A trip to Paris, this time for the launch of a new management development programme. 

This was a key deliverable for me so months of preparation were being put to the test. I left on Sunday morning, planning to arrive at the same time as my German colleague Maike. 

The early circumstances were not great. Boarded the BA flight, and they announced that the flight would be delayed as the catering truck was delayed. Taking off an hour late, it was only when in the air that the captain told us that the wait had been futile and we had taken off with no lunch on board. Thanks BA.  

Landed at 2.30 Paris time and things got worse. Collected my suitcase and went out to find no driver with a car with my name. I was hungry, but felt I didn’t want to leave the area in case the driver showed up , (they didn’t). To make matters worse, whereas I normally make my own arrangements, this time it had been done for me, and I couldn’t jump into a cab because I didn’t have the address I was going to. 

Called my colleague Maike, who promised to call our support lady and get her to call me back. 

A few minutes later Verena called me, There had been a mix up and she was calling the venue to fix something up and would get back to me. Still at least I knew there was no driver and could go get some food. I strolled down to a nearby bar which sold baguettes and equipped myself with a beer and a baguette.  Verena called back and said there had been a mistake, and if possible I would have to wait two hours and get in the car coming to meet the next plane. 

There are few places less fun to spend a couple of hours than terminal  2F at Charles de Gaulle airport. The architecture is dated and the whole place has a dilapidated air. I sat at the bar and had a brief conversation with a guy from our French office. I had been wearing my ID to help the driver to recognize me. This guy was an expect picking up family arriving on a flight. 

Sitting, sipping my beer I then watched a really strange phenomenon. At another table was a guy who had an acoustic guitar (classical style). He was playing and singing to two other guys at the same table. He played kind of Latin Sergio Mendes type music, and was pretty good. I was very surprised when his two companions got up and left, and he went to sit at another table and began again with different folks. 

He didn’t seem in any way to be asking for money and certainly none was given to him, I was imagining saying to his partner, “Must fly, got a gig at Terminal 2” and wondered about the motivation of someone who would spend a Sunday afternoon in such a strange place. 

Anyway, the music and a couple of beers helped to pass the time, and eventually the next flight came in and we had a driver. 

The venue we were using was an old château near Ecoublay, a small hamlet just outside Paris. The location was remote (deliberately) and part of a chain of châteaux that offer conference services. On arriving at the chateau we were greeted by a helpful lady who explained the system to us. We went to our rooms (very primitive) and then came back to the main house. The deal at these places is that you pay a daily rate and are treated like a house guest. The various bars are stocked with wine, beers and spirits ( and soft drinks) and you just help yourself. We went over the arrangements over a beer and then went to dinner, an excellent buffet. Had a long chat with one of the delegates, an Irish guy called Declan and we became firm friends. 

Kicked off the class the following day, the packed audience proving pretty challenging. I did the opening presentation, and then we split the audience. I took the more senior managers to another room where we covered a different curriculum. My group were actually very receptive and interested, and it was clear that Maike was left with many of the challenging folks. 

Got through the theory, and got to the point where I brief the senior managers on the “Projects”. Basically both groups get some input on day 1, and the senior managers are asked to deliver a set of projects with the more junior managers as the workers. Some of the projects are deliberately counter cultural. I remember the reaction of a guy called Mitch, a delightful US guy working in our Cambridge research facility. Mitch had picked up the project brief that asks the team to make a large scale work of art. Mitch was in shock and repeatedly said “I can’t believe it, they want me to do art”. Given Mitch had a passing resemblance to Dustin Hoffman it was like watching “Rain Man” as he was muttering the same phrase to himself over and over. 

Dinner was excellent. The head chef is a genius, and looked like the exacting stereotype of the fanatical French chef. We had a nice surprise before dinner when Maike and I received an enormous bunch of flowers from our US colleagues as a good luck wish. An amusing moment at dinner. The chateau has `a tradition that the chef announces the menu. He spoke only French, and was translated by the manager (who didn’t speak that much English). The chef began “On vous propose” and announced that the first course involved “fromage de chevre”. Maike speaks excellent English, but occasionally makes mistakes when excited. “Excellent” she said, “I like goose cheese”. I announced to the table that we would begin day 2 with a demonstration of Maike milking a goose. 

Apparently there is a confusion in German with two words very similar. 

Day two was phenomenal. The project work inevitably leads to real storming in the groups and it was like a small war. The art project in particular were demonstrating all the temperamental attributes of the stereotypical artist, and were falling out big time. Mitch who was trying to be peace keeper, was looking even more shell-shocked as they fought like cats. 

Over dinner delegate after delegate asked for “a word” and asked me to “fix” somebody else. The point was they needed to fix each other so the conversations were pointed. 

Day three saw a gradual peace breaking out and some really productive work being done. 

The final day was fantastic, with some amazing results. The artists had produced a brilliant video, but even funnier was an “outtake” video. The highlight for me had been a Russian guy (I think Sergei). To underpin one of their message the team had asked managers (there were 22 nationalities on this course) to say the words “stay in touch” or “stay in contact” in their languages. Clearly this may be hard to translate into Russian as Sergei had many attempts, each of “War and Peace” length. Maybe that’s why Tolstoy’s books are so long. 

The course ended with a celebration organized by the one of the project teams. We had a competition with a series of events, the last being an archery contest using the archery field at the chateau. I quickly realized the safest place to be was tied to a target, as no arrow ever went close to these. I went back into the warm as I could feel a cold coming on. 

Over dinner I had agreed to play guitar and we had some singing. I went to bed early as I could feel the cold getting worse. 

Friday morning, and a meeting with Maike to review the highs and lows, and then lunch. A nerve racking ride back to Charles de Gaulle. The cab back had to take 4 of us and was leaving later than I would have chosen. Because we were all at separate terminals and I was the last one to drop if you did it logically, this exacerbated the fact that I was late for my flight. 

Finally arrived and dashed to the terminal. Tried to get through passport control, to be met with an officious French border policeman. I love the French, but there is nothing worse than a French official with an attitude problem. He wanted to see evidence of my booking, so I showed him the detail on my phone. “No good, it has to be on paper”. I pointed out that my way saved a tree but he was implacable- he wanted the same info on a piece of paper. Really worried I went to BA customer services who checked me in quickly, so was able to get back fairly fast. In the event I needn’t have worried as the additional security meant we boarded very late. 

Flight was completely full and I had a middle seat. The occupant of both other seats in my row were already there and flirting madly with each other. I felt their silent resentment at me interrupting their beautiful moment, not that there was anywhere else on the plane I could sit. Sat feeling increasingly feverish through the flight enduring the obvious disapproval of the two lovers. I was now too ill to care. 

Got off at Heathrow feeling feverish and really struggling with my asthma. I obviously looked distressed, as a BA guy asked me when I got off the plane asked me if I was ok. 

I was unhappy and snapped. “It’s just avian flu” I said.  (The concern about this was big at the time). 

As I walked to passport control, I figured that this was not the smartest thing to say. Stood there waiting to be dragged off by a team of medics in contamination suits. 

Rough drive back with Paul, as my asthma got worse (the air conditioning on the plane exacerbates it). Arrived home at the point of collapse. Funny how my illnesses always happen at weekends.