19.3.11

the last flight out

air traffic commutes, i imagine like all commutes, fluctuates depending on the day, and the time of day. Monday morning at Heathrow is a nightmare, by 7am there are massive queues all over the place, and even though i have a priority pass, i don’t bother getting it out, as clearly everyone else has one as well. the place is clogged with people returning home after long weekends in london, commuters who live in london but work elsewhere and people like myself, kicking the week off with a round of meetings somewhere abroad. by the time i reach the executive lounge, it is high rush hour, there are hardly any seats and the staff are struggling to keep the free breakfast items stocked up. but there are other times where the situation is much the reverse. there is something rather spookily cool, yet also melancholy about waiting for the last flight of the day, which is what i find myself doing now. it is late, i am in Stuttgart airport. almost all the flights have gone, the shops have closed and so have all the lounges except the British Airways one- but there are only 2 of us in it. The night flight to london is the last anyway, but tonight it is delayed and no one is sure when we will actually even board. so i sit and pour myself some more wine and enjoy my kindle. when i get bored i go for a stroll through the totally empty terminal, staring at all the empty gates and dark shops. lots of people i work with hate these moments, feeling that such times are digging into their personal time. i feel the opposite, i would take this any day over a 8-6 stint in an office.

17.3.11

random Germany


like the UK, Germany stands out in Europe for it’s apparent habit of sticking large multinational corporates in totally random places. Just as in the UK where you find yourself constantly having to go to Leeds or Liverpool to see a major company, so today in Germany I find myself in places like Karlsruhe and Stuttgart.

My feelings on Germany have been well documented already on this blog. I cant stand the place. Only Berlin is mildly tolerable, the rest makes my skin crawl. Some people have tried to suggest that it is wartime era prejudice inherited from my father. it isnt. there is simply far too much law and order in this place for me to be able to function. it is too clean and too organised and it all makes me want to scream. i also feel lost in the absence of a proper metropolis. Germany has no really great cities. Berlin is the best, but even it is quite provincial, and the rest is infinitely more so. the companies i deal with are remarkably inward looking, they have no clue what is going on elsewhere in Europe as they have no real growth ambitions, they are happy to stick in the german market. in fact, compared to the other places i have been going to lately, people here seem almost indecently happy, if not smug! they don’t moan about the economy! they talk of buying new cars! Downtown Stuttgart is packed with shops and shopping centres, and even on a random monday afternoon they all seem busy, there is just something unbearably successful about this place that drives me mad! there is too much self contentment- it just isnt right! i start to panic, there can only be one cure- i book a ticket to moscow for this weekend

get me out of this stinking fresh air!

16.3.11

inspiration

H has a summer house near the sea. I stayed there some years ago when I went to visit in June. But the place has much changed since, in fact I would argue that it has ceased being a flat and converted into what I have deemed an ethnographic museum.

As H reminds me, we are not normal. we are like a pair of vampires, seemingly living within normal society and yet we never belong to it. H is one of the few people with whom I don’t constantly feel like a freak, but that says more about me than the rest of the world. We meet one of H's friends, a nice local boy who is highly educated and has a well paid job at a time when much of the country is unemployed. yet, he has no passport. he thinks we are utterly mad for living the way we do, in and out of airports and suitcase. he cant imagine that this is simply how we are, how we were raised. I am sure that he cannot believe that sane people sit around and plot ways into puntland or holidays in Juba, when sane people are going to the beach. but some of us do. H has been to more places than I have, every country in the word to be exact, and unlike me, he has taken to collecting kitsh souvenirs. I almost never buy anything anywhere I go. I take loads of photographs, I think mainly out of an irrational paranoia that if I don’t photograph everything I will surely forget it all, but I have never been much of a shopper. there never seemed any point most souvenirs are rubbish and look tacky the moment you get home. H however has taken a different approach, he has chosen to celebrate the sheer tackiness of such souvenirs, sticking them all over his flat, with the most ridiculous ones given prominence, and the result is sheer genius, It Is truly an ethnographic display, capturing the most diverse and random spots on the planet. It is Inspiring. so much so that It makes me want to go out and buy the most stereotypic Item I can get my hands on. amazing stuff.

15.3.11

Naphlion



I rarely get to go on road trips. I hardly know anyone in the uk with a driving license, and when I am abroad I rarely have time for a leisurely road excursion, unless it is to go see clients in provincial scotland, but that is never fun and therefore hardly counts.

So I am delighted when H suggests a road trip to Naphlion, which used to be the capital city of greece for a brief period after independence. the town is about 2 hours drive from Athens, and the road trip is loads of fun, although i am continually baffled by the endless toll blocks, but maybe that is just because i am not used to driving? we stop briefly at the Corinth Canal, the marker telling us we are crossing into the Peloponnese. I never suffer from vertigo, but standing on the bridge looking down 52 metres, i have to say i fely a bit dizzy. i think it is partly because the canal is so narrow that it seems even deeper and more mind boggling than it would otherwise…or because the railings are totally flimsy and it would be all to easy to jump over the side? so easy in fact that there are signs everywhere advertising bungee jumping, which we don’t go for. the road trip then continues after a pit stop to refuel. thanks to the events being orchestrated by Colonel Ghadafi on the other side of the Mediterranean, the prices are shockingly high, even compared to Britain (€1.70!!!) but the money as worth it as the roads take us along paths I would otherwise never have trodden and allows me to see sights I otherwise would never have seen. as we approach Naphlion, I am struck by how much the scenery resembles that of parts of the former Yugoslavia, reminding me that I am actually back in the Balkans, despite Greece normally successful bid to remove itself from that unfortunately tainted geographic term.

Naphlion is adorable and I love it. H assures me all the people in the Peloponnese are short and ugly, and i have to admit he is not wrong, compared to Athens there is indeed a genetic difference that is quite striking given the relatively small distance between the two. but Naphlion couldn’t be lovelier, and the locals certainly know how to enjoy themselves. Despite the constant talk of apocalyptic economic meltdown, everyone is out in the streets. it is a religious holiday- Lent is about to begin, and there is music in the town square. Yet people are not just standing and listening to the music- all the cafés are packed, so that H and I can barely find a seat by the water, and the restaurants on the main culinary drag are so stuffed that we end up going back to the main square as there is literally no where else we could get a seat. Despite the crisis, people are clearly still going out. Furthermore, this restaurant filling can hardly be credited to tourism- it is the dead season, foreigners don’t go to Naphlion that often anyway, and I am quite certain i am the only foreigner in town, which is made obvious by the frequent stares i get from curious locals wondering what strange rock i must have crawled out from under. the wait to eat is long, but it proves to be every bit worth it as the food is divine. One of the things i like about Greece (and, lord strike me down, Turkey) is that although the national food consists mainly of meat, there is always so much food that even as a strange vegetarian i never go hungry, unlike in Spain. H and I order several plates, including another excellent greek salad, fava, tzeziki, and fried potatoes. By the time we have finished eating i feel i can barely move. "on mange bien en greece" H assures me. How very true that is!

13.3.11

lisbon


why has it been so long since I was last here? I love this city! I have been here a few times before, visiting Lemurana, but since she relocated to england, I havent returned even once. as a result, I forgot just how much I like lisbon. I think it is one of the most manageable and most attractive cities in europe. what always sticks In my mind about it the most (besides the pasteis de belem) is the sun. they actually have proper sun here, the kind that makes me squint even in the winter. that kind of sun makes me feel warm even when the temperature is not particularly warm, and it makes me feel happy even as i have to sit and endure hideously dull meetings on obscure topics. but beyond the sun are the cute (and i don’t mean to sound patronising with that word, i am totally and unusually genuine here) streets and trams. i love plopping myself on the 28 and riding around aimlessly staring out the window, it costs nothing but i find it a completely satisfying excursion. i continue to ham up the tourist thing by going and eating pastries with espressos in every neighbourhood i find myself in. i cant help it, they just always seem to be calling me! finally, i end up shopping. the shops here, even the big Iberian chains, are way cheaper than they are in england, even though portugal technically has a higher VAT as a result of its extremely difficult financial situation. by the end of the day i have to force myself to stop as they simply will not let me back on the plane it i have anything more with me. i have bought dresses and jumpers and find myself ogling bedsheets when I realise I need to exercise SOME self control here. but I think there is really a quite simple solution- I clearly just need to come to lisbon more often.

12.3.11

Mediterranean malaise

Part by luck and part by my own design, i end up in 4 Mediterranean countries in 2 weeks, Italy, Spain, Portugal and Greece. the mood of impending disaster is identical everywhere, although no one believes me when i say that, every person i talk to is certain that their country really does have it the worst. Greeks tell me they have it worst as they needed a bail out. Portuguese clients assure me that actually they have the worst lot, since they have not even got a bail out yet, but will surely need one and it will be on worse terms since countries like Greece have already been bailed out. Italians moan that even their prime minister is facing criminal charges and the Spaniards assure me they will be bankrupt within a year. in portugal i meet an old friend i havent seen in nearly a decade. he has launched a new career for himself, providing people with advise on bad credit- when to declare bankruptcy etc. it is clearly a growth industry. everywhere you go there is a lurking sense of hysteria, like everyone has spotted the package and now they are all just waiting for the bomb to explode, hoping it doesn’t kill them.

the economic figures for all of these countries is grim. all are facing unprecedented cuts, all are struggling with epic numbers of unemployed, especially unemployed youth. all have been hit by the implosion of the construction boom and the fall in tourism. in every country, the crisis is the first topic of conversation. i walk into a spanish boardroom, introduce myself, and the first question a vice president asks me is "what do you think of our collapse?"

what I find odd, however, is that in all four counties, this tremendous crisis is not immediately obvious, in fact quite the contrary. people assure me that if I look carefully at local peoples faces, I will see the crisis written on them. my portuguese friend assures me that people just look sadder than before, my Italian contacts say the same. but what strikes me, with my outsider perspective, is that the cafés and bars are surprisingly full and that people seem to be out in the streets enjoying themselves. on a saturday night in athens, trendy neighbourhoods have filled bars and restaurants with cool looking young people enjoying themselves. on a sunday afternoon In a small greek town some hours from the capital, the main square is full and along the spectacular waterfront my friend and I struggle to find seats amongst the local crowds. In milan the shopping centres are full. I wander into abercrombie and fitch (of all places) and the queue to pay must have been at least 30 minutes long. In diesal I was going to try on jeans, but the queue to the changing room was too long and I needed to get back to the airport. I managed to get some shopping done in lisbon and in madrid, but even there the shops were full. In athens, my friend's father assures me it would take an awful lot to keep the greeks from going out. so it seems across the Mediterranean. I hope it stays that way.

11.3.11

milan


Milan isnt Rome. it lacks the capital's beauty and mild climate. actually, when i arrive at Malpensa airport, the temperature is 5 degrees lower than in london, and it is raining heavily. that said, i still think Milan generally gets a bad rap unfairly. sure, it is probably the ugliest city in Italy, but that is judging it against a high standard. Despite its lack of typically Italian charm, it is still nicer than many of Europe's cities. the shopping is more than decent and the food is certainly tolerable. most of the city is grim and industrial, but the core around the Duomo is lively and pretty enough. it also does a good job, more so than Rome, of catering to business travellers. there is a good selection of hotels and transport and cabs are efficient- at least by Italian standards. Inside the office though, things are no different than anywhere else in the country. I get taken for excellent cups of coffee over delicious biscuits, and treated to endless tales of woes: the economy is a disaster, Libya has created a disaster, Berlusconi is a disaster, the company budget is a disaster….another coffee? trying to get any work done is turned into an epic task, with contracts taking months to sign as 15 people seem to be employed to pick apart every piece of paper that comes their way, and another 15 are needed to stamp those same papers, but everyone you need is out of the office the moment you need them and no one knows where they might be. it is all most maddening, although made somewhat forgivable by the excellent coffee and biscuits. were it not for the culinary delights, i think this place would succeed in driving me absolutely mad.

10.3.11

spain

I can anticipate the answer, but hopefully and hungrily I decide to try anyway: “do you have anything vegetarian?” the answer is as i imagined: "of course not senora." at least this waiter is honest, half the time they claim they do, and then bring some salad or tortilla covered in tuna or ham. I am so hungry i feel light headed. i havent had anything since last night's Yo Sushi special in heathrow's terminal 3. there was no time for breakfast in the hotel, my meetings ran through lunch, and all i want now is an early dinner, as i know i will not get anything on my Iberia flight tonight. but i cant find anything to eat.

I love spain. i love working in spain. the companies are, generally, well organised and relatively creative. the people are honest seeming and friendly. it is late February and the temperature in the afternoon hits 23 degrees. it is sunny and i sit outside drinking an espresso between meetings. i would be perfectly content here- if only there was something i could eat! it is not a sheer produce problem- i have gone to the supermarket here and stalked up on supplies that i always buy in spain as they are more expensive in england: my favourite brand of pasta that you can get in italy and spain but not in Britain, dulce de leche imported from argentina, coffee, manchego cheese. the supermarket is well supplied, but i don’t have a kitchen here in spain and i am hungry now. there is nothing ready made available.

It isnt a language problem either, i speak spanish and have explained in great detail to several people what vegetarianism is, but these explanations never get me anywhere. back in barajas, i try to order a salad. i specify that i am talking about lettuce and tomatoes, nothing else. the waiter nods understandingly, and brings me a plate covered in tuna. I try to scrape the tuna away and eat the lettuce as I am hungry, but I guess I got some of the juice anyway, as I end up throwing it all back up again in Barajas airport's toilets. grim. I am going to have to start packing bags of sandwiches for future trips here i think.

3.3.11

some socialist kitsch

ok, i know it is 5 days too early, but i guess my dad didnt want to leave things to chance and over rely on dodgy postal services. so today i got in the post this lovely postcard. i couldnt believe it and immediately went to show all the ex soviets in my building (um, all 2 of them). living in western europe, it is of course easy to forget about holidays like the 8th of march that just dont exist elsewhere, but seeing a postcard like this roared me right back to moscow and 8ovo marta celebrations.
in general, i love the post card, it is just such an amazing artefact of a world long gone, with a russian woman standing in the middle of beautiful international solidarity with her african and asian sisters. the back of the postcard claims it was printed in 1977, and sold for 2 kopeck. incredible.