24 January 2012 - Mother Russia Calling

It's a long story, but in short I have been asked to spend the remainder of my time in Europe in Russia as acting leader of our practice covering the Commonwealth of Independent States region. This of course has a lot of logistical challenges that I will no doubt be discussing in future posts, but I am excited about the opportunity, not to mention that it may be interesting to be here during the upcoming elections at the beginning of March.

I flew over as soon as I was able to get a double-entry business visa. There is at present a three hour time difference between Moscow and Frankfurt (thanks to a random decision by President Medvedev to not let the time "fall back" at the end of the summer). So the next-to-last flight from Frankfurt leaves at around 18:00 but you land just before midnight in Moscow. Delightful.

As a typical American who grew up during the cold war, the idea of being in Russia and not speaking the language is a bit unsettling when you first approach passport control. Especially after the protests in December regarding allegedly flawed/rigged elections for the Duma were blamed on the U.S. at least in part. But I was allowed in with only a question on where I had flown from.

The firm had arranged for a driver to meet me at the airport, which I was most grateful for at this early hour (it was about 01:00 by the time I was headed out of baggage claim and was not, thank goodness, asked to stop and show the contents of my gigantaur Rimowa suitcase that was brimming with things like snow boots and sweaters to keep me warm and clothed for over a week). I had been warned that the taxi drivers at the airport and around the city are not as regulated, shall we say, as in many other international cities (see also the blog posting on taxis in Frankfurt) and may not always employ meters - you just bargain for the amount you're willing to pay to go someplace, which would be difficult if you don't know where you're going and don't speak Russian. I apparently have "target" or "not from here" written on my forehead because as soon as I emerged from baggage claim I was immediately assailed by taxi drivers urging rather forcefully that I was waiting for them. Um, no, not so much. I was sooooo pleased to see a guy standing with a sign with our logo. Whew!

The guy didn't really speak much English but following him was a no-brainer. Until we got outside, where it's snowing, wickedly cold, and he's leading me across a large area that I thought was a parking lot but was in fact a road, which I learned as a few cars came driving straight at us! We finally got to the car, which was not exactly what I was expecting. Perhaps I have spent too much time in Germany, but I guess I had been expecting a small Mercedes or BMW. No, I believe this was a Toyota Corolla that seemed more like it was a personal vehicle than one used to transport strangers on a regular basis. But somehow its trunk managed to accommodate the large suitcase and off we went. It took nearly an hour for us to get to the hotel, which I guess is amazing time compared to what it takes during the day when traffic is insane. What wasn't quite clear to me, though, was whether or not I was supposed to pay the driver or whether it was being billed to the firm. He pushed a form to me written in Russian and indicated I should sign. Okay.... Also not clear whether I was supposed to add a tip. But since I had no Rubles on me, I didn't have to think about that one very long.

Until my corporate apartment is ready, I am staying at the Swissotel, which is across a main road (more like a highway) from our office and is technically on an island between the Moskva River and a channel/canal (the purpose and history of which I do not know but intend to learn). It's a very nice property and rather high, thus affording some amazing views. I am typing this from the executive lounge on the 19th floor and have a beautiful view of the Kremlin from here, which was also part of the view from my room on that first night here, though I had no idea what exactly I was looking at, only that there were an awful lot of lights out there and the canal that was frozen over looked awfully cold. But with the difference in time that first night, I was wired. So I could not help but take a couple pictures of the Sarah Palin action figure with that view - this most assuredly was not the Russia one might see from one's kitchen window in Wasila (though I realize she never actually said that - but come on, you could easily hear her making such a statement, right?).

The next morning, one of my new colleagues picked me up at the hotel in his car and we drove over to the office, which I thought was a very nice, welcoming gesture. It was a busy but productive day. Towards the end, though, the young woman from our Mobility group in Russia (I will call her Katya) called to ask if I knew how to get back to the hotel. Well, it's just right across the highway - how difficult can it be? But she volunteered to walk me back that evening to make sure that I found it because it might be a bit tricky the first time. And she was right. First, we had to navigate our way out of the maze of connected buildings of the firm (it took me about a week to figure out where I was and which entrance was the one with the ATM). Then you walk along the canal for a couple blocks, then cross the canal. About half a block after you cross the canal, you descend down some stairs and then take a tunnel underneath the highway. At the other side, you repeat the procedure - stairway back up to the surface, cross back across the canal, and then about a block later you are at the hotel.

But it was in the tunnel where things were a bit more interesting. When you reach the bottom of the stairs, there is a little kiosk that is little more than a closet - maybe about half the size of one of those old Fotomat kiosks there used to be in the US in random parking lots at strip malls (how much am I dating myself here?!). Visible within the glass/plastic portions are various baked goods - rolls, bread and the like. AND there are also baking capabilities inside. So there's this bizarre smell of baked goods mixed with the dank (if that can be a scent), wet smell of the tunnel.

And maybe something else. As we proceeded through the tunnel, an interesting visual came into view at the other end of the tunnel. (I am kicking myself that I was staring too much to get a photo.) There was an old man there with a little kid. No, not child. Kid, as in goat. A little white one. Okay, odd, to be sure, but it gets better. The kid was wearing a coat. The coat of a human. It seemed to be a reversible quilted down or faux-down thing that was dirty beige (or just dirty) on the outside and (based on the sleeves rolled up around his front knees) a rusty brown on the other side. Totally bizarre. I was trying not to stare, but reminded myself that I was in a different country and that things were different here. And around that time Katya looked at me and, also seeming a bit speechless as well as reading my mind, said, "That's not normal. Even for Russia, that is not normal."

And so began the adventure....

1-2 February 2012 - Domodedovo

("Pennsylvania Polka" by Frankie Yankovic)

Last Wednesday I had a bit more eventful trip back to Frankfurt than I had imagined. I was flying on Lufthansa (natürlich!) out of the Domodedovo airport. I had scheduled to have a taxi pick me up at the office at 16:30, but then a meeting I couldn't really skip (it was, after all, my first real week here in Moscow as the acting leader) came up. I asked my assistant if she could move back the taxi. "Yes, but not if you still want to make your flight." Good point, as I would then be in rush hour traffic, which is more ridiculous here than I can begin to explain. She noted, however, that it would be possible to make it if I took the train. Hmmm..... I had not experimented with non-taxi transit here other than, as a good friend would say, the Ten Toes Express (walking).

One of our managers said it was quite doable and the station from which the airport express (Aeroexpress) train leaves is only a 10 minute walk from the office or so. I had been at that station over the weekend when I was wandering around, but the idea of trying to find the right track, buying a ticket and the fear of everything being in Russian was a bit daunting. Not to worry - he said he'd have one of our interns help me make it. Okay. So off to the meeting I went.

When I returned to my office, the poor intern assigned to escort me was waiting, along with three other staff. They presented me with the most charming gift! They knew that I was working on learning the Cyrillic alphabet, so they had created an alphabet for our team. For each of the Cyrillic characters, there was a key to pronunciation, an example of the letter used in the name of one of our colleagues, and then a picture of said colleague. So with this document, I could both learn the Cyrillic characters, their pronunciation, as well as the names and faces of most of our professionals. I love it and have been showing it off wherever I go!

So off the poor, hapless intern (to protect the innocent, as always, I will call him Ivan, which is not his real name) and I went to the train station. Now, because I had learned the night before that I was going to have to move over my belongings from Frankfurt to Moscow solely via excess baggage, I left the suits and some other things (like the Sarah Palin doll I had with me) in my office.

However, I still had my large Rimowa (again, natürlich!) metal suitcase with me and, smooth roller that it is, it is still a bit large. Especially when dealing with the sometimes icy or snow-packed streets of Moscow. Ivan took one look at the suitcase and took over responsibility for its navigation, despite my protests. He even carried the brute at times when he thought that the sound of the rollers on the paving stones was a bit loud. Great guy. And I was glad to have him with me as we went into a different entrance than I'd seen on the weekend and would have been totally lost.

It turned out that the Aeroexpress ticket kiosks were actually multi-lingual, so I had no issue at all in purchasing a ticket. But after I purchased my ticket, Ivan looked at me quizzically and asked about his ticket. Ummm.... Apparently the manager who was looking out for my interests had told Ivan to go with me all the way to the airport to make sure I made it okay, got checked in, etc. Incredibly kind of both of them. But I told Ivan that since the Aeroexpress went directly to the terminal with no stops, it would be difficult for even me to get lost and I'd navigated my way around airports before and could probably figure that out, too. He needn't spend his evening (it was already 18:30) taking me to

the airport, getting me settled, and then going back into the city. And I was still horrified at the idea that I had become one of "those partners" with someone to literally carry my bag for me! He nevertheless insisted on at least waiting until I boarded the train. Very sweet.

The Aeroexpress was just fine. Nothing luxurious and not really all that fast (as compared to, for example, the Arlanda Express in Stockholm or Heathrow Express in London), but it was certainly faster than the drive from the airport to the city at around 2 AM when I had arrived, so I assumed it was supersonic compared to rush hour traffic.

I arrived in plenty of time for my scheduled departure, only to discover that the flight was delayed by about an hour due to mechanical problems. So I hung out in the Lufthansa lounge (not the Star Alliance Lounge, mind you - for whatever reason Austrian and Swiss both had their own lounges which seems like a bit of a waste of money and redundancy, but what do I know?).

I was a bit surprised by the decor - big wicker chairs with cushions that made you sink down to the point where it is a bit difficult to get up. But it was nice enough. There was some kind of hot buckwheat available as well as an interesting beet root salad and a few other things. Surprisingly, at least for Lufthansa, not a self-service bar for either coffee or adult beverages. I asked for a glass of red wine and was a bit surprised to get a white wine, which was poured out of the bottle using one of those narrow plastic spouts like one might see used for hard liquor at a bar. But I decided not to argue and grabbed a bottle of water for my wait (good call, as it would turn out). Then I returned to my deep wicker chair to stare out the window at the inky blackness broken by falling and blowing snow, but alas not by the sight of the familiar Lufthansa tail.

Our flight finally boarded around 21:45 (18:45 CET). I had managed to score the great exit window seat with now seat in front, so mad wicked legroom (you know, for my long legs and all). This also turned out to have been a good call, because after we pulled out of our gate position the captain announced that there was a different mechanical problem and so we were going to go chill out (literally and figuratively - it was around -20C at this point) somewhere out on the tarmac and the mechanic would meet us out. So I stretched out and read a bit, thinking (this is Lufthansa, after all) that we would soon be on our way. About 15 minutes into this, a woman with children asked what she was supposed to do because she and her family were supposed to catch a connecting flight to Argentina in Frankfurt and if they didn't make their connection, what would happen because they didn't have visas to enter Germany. The flight attendants tried to calm her down, but she was becoming a bit billigerant, as was her husband. Not really anything the flight attendants could do, though I hadn't really thought about that type of situation before in terms of canceled flights because I think all Lufthansa flights I had been on before were either within the EU or US, and obviously within the EU there's not a visa issue. Hmmm....

Probably another 15 minutes later, the captain announced that even if the mechanic arrived soon, there wasn't going to be enough time to make the repairs and get us into Frankfurt by 23:00 CET. Apparently effective 1 January as part of some negotiation for the airport expansion, there was a new noise abatement rule that prohibited flights in or out of Frankfurt between 23:00 and 5:00. WHAT?! He was waiting for more information on our gate back in the terminal.

Phones were still allowed as we waited, so I tried to call our corporate travel agent in Germany to see if they could book me on another flight out either that night or the next morning, either to Frankfurt or to Prague where I was slated to fly first thing the following morning. Just as they answered the phone and I was beginning to explain my situation, the pilot announced that the mechanic had just arrived, so the flight might still be on. Someone behind me said, "I'm going to kill you." I assume she was referring to the pilot and not me, but in any event I rang off to see what the new situation was. As I ended the call, my BlackBerry buzzed. It was a message from Lufthansa saying that my flight had been canceled. The flight attendant next to me asked me to please show it to the purser because none of them had any idea what was really going on.

They brought a bus out to our position on the tarmac to take us back to the terminal. It was a very cold walk down those steps from the flight, let me tell you. No one should be on the tarmac in -22 temps! They drove us to the terminal and let us out at a point where there were about 100 people inside waiting for other flights. Wasn't the gate from which we had departed. There was NO ONE there from Lufthansa. No direction. Nothing. Uhhh.... So I and the other passengers (it was a rather empty flight) started talking amongst ourselves to figure out what to do.

A few of us had been in the lounge together before the flight and so we headed back up to the lounge to see if they could help. When we got there, the attendants said that they do not work for Lufthansa, so they couldn't help us. Uhhh.... So one of the guys called Lufthansa in Germany on his cell phone. They weren't very helpful, either, but told us that we should go to the check-in desk outside of security.

The "outside of security" part of that proved a bit interesting. And I suddenly had a greater appreciation for the arguments that the woman headed for Argentina had voiced. I was traveling on a double-entry business visa and they had closed out and stamped the first entry when I had gone through passport control. So even if we could figure out how to get out of the general terminal area, how does one "undo" the departure and attempt to explain to passport control the next morning how I was leaving the country without having entered.

When you enter the country, you also have to complete an entry form and you keep that with you until you leave, so of course those had also been collected by passport control. Hmmm.... But certainly this happens all the time with canceled flights in Moscow due to weather, etc. (Then again, one might assume that Lufthansa would also be more prepared for a flight cancellation than was apparently the case.)

Somehow we found someone from passport control to assist us. Well, at least I think he was from passport control. We were on the wrong side of passport control and this guy in a uniform motioned all of us (we had a group of about 15 people who just stuck together the entire evening, it was quite nice) to a place off to the side and next to the side wall of one of the passport control booths. We then approached him one at a time, gave him the boarding pass and passport. He studied both, ripped off the luggage sticker from the boarding pass, pocketed the boarding pass, and put a different stamp diagonally across the departure stamp on the visa, and we were permitted back into the area before passport control. It was rather odd.

We then headed to the check-in desk. She said that she couldn't assist us and we should try the ticketing desk. So off we went.

There was a rather harried looking woman at the ticketing desk who did not seem at all happy to see us approach her. It probably didn't help when, simultaneously, people started addressing her in Russian, German, English and another Slavic sounding language I didn't recognize, all while the exhausted infant of the Argentina-bound couple began wailing. After a few minutes of this, she got up and walked behind the front area, apparently with no explanation. Uhhh.....

Quite a while passed, but then someone not wearing any sort of Lufthansa branding or badging showed up and we were apparently supposed to follow her to collect our luggage. Okay.... So she takes us to where one exits from baggage claim and, after some words she had with someone at the entrance, we went "in" the "out" door. But we were in, and miraculously our bags were there. What a relief. One minor difficulty - the guy at the exit wanted us to show our boarding passes to exit the area - yes, the same boarding passes that the guy on the wrong side of passport control had pocketed. More exchanges of words in Russian and our attempts in German and English and we and our bags were allowed out.

We went back to the ticketing desk, hopefully something would have magically happened while we were gone. Not exactly miraculous, but at least progress - they had our boarding passes ready for our respective morning flights. Good news as it was approaching midnight and we were a bit tired, not to mention hungry, as we hadn't obviously received our dinner on the flight. The woman at the desk passed out the boarding passes, and then we began asking about the hotel arrangements, etc. Around this time, the woman got very irritated and noted that it was midnight and her shift was over. And she went behind the desk area. Uhhhh.....???

One of the guys called Lufthansa in German again and was telling them in very strong terms that this was, well, bullshit. And we waited a while longer. About 30 minutes later a guy in his 50s approached from behind us (not from behind the desk) wearing a Lufthansa airport badge. And got right to work - albeit at a snail's pace. He let us know that that the restaurant wouldn't be open at our hotel, and there weren't really any other places open at the airport at this hour (we're now past 1 AM), but he'd give us food vouchers anyway. It took him FOR-EVER (foreva eva?) to get the hotel vouchers to us. I was the next to the last one to get mine and waited for the other guy who'd been seated in my row to head to the airport. The Lufthansa guy assured us that there was a hotel shuttle outside. "At 2 AM???!" Yes.

Liar, liar, pants on fire! But they'd be cooling quickly due to the frigid temps. We walked outside and a taxi driver asked if we were looking for Aerotel. Yes, we're looking for the shuttle. "No shuttle. I'll drive you." Now, I've been warned about potentially unscrupulous taxi drivers so who knew whether he was lying about the shuttle or not. But it's -20 outside and neither of us were in the mood to wait outside in the cold for 15 minutes to see if the shuttle showed up.

And our deluxe voucher didn't even contain the address or phone number of the hotel, so we couldn't exactly call them to ask about the shuttle status. So the guy I was with (still don't know his name or the names of the others in our merry band of angry sheep) negotiated transit for us for RUB 500 (over $15) for our transit. Which transit turned out to be about 700 meters. But we were there.

The woman at the desk took care of some paperwork and then handed me the plastic card that in any other situation would be the room key. But this was unlike any other situation. She noted that this was NOT a key, but was for the lights. That my room was open, but lockable from inside, and if I left and shut the door, I would need to have someone f

rom the hotel staff to open it for me.

Ummm, really? Now, I understand the concept of putting the card key into a slot in the wall to turn on the lights. I'm a fan, actually, as I assume this has the potential to really save electricity (though is confounded by hotels that give you two keys and you end up leaving one in the slot the entire time). But when I got to the room, it really was open. As in the door was wide open.

Ummm..... I crept in, having visions of rapists lurking in the closets. Nope. Empty. Of virtually everything. Not even a cheap fake oil painting screwed to the wall. Other than the (very unexpected) presence of a hair dryer, it mostly resembled a type of cell. A rather cold cell. Twin bed with suspect bedspread. No independent temperature controls. And paper-thin walls or floors so I could hear a group of apparently drunk men singing something at the tops of their voices. It was now about 2:30 and I needed to wake up around 5:00, so I attempted to go to sleep. Wearing virtually every scrap of dirty clothing I had (which was all that I had in my suitcase) to keep warm. And every time I felt an itch (often), I was certain it was bed bugs or lice. I tried to comfort myself with the idea that even these creatures must not survive in these inhospitable temperatures. It didn't really help. Relatively sleepless night.

The next morning was literally and figuratively Groundhog's Day. In addition to it being February 2, I found myself back in the Lufthansa lounge. It was still dark. Still cold. Still snowing. I was in the same clothing. Same beetroot salad. Same white-wine pouring person at the bar (I was on coffee this morning). And even the prior day's newspapers (perhaps they arrive on a later incoming flight?). And the same passengers from the previous night, who by now seemed like friends. The only difference was this time, blessedly, the bird actually took off.

But I'm still not ready to forgive Lufthansa for such an incredible lapse in service. Even if this is Russia and things are different here, I expect German organization for contingencies to address situations like this that must happen quite often.

24-27 December 2011 - Christmas in the Canaries

("Canary" by Liz Phair or, if you prefer, "Canary in a Coal Mine" by the Police, or perhaps the Christmas song, "Christmas Island" by one of the many artists singing it)

I decided to stay in Europe this year for the holidays. This was driven by two factors. First, it was my last opportunity to spend the holidays here while living here (yes, cry me a river, but the blog - at least with this type of semi-focused content - will be ending). Second, unlike the US where when holidays fall on a weekend you usually get a day off on the Friday before or the Monday after, in Germany there are no make-ups (though admittedly the firm - after I had already made my decision to stay - granted us an additional day between Christmas and New Year's). So there wasn't much actual time off. So I decided to stay here. Somewhere.

My original idea was that I would spend some time taking the train from one great Christmas market to another. Good in theory, but those markets actually close a couple days before Christmas itself when I would still be working, so not really workable other than on weekend trips (one of which I would spend in Orlando as noted in the previous posting). Hmmm....

So I did what any frequent traveler would do - I consulted my favorite hotel and airline (you should know by now that would be Starwood properties and Lufthansa). On the SPG site, they have a feature where you select a region or country of interest and then the types of activities in which you are interested and it comes up with some recommendations. So I selected Europe as the destination and beach, golf and spa as the activities. One of the suggestions it returned was the Fuerteventura Beach, Golf and Spa Resort and I had to wonder if it was renamed just based on my query result! Fuertaventura is one of the Spanish islands, so I figured that would be a reasonable vacation distance for a few days and Lufthansa flew there direct from Frankfurt. Perfect!

Of course it wasn't quite so easy. (And if it were, this blog would not have been necessary!) As a typical geography-challenged American, when I saw that the island was one of the Canary Islands of Spain, I assumed it was just off the coast of Spain, not off the coast of AFRICA!! Hmmm.... That explained the long flight length. Which flight was not on Lufthansa, but a partnership with Condor, which is the flight arm of Thomas Cook vacations (don't worry - Miles & Mores miles were still available!)

I flew out on Christmas Eve Day. The flight was generally uneventful, though I was somewhat surprised to see a rather scrawny-looking Santa Claus wandering around the check-in area at Condor. The seat selection process, if you want to call it that, is a bit interesting. Despite it being a Lufthansa codeshare, I had looked at Condor's website in advance to determine whether I would be charged extra for my golf clubs. The good news was that due to my Lufthansa/Miles & More status, there would be no additional charge. BUT, I had to register my bag 48 hours in advance, so it was a good thing I had checked.

I noted at the time that online check-in was also available, which I thought might be helpful in assuring I didn't get stuck in a middle seat as, since it was a codeshare, Lufthansa.com hadn't been able to allow me to select a seat. The reason became apparent when, 24 hours before the flight, I used said online check-in. When you check in, you are asked whether you'd like to select your own seat (for which privilege you pay EUR 10) or pay nothing and select the Seat Joker (not kidding - that was the name) option. I read this as, "If you don't want to be in a middle seat for 3.5 hours, you'll need to pay EUR 10." Of course, I wondered what would happen if you paid the EUR 10 for a seat, only to discover that only middle seats were available. That would really stink.

It was more or less all economy class with two rows in the front that were some kind of premium only in that the middle seat was left empty (kind of like Lufthansa's new continental Europe cabins) but without that pleated separation curtain between those rows and the rest of us commoners. There was a hot meal for all of us (no selection - you will just enjoy what is given to you or not eat) and several beverage services, which is much more than you would get on any US carrier that I know of on a 3.5 hour flight in economy.

The arrival was nothing terribly exciting, other than the distraction of the beautiful sea outside the huge plate glass window walls. I don't think I have ever had such a nice view from baggage claim. There were a few more scrawny Santas (maybe just because there aren't as many portly European men than there may be in the US?) in the airport including some passengers, but otherwise just a bunch of other people trying to get out of the airport and enjoy the sea that we'd been seeing through the windows.

When my taxi pulled up to my hotel I had to do a double-take. In addition to the flags of Spain and the European Union and a new one that I later learned was the flag of the Canary Islands, also flying high was a certain black, red and yellow flag. And I don't mean Belgium. Ummm.....

Now, I had heard a joke that Mallorca was the 13th Bundesland/state of Germany, but I hadn't thought the joke extended to all islands of Spain. But perhaps it does or should, because I was quite astonished to learn that staff at the front desk not only spoke very good English, but most also spoke some German and a few were much more fluent than me (which admittedly isn't saying a lot, but still....). I thought flying the flag was a bit much, though apparently they must fly them based on the mix of people staying there because I noticed when I left a few days later that they were also flying the Union Jack and there were indeed quite a few Brits around. But with a welcome glass of champagne for guests like me, they can fly whatever flags they want....

I had arrived around noon and the weather was even then not hot. It was probably in the high 70s with a really nice breeze and, from my balcony that was in the shade, actually a bit chilly. The weather remained like this most of the stay - warm enough for the sun worshippers and just perfect for the golfers!

There were two particularly interesting features of the hotel that caught my attention. First, when I was roaming around the property, towards one of the back corners behind the tennis and basketball courts was a walkway besides which was a kind of tent/shelter roughly the shape of an aircraft hangar, but open at the ends. It was covered by a tarp that indicated it was a feeding station for cats and to please leave food for them. Ummm.... Odd, as usually most places would say to not feed the strays. It remains unclear to me whether there is a large rodent problem or something that cats help control or something else. But I found it interesting.

The second interesting feature was the 18 hole miniature golf course that was visible from my balcony. While I think the idea was that children would partake in this activity and pay for the use of a putter and a ball in the children's area, you can imagine how my mind started to work when I saw that there were light poles around the area. There were no barriers to entering the course, so I thought it could be quite relaxing in the evening to take my real putter and some balls down there in the evening and practice my skills. Alas, they didn't actually turn the lights on in the evening. Drat! Soooo disappointed.

My time there basically consisted of enjoying the great breakfast buffet (complete with champagne and some really interesting creations that look like black sausages but that had a mixture of rice, beans and meat in them - I pretended there was no meat because I was so fascinated - so kind of like a burrito in a sausage casing), hopping on the free bus around the area, playing a round of golf, and then reading and relaxing in the late afternoon/evening. Unfortunately, while the hotel has a very nice spa, it wasn't open until 10 AM, which is frustrating if you want to get a workout in before your early morning tee time.

Golf (and events surrounding it) was clearly the highlight of my vacation and one of my reasons for choosing the area, as previously mentioned. I had emailed ahead to get tee times, which was an interesting experience and should have been a heads up on the multilingual capabilities on the island. I emailed the hotel (in English but from my German account) asking whether the concierge could arrange tee times. They responded in German with the email address to which I should address tee time requests. So I emailed that address (also in English), requesting tee times for Sunday and Monday. They responded in German, but with what appeared to be a cut-and-paste from their reservation system, which was in Spanish. Made me smile.

So I showed up for my 8:50 tee time on Christmas morning. At the hotel, I had run into a Brit who said his tee time was at 8:54 and saw him again when I arrived at the course. However, there was no starter in sight. There were two women (also from the UK) near the tee and I started talking with them. They were scheduled to tee off at 8:58. Still no sign of a starter and the group in front of me had cleared the hole, so I just started playing. A few minutes later, a guy on a golf cart caught up with me with a (very faint) hint of authority and asked if I was assigned to play with anyone. I said that the pro shop hadn't mentioned anything to that effect when I had checked in. He then asked if I would consider golfing with the group in front of me. I said that since I had gotten to know the players at 8:54 and 8:58 I would prefer to golf with them. He drove away to go check with them. As I was finishing the hole (a very poor start to the day, I might add), he came by again and said that the two ladies would be joining me and I should just wait for them at the second tee. Fun!

And what a truly fun time it was. The ladies (to protect the names of the innocent, I will call them Lovely and Delightful, though the names would apply equally to either of them) had recently turned their attention to learning golf and our skills were all about on the same level, so it was perfect. The ladies had the good fortune to be spending an entire week there, not only focusing on their golf skills but also to celebrate Lovely's birthday. We had such a fun time, though, laughing at each other, our golf skills (or, rather, lack thereof at times), the various ducks and birds on the path, other players. Just a lot of fun. We decided to grab a beverage (or two) and some lunch at the clubhouse and the laughter continued, including a guy asking where we were from as we were obviously old friends. Well, I guess slogging through 18 holes does make one feel older. Had such a great time we coordinated our tee times for the next day as well. More fun and laughter and we continue to keep in touch. By far the highlight of my trip.

I should also note that during the meals and beverages, there was a little black cat wandering around our feet. He was quite friendly, but not begging for food and appeared to be well fed. I had to wonder whether his state of health was influenced by the little cat feeding shelter like the one at the Sheraton. All in all, though, the perfect host for a perfect couple of days.

17 December 2011 - Not so magical Orlando airport

A few weeks ago this time, I was on a tin can en route from Frankfurt to Orlando. On Lufthansa, of course, which flies direct. But it was long flight - 10 hours and 20 minutes. Or longer depending on the Orlando operations, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

I was headed to Orlando for a big Americas partners meeting we generally have every three years, but had skipped the last one due to the economic crisis so this

was my first of these events. I was excited to see a lot of partners I hadn't seen for quite some time, but the fact that we would be in Orlando was largely lost on us as we would be in windowless ballrooms the entire day - it was just convenient because it has large hotel/event centers.

So back to the flight. In the boarding area, there were a bunch of people and children clearly excited about heading to the Magic Kingdom and others apparently headed there for golf and sun vacations (too bad for most of these as it was rainy and overcast most of t

he time I was there). I got more and more grumpy as I saw all the happiness. (Insert some music from "The Grinch" here.) Fortunately, I was in business class which should reduce the chances of cabin-wide happy people.

There are several cabins for business class on a Lufthansa 747-400. I was in the second cabin in the back row of the three-seat section on the aisle. The middle seat was empty, so I was relatively content. When I saw the red felt Christmas stocking that the amenity kit came in, I became totally content. And then there was a gentle tap on my shoulder and a flight attendant

suggested (in German) that I follow her. So I followed her further back in the plane to the third business class cabin which has only two rows. She offered me the two seats on the window side, suggesting that I might be more comfortable there because there was more light, it was a more quiet cabin and it was a bit more private. She was right and I moved immediately. At this point I was downright happy. Had a nice flight during I learned that this flight attendant lives only a few blocks from me in Frankfurt. Small, small world.

A strange thing (or several) happened when we landed, though. We had pulled up to the gate, the fasten seatbelt light went out with a ding and everyone got up and started heading toward the door. Normal so far, right. And we waited. And waited. And someone finally announced that it would be about 20 minutes until US Customs (or whatever we call this agency now) could clear our plane. The plane?? Maybe it's some kind of clearance rather than inspection, but I still found it odd. But by this time, we were already packed in the aisles and far away from our seats, so most of just remained standing for at least until five minutes until the pilot announced that we were going to be refueling so everyone would need to take their seats. Initially, I thought the refueling reference was somehow ominous, as in we might be shipped off somewhere else to wait, but then assumed that since we were already running a big behind, Lufthansa was trying to decrease the delay on the outgoing flight by refueling while we waited. Still not sure what refueling has to do with being in our seats as we weren't required to fasten our seatbelts but I guess it doesn't matter.

Anyway, we nevertheless had been ordered back to our seats and, again, no one is near their seats except perhaps those in the very back. There is a lot of baggage that has been hauled out of the overhead compartments. But the line did start finally moving backwards. And it was a bit awkward, particularly for those of us in business class who were looking at people who had already made themselves comfortable in the larger seats. Awkward.

We finally were let off the plane and hurried to immigration where the true nightmare was waiting and is I suspect the reason for the clearance of our plane by US Customs. When you arrive at the immigration area, about 80% of the immigration desks are designated for visitors and the remainder for US citizens and permanent residents, special needs and flight crews. It makes sense as I imagine there are a whole bunch more people flocking to Orlando for vacation and Disney than there are Orlando residents flying abroad for vacation. Just a guess... And the visitors lines were backed up like crazy, with the entire queue full - and that was before our plane was emptied.

While I had done my best to pass as German on the flight, at this point in time I was more than happy to display the blue passport and head to the short line. I was about fifth in line, so I figured it would be a short wait. I was wrong. I had temporarily forgotten that we were no longer in Germany and all precision and efficiency was left behind on the 747-400 that was probably still refueling outside. While there were four desks for citizens and permanent residents et cetera, only two were in use. And all the special needs people were queued in a separate line and the attendant always seemed to put them in front of the rest of us. We were not amused. It looked for a short while like a third desk would open up as someone entered the cubicle area, but was then joined by another colleague looking at something on the screen that was apparently fascinating. Approximately 45 minutes later, I finally cleared immigration (the actual process of which took about 2 minutes). Did I mention I was fifth in line?!

I headed toward the baggage claim area, assuming that my bags would be there and perhaps even already off-loaded. Um, no. Remember how the queue for the visitors was full when I arrived? Well, those passengers were from Virgin Atlantic and Air France flights. Each had two of the four baggage carousels (they put first and business class on a special carousel). Because they were still waiting to get through immigration, the majority of these individuals had not yet picked up their bags, regardless of class. So there was no free carousel for Lufthansa luggage. Grrr.... But I was wrong - German efficiency wasn't left at the 747-400. The local employees started pulling bags off one of the other carousels so that it could be used for Lufthansa luggage. Love it! So about 75 minutes after landing, I finally had my bags and headed out. Only to discover that the signage in that airport was the worst I had ever (and I do mean ever, which says a lot) encountered when all I wanted was a sign to the taxi line. Grrr....

I finally found the taxi line and headed to my hotel, where I was treated just like another American, rather than one of the poor, unwashed foreigners who had suffered through a long flight and immigration hassles. No sympathy. I realize in retrospect that when he asked for identification, I should have given him my German driver's license and spoken with an accent, if for no other reason than to confuse the poor guy and see whether he started speaking to me in a loud voice as if I were a foreigner (as Avis often does when I present the German driver's license). Nevertheless, the guy gave me a room with what was supposed to offer a view of the fireworks display at the Magic Kingdom, but which required staying up even longer. I made it. Barely. And fueled by chicken quesadillas. Oh, how I miss America's version of Mexican food....

And all that aside, the Marriott World Center has a special on FourSquare whereby you get 250 bonus Marriott Rewards points. I'm just sayin'....

8 December 2011 - Raclette

(Roxette's "Run to You" - because Roxette sounds like raclette and I would run to it if I knew it were around)

I made a passing reference

to raclette in the Zürich weekend entry a month or so ago, noting I could write an entire entry about it. So, after having experienced the joy again yesterday, I decided it was time.

Raclette is a meal that has its roots in Swiss (and perhaps also French, as the Savoy region of France also lays claim to the meal) cow herders (I don't think it would be right to call them cowboys in europe) who would pack the semi-firm raclette cheese and some bread when they went out to the fields. They would build a fire at night (no - there is no Pace salsa ad coming up here), heat up the cheese and melt it onto their bread. Perhaps like an early form of a grilled cheese sandwich?

The modern version is slightly different. The cheese is still the same, but you buy different forms of it in packages in an entire refrigerated section in the Swiss grocery stores. The cheese (which normally comes in large wheels) is pre-cut into square slices that are about 2-3 times the slice of a normal slice of cheese you might buy to put on a sandwich.

Instead of grilling over an open fire, there is now a special tabletop grilling oven/machine. The machines come with little fireproof trays that are in the same sized square as the cheese, along with a small spatula of the same non-flammable material. You pop the cheese into the tray (you might also add seasonings) and slide the tray underneath the heating element of the grilling machine. When the cheese begins to bubble, it is pretty much done.

Meanwhile, you assemble the other ingredients used in the raclette dining experience, including vegetables like tiny boiled potatoes, baby gherkins and pickled onions, as well as some slices of meat such as a wonderful laser-thin sliced and air-dried beef.

Once the cheese is done, it more or less slides out of the tray onto your plate over the other ingredients and you can scrape out the rest with the little spatula. I'm sure there are specific ways this should be done, but in any case, it is a delightful way to clog your arteries. I'm told it is particularly great after a day of skiing, so perhaps that combats the artery situation. In any case, it is wonderful and I highly recommend enjoying some of this delightful food when you are in Switzerland during the winter.

6 December 2011 - St. Nikolaus Day

("Jolly Old Saint Nicholas," of course)

The 6th of December is a special day for children in Germany and likely many other countries. But while I am, of course, accustomed to references to St. Nicholas and St. Nick, I had always that was just another name for Father Christmas and Santa Claus. Apparently not.....

On the 6th in Germany, is a gift-giving day. When evening comes, St. Nikolaus (Nicholas) knocks on the door of homes and asks about the behavior of the children inside (think "naughty or nice," for which he had a book), including more or less quizzing the kids themselves, who in turn are supposed to recite or sing something or otherwise demonstrate their unique skills. Upon successful performing, the child then receives a gift. It strikes me as a bizarre form of "Trick or Treat" but with only the treat/performance element.

So where did this tradition come from? Based on my not-so-extensive internet search, this tradition came from the legend of St. Nikolaus, who died on 6 December in AD 343. What's interesting to note, though, is that St. Nikolaus had a sidekick called Knecht Ruprecht. Ruprecht was initially along for the ride to punish the bad children. In addition to putting them in the sack he carried, he was also known to distribute lumps of coal or stones to bad children children or whips with which the children would be beaten, as opposed to the sweets and good things given by St. Nicholas. However, one online source noted that over the years, Ruprecht became known as one serving baby Jesus and eventually became known as the patron saint of Christmas - Father Christmas or Santa Claus. I find this somewhat unlikely, but again, I don't really understand the tradition.

What also remains unclear to me is the relation, if any, between Knecht Ruprecht and Belsnickel (Belschnickel if you are a Preuscher). The latter was also said to have given lumps of coals and whips in the stockings of children on Christmas, though he seems to be considered a bit on the scary and evil side - at least moreso than Ruprecht. At the same time, Belsnickel is said to deliver socks or shoes of sweets on 6 December. But if you're a Preuscher, Belsnickel visits on New Year's Eve to, allegedly, deliver the things that Santa forgot when he visited on Christmas Eve (read: "after-Christmas sale").

In any event, the St. Nikolaus holiday is celebrated widely in Germany and, as I learned this week, in its friendly Lufthansa skies. On my flight last night, instead of the regular half-sandwich wrapped in cellophane, I received a small drawstring white cotton bag with Santa Claus embroidered on the front. It contained the half-sandwich, a clementine orange, some Lebkuchen, a piece of chocolate and little piece of paper that contained both a scratch 'n' sniff sticker of holiday scents as well as the following explanation:

"Every year on the 6th of December, it's an old German custom to celebrate St. Nicholas Day. On that morning St. Nicholas makes the eyes of all good children sparkle with joy. Because on the night before, he came with his big bag of treats and filled their boots with nuts, sweets or little surprises.

"We too would like to surprise you on St. Nicholas Day - with this little sachet full of goodies in the spirit of the season. After savoring the treats inside, you're welcome to take it home as a little memento of the Lufthansa St. Nicholas. Enjoy!"

Sweet, huh? I'm still wondering about the coal guys, but pleased that at least Lufthansa, if not Knecht, are looking out for my interests.

4 December 2011 - O Tannenbaum

(Obviously, "O Tannenbaum," aka "Oh Christmas Tree")

As noted in my previous post, I am for whatever reason in the Christmas mood this year and started decorating. I even went so far as to consider a tree for the house. In prior years, I have just used the one Christmas decoration I brought over from the US - a metal structure from Crate & Barrel that consists of two triangular outlines that, when liked together, form something like a squarish Christmas tree which holds 10 taper candles. It works for me (I mean really - who doesn't like a good fire hazard?), though you can't really decorate it given the obvious flammability considerations.

So last Saturday, I headed out to Hornbach, my favorite hardware store that is conveniently located next to IKEA where I picked up a few more Christmas tchotchkes. Hornbach also is where I stock up on the gel fuel for my fake fireplace (as I type this and hearken back to one of the very early blogs regarding the "search for incendiary devices," I am beginning to wonder for the first time if I have some issues with fire).

Anyway, I found the trees in the garden area and was wandering around when one of the clerks came up and asked me if I needed some assistance. I told him that I was looking for a rather small tree since I do, after all, have cats that would love to climb (and topple) something taller and there's the small matter of transporting a larger tree. So he took me over to a different section where they had all of these little trees that were nearly so round as to be qualified as Christmas bushes. I found one that I thought would be fine, though, and that's when I realized that it wasn't just a tree ending in a stump, but a tree that was actually potted in one of those black plastic containers that you would buy a tree in if you were going to plant it at home. Uhhh....

Well, I was told (but not able to independently confirm this) that there is some EU regulation that, in order to further "green" goals, a certain portion of the Christmas trees sold are to be sold in pots with the idea that they would then be planted outside in the spring. Fascinating idea, no?

In any event, I liked the idea of something with a heavy base like this as it would decrease the odds (especially with the tree's (a picea pungens glauca, for those interested - I have nicknamed him "Picky") lower center of gravity due to its bush-like figure and relatively short height) that the Lads could successfully engage in tree-tipping. Not to mention that a tree that is alive should be less likely to lose needles in massive quantities.

So pictured here is, following repotting into an empty container from the balcony, the Christmas bush. Decorating is still ongoing, not only to find a proper top and a longer string of lights but also to try and find the right placement of ornaments to escape notice of the dangly ones by the cats. So far, only two have been batted down and, with location of unbreakable ornaments at the very bottom, no casualties.

The experience also reminded me of when I was in El Salvador as the Christmas season approached. It's obviously quite hot there and not exactly Picky's native habitat, so the trees would quickly dry out and lose their needles. If I recall correctly, Willy had said that the trees would be sent down in air conditioned train cars or trucks and they were in very short supply. Fascinating. But of course there were tons of poinsettias, which we got from Antigua, Guatemala, which is another story entirely. But I can't recall when I have ever seen something so beautiful as the acres and acres of poinsettias in the greenhouse. I will try to add a picture later if I can find one. But in the meantime.... "O Tannenbaum...."