hindu temple, and now able to hear more clearly, realized the jazz was in fact music being played in the temple. 100 yards down the street was another pile of sandals and the sound of the muezzin as prayers were starting in the mosque.

I headed back to the main street, heading back up to the Singapore river and Clarke Quay once more, much quieter in mid- morning.

Taking photos of the Quay from the bridge over the river, I was interrupted by a Sikh guy who wanted to convince me he was a fortune teller. He told me that just by looking at me that I would have health, a long life and many wives (not sure what Janice would make of point 3). He then tried a mathematical trick, the point being that he wrote down the answer before we started, and started the “think of a number” trick. The trick works because whatever number you take, the operations you then perform means you inevitably end up with the same result. Being very mathematical I spotted where he was going.

Having presented his miraculous answer he tried to persuade me to invest in a more exhaustive (and expensive) prediction of my future. I wanted to debunk his trick, but decided I had not planned to spend my one tourism day arguing about algebra, so politely declined and walked off very quickly. I soon passed the Carlton hotel and Chijmes, a former convent school converted into a retail complex.

After this walking ( and the acceleration) I was again very hot, so called in at a café for a cold drink and a seat next to air conditioning. Stayed there a full hour until I felt cool again, and back on the road to Bugis Street (see later).

On the way I passed a Catholic Church with the sign “Fatima comes to Singapore”, a reference to a procession service they have regularly in the church.

I soon arrived at Bugis Street, an amazing jumble of stalls and small shops. If you like souks, markets, crowds, noise and haggling then this is the place for you. I looked at a few stalls but couldn’t bring myself to haggle. Had a brush with an individual who I am convinced was hoping to pick my pocket.

Continuing north I was soon in the Muslim quarter. The entry to this is marked by two gateposts with golden minarets. It was like moving into an oasis of calm, with hijab- clad women shopping unhurriedly in the streets around an area dominated by the gold minaret of the Sultan mosque. The street names showed the relics of English colonialism, Arab Street, Hindoo Street, Haji Lane, Sultan Gate.

A left turn into “Little India” (Sir Stamford strikes again). Again this is dominated by a mosque (the Abdul Gaffoor mosque). This was very ornate and decorated and a beauty to look at. A worshipper leaving the mosque gate scowled at me as I took some photos.

By this stage I was hot, another drenched shirt and very thirsty. By this stage I really fancied a beer but was not hopeful so close to a mosque with many halal shops nearby. It was also time for some food. I noted a Russian restaurant (not sure what that’s doing in Little India), and then I saw the oasis.

The Prince of Wales Bar and Backpacker hostel is a tiny business nestled in among the sari shops. Stepping inside you would want to call it “Little Melbourne” as it’s an Australian (Melbourne) enclave in little India. I ordered a beer in the very dim bar, and the ice cold liquid was hugely welcome. A sign over the bar showed the prices. Draft beer was Singapore $8 a pint, with a sign saying “Jam jars (i.e. half measures) $5”- with the additional note “GIRLS ONLY”- so much for equality. They didn’t serve food, but did have an arrangement with local takeaways so very soon my lunch problem was solved as lunch was delivered.

Part of the entertainment was the succession of backpackers dropping in to book accommodation for that evening. I wonder if the parents know that their teenage daughters have nothing booked at 3pm to have a roof over their heads that evening.

Anyway if you are willing to share a dormitory with five other people you can have a bed for S$15 (about $8US), with discounts if you pay for three nights in advance. Not exactly the Marriott.

Out into the blazing mid afternoon heat, and a short walk to Sim Lim Square. I passed a tower block development called Rochor point. So far all the architecture I had seen had been tasteful, but this collection of apartment blocks was painted in a cringeworthy series of gaudy colours. I don’t know what is the opposite of a pastel colour but these were anti-pastels.

Sim Lim Square is heaven if you are a geek. 5 floors of nothing but computer and electronics shops. The place was packed (mainly with males it must be said). Again with a Caucasian face I was subjected to the “Mister, Mister” cries from people promising me a great deal. Again there were no prices on display so I soon fled the building. Exit pursued by salesmen.

A hot and sweaty walk to Orchard Road, and a succession of malls. Finally made some purchases in a CD store. The secret of their success? They didn’t pounce on me the moment I came within 50 metres of the store, but simply displayed their prices and gave me time to decide. Stopped at a row of Chinese food vendors and tried some dim sum, just for the fun of it. There’s something about food served on the street- they were delicious.

Walking down Orchard Road I noted that Singapore too has that vital cultural oasis, an Irish pub. Walking past the “Dubliner” I heard that they were playing the music of the well known Irishman, Bob Marley.

I had planned to go to Raffles hotel for a cocktail, but decided that my third shirt of the day was too sweaty and disreputable so instead took a cab back to my hotel -“Sir, let me tell you some facts about Singapore”- and a last meal on the beach in the sunset before heading for the airport. The restaurant was very full and I was approached by a trio of Austrians who asked if they could share my table, and we had a pleasant conversation as they deliberated over cocktails.

A final cab ride to the airport, complete with the statutory lecture, and checked in for my flight, discovering I had been upgraded to first class.

You’ll probably think I am ungrateful, a poser, or both, but I am not sure I really like first class. I have been upgraded twice and not particularly enjoyed either. BA always put extremely “posh” staff to serve in that cabin and they can be rather haughty. The first time I was upgraded was on a flight back from Seattle, where I was rather taken aback by the attendant who trying to be conversational, commented on the book I was reading (a Frederick Forsyth novel), saying it wasn’t really a first class traveller’s book. I’ll read any book I want to thank you very much.

Anyway the big fuss this time was that they wanted to “make my bed”. I just wanted to the lay the thing flat and cover myself with a blanket, but oh no, the attendant was going to do the full job with sheets and everything. I had to stand around for 15 minutes like a spare part, before I was allowed to sleep.

The beauty of a Singapore flight is that there is exactly enough time to get 8 hours sleep in between dinner and breakfast. Woke refreshed and watched the plane descend in darkness over London.

From 32C and sunny, humid weather, I landed at 5am on Sunday in Heathrow, 5 degrees and cloudy. It’s nice to be home.

Orlando and Sheryl Crow

The following Monday after my return from Delhi, and my first trip to our company kick off meeting for a new financial year.
To save money the company has a block booking on a flight at absurdly low prices, and the flight leaves from Gatwick. A 6.30 departure and a long hour and a half to get there instead of my regular 30 mins to Heathrow.

Through the formalities surprisingly quickly and into the lounge, to discover half of the occupants were colleagues- including the UK board- we certainly would lose a lot of people if the plane crashed.

Boarded more or less on time, listening to colleagues moaning that even as BA Gold card holders they couldn’t get an aisle seat.

Saw my UK colleague Vicky, who had kindly collected some items from the office. We attracted a stare or two as she gave me items of clothing.

Settled down to reading, when I was interrupted by a middle aged man, who asked if I could allow “a young gentleman” into the seat beside me. A quick glance at this small child suggested that “young gentleman” was arguably the most inaccurate description one could possibly give, and this proved to be true. These two folks proved to be part of an extended family, with the original man, some aunts and uncles, two grandparents and three ladies who were wearing either the “hijab” or the “niqab” coverings. Grandma had a full burkha.

It rapidly became apparent that the “young gentleman” was a tiny thug, as he kicked everything in sight, and proceeded to repeatedly thump his uncle in the seat next to him whilst continuously yelling. It turned out he was not alone, as the other children, all girls, were equally unruly. You’ll remember that on the previous trip to India that some of the competitors were obvious contenders for the World Obnoxious Child Championships. It was evident that we were privileged to fly with the true champions on this flight.

These kids were positively feral and their various relatives made no attempt to control or admonish. When I complained to “dad” about being kicked repeatedly he negotiated for me to swap seats with another “uncle” in the row in front. This helped a little though Junior was still kicking and punching the seats, and he was just as noisy from one row forward. The cabin service staff were also extremely unhappy, as the children pressed buttons randomly on the remotes, resulting in hundreds of false alarms with the call bell. Seven hours of complete hell.

There was one funny moment. At one point 5 little girls were crammed into a row of three (with also one seat occupied by a mum). A stewardess came by and remonstrated with the family. The mother asked why the kids couldn’t sit like this. The stewardess explained that in the event of cabin decompression only three masks would drop leaving three without oxygen.

“And why would that be a problem?” muttered someone about three rows in front.

Through all this the head of the family beamed expansively at what he obviously viewed as high spirits in the kids. Most of the passengers would have cheerfully lynched them.

After what seemed like an eternity we landed in Orlando. Using my unerring ability to join the line which turned out to be the slowest moving, I waited 75 minutes to get through immigration.
Collected my bag, and then had to surrender it again as Orlando has a similar layout to Seattle, and you have to catch a train to the main terminal and ship your bag separately. There was one major difference- In Seattle your bag arrives at the main Terminal two minutes after you do- in Orlando it was another 45 minutes wait. I was in Delhi the week before and Delhi airport is way more efficient than Orlando.

Finally into a taxi and off to the “Doubletree Castle Hotel”, which turned out to be a monstrous building from the outside. Maybe it is Disney influence, but the architect clearly assumed that castles are pink and have hundreds of turrets. This one looked like it had been built by an extra mad Bavarian king who was obviously fond of pink. Not sure how many real castles the architect had seen before designing this building.

Uneventful dinner and to bed, awaking next day with a stomach upset, but felt better in the afternoon and got down to register and look at some of the exhibitors.

Back to the conference centre in the evening for the Welcome reception.

Immediately met some of the LATAM HR crowd. A piece of advice. Warning-LATAM folks are really dangerous guys to party with, if you care about being dignified.

I was chatting away to Humberto ( I told you before he is dangerous- watch out when he says “just one more tequila”).

The team were signing up mercilessly for the karaoke. A lady from LATAM who will remain nameless grabbed me by the arm. “I need you to sing backing vocals on the karaoke- we are up next”.

Walking up the steps to the stage I asked “so what are we singing?”.

“Man, I feel like a woman” came the reply (Shania Twain). Just my song.

The next five minutes were not the musical highlight of my life. I hope no one filmed it.

Next day was the first general session, and we were bused at 6.45 am to the basketball auditorium in downtown Orlando. We were given a packed breakfast and lunch on the way in. I have to say the person who decided the menu had the strangest concept of breakfast I have yet come across.

We filtered into the auditorium to find a full blown rock band blasting out.
I don’t do rock at 7am.
The group were very good and tried very hard to get people to respond but clearly at this time with many hangovers very few people wanted to clap and dance.

Eventually the formal programme began, a mix of interesting demos and great presentations (mainly). Our chairman’s final appearance was very emotional. The crowd gave him a long standing ovation before he began, and for a long while refused to stop and let him speak. When he did speak I was struck again by his passion.

His talk was soon followed by a very long awards presentation.
I really felt for the band. They had struck up (not very originally) Tina Turner’s “Simply the Best” and would drop the sound in between to let our COO announce each winner. The band had the thankless task of playing quiet variations on the 16 bars of the chorus for a full 45 minutes. Apart from being physically tiring I really felt for the rhythm section. That has to be mind- numbingly tedious- a talented musicians’ hell.

The big impression of the day (which of course overran), was our CEO’s speech. On another musical note, he surprised me at least by not starting with his trademark “Eye of the Tiger”, choosing instead an old disco tune “Turn the Beat around” (Gloria Estefan if I remember right). He had written his own lyrics to this (he’s better at running the company than as a songwriter I think).

This time the speech was very different- less ebullient- more reflective, and I was struck by his and other leaders’ speeches, that we have a leadership that really seems to know what it is doing and I loved the strategy moving forward, really well thought out. I was also struck once again by his real passion for the company. We all work hard and have passion,, but he cares so much it hurts. Really inspiring in a understated gutsy way.

A nice evening with drinks at a reception laid on by our international HR boss, who because she had a dinner to attend, had the unfortunate task of saying “welcome to my party” and then leaving it.

The week in Florida was very hot, and every evening there was a thunderstorm. As we came out of the hotel the rain was just stopping and we had a balmy walk after the storm. Dinner at a TGI Fridays where the waiter (a “resting” actor) fancied himself as a comedian, something he regretted as the UK HR team were way faster and funnier than he.
The following day I did some shopping in the afternoon. The afternoons were hot and humid with temperatures around 30C (86F) I bought several books in a store, advertising the imminent launch of the latest Harry Potter at midnight on Friday.
An interesting building was “Wonderworks”, a tourist attraction where the outside looked like an upside-down temple (not very clear whether Greek or Roman), which is built upside down (you have to see it).
Lunch at a “Mexican” Cantina, (it was either there or “Hooters” , where you pay to be served by underdressed ladies).
A walk back in the baking heat. In the heat of the afternoon half a mile in the humidity can be hard work, before the late afternoon thunderstorm.
Stopped at a Reebok factory store and bought the first baseball cap I have ever had that actually fits my head. (I have an unusually large head, but you knew that).

Next day the second general session was in the auditorium, with the same rock band blasting out middle of the road rock (though at a more reasonable time of day), and we again had some great presentations. One thing that came through very clearly was how much our company really is involved in changing the world, some of the products were amazing.

Again the day overran considerably, and our COO’s close finished an hour or so late. As we came out of the building and stood in the car park awaiting buses, the heavens opened for the evening storm, and within seconds everyone was soaked. As we packed gently steaming onto the buses, we had an extended trip home- the rain having contributed to several accidents on the freeway. We turned off at a different exit and someone asked what was going on. A wag replied “They’ve found some more slides for his speech- we have to go back”.

A change into dry clothing and then a bus to the Universal studios theme park, where we were handed out waterproof ponchos to keep off the rain, as it was still pouring. We had a fairly miserable hour or so being force-fed junk food in the rain, before making our way to the studios themselves where Sheryl Crow had been hired to play a concert. I felt pretty sorry for Sheryl (yes I know she was paid well). The rain eventually stopped, but thanks to the fact the waterproofs didn’t “breathe”, most of us were soaked with sweat in the humidity.

I had a brief meeting with a colleague from Singapore, my first ever business meeting at a rock concert.

Sheryl made a brave attempt at playing, but it must have been discouraging, many of the audience were not great fans, and several drifted off to the fairgrounds to do some more of the rides instead, or to patronize the beer stations, and by the end you could tell she was pretty irritated with her fickle (and much reduced) audience. She only played one encore (a very spirited cover version of Led Zeppelin’s “Rock n’ Roll”) and it was very good too (heresy to say this, but they were better than Zeppelin), but I think she had had enough.

The trip back on the redeye next day was grim.
The cab driver tried to rip me off.

Orlando airport tried to be even less efficient than on the way out- and succeeded- particularly when they randomly shut down security lines ignoring the hundreds of people who had queued patiently for half an hour, and telling them to go to the back of another line. The real coup de grace was when these people got to the front of the new line, and they re-opened the closed lines again. “Have a nice day”. I love Orlando.

Fortunately though, we were not joined by our favourite extended family, and after some fitful sleep disgorged into a cloudy Gatwick at 6am on Monday. Overall a great experience. I did get an aisle seat.

“Reverse Disco” in Delhi

My second trip to India but first to Delhi. This time obtaining a visa was easier as I had learned the Indian requirements the hard way last time I had been. I turned up with all the relevant letters, proof of inside leg measurement and blood pressure (ok I made that last bit up) and two hours later had a visa.

 

Funnily enough when I got to the Indian High Commission it hadn’t opened and I was stood in a long line of applicants. Parked at the side of the road (illegally) was a large Mercedes and I remember thinking that we would all be in trouble if it contained a bomb. Hours later I learned that two such cars had been parked in Central London that day (admittedly not this car).

 

After the car incidents and a bomb attempt  on the airport at Glasgow I expected high security at Heathrow, but when trusty Paul dropped me at Heathrow I was checked in and through security in 15 minutes (though at  7.30 am on a Saturday Terminal 4 is relatively quiet). Bought my wife some perfume, changed some money into Rupees and off to the lounge. Uneventful hour or so until the flight was called, and off to board the plane.

 I could tell this was going to be a grim flight. Clearly there must have been the World Obnoxious Child championships in Delhi that week, and the British contingent seemed very strong. My wife and I refrained from flying when our kids were very young out of consideration for others, a gesture sadly not reciprocated here.

 

Interesting argument in front of me. An Asian  woman with three noisy children (they were annoying, but not championship obnoxious material) was sat there and had been joined by her mother. Someone else came along and pointed out that the older woman was in their seat. The cabin crew tried to explain to the grandmother that her daughter and kids had been upgraded to the front of  Premium Economy so she would have room to change nappies etc. , but that this upgrade did not apply to ageing mothers. The old woman tried a temporary sit-down strike before she was finally prevailed upon to move.

 

Take off was delayed as not enough cabin crew had  turned up so they had to send out for more. It’s really annoying to get to the airport 3 hours before a flight and then be  delayed because the staff can’t turn up.

 

Fairly nondescript flight apart from the Obnoxious Kids getting in some training for the big event, and finally landed at 10.30pm in Delhi. Longish wait for bags, and then the tense moment as I walked out hoping to see a sign with my name on it. I really didn’t want to find my own way that late at night. Thankfully a tall man in a crisp white Chauffeur’s uniform was there and just before midnight I was in the hotel foyer. I tried to check in but on consulting my reservation the desk clerk said I had an executive room, and that  he would need to take me to the 7^th floor to check in. Tired from the flight I asked if we could spare the fuss, but apparently you get the executive treatment whether you want it or not, so together with 3 staff I was frog marched to an empty lounge on the 7^th floor, where they checked me in. I was told that they served complimentary drinks and snacks from 5-8pm in this lounge (of little use as I would not be back before then).

 

Unpacked and went down to get some food. It was gone midnight local time but because of the time difference I knew I would not sleep yet. Back upstairs to watch some TV, which consisted of Bollywood, American wrestling and cricket reruns.

 

Awoke about 9am and down to breakfast. I was running a training event  on the Monday so had decided I didn’t want to land late and start first thing next day, so I had a day to relax. Back to my room to collect a book (housekeeping had already made it up) and out to read by the pool. I managed about 15 minutes before the heat and the flies convinced me it was  a good idea to go inside.

 

The hotel gave me a complimentary English language newspaper, and I was interested to read an entire pull out section of the newspaper which was given over to advertisements of families advertising for arranged marriages. Given that my wife would either have to die or divorce me I looked at the divorced/widowed section. I wouldn’t fancy my chances.

 

Spent a pleasant morning doing a little work and reading, until about 2 o’ clock I went down to get some lunch. The restaurant was heaving and I was told there was no table, and no prospect of a table for hours. Given the hotel was remote and there was no alternative, I asked what I was supposed to do to eat. “I suggest you try room service” was the reply. Helpful. The room service meal was awful.

Incredible drive to the office on Monday. You need to really know where the edges of your car are, as there is no lane discipline, and vehicle swerve at zero notice to avoid pedestrians, cyclists, motorcycles, rickshaw taxis, and of course, cows and buffalo. Interestingly, many cars have only one wing mirror, and some drivers, worried about losing them, simply fold them in while driving, reducing them to purely decorative status.

 

Another key qualification is virtuoso use of the car horn- by comparison Italians are strictly “largo” to the Indian “allegro”.

 

The traffic along MG Road was regularly bottlenecked due to the construction of the Delhi Metro, and it was a great opportunity to see the contrasts of India. Makeshift shelters made by extending a sheet of tarpaulin from a wall. Roadside stalls offering a range of dubious produce, beggars and hawkers, illegally constructed buildings condemned to demolition. A particularly poignant site was a small family with dad digging a  trench, while mum was breastfeeding a small child, and digging with her other hand, while trying to keep an eye on her two small toddlers playing on the road.

Another mum brushed her teeth while sitting with her toddlers in the middle of a traffic island.

 

Finally arrived in Gurgaon, a booming city with a mix of gleaming buildings and construction sites.

 

One thing that struck me was the cheapness of labour. In the office there were a whole bunch of folks to do very menial tasks, including one guy whose job it was to come around and take orders for coffee (naturally I was in heaven). Good day running the training, including  a sweaty lunch in the food court next door to our building. The heat from the kitchens, crush of bodies and spicy curries was good for perspiration.

 

Back to the hotel about 7.30, so looks like I could have 30 minutes in the “executive lounge”. The guy who ran the lounge had made the mistake of asking a vociferous German resident what he thought of the service. The German started a tirade at top volume detailing every fault with the hotel (he’d had the same result at lunch as I’d had).

 

It was interesting to see how the hotel staff dealt with him. The lounge manager (lizard?) apologised and went to get his boss, who apologised and went in turn to get his boss. All three in turn listened and groveled as the German guy repeated his litany of complaints (though the German was getting increasingly bored each time). The hotel culture seemed to be that the management would take their browbeating and apologise profusely, but there seemed to be no intent on anyone’s part to improve things. “We’ll grovel but don’t expect us to change anything” seemed to be the motto.

 

Interesting drive to the office next day. One thing I noticed was the number of motor cycles where a woman was riding behind sitting sidesaddle. Whereas the male driver usually wore a crash helmet, the lady invariably did not. “One must assume that Indian ladies have very hard heads” I said to my colleague. (Actually when I talked about this over dinner with a colleague from the office, she suggested that in many cases it was a vanity thing, and that many did it from choice, as  a crash helmet would mess up their hair. Guess I have to believe her but it seemed a strange prioritization to me.

 

I was amused by  a small conversation en route. There are all manner of roadside stalls, and I saw an enterprising man equipped with a chair and a pair of scissors running a hair cutting business (you would have to be brave to have it cut when you can’t see what the outcome is as there was no mirror to show you). I pointed it out to my colleague, who suggested (quite disingenuously) that  his overheads would be low, and didn’t understand when I laughed and pointed out that one expected low(er) overheads when getting one’s hair cut.

 

Arrived at the office to discover my Indian colleague had been called away due to a family emergency. Continued with my meeting with my colleagues from Hong Kong and Singapore.

 

That evening again our host needed to be with his family, but had arranged for us to visit the famous Baha’i temple in Delhi. It’s colloquially called the “Lotus Temple” as it’s built in the shape of a lotus flower, and it’s really beautiful. We had an embarrassing hitch- the plan had been to go inside, but this required removing our shoes, and Barry mentioned that expensive shoes sometimes get stolen. I was wearing new and expensive trainers, and the others expensive shoes too.  so we decided not to risk it.

 

As we walked back to the car we were beset by street vendors. This is a real problem in India. These vendors really have to hustle, and are used to haggling. This is a real problem as they assume that any refusal is just a bargaining position- they don’t ever grasp the idea that you might not want their product under any circumstances. One guy tried very hard to sell me a model motorcycle made by sculpting a long single piece of wire. In its way it was skillfully made but I wasn’t interested.

 

When you finally say “no”, these guys up the psychological pressure by standing silently and accusingly, trying to make you feel bad, relent and buy their stuff. Being the Caucasian Western European I was singled out for special psychological pressure.

 

The driver had been instructed to take us to a restaurant. We drove at length around a very rough looking disreputable suburb. The driver pulled up by a very dodgy looking roadside stall. “Is this it?” said Barry to the driver, but it turns out the driver had merely stopped for directions.

 

The second day was funny. We had eaten at a small restaurant next to the office. I love Indian food so I was very happy, but my other visiting colleagues were less happy and asked to go to a local pizza restaurant. I caused considerable consternation with my colleagues when I drank tap water instead of bottled.

 

On the second evening we were driven to the government section of Delhi and looked at the colonial buildings and the very beautiful India Gate. After a humid day there was a torrential storm, and it was interesting to see people coming out to enjoy getting soaked in the warm rain.

 

We finished the meeting on Friday, and  as we waited for our car I was hassled by a couple of kids who were trained to beg piteously from the caucasian people. Our Indian colleague took us into Connaught place (Delhi’s version of Oxford Street in London). Or first stop was bar in a complex called “PiccaDelhi” (sorry, I’m only reporting this), and after a drink we went to a restaurant, or so we thought. In the street again I again was a prime  target for all the beggars and street sellers (and I think pickpockets at one point) while my Asian colleagues were largely ignored.

 

 Turned out Sunil our host had been misinformed, the restaurant was full but we tried the adjacent bar. This proved very amusing. A DJ was playing west coast music quietly in the background.

 

After a few minutes he cranked up the sound and switched to disco. The clientele of this bar was 90% male and obviously business folk, and it seemed that they were keen to catch the eyes of the far rarer ladies, so we watched this large number of guys doing their best John Travolta with the ladies eying the “talent” from around the edges, an interesting reversal of the normal state of affairs in a UK club. Reverse disco- I think it could catch on. I would have liked to stay and see what happened next, but we had planes to catch.

 

After dinner, goodbye to my colleagues and an hour’s ride to the airport. Security very tight but overall the airport very efficient. Tiring to stay awake to catch a 2am flight, but finally able to sleep. After the brilliant sunshine and heat of India, back to a chilly and cloudy Heathrow, and a jet-lagged Saturday.

The best Irish pub in Santa Fe

Off to Mexico City. My LATAM manager has moved on to another role within the company, so I had no one to send to the regional HR meeting. It was a great opportunity to meet the LATAM HR Team so off I went.

Arrived at Heathrow and checked in at the Club desk using my silver card. The clerk was very upset as her system told her that now I should have a gold card and therefore as far as she was concerned I was using an illegal card. I pointed out that I had not received a new card and did not feel that this was a criminal offence on my part (it arrived 3 days after I left).

Anyway security was mercifully brief and I was soon ensconced in the lounge (this time I was excused by the card police) and spent the time making calls.

I was quite pleasantly surprised when the flight was called early, but depressed on arrival at the gate. It was I think “spring break” in the Americas and the line was full of hundreds of excited 11 year old Mexican schoolgirls returning from a trip to London.

I was envisioning the delight of 10 hours with an overexcited Spanish-speaking school party on a plane, but fortunately when I arrived at the gate they told me that my seat had been changed, and I was actually upstairs in beautiful silence.

The final seat upstairs was taken by someone who was obviously a BA employee as all the crew recognised her. Not sure what her role was but I was intrigued that she changed her clothes 4 times on the flight. Two I can explain- change from formal to relaxing clothes to fly, and back to smart before you land- but the other two??

Flight took off an hour late (too many bags to load). I read my book- a biography of Mao. (“Mao- the Untold Story”). Formed the impression that the authors didn’t like him much as it’s a complete character assassination.

Finally the pilot told us we were ready to go, starting his announcement with the phrase “Arriba, arriba”- no stereotypes there then.

Flight otherwise uneventful, did some email and slept, and landed about an hour late. Long hot wait in the line for immigration- a bit like the US where they heavily favour nationals, leaving the foreigners to wait- though eventually when all the natives had gone through they opened all the desks for immigrants.

Through in about 50 minutes and through to baggage claim. Finally got my case- and was surprised when a guy stopped me. They are obviously paranoid about lost baggage, so there is a member of staff who checks your bag against your baggage check to be sure you have taken the right one, and then insists that you surrender your receipt for the checked bag. Guess it makes sense, but I have never seen it before.

Even stranger going through customs. I was wandering through when I was hauled back by a customs officer. I don’t know why but for some reason you have to press a green button as you go through “nothing to declare” – the notice does not say why- and I of course had not seen or complied with this.

Anyway at her request I pressed the button- with no obvious result- and she was pacified. Still not sure what the button did.

Hugely relieved to see a driver with my name showing- too tired to have to cope with getting to the hotel.

An interesting 45 minute drive to the hotel. An odd mix of modern buildings on the main streets and very scruffy shacks on the side streets. Very struck by the large numbers of people out waiting by the roadsides with no apparent purpose.

Arrived at the hotel- a very nice, but very sanitized hotel which could have been anywhere in the world. The hotel is in Santa Fe, a very modern suburb of Mexico City apparently built on a former rubbish tip.

Thought about something to eat so I called at the bar to be served by the World’s Most Demotivated Barman. Decided to stick at my beer as I didn’t fancy any more time with him.

Disturbed night doing a 3am conference call with Singapore, and down for breakfast in the morning. Embarrassing moment in the lift. I pressed the wrong button and had to apologise to a lady getting into the lift. “That’s fine Gary” she said, and I realized I had not noticed it was Toni the LATAM HR Director.

Breakfast an interesting mix of the international and the very Mexican. I learned that I really cannot face the idea of refried beans for breakfast.

Bus to the MS office. Toni really likes to fill her days with business, and we had 9 hours of presentation. It was fascinating to learn about the differences between the LATAM regions, there is no natural stereotype. Interesting that lunch was brought in and we had a choice of Pizza, Chinese or Thai. Very Mexican.

Finished at 7 and then a drive to a restaurant in Santa Fe, some very good food and a long chat with Toni, who is a great fan of her iPod, and she was talking about how there was no point in buying CDs any longer. Very persuasive but I am a dinosaur in such matters.

Next day some really good sessions, including one with Lisa , our VP, who was on a listening tour. Lisa was as ever amazingly frank and honest. It really builds my belief to see such integrity. Funnily Lisa did a listening session at 5pm with a hundred or so staff from the Mexican subsidiary. Big learning- Mexicans don’t seem to like asking tough questions- everything she was asked was very bland, and you could sense her disappointment at the lack of real challenge.

Off to a very up market Mexican restaurant in the downtown area. The locals ordered the appetizers. There was one strange looking dish looking like small pale grains of rice. My colleague Enrique (hiring Manager for Mexico- used to be a tour guide in Quebec and speaks excellent French), was very keen that I try it, and I could sense from the way he was encouraging me that this would be a case of eating something that would be repulsive if someone told you in a advance what you were eating. I tried some of this “Mexican caviar”, and it was ok, though hard to taste with the spicy flavours of the salsa and tortilla.

After consumption I was told that the dish was called locally “escamoles”, and that the caviar was actually ants’ eggs.

The team had bought interesting presents for Lisa, in that each had bought a CD of music that was special to their country, so she went away with a pile of CDs of Latin American music. If I had known I could have brought a Rolling Stones CD to represent the UK.

I had a nightcap with Humberto, one of the HR Directors for LATAM. He is a very dangerous man, with his gentle “you can manage one more tequila?”.
Another packed day of meetings- Toni really packs her team meetings with agenda items, and then a drive to the hotel. The BA flight doesn’t leave every day so I was stuck until Friday evening unless I paid a fortune. That evening we had dinner in the hotel in the imaginatively titled and obviously very Mexican “Brick House” bar and restaurant.

Friday morning and a several hours in my room doing emails. The flight didn’t leave until 11pm so I had decided to wander into the local district, so after 5 hours or so of email I walked into Santa Fe. Walking in it was pretty indistinguishable from walking into any US city. Walked past a very Mexican place called “Big Yellow Bar”. Even from 20 metres outside the music was deafening- goodness knows what it was like inside- I can only assume the customers use sign language or just send SMS texts to communicate.

Looking for somewhere to have lunch I was disappointed to pass a series of places like McDonalds etc., and the restaurant where we had eaten on night one- and it was too fussy for lunch for one. I stopped at the entrance to a small park.

I think in one of Bill Bryson’s books he refers to a place he visits and makes a comment something like “it seemed like I had arrived during the town’s litter festival where litter had been spread with gay abandon”. That was certainly my reaction. As I have said I was told that Santa Fe had been built on the site of a former rubbish dump. It seemed to me that there were obviously a group of determined activists set on returning it to its original state. The Santa Fe garbage warriors are back in town.

Finally I found a likely place. There it was in all its glory – a supposed “Irish bar”. I just had to go in. It was surreal. The place was filled with supposed Irish road signs and other paraphernalia. The staff, exclusively Spanish speaking, were forced to wear green and white football shirts, rather like the Glasgow Celtic football strip from about 15 years ago. The combination of the very Mexican faces and the Celtic strip was wonderfully incongruous, and I had some excellent fajitas ( I am sure the recipe really originates from county Cork). I love authentic tourism.

Spent some more time looking at the shops and began my walk back to the hotel. Took some photo graphs of some of the buildings, and found a security guard talking to me in rapid Spanish, and I couldn’t follow him. “Lo siento , pero no hablo muy bien Espanol” I said. “No Photographs” he replied in English immediately. I wasn’t sure what his credentials were for telling me whether I could take photos on the public street, but I had all the photos I wanted.

Rotten drive to the airport. Friday night is gridlock night. The driver predicted two hours and he was dead right, though it was nice that he drove via the main thoroughfare – a bit like the Champs Elysees in Paris or Av Diagonal in Barcelona. Arrived at a sweaty airport, and checked in. BA don’t have a lounge in the airport but use another airline lounge. Made my way there to the blessed air conditioning. Handed over my invitation and was issued with two drinks vouchers – obviously hospitality is rationed. This turned out to be a false hope on the part of the local management. The barman clearly had a scam to increase his earnings. He had a large bowl for tips on the counter. I watched a guy collect a gin and tonic and put a dollar in the bowl, on which the barman returned the voucher for reuse. The same gentleman had at least 5 drinks while I was there. Flight back uneventful, not even an “arriba” from the pilot.

One final tale (as we have a Spanish theme), and I hope he’ll forgive me. I heard a great story from my colleague Kevin C…….. recently. He related that whilst at college he helped his finances with a job at Burger King, where his job was wrapping the burgers. He was due to go back to college for his year in Spain, but before he finished was sat down by the store manager, who tried to persuade him to give up college, as he felt he had real talent for the burger industry.

Every time I meet him now I reflect that I am in the presence of burger wrapping greatness………

A waltz in Vienna

Off to Vienna for another HR training week. I haven’t been to Vienna for years so was really looking forward to it.
My trusty driver Paul delivered me to Terminal 4 and we had a suspiciously easy ride to Heathrow, and an uncannily easy path through check-in and security. Knowing my luck with travel I was immediately expecting impending doom.
Spent some time in BA lounge drinking a cappuccino. I was amazed to see two guys knocking back champagne at 8.30 in the morning. Just because it’s there doesn’t mean you have to drink it.
Plane took off more or less on time, (thereby increasing my nervousness) and the delights of a BA economy breakfast. Interesting argument between a passenger in front of me and the cabin crew. Our plane took off at 10 UK, so it was 10.30 when the crew came round with the frozen sandwiches. Given it was 10.30 they were serving tea and coffee. This guy was arguing that as it was 11.30 in Vienna it was time for wine and insisted on being served two bottles of the red.
Landed on time and met my colleague Catherine at the luggage carousel. Catherine cheerfully told me that last time she had visited she had waited a long time for her luggage to find they had lost it. “So this is where disaster strikes” I thought, but no, our suitcases came out rapidly, and we were soon in a taxi having an uneventful ride to the hotel. There, I’ve said it- a complete trip to door to door without delay or disaster. How can I write a travelogue if nothing happens?
Checked in and unpacked and then down to meet Anja to agree the final arrangements for the learning week. If I am worried when travel goes well, Anja is the one who worries when the arrangements are going well. Spend a couple of hours trying to persuade Anja (unsuccessfully) that we have taken care of everything and there’s nothing else to worry about.
When we finally finish I check some email and go for a walk. The hotel is on the banks of the Danube and it’s a glorious day, so I walk down the river and watch the boats and barges sailing up and down the wide river. Reach the local marina and watch the various owners playing with their boats.
Back to the hotel, as we have invited the speakers and trainers to join us for a session to answer any last minute questions they may have. They are obviously not interested, as none of them turn up, so Catherine, Anja, Benoit and I have dinner together. Finished just in time for the drinks reception with the delegates (it’s a tough job sometimes). The delegates are different this time. In Berlin they were more concerned with getting to bed early- here- possibly because of the warm evening- they are ready to stay up late, and there is lively conversation and a lot of laughter. Seems like this is going to be a lively event.
Tuesday morning, and we all meet in the breakfast room for Catherine and Benoit to launch the event. I’m off then to HR 101, meeting a very lively bunch of new HR joiners.
This time I get to do a different presentation to my usual one which is a fun change. In the afternoon go up to my room to prepare for the Wednesday social event. My favourite Russian Kate and I have agreed to put together a quiz. The purpose is to get people from different countries interacting together, so the idea is that we are looking to find a set of unusual (but true) facts about various EMEA countries, mixed in with a series of completely false ones. Spend a couple of hours researching the “strange but true” facts on the web.
Downstairs to close the day’s session. My job is to interview the Austrian HR team about local sights and cuisine. The two delicacies suggested are not to everyone’s taste, one sounds like an Austrian version of haggis, the other a form of blood sausage (or “black pudding” for the English). I also get to hand out the goodies – “Mozartkugeln” –literally “Mozart balls”- let’s just call them chocolates, and a Strauss CD for each delegate.
Another quick walk in the evening, but the area round the hotel (apart from the riverside) is less interesting. The hotel is next to a large conference centre so most of the local area is closed when there is no conference running.
Back to the hotel to get the bus for the HR 101 dinner. We are driven to a traditional Viennese restaurant and have a very nice private room upstairs. The food is a buffet that would give a dietician a heart attack (probably quite a few diners too). Incredible amounts of meat (including the local blood sausage), and all the vegetables fried in batter. Didn’t see “Kolesterolteller” on the menu.
Of course a tradition on HR 101 is that the new joiners have to give a creative presentation after dinner. This group live up to their potential, particularly team one, who end their presentation by breaking every health and safety rule in the book by forming a human pyramid. I guess after the cholesterol they figured they had little more to lose, but it terrified the waitress who is obviously a health and safety officer at heart.
At this stage we are joined by a group of musicians who are playing at the tables . They are very accomplished, asking each person which country they are from and playing something appropriate to their nationality (though why the Dutch lady got “Sexbomb” played is not quite clear to me (though you are very beautiful Els- don’t take offence). They seemed to be staying a long time, and my Austrian colleague whispered that they were expecting tips, so we bribed them to go away.
Wednesday, and I duck out of the joiners’ class to joinanother session. I wrote the material, but for this week had coached Kate and Catherine to do the delivery so I was only there as backup. It’s very hard for me to sit at the back of a session I wrote, but Kate and Catherine are tremendous and I am surplus to requirements (“situation normal” I hear you say).
Possibly my favourite two hours of the week. Kate and I have researched the “true” questions for the quiz, but we still need to make up some (hopefully) believable but untrue statements about countries, so we have a hilarious session making up rubbish about various countries but trying to make it look believable. (I love Kate’s idea about the Russian town which has vodka filled baths as a cure for skin complaints. I am also really pleased that I managed to persuade 95% of the teams that salsa dancing was the most popular hobby in Latvia).
Print the quiz at lunch time, and now I am delivering a coaching Train the Trainer (TTT). With Anja, Noel and Alex in the class it’s great fun. Also given the large number of coaching exercises we take advantage of the sunshine and spend much of the afternoon out in the sun (I actually ended up with a bit of sunburn).
Our evening surprise is a little hard to keep secret, as a very large boat sails up to the hotel and docks next to the shore. Anja and I try to pretend we don’t know anything about it, but a man testing the Microphones booms out ein, zwei, drei and our company name which is bit of a giveaway..
At 6.30 we all board the boat (except for one person who apparently came down 20 minutes late and was left behind). It’s a beautiful warm evening and the boat cruises up the Danube, with beautiful views of the city. As people sip champagne we hand out the quiz. Feedback on the event is hugely positive.
It’s amazing how competitive our people are. Give them a competition and they will not ask about the prize, but just want to win. It was intriguing to see the chaos over the next hour, with people trying to cheat, trading answers, and sometimes giving false information to mislead other teams, but it was great to see that we created the interaction that we had hoped for. I’ll particularly remember Tim from Germany who was really out to win at all costs, lying, cheating and horse trading answers.
The Danish contingent were unhappy with me as I hadn’t included any questions about Denmark. I pointed out that some countries were only included because I had made up lies about them, but they were not impressed with this argument.
In parallel to the quiz, we also had a Viennese couple who taught us all how to greet each other in the Viennese manner, and also polite usage of cutlery (this causes some amusement- “do they think we are savages?” says one colleague).
Another cholesterol buffet, Kate and I mark the quizzes and announce the winners.
“So what’s our prize?” said the winning team.
This is where we get mean. Our Austrian hosts are also dance teachers, and we are all about to receive waltz lessons, so I am able to tell the victorious team that they have won the valuable prize of first try at the waltzing.
I am also able to report that waltzing is another item on the long list of things for which I have no talent whatsoever. Anja is helpless with laughter at my pitiful attempts (and she is not alone), and my claim that I am actually performing Latvian salsa is not believed.
As the boat sails back we have a funny conversation in which our French friend Stephane unexpectedly acquires the nickname “Stevie baby”, (why do the names people hate become the popular ones?), then finally we dock.
Thursday morning and I finish the class delivery, and hand over to the colleagues who have to teach the material back to me. In this role I have to play the role of a difficult student to stretch them and test their ability to respond to challenging students. As you can imagine this is a task which gives me no pleasure at all- and for most of the afternoon we are all laughing as I do my utmost to be a real nuisance- Anja pokes me at one point and says “you are SO nasty”. “Well it’s for your own good”….I convince myself.
A quick wrap up and Catherine and I take the cab to airport. The airport lounge is very hot and uncomfortable in the sunshine, and hurrah- the flight is shown as delayed.
Finally board the packed BA flight and leave an hour or so late. It’s good to be back to normal.

Many bears in Berlin

Many bears in Berlin

A trip to Berlin. This was for our first “HR learning week”. We’ve been trying to get the HR community together for a concentrated period to undertake some professional training, and had plans to combine this with some community events.

I flew out from LHR. I don’t know why it is, but BA flights to Germany on a Sunday are always an hour late. I haven’t been brave enough to factor this into my planning so invariably get there early and end up hanging around longer (often typing these).

Flight uneventful (when it left) so landed about 7pm. Quickly retrieved my bag and a short and relatively cheap ride to the Schweizerhof hotel in Budapesterstrasse, opposite the Tiergarten (Berlin’s equivalent of Regent’s Park complete with Zoo- Tiergarten literally translates as “animal garden”).

Met with my colleague Benoit. In the foyer we met some American colleagues. I was feeling a little antisocial as I could feel I was coming down with a cold, so wasn’t at my friendliest, and Benoit and I set off to find a restaurant. A short walk took us to a likely looking bar restaurant and in we went. On the way I was struck by the amount of sculpture (rather good) that Berlin has in its streets.

The food in the restaurant might best be described as “hearty”- plenty of it, not unpleasant, but pretty stodgy. Waiter a little confused as Benoit and I were conversing in French, though I was ordering in German, and he told me in halting French that I spoke very good German for a Frenchman. Didn’t have the heart to tell him.

Awoke next day feeling like death, with rampaging flu. Attended a meeting with Anja, Catherine and an external guy called Paul, who was running some sessions. Paul is an interesting guy who comes from the US but has lived in Germany for many years. He does a lot of other stuff but he does a lot of theatre and also runs a charity sending clowns into hospitals to encourage sick children.

Paul is a very tall guy, and immediately on meeting him you can see from his way of dressing, and his “designer” glasses, that he wants to project an image of being out of the ordinary.

Anyway we started discussing Paul’s sessions and his role in the Wednesday night “Oscar” ceremony. One thing I hadn’t realized (I am not sure anyone did) is that Paul has another persona, “Gloria” and was planning to appear at the ceremony as Gloria.

Paul gave me a photo of “Gloria”. One day my wife will find this and I will have to explain why I have a photo of a female impersonator, and that it’s all to do with work (honestly darling).

Anyway we hit it off with Paul and I felt good that it would be a successful collaboration.

Felt terrible so went back to bed for several hours, skipping a lunch with our American collaborators, who must have thought I was avoiding them. Awoke late afternoon and went out for a walk to find something to eat.

Walked down to the nearest square and took a look at the “Gedachtniskirche”, an old church of which only really the tower now remains after the bombing of Berlin in WW2. A very poignant monument, with a very interesting modern church built next door to replace it. Couldn’t find anywhere I fancied for a quick lunch, so decided to slum it and go to McDonalds. Even by McDo standards this was disgusting, especially as the restaurant appeared to describe the concept of heat to the food, rather than applying any. The result was that any warmth in the food was “virtual”, so I left it as I had little appetite anyway.

Back for a meeting with Anja and Catherine to finalise the admin for the Oscars, and then we took a taxi to the venue for Wednesday night, to test it out. A very nice Austrian taxi driver pointed out all the interesting sights on the way to the restaurant. This was in Kreuzberg, a suburb on the “Eastern” side (the definition of East and West Berlin bears little relation to real geography), which we were told is now considered trendy. Had a look at the private room which was perfect, and then an enjoyable meal in the restaurant.

Back to the hotel and a night of complete obliteration as I fought the fever. I had to visit the bathroom in the small hours, and getting back into bed was like getting into a swimming pool, so I switched beds (twin room). When I woke in the morning this too was soaked. Must have confused the hotel staff who made up my room, wondering who was my feverish midnight cohabiter.

I was also pleased on registering that we all received key rings with the emblem of Berlin- a bear. I am a sucker for teddy bears. I carry him all over the world.

I was involved in the HR new joiners class, and we had a great and lively bunch of individuals. I love doing this class because I get to meet most of the new joiners in HR. Can be a bit embarrassing a few months later when they say hello to you in a Munich corridor and you are struggling to remember their name, but it’s great to get to know all the newbies.

Great start to the day- the icebreaker exercise involves the teams having to introduce themselves as a consultancy, as a vehicle for talking about their experience in a more interesting way than just going round the room. Lots of energy in this, and I was amused by the Eastern European folk, who styled themselves as “Gary’s Angels”. You can’t beat old-fashioned flattery. Guess who won the prize.

Lather, in line with tradition, I gave them the evening team exercise, which contained cryptic clues about Berlin. The prize is given not to the most accurate team, but the ones with the most interesting presentation of their answer. From the energy level it was obvious that there would be some interesting outcomes.

Off in a coach to the restaurant. I was a little horrified on arrival – as we are encouraging the teams to give outrageous presentations we normally have a private room to avoid embarrassment- so I was shocked to see that we were not alone, with an open area and other diners there. Anyway we improvised and went out to a cloakroom area for the presentations. These were classics, including bribes to the judges, ( an HR manager from Turkey who bears an uncanny resemblance to Britney Spears ( and who shall remain anonymous) gave me a beautiful rose and I blew her a kiss- my colleague that is- not Britney), There were very creative presentations. Memorable for me in particular was Sandy (the HR manager for South Africa I met in Paris- see last posting), who gave a spirited performance as “mummy bear” in a solution based on a Goldilocks spoof. Good to see that she is as crazy as the rest of us. The look of consternation on the face of arriving diners in the entrance below was classic.

Anyway after careful debate the prizes went to a singing group. It was interesting to observe the reactions of the other diners as we came back from the cloakroom. I think they were convinced that we were insane. Not far wrong really.

Next day and time to change for the Oscars. Problem with the shirt I had planned to wear, so I wore a black one instead (with a black suit) My Dutch friend Frans later told me that he thought I looked like a vicar – now there’s an image.

Off to the restaurant with Anja and Vanessa from Holland. Commented to Vanessa that the cobbled streets and the canal was reminiscent of Amsterdam. “Not really” she said, “you can park your cars on both sides of the street here”.

Downstairs to find Paul/Gloria. We asked the lady at the cloakroom for Paul and she looked blank. Finally a look of recognition passed over her face. “Oh, die Lady” she said and pointed us to where “Gloria” had changed. Anja removed her coat to reveal a stunning outfit. A final run through of the running order and we went up to eat.

Met my team members Colin and Kyran who were sat at the front table with Frans. “We wanted to be in best heckling position” they told me. That’s teamwork.

At the end of the main course we presented the first five Oscars. (The trophies were again statues of the Berlin Bear). The chemistry between, Anja, “Gloria” and myself seemed good and we were just as funny as he was.

Notable was the newcomer award which went to Malgosia- a Gary’s Angel. Malgosia gave an acceptance speech worthy of the real thing……..

A break for the dessert and the remaining five Oscars. We had decided that one Oscar would be “random”. We wanted to make the point that the whole HR community does fantastic work and that anyone could deserve one, so we encouraged people at their tables to nominate a winner to be drawn by lot. We had a small attempt at vote rigging at one table with a particular team nominating their boss multiple times, but I saw this and removed the extra nominations.

I was one of a team given a surprise Oscar and acquired another bear. Result.

Back to the hotel. Catherine, Anja and I sat and had a quiet discussion which I must confess was probably a little “mutual admiration club”, but hey, we are allowed to do it once. I love working with them both.

A quick chat with the two delegates who had come from Canada,- not sure what they made of us), and then off to talk with the French delegates. Decided a bit later that my French was sounding terrible even to me, so it must be bedtime.

Next evening met one of my team in the hotel bar, to have a formal career discussion over a beer (very civilized). The others who were dining (greatly amused by our combination of business and pleasure) interrupted to leave us the address of the restaurant they were going to. We wrapped up about 7.30 and joined them at the Italian.

The restaurant was crazy. We arrived 45 minutes after the others and they had yet to receive menus (in the end someone went and took some). We ordered drinks and wine and some communal antipasti.

Everything seemed to happen very slowly. Most of the waiters appeared to be either mentally disturbed or to have had a frontal lobotomy (or both). Our principal waiter was extremely strange. One very strange thing he did was that when we ordered some red wine, he was so concerned to ensure that the wine was good he poured himself a half glass to so that he could quality check it for us, a process he repeated with later bottles. There’s customer service for you.

The process of ordering main courses seemed incredibly complicated, not helped by the fact that our principal waiter seemed unable to speak the same language for several sentences at a time. I wondered if it was a ploy to unsettle us, but we had to ask for some things in English, some in German and some in Italian. Maybe it was his dedicated wine tasting clouding his speech centres.

Because we were late, Kyran and I sat at the far end of the table (there were 14 of us), and were having a lively conversation with Vicky and another colleague who I shall keep anonymous. Our anonymous colleague was talking about her latest date which she had apparently negotiated whilst having too much to drink at a function, and she expressed some uncertainty as to whether she would recognise him again.

We all began an extremely animated, risqué (and hilarious) conversation about the mystery man, who we code-named “Zorro”. Kyran was particularly animated, and was falsely accused by folks at the other end of having overdone the old vino.

The main courses when they came were surprisingly good, despite the chaos amongst the servers. Dessert and coffee were a shambles.

It really fell apart when we asked for the bill to be split three ways. This completely defeated the restaurant staff and a 45 minute wait ensued. In desperation they came and gave us free glasses of limoncello, a deadly lemon liqueur.

Finally they presented us with three uneven bills (couldn’t just divide by three obviously). Paid my share and back to the hotel. The hotel was heaving. There was a conference of a German church-based insurance company taking place at the hotel and both the lobby and the bar were heaving with delegates. All services in the hotel on both Thursday night and Friday were stretched to breaking by the volume of people. Clearly this church had no prohibition on alcohol consumption.

Friday had a meeting with Benoit, (we met in the lobby which seemed to be full with the same people from the conference – maybe they were there all night) and some time to take a walk around some of the sights. From the hotel walking parallel to the Tiergarten you pass a series of embassies. The Saudis are building a new embassy- hope it looks better when it is finished.

I was impressed by the Brandenberg Gate and Unter den Linden. Cannot see what the fuss is for Norman Foster’s new Reichstag building- looks boring to me.

Potsdamer Platz is fantastic. Built on what I understand was “no man’s land”, it’s an amazing mix of architecture (especially interesting at night), and humbling to think that you can eat and drink in comfort on a spot where people were shot trying to escape from the East.

It was interesting to walk past the building in Leipzigerstrasse where the German Democratic Republic (East Germany) was proclaimed, (I always thought GDR was an odd name- it’s not as if West Germany was undemocratic). The mosaic showing heroic workers in a socialist paradise was truly poignant.

I was really moved at Checkpoint Charlie. I don’t know whether they are in business for themselves or paid for by local authorities, but the people at the checkpoint dressed in old American uniforms and selling replica visas left me feeling very unsettled. When one considers the people who lost their lives trying to cross to the West, I didn’t feel this was wholly tasteful- maybe it’s just me.

Back to the hotel passing Potsdamer Platz again. I’m sounding like an architecture buff, but I can only assume that the Berlin Philharmonic Concert Hall has great acoustics. It’s the only reason I think of for building it that ugly. Herbert von Karajan must haunt the place in disgust.

Uneventful ride to the airport. One unusual thing was that the driver asked me which gate my plane left from. I’m used to being asked which terminal, but not which gate. Anyway it was displayed on a sign and I checked in. Too late did I realize the significance of his question. I always prefer to go airside immediately so went through passport control and security, looking for the lounge. It’s not like that at Berlin Tegel. At gate 3 there was just a gate, some seats , two toilets and a broken coke machine. Flight was delayed so sat there miserable for an hour with nothing to eat or drink.

Flight completely packed, but was absorbed in my book so didn’t notice. Back home an hour late, but two bears the richer. So a good result overall.

Found- the very worst Parisian taxi driver

A trip to Paris for a multi-day, multifunction activity. Journey to the hotel uneventful.
For a change, we were to stay in a hotel in the city instead of La Defense, the business district. We were booked into a hotel called the Concorde near Gare St Lazare. We were thinking of holding a large conference at the hotel later in the year, so had agreed to have a meeting there to try it out.
Walked into reception to find a beautifully ornate painted ceiling and wonderfully ancient décor. A key to my room, and I found that there too the décor was still wonderfully ancient but far less entrancing- indeed I doubt the room had seen any modernisation in the preceding 40 years. With all the electronics one carries around nowadays just one free power point isn’t enough. Nearly 200 Euros a night to stay in an antique.

Called my colleague Catherine who I had agreed to meet for dinner. As we left the hotel I was accosted on the steps by a deranged guy who picked on me to yell a string of obscenities, mainly around the fact I was staying at such an upmarket hotel. Not sure why my personally staying there was such a moral outrage, but there you go. Catherine’s French wasn’t up to following the full tirade, but she obviously understood the emotion. “You really are a dangerous guy to travel with, they just pick on you”, she said.
Anyway, my new friend decided to go and terrorise someone else, and we crossed the street to a likely looking bistro.

As well as its haute cuisine, France has so many places that serve unpretentious, excellent food. This was a fine example, and Catherine and I put the world to rights over some great food and wine.
Woke late next day- the clock on my mobile was reset for some reason so the alarm didn’t wake me.
Belated breakfast with Catherine (who called me when I didn’t show), and we tried to hail a cab to go to the office. It was obviously tunnel vision day for the cab drivers, and after several minutes of being studiously ignored by passing cabs we walked around to the station itself and joined the queue in the taxi rank.
We finally got to the front of the line and were picked up by a Chinese looking cab driver. I asked him to take us to the office, giving the address as Esplanade Charles de Gaulle in La Defense.
I don’t know what the odds are, but possibly we had found the worst taxi driver in Paris (a significant achievement as standards of awfulness are high).
Our friend had not heard of La Defense (“La Defong?) . He had not heard of Charles de Gaulle (not easy in France). He did not really speak French. I was sufficiently out of the line of fire but Catherine told me he had rank halitosis (bad breath) as well. Yes, I am just born lucky.
Anyway after a bumpy start and several near misses with angry drivers (he wasn’t great on driving in a straight line), he stopped at some lights and drew out a map book, together with a pair of glasses.
Now I really was scared.
Find yourself a couple of regular sized clear beer bottles and using a glass cutter, saw off the bottoms insert them in a wire frame, et voila! You have the same pair of spectacles.
Call me a wimp but the idea of being driven by a driver with such eyesight I thought was terrifying .
After a while I recognised the route and started directing him as best I could, as we didn’t really have a language in common. We finally made it alive, (if with elevated blood pressure), to the office.
A great day with Anja, Catherine and Benoit, followed by a cab back to the hotel. We met for a drink, and went for what Benoit described as a “one block” walk to the restaurant. This proved to be a 20 minute “one block” walk. I was in the middle of telling Vanessa about my Istanbul adventure when I had a call from my colleague Jacky. As I hit the “accept” button I was in mid stream and Jacky asked me what I was doing with “two prostitutes”. I told Jacky that was no way to describe my esteemed colleagues.
We arrived at the restaurant, to meet with Caroline (the Belgian chocolate advocate- see “The Belgo -Swiss chocolate War). Caroline had been looking after a vacancy in South Africa, and was now inducting the new South African HR manager, Sandy. We had a terrific laugh, and you could see Sandy wondering whether she had joined an asylum (I’m glad to say she is still with us and just as insane).
A day of meeting in the hotel itself, trying out the facilities. The check out service was as antiquated as the wiring and decoration, but it was the effortless disregard for customer satisfaction that really annoyed me. The conference rooms were grim, the food poor.
After lunch we rebelled, and walked to the Madeleine, to a specialist food shop called Fauchon. We stocked up on expensive goodies, and took a group photo.
Back to the hotel to conclude the meeting, and then a taxi (This time with a competent and French-speaking driver, without obvious vision defects or personal hygiene issues), to another hotel Concorde, (Lafayette) next door to the Palais de Congres.
This was a hugely impersonal, modern conveyor belt money -making machine, which made the previous Concorde look like a haven of friendliness. I went up to my room, which had great views over the Bois de Boulogne (only the trees- nothing racier), and made an abortive attempt to join a conference call to the US.
After some email I went out to see what there was in the immediate area. I identified a likely restaurant for later, and called in at a deserted bar. The lady who was the proprietaire, was as ever trying to place my French accent and asked me if I was Quebecois (I wondered whether this is a Parisian insult).
Off to the restaurant, a Chinese which prided itself on speed of delivery over customer enjoyment. The lady at the table next to me had one of the really annoying spoilt tiny dogs that look like overgrown rats and which make a lot of noise. I’m not in favour of animal cruelty but was beginning to think an exception might be made.
A voicemail told me that Eileen, a colleague who was helping with the next day, had arrived, and together with Colin, a team member, we retired to the (allegedly) English pub across the way.
Eileen proved to be a great character and we agreed our plan for the next day.
Early start and off to the room for our conference. I quickly learned that we had not received all the materials. Great.
We were half an hour into the day when a booming voice interrupted our meeting. I wasn’t sure who was making the noise.
I was not “on stage” at that point, and went next door to argue with the amplified monster. It turned out to be a sound engineer. Looking at the notice, the French Institute of Hepatologists (hope I remembered this right) had an awards luncheon, and this guy explained that he had 36 radio microphones to test.
I guess I irritated my new acquaintance, because for the next hour and a half we were drowned out by an imbecilic “un… deux…trois…a… bay… say” (1 2 3 a b c), as he tested all 36. A series of complaints to the hotel conference manager simply produced a series of Gallic shrugs. Try running a conference with a moron yelling at you through a microphone (or 36).
Dinner with Eileen in the evening, who proved to be a great character. Joining the merchant navy at 17, she had prospered as a lone female sailing all over the world , and in her 30s become an IT guru. That’s feisty.
We impressed the waitress by ordering largely offal dishes (which the French do so superbly). I love the French word “rognons”, meaning kidneys, it’s very descriptive, and my rognons were excellent (to coin a phrase).
Next day meetings at “La Defong” and finally to the airport by train.
I picked up a voicemail from trusty Paul, telling me that many flights to London were being cancelled due to high winds devastating the country. He suggested Eurostar, who were full (and ended up cancelling several trains too). Arrived at the airport so see that all flights to the UK were cancelled. After 4 nights away I didn’t need this.
I joined the lengthy queue for the BA desk. It seemed to me that salvation had arrived, when a lady passed down the line handing out letters saying “save time- don’t stand in line-call our reservations office”. I called the number to hear a recorded message “The office closes at 5.30pm- please call tomorrow”. Another BA publicity coup.
My wife sent me a text telling me that a fence and a large brick wall in our garden had been blown over by the wind. Great- I’m stranded in Paris and my house is blowing down.
Anyway I could see this line would take hours before I got to the desk, so I called our travel agents, who twenty minutes later called me back to confirm that I had a room in a hotel in Roissy. I felt sorry for the people who would now have to stay in line, but I was free and headed for the shuttle bus stand to get to the hotel. The navette (shuttle) arrived within minutes and I was duly checked in and installed in my room before 7pm.
Roissy is a small village next to the airport (it’s often called Roissy Charles de Gaulle). I’ve stayed there before and it’s quite a nice friendly place with only a few restaurants , and a massive collection of airport hotels ranging from the Marriotts etc, to the French chain Premiere Classe, (where you can stay for less that $30 US a night, as long as you don’t mind wafer thin partitions and hearing every sound in the rooms either side). I walked from my hotel into the village. The wind was already very high and it was not a pleasant night to be out.
I went into the first bar I came to (didn’t want to stay outside any longer than necessary) and saw there were just a handful of men at the bar. Clearly few people were venturing out in the wild weather.
I ordered a beer, and thereafter was ignored by the other people, given that they a) didn’t talk to strangers, b) were absorbed in two critical activities -namely playing some obscure game with dice which meant one of them losing a lot of money, and more importantly working overtime to maintain the appropriate level of cigarette smoke in the bar.
The latter activity was a real challenge, since every time the bar door opened a significant volume of fresh air blew in, but these guys were professional and stuck manfully to the task of maintaining a fog inside the bar, with considerable success. That’s dedication- they produced enough smog for Los Angeles.
After a while I felt suitably warmed up to risk looking for a restaurant, and walked down the high street in the high wind. I passed a Chinese restaurant where I had eaten in my previous stay. I remembered the service had been very arrogant and was determined to go elsewhere. This wasn’t the night for leisurely choices, so I plumped for another down to earth French place just down the street. Again the place was crowded, and I had to squeeze my way into the one available table. I can’t remember why, but I had some problems with my visa cards and would have to use one where I wasn’t sure I could remember the PIN code. I had just enough Euros left to pay anyway but this would leave me with no cash left.
Anyway, as with my first night dining with Catherine, this was another plain but delicious meal, and it was a wonderful feeling after the stress, and the walk in the storm, to unwind with good food and wine.
The only downside was the appalling English group that sat next to me, who refused to speak a word of French and insisted on having their conversation at the loudest volume. Sometimes I am ashamed of my fellow compatriots, and I worked very hard on seeming French so that I would not be associated with them.
Anyway, a long time later, my Visa card having worked, a warm, nourished, and wined Gary made the walk through the wild weather back to the hotel. The glow of well-being was sufficient to keep me warm despite the wild weather. After such a disastrous start it had been a really enjoyable evening.
I had to start early- in my joy on receiving the message that I had a hotel and flight, I didn’t check on the time of the flight, so caught the first shuttle before 7am. The navette was full of the service staff who keep the airport and its hotels running. Not much fun being out on this dark, freezing morning, and the mood was gloomy.
Arrive to find my flight is at 9.40am. It’s grey and gloomy but it seems the winds have blown themselves out. We take off on time and on landing at Heathrow I have to take the train to the London offices. It won’t be until evening that I’ll get home to assess the damage to the house. Another week of Parisian glamour.

Two Istanbul turkeys and a set of female “Batmen”

(Note. For non-native readers, a “turkey” is US slang for a failure or a disaster).

December 11th 2006 and my second trip to Turkey, to attend a meeting.

I had been with Sun in 2000 and my impression, on a trip where we were completely chaperoned, was that it was a brooding and possibly risky place.

My faithful driver Paul took me to Heathrow and we arrived at 8.00 for a 9.40 am flight.

Check in uneventful and I was soon drinking a coffee after a short wait to clear security. Said hello to a colleague in the lounge on the same flight. Boarded on time, and ensconced in my seat. Said hello to different colleagues as they went past to their seats.

Then a classic BA announcement from the captain.

“We have a couple of issues before we can take off. Firstly we noticed an engine problem inbound, so we need to fix that. Also there is a problem with the baggage hold door which we need to be able to close properly before we can leave. We’ll get back to you.”

I was tired on a Monday after a busy weekend so dozed for a while. About an hour later came the next update.

“We’ve fixed the engine, but we can’t fix the luggage door so the plane cannot fly. We are negotiating for another Boeing 767 and we’ll be in touch”.

Another wasted hour. At 11.30 the captain came on again. “We have the other 767 landing at 1pm, so we will bus you to that when the passengers are off it. In the meantime we will serve you lunch.”

Lunch consisted of a miniscule bag of nibbles and a plastic glass of water . Yum yum.

Finally at 1pm we were bused to the other plane and returned to our seats.

Radio silence for about an hour and the captain came on again ( a different captain as the original crew had used their flying hours).

In a hugely embarrassed voice he said. “You won’t believe this, but the luggage truck has just hit the baggage hold and rendered the door unusable. We can’t now use this plane, so we are trying to negotiate a different plane as both 767s are now defunct.”

Finally around 2pm the captain came on again.

“We’d like you to disembark and we’ll give you vouchers for refreshments. If you can use the lounge please go there.”

Although I can use the lounge, I (with other colleagues) insisted on collecting vouchers just in case, then we went to the BA lounge.

This was an example at BA at its worst. We were already four and a half hours late and the receptionist was doubtful about letting us all in. If you are over 4 hours delayed this is the time to make a client-friendly gesture.

Ensconced in lounge and grabbed some lunch. We had barely sat down when the announcement came. “BA 676 to Istanbul is cancelled. Please go and collect your bags and go to the ticket desk to try and rebook”.

I had expected this when they asked us to leave the second plane. I am convinced they had already decided to cancel but asked us to leave to prevent a riot.

We bolted down some food and went back through passport control to the baggage hall. An hour’s wait for my bag, and some colleagues’ bags also.

Then I had an event which told me it would not be my day. Walking through customs an officer asked me where I had come from. “Nowhere “ I said, but he would not believe that I had not left Heathrow and had a brief look at my bags anyway.

Long line for the BA ticket desk. I would have guessed a 2 hour wait, but Sarah who had got through faster, came back to tell us that all later flights were booked.

It wasn’t worth my while to travel next day as I would arrive too late to justify the trip. I resolved to fill in for a senior speaker at an event we were running in London on Tuesday.

Nonetheless I called at the BA customer service desk (30 minute wait) and asked for the name and address of their Chief Executive. They told me they “were not empowered to give this information” and gave me the email for their customer services department. I have dealt with these people before (guess you can tell). I cannot figure out why a company would pay a team of half educated gorillas to deal with their angriest customers, and I have been struck livid by some of the crass responses I have received.

(Just to give you an example, I once wrote a complimentary comment card praising the supervisor (Dolores) and her team for a great service. The reply thanked me and assured me that “Dolors” (sic) and HIS team would get to hear about my praise.) A customer service triumph.

Complained that I wanted to write to the top but they would only give me the monkeys’ address (found it in two minutes on the web at home). Well done BA.

Took the bus home. It’s an hour or so, but if you have wasted a whole day another hour doesn’t count.

January 8th 2007.

My first trip of 2007. Ready at 7 am for (normally) trusty Paul, who didn’t show. Called him in some concern, as I knew I had to get to Istanbul for an audience of 20+. Paul had assigned another driver and told him 8am, but fortunately the guy was free and arrived about 7.20. Still potentially doubtful to get to Heathrow in time for a 9.40 flight, but after 40 minutes of gridlock the last 20 minutes was amazingly clear and checked in at 8.20.

This time the flight took off more or less on time, and I thought that at last I was getting there.

Landed almost on time in far better weather than London, and joined the battle to buy a visa. Then through passport control and to a taxi. Showed the driver the address. The hotel I was staying in was opposite the Hyatt and was called the Ceylan Intercontinental (probably a joint venture). I pronounced Ceylan as “Saylan” but the driver kept saying “Jaylan”. I repeated “Intercontinental” and couldn’t understand why the guy seemed not to know the address.

We set off with me in some doubt as to whether we were going to the right place.

The road from the airport runs beside the beautiful Sea of Marmara, and the view was idyllic.. I was struck by the number of Turkish signs which have taken the sounds of English words and respelt them to become Turkish (for example you can take a “feribot” to cross to the other side). I also saw an “ambulans”.

We turned inland and went down a long street with an amazing number of musical instrument shops and mosques, and eventually crossed a bridge over the “Golden Horn”

Large numbers of men were fishing from the bridge, as well as a number of stalls selling bait.

We arrived at the “Jaylan” and a porter who spoke very good English welcomed me but stole my bags in a military operation. I couldn’t communicate with the driver so asked the baggage thief to ask him to make out a receipt including a tip. The driver promptly asked him to write the receipt and handed over the pad, at which point I realized that the cab driver couldn’t read, and that I had only got to my destination because he had recognised the sound “Intercontinental”.

I don’t like cities where you have to go through airport style metal detectors to enter a hotel.

Checked in and up to my room. 45 minutes later no bags so went downstairs (email withdrawal symptoms) and found them unattended. Took my bags (porters unhappy at lost tip) and went back to my room.

Checked email and prominent was one from Amex travel. I was flying on to Prague from Istanbul, and the only flight was with Czech Airlines. Czech Airlines don’t do e-tickets and they don’t hold tickets at the airport either. I would have to call in person at their offices which they claimed were open until 7.30. Checked the map and realized the office was 5 minutes walk from the hotel so set off about 6.30.

Arrived at the office to find it closes at 5.30. Thank you Czech airlines.

Turned to go back and found a man about my height attempting to rip the pocket and my wallet directly from my jeans. Pulled his hand away and he left me with my wallet intact. About 100m down the street someone else tried the same thing.

I should have taken the hint, but determined to see a little of Turkish life I called in at a normal looking restaurant. Sat down and ordered a beer while I looked at the menu.

As I was studying the menu, I was joined at the table next to me by a man and two women. A quick look at them and I had the feeling that the ladies were “working girls” so resolved to finish my beer and move on.

The guy tried to strike up a conversation, and with British politeness I answered him while trying to make it clear I wasn’t interested in getting to know him or his colleagues.

My new “friend” proposed “a toast to our English friend”. I was a little confused at this point as I knew there was a scam here. My first thought was that he would try to slip something into my glass so I kept my eyes on this as we clinked (nothing introduced).

Finished my beer and asked for the check. The proprietor arrived and I couldn’t believe my eyes- converting to Euros it was about 600 ($700+).

Pointed out that one (small) beer does not cost 600 Euros, and the proprietor launched into a story that I had invited my friends to dinner and I had to pay for their meal, and the ladies “champagne” (cheap white wine with no bubbles), and that I had to pay for two hours of their company each.

Two other waiters joined him in an attempt to intimidate and block the way to the door.

The proprietor started haranguing me and it was obvious they were trying to get me to move to the back of the restaurant where I would be less public. I decided my best approach was to be very loud and very public, so argued at top volume and said he should call the police (not sure they would be much help but I wasn’t going to concede any liability). They then went into a well rehearsed routine where the guy who had struck up the conversation said it was all a terrible mix up and he would pay half the bill.

“Yeah, right” I thought, knowing that he was clearly in on the scam and this would still part me from 300 Euros.

In the end I put down a note which would have paid for 5 beers and said I was leaving. They made a half hearted attempt to stop me but I made a non violent but determined walk which meant pushing past them. A really unpleasant experience.

On the way back to the hotel I was accosted by two more guys who were desperate to get to know me, but decided that was enough excitement for one day.

Back at the hotel, and reported the incident to hotel security, who were not interested.

I hate hotel food and especially room service- I hate the quality and the expense, but tonight room service pizza felt like all the adventure I wanted. It was disgusting but I didn’t have to risk my life to get it.

Next day ran a session for some of our Turkish managers. Told some my story- some were quite nonchalant and told me to expect it. Hmmmm.

Second evening I had dinner with some of the delegates in the hotel again- I wasn’t going out for any reason.

Morning running a session at the office, and a dash in a taxi to the airport. Traffic crazy but “fortunately” my driver was psychotic so he negotiated it very well as long as you can accept the odd heart attack en route.

Istanbul airport demand you check in 2 hours ahead even for a European flight, and I could see why. You go through a metal detector just to get inside. Then you have a long wait in line (no auto check in at all). Then an even longer wait at passport control when the border police exercise their job satisfaction by looking miserable and keeping you waiting a very long time, as they examine every passport minutely. I think they are trying to memorise the dates and destinations of travel of each passenger. Maybe there’s an exam at the end of each day.

Finally airside and time for a disgusting lunch- should have gone to Burger King.

To be honest, I was glad when we took off, after my experience, and won’t be rushing back.

Noticed that the lady in front of me was carrying a kitten in a pet basket, and spent some time wondering why someone would bring a cat from Istanbul to Prague.

Flight uneventful and landed more or less on time.

Stopped by customs again (I must look shifty) but eventually through.

Prague Airport taxis have clearly been working on their image and are much nicer than they were years ago. Safely at the hotel, made some calls and sent some items with deadlines.

Set off in search of a restaurant. After the earlier experience it was great to walk down quiet streets. I walked down a cobbled street and found a great (if idiosyncratic) restaurant. It was called something Italian like “Big Luca’s” or similar. Tried to agree a language to speak,(I speak virtually zero Czech). Enjoyed a hearty meal with no pretensions, and a couple of absurdly cheap beers (which according to the menu had a very dangerous alcohol content so I stopped at 2).

Out next morning and off to the Czech sub. The Prague hotel I stayed at (Corinthia Towers) has its own cabs and they are a complete rip-off. For a three minute drive I was charged half the price of the trip from airport to hotel.

Spent the day working with the Czech management team on a presentation. A great bunch of people.

Due to the lucky timing of my trip, the evening was the Czech subsidiary new year party.

The country MD, Michal, (a truly fantastic guy) drove me to the venue. As we left the building he asked who else was coming in his car. Massive declines all round. “You drive too fast” said a colleague.

We got into his car and I began to realize that she wasn’t joking. I understand that Michal is a pilot, and as he accelerated out of the garage I was expecting him to lift the flaps for take off. Arrived at the venue a few minutes later with my blood pressure significantly elevated.

The venue was exceedingly trendy. As we descended the stairs we were met by welcomers, dressed like monks but wearing eye masks (sorry, I have to report what happened). They let us into a basement, which had very dim lighting, and which was done out in a very Gothic style, with church- style statues. A big video screen was showing excerpts from (rather tasteless) vampire movies (although thinking about it I am not sure how many tasteful vampire films there have been).These scenes mainly involved naked vampire women covered in blood and writhing around with each other. Enough to put you off your food.

There were a whole set of waitresses who brought round drinks and canapés on trays and collected empty glasses. Their (insubstantial) costumes were mainly black, they had the regulation eye masks and little black capes also. I think they were supposed to be vampires, but the effect was more like a Batman convention for transvestites.

The festivities were interrupted on occasion, sometimes by a young guy in a tuxedo who sang songs from the Frank Sinatra era. In one sense he was musically pitch perfect. Every note was just as flat as the previous one.

Every few minutes the lights would flicker and a loud burst of horror film cinema music (“Da Da DAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!) would sound out. At this point a lady in evening dress, carrying a candelabra would come around the partygoers and lead someone away outside the room..

I have no idea what she was doing with them, but I noticed that most of them did seem to come back, and they had the eye masks too. Had you been watching me when she appeared you would have seen me discreetly moving to the opposite end of the room- I just wanted to have a quiet evening. Quite an idiosyncratic place but I enjoyed myself.

A good day on Friday working on presentations with Michal and Martina, and back home late Friday to pack for Paris on Sunday, and another week of adventures.