Over the past week I’ve seen the high highs and low lows of life’s miniscule things.First the bad.One of the biggest crimes in America is being charged $3 for a luggage cart at the airport.I have seen this travesty in action several times this past week and half on my flights with layovers in the US.Sure, you can probably get a freebie at the airport in Billings, Montana or Sioux City, Iowa.But in the northeast, it’s three dolla dolla bills please. Earlier this year you could have owned a piece of CitiGroup or Bank of America for less than $3 but you could not get a luggage cart from NewarkInternationalAirport.To me, access to a free luggage cart upon arrival at the airport is as basic a right as universal health care, clean drinkable tap water, and Saturday afternoon naps.So it really bothers me whenever I get hit up for a luggage cart.
On the other hand, few things in life make me feel as happy as stepping into a supermarket does.This is a fairly recent phenomenon that has been magnified since living overseas.Several factors play into this.One, the toughest decision that I face day in and day out is what I am going to eat that day.Be it a sign of a banal existence scant with real issues or just a gluttonous obsession with food, each day I want to make to make sure I strike the right balance between hunger satisfaction and bang for my buck (or euro, ruble, or peso).The option of going to a grocery store to pick and choose my own cuisine gives me the best possible chance of maximizing those two requisites.Second, it’s a great lesson in the local culture.You learn tons of new words (albeit only 10% of which are retained) for food, household items, and any random things you see in a supermarket.It’s also a really useful insight into the pricing of local agricultural products and you even get your daily dose of mathematics work it when you convert kilos to pounds, pounds to kilos and then multiply or divide by the respective exchange rate.But above all, a trip to a grocery store in a foreign country always paints a smile on my face because I have the full, unconstrained option of eating whatever the hell I want using the local resources.I’m both fully in control of satisfying me demand of what I want to eat and how I want to eat it, yet also fully immersed in all the offerings and delicacies of the local supply.
But alas, I am no longer in a foreign country for the time being.I always say that as much as life takes me around the world, all roads ALWAYS lead back to Manalapan, NJ.I’m home for the holidays for the first time in 2 years.My route here was circuitous to say the least.Originally thinking that I was going to be in Europe for several months, I booked my holiday travel from Paris to NJ on December 23 and then NJ back to Paris on January 3 to attend my company’s annual meeting.So I go to Colombia and as previously blogged, stopped in Newark, NJ on my way to South America.I’m in Colombia for a week with a ticket for Bogota back to Paris on December 21.However, again, that trip has a layover in Newark, NJ.In my ideal world I would have just walked out of the airport once in Newark on the 21st and not fly back to Paris.But the airlines said that if I do that and no-show for the Paris-NJ leg on the 23rd then they will cancel the return leg from NJ to Paris on January 3.As they say in Tagalog – “putang ina!” – which I’m sure you can figure out what it might mean.So basically on December 21 I flew from Bogota to Newark, then Newark to Paris, stayed in Paris for less than 24 hours, and the next day flew from Paris back to NJ.I flew to Europe in order to fly back to the US.Does that make sense?It shouldn’t because it doesn’t.Upon arriving in NJ I couldn’t even complain about jetlag since I wasn’t in a different time zone long enough to be hit by jetlag.
So the end result is that I am back home for the holidays.Picking up with an earlier theme of this entry, as great as international grocery shopping is, one of the real true joys in life is being home for the holidays and/or spending it with family and close friends.My family hosted a big get-together this year.Three of my dad’s siblings and their families came over and it has been the biggest Christmas party that casa Mendoza at 223 Union Hill Road has hosted in….oh….18 years???The stars of the show were a toss-up between my cousin John-John’s dog and the roasted pig (lechon in Tagalog) that I killed with my bare hands…messing, we ordered it from Tropical Hut down the road in Old Bridge.Highlights included a Taboo spinoff game to reveal everyone’s Secret Santa; mahjong; trays and trays of pancit, pinakbet, honey roasted ham, and chicharron; watching the Hangover for the second time and getting just as much a kick out of it as the first; teaching my sisters and aunt the famous Cow Trade card game that my buddy taught me; and in about 4 hours going to PENANG in Edison, NJ (the greatest Asian Cuisine east of Asia) followed by my aunt hopefully treating us all to watch Sherlock Holmes; ho-ho-ho!!I hope all of you are having as great a time with your loved ones.I wish everyone the best this holiday season and pray for your success, prosperity, and good health in the coming year.2010’s gonna be a good year.I can feel it.
It has been a mixed up, crazy, but excitingly confusing past few days for me. Lemme cut to the chase right away. I am in Bogota, Colombia. No, not Moscow, Russia…Bogota. From Moscow turn left when you get to Spain, go south for about 6 hours, then hang a right over French west Africa. Or, better yet, as my itinerary went – go from Moscow to Prague, Prague to Paris, Paris to Newark (have lunch with your sister at Chili’s during your three hour layover in Newark Liberty International) and then take a direct five and half hour flight from Newark to Bogota. Why am here when I was preparing to be in Moscow for about 3 months? Beats me. My best attempt to answer that is that on Thursday night my boss tells me that there has been some reshuffling of teams in the field and that an immediate spot opened up on the team that just started a project in Bogota. Not that she asked me if I wanted to go. It was more like, “you’re going to Colombia tomorrow.” But imagining that I were given the choice I would have said “hhmmm….lemme think about that. As dynamic a city as Moscow is and as comfortable as I am with my routine here of fighting thru the most crowded metro in the world and passing the babushkas on my walk to the office selling everything from fresh garlic to dancing Santa Claus dolls, I will go out on a limb and agree to being transferred to South America where the closest thing I have to snow are the peaks of the Andes mountains surrounding the city.” Yeah, I think that would have been my response.
So the Russian experience has come and gone and I am now back in South America where I actually started the year off. The snow and 20 degree weather of Moscow is but a memory and have been replaced by longer days, sunny skies, and constant 70 degree weather. Bogota, according to Wiki, is the third highest-major city in the world after La Paz and Quito, being situated right in the Andes mountains. So while in a country that sits in Caribbean South America shares a massive region of the tropics with Brazil, Peru, and Venezuela, the weather here in the capital is spring-like year round.
The process getting here was a mess. Friday was one of the most chaotic and haphazard travel experiences of my life. If anyone recalls my arrival story the first time I went to Brazil in 2007 when on my first night I ended up sleeping at a Japanese-Brazilian woman’s house with 7 cats who I met on the plane because of closed airports, canceled flights, and overbooked hotels, Friday rivaled that experience in terms of the number of times I found myself reflecting on just how fu**ed I could possibly be.
Right off the bat I admit that I am not the best at traveling lightly. I carry with me on my treks a big suitcase, a little suitcase, and my backpack. With those three things it’s tough to take the metro to the train station to catch the train to the airport. With the snow in Moscow mixed with the massive massive massive metro crowds it’s far from ideal to take the metro. It will cost you more, but you pay for the peace of mind by calling a cab and being driven directly to the station….so I thought. I left with plenty of time to allow for traffic but the traffic the day I left was insane. Every corner we rounded turned into a parking lot. Add to that, my cab driver basically looked me in the eyes and told me that he was going to screw me over ten ways from Tuesday. He didn’t speak a word of English and me no Russian. There were definitely times when he was driving around in circles to run up the meter. The complete asymmetry of information is like going to a mechanic. They make up things that your car needs and before you know it you’re sitting on a $2,000 invoice. Same deal with the cab driver. I got in the cab at 2:30 and wanted to be on a 3:30 or 4pm train at the latest. But with the traffic and circuitous rout, I was still sitting in the cab at 4:10. Mind you, I am not being driven to the airport, just to the commuter rail station about five miles away. Paranoia had me freaking out that I would miss my train to the airport, therefore miss my flight, and get fired from my job. Miraculously, a large stretch of the road opened up and I arrived at the station at 4:15 with 15 minutes before the next train left. That would get me to the airport at 5pm for a 6:45 international flight. Not ideal, but doable.
Survive and advance.
Having used up the last of my rubles to pay for the cab, I get to the train station and go to pay for my ticket with the same checkcard that I have been using since day 1 in Moscow. Transaction denied. *Gulp* Try with my credit card. Transaction denied. Yikes. I go to the ATM to withdraw cash using my checkcard. Transaction cannot be completed at this time. Holy sh**. The panic button is not only pressed, but the alarm bells are sounding and the sirens are in full swing. I play charades with the info desk people smiling in order to charm but begging inside so as to not cry and explain to them that I have an urgent flight to catch. Please let me on the train. The guy is real nice and in his broken English tells me “Go on train….pay at airport…is OK.” The words “pay at airport” worried me. I don’t blame the guy for not understanding my English when I told him that my bank’s system is acting up and I do not have access to my funds at the moment. So based on the denied transactions I could not conceivably pay upon arrival at the airport. Whatever, he at least said, “it’s OK, get on the train.” So working with that momentum I thanked him profusely and got on the train.
Survive and advance.
I am now on the train to the airport running a little behind schedule with no access to my money and worried that there will be a guard waiting at the other end of the line at the airport demanding payment that I cannot make. It is 4:45 pm Moscow time so 8:45 am EST. Hoping that my mother would still be home, I call NJ and explain the situation to my mom. I give her all my bank info and ask her to kindly call Bank of America and inquire why now of all times my checkcard is not working when the bank has been fully informed of my travel plans, there is money in my account, and I have been using the same card all throughout France, Germany, and Russia. I know full well that the bank will most likely not give her any info since it is not her account, but it can’t hurt to ask.
I hang up the phone and take a deep breath when the gentleman sitting next to me who I almost knocked into with my backpack sitting down taps me on the shoulder and asks me in English a question about the terminals and if the terminal we are arriving at is the same one for international departures. He has a trace of an American accent with a funny twist to it. I couldn’t pinpoint where it was from. I ask him whereabouts he hails from and he says “Brazil.” Oh really? What a coincidence. I’ve lived in Brazil on two separate occasions. He’s an interesting guy. He works for the Brazilian embassy in Beijing where he has been living for the past two years and was on his way back to China after vacationing 10 days in Moscow. We chat for about 20 minutes about Brazil, China, Russia, Colombia, and Newark as it is the Portuguese and Brazilian capital of the northeast. Then it dawns on me. In my desperate hour I need to check pride at the door and lay it out on the line. I turn to him and say “excuse me, Ben, this is extremely embarrassing for me…..” I explain the situation with the bank card and having to schmooze my way on to the train and what/who awaits me at the end of the line. He did notice that I was whispering bank info on the phone in English which is why he engaged me in the first place. “Can I please borrow 250 rubles (a little less than $10)??? I say borrow because I will mail cash to the Brazilian embassy in China once I get to Colombia.” He says “yeah no problem. If there is someone waiting there, no problem. If not, I’ll treat you to a cup of coffee at the least. You look like you need it.”
We get to the airport and nothing happens. There is a hoard of people filing out of the train and no one says anything to me. But 10 seconds after thinking I am in the clear a guy in a uniform comes up to me and saying I have to pay and escorts me to the ticket window. Oh boy, so Ben the Brazilian helps me out in a bind and I thank him til the end of time. My God, this guy had to have been a guardian angel. There I was in the middle of Moscow not speaking the language with no access to my money and being demanded payment upon arrival at the airport which I could not make at the moment.
Survive and advance.
5:30pm I get to the check-in counter and give my information to Svetlana for my 6:45pm flight. Svetlana asks me what I am doing here now when my flight from Moscow to Prague is on Tuesday December 22. “Ah, Svetlana, I see the confusion. Before my Colombia plans the 22nd was my original flight out of Moscow. My company has since replaced the reservation and booked me on the flight tonight out of Moscow. I was told to use this same ticket number for the altered flight.” Svetlana tells me that no such confirmation of my flight out of Moscow for tonight exists. There is a pending reservation but that the purchase has not been confirmed by the airlines yet. OH…MY….GOD. Blood pressure rises again. I call my Moscow office and ask them to call the Paris office who made the reservation so that Paris can call me. I get on the phone with Camille from Paris and explain the situation. She jumps on the phone with the airline. 35 minutes I am standing there waiting to find out if I am stranded in Russia with no access to my money and little to no cell phone credit having just called the US. Or, if I am continuing with things as planned and will be in Colombia by Saturday night. Camille gets back to me and says that good ol Czech airlines never updated the system to confirm the revised and purchased itinerary. Go back to the counter and the system should be updated. Indeed, it was. Thank God. I get my boarding pass and it is now 6:05, the official boarding time for my 6:35 flight. I politely ask to cut people in the passport check line and finally have only security to clear. For the first time in my travels I come across at security a procedure where you not only have to take your shoes off, but you have to put these weird, annoying to open sock-shaped plastic bags on your feet. It was just an annoying extra step when time was already not on my side. I get to the gate and board the plane with just enough time to spare.
Survive and advance.
We are delayed 30-35 minutes on the runway. Therefore, when we get to Prague my layover has been reduced to only 40 minutes during which I must go to the next terminal, clear customs as I am now entering the EU, and pass security again in order to catch my connection to Paris. I had time, but I still had to quicken my pace. I arrive at the gate, board the flight and then get a paranoia attack that my luggage didn’t move as fast as me from one flight to the next. If my luggage did not make it onto my plane in the brief 40 minute transfer then I am in a world of trouble. It would arrive in Paris on a Saturday morning with no one to claim it as I will be on an early morning flight to Newark. I arrive in Paris and hold my breath waiting, praying, begging that my luggage made it. SUCCESS, it did! I am now in Paris all in one piece with all luggage in hand.
Survive and advance.
At my hotel I manage to call Bank of America and ask them what went on with my card???? They had no clue. They confirmed that my card is completely open, active, and usable with all the necessary travel warnings and what’s even weirder is that they saw no activity of any denied transactions earlier in the day. Eeerry, creepy, and weird.
The next day (Saturday morning) I fly to Newark and meet up with my sister for lunch during my brief layover. It was bizarre to be so in transit but so close to home. The flight from Newark to Bogota was shorter than Paris to Newark. My buddy Camilo from my study abroad Barcelona program picked me up at the airport and by half past midnight we were enjoying microbrews under the stars of a Bogota night. I haven’t seen that much of the city yet but so far of the little I have seen, I am impressed. The city is a lot more calm, organized, and CLEANER than what I was expecting for a developing country metropolis. Even better, you can drink the tap water! I head back to the US again next week for Christmas break so this current trip is short, sweet, and just whetting my appetite for what’s to come after New Years when I return. This posting is long enough so I’ll cut it here and issue the usual entry which analyzes my thoughts and reactions to the city in the next few days. But safe to say, crazy as the travel was, I am in my new temporary Bogatano home in one piece!
Me and Camilo Co-workers Mary the Mexican on left. Jessica the French-Portuguese on right Jessica taking a shot of aguardiente in the street View from my balcony Good night and good luck: what a travel day from hell, 17 hour flight, and partying til 8am do to you
Never a dull moment when you hitchhike with a random stranger in Moscow. Yesterday I bravely tested the Moscow hitchhike taxi system for the first time on my own. Normally I roll with my British co-worker and fellow non-Russian speaker, Karim.If ever in a jam with the cabbie having no idea where I want to go either Karim and I whip up some creative version of charades or I end up calling my Russian co-worker and put her on the phone with the driver to explain.60% of the time it works every time.But yesterday, in my effort/desperation to catch the Barcelona-Madrid superclasico match at the local pub, I tested the waters by hailing a cab by myself.The driver thankfully spoke English.Minimal, but still light years ahead of my Russian. We had a choppy yet pleasant conversation about soccer, sports, and a few random things in between.He explained to me the rivalry between Moscow’s two biggest soccer teams CSKA Moscow and Spartak Moscow. We chatted about hockey and the plethora of Russian stars in the NHL. The line of the night came when he told me that his favorite NHL team is the San Jose Sharks.
Cabbie: “My favorite team….. is….. San Jose Sharks.”
Me: “Oh really!Why’s that?”
Cabbie: “Because…..(makes a claw gesture with his right hand)….SHARKS!”
Some snapshots of Moscow below.
You know a country is turning capitalst when......
Scene from a Saturday night of clubbing
Kremlin walls along Red Square
View from a bridge spanning the Moscow River: Kremlin on the left, St. Basil's Cathedral on the right, both separated by Red Square
WARNING: this entry is long.Read only in cases of extreme boredom.
I left the comfortable confines of the EU on Wednesday morning for the far less familiar, less touristic, and less ventured-to lands of eastern Europe…far eastern Europe.Two weeks after the 20th anniversary celebration of the fall of the Berlin Wall and the ensuing reflections of the century-long rivalry between East and West that came with it, I touched ground in the heart of America’s old adversary – Moscow.
The previous sentence is itself a testament to the somewhat tough task it is for me to wrap my head around being here, as I imagine the case to be for many Americans.Our educational upbringing and the context in which the US and Russia interacted for most of the past century was characterized by mutual skepticism, rivalry, and contempt.Of course, my generation did not live through the heat of the rivalry.My parents are the generation of the hot phases of the Cold War.I’m the generation of the Wall coming down, the Red Army becoming just plain old Russia, The Unified Team playing under a makeshift flag at the ’92 Barcelona Olympics, and as my favorite NYT columnist Thomas Friedman puts it, the world being defined by “web” rather than “wall.”But still, the cumulative history between the two countries has shaped an “us vs. them” mentality.And now it’s an uncanny experience to be here with them….
So yeah, I am in Russia.Again, crazy to think about!I felt like Rocky Balboa in Rocky IV when he first arrived in Moscow.Although “Burning Heart” was not playing in my real-life background, like Rocky I dismounted the plane via stairs rather than the tube thingy that connects directly to the terminal.So I jumped into the cold Russian air right away, bundled in my hat and recently purchased heavy winter downcoat.My co-workers and I are here working on a report on Russia’s oil and gas industry for an upcoming issue of Oil and Gas Financial Journal.I can bore you with the details of some industry development that we’re looking into, but I’d rather not.My visa lasts until mid February, so I can expect to be here for a shade under three months with a ten to twelve day break in the US for the holidays.
I’m not in Kansas anymore, but by that means Paris is equally a world away.My first thoughts about Russia before arriving: cold weather, blond haired bone thin ballerina women, strong vodka, and cooooooooold weather.Turns out I haven’t been proven completely correct in any one case.The weather is cold.No denying that.But so far (knock on wood) it hasn’t been the piercing, bone chilling, stinging, painful cold that smacks you in the face and makes your grunt the second you step outside that I was envisioning.Don’t get me wrong, it will probably get like that in December or January, but the end of November weather isn’t quite there yet.The temperature has been hovering around the mid 40s during the day and probably gets to mid 30s at night.There were spurts of snow during my first two days but nothing too heavy and it ended up turning into rain rather quickly.The wind chill has been mild so all in all things have been pretty bearable.The skies are constantly overcast, however, and only now on a Sunday morning am I seeing patches of blue for the first time.
I have been staying at my boss’s apartment for the past several days while I checking out places for myself.I just settled on a new place and should be moving in by early this week.(And by move in I mean move my one suitcase).My roommate is a friendly, mid-20s young professional Russian woman who works for the American consulting firm AT Kearney.I’m excited about the prospect of living with a Moscow native around my same age and the opportunity to explore the city through her knowledge and network.My boss’s place and our office are about fifteen minutes away from each other and are both in the center of the city.Neither is more than a 15 minute walk from the Kremlin, the Red Square, and St. Basil’s Cathedral.I took a nice leisurely, chilly stroll through the Red Square on Thursday night and got some good night time shots of the iconic cathedral.
Russian is a very dizzying language, but one which I am very eager to learn.They use the Cyrillic alphabet rather than the western one that we all know and love so every sign, every poster, every word I see is a game of Pictionary.The Russian alphabet has:
Some letters that look and are pronounced exactly as they are in English (Ex: M is pronounced like an M).
Some letters that look as exactly as do in English, but pronounced completely different (Ex: B is pronounced like a V.H is pronounced like an N.)
Some letters that both look and are pronounced entirely different from English (Ex Ф is pronounced like an F.иis pronounced like an ee as in street)
It’s a code.It’s a puzzle that I have to crack.Trying to read any word is a multi-faceted mental callisthenic.First I have to recognize the letter(s).Then figure out its sound.Next pronounce the entire word coherently and finally translate that word to English.I am nowhere close to the translation step.My task for now is to master the alphabet.I consider it a crowning achievement if I get as far as pronouncing a word correctly.The task is tough but in all honesty, I think it’s do-able.The way my mind works, it’s not as difficult as Chinese or Japanese.Chinese to me is like Hieroglyphics…each character can stand for a word or a concept and you group together characters to make phrases, sentences or larger concepts.With Russian I am at least familiar with the idea of a single letter representing a single sound and having to piece together those sounds to make a word.
Moscow is a big city…in several senses.It is widely sprawled inside a large beltway, but it is also big in its appearance.Moscow is actually situated inside four concentric beltways and the city is essentially a network of highways of those belts and major roads connecting them.The landscape is dominated by huge, wide, 5 lane avenues on each side that function like highways despite being smack in the middle of downtown.The main streets in downtown Moscow don’t have cross walks.At almost every corner there are underground passages to get from one side of the street to the other.Aside from the immediate downtown area, Moscow is not really a walkable city.It is like Sao Paulo in that regard and very unlike Paris, Berlin, Barcelona, or Madrid.The city is very industrial and large streets and bustling highways separate section from section.Neighborhoods do not flow into each other and connect by parks, plazas, or pedestrian thoroughfares like in western Europe.
They like their cars big here.Looking around the streets of Moscow I could just as easily think that I were in Manalapan, NJ or Sarasota, Florida based on the types of cars they drive.It’s another world from the western European streets brimming with smart cars, Vespas, and fuel efficient compact vehicles.The Russians are “carbon copies” of Americans in that sense by driving big SUVs such as Chevys Tahoes, Hummers, and Dodge Durangoes.The Cold War is indeed over with the flood of American cars here!The metro system is pretty elaborate, clean, and efficient.Most of the stations I have been to have long, steep escalators like Woodley Park or Dupont Circle on the DC redline that feed deep down to the platform.
One of the most amazing things I have seen here amongst all the places I have been to is the city-wide system of hitchhiking.There is no taxi system in the city itself to get from point-to-point.To get a hired lift you stand on the street with your arm out and anyone, anyone, anyone, anyone, anyone can and will pull over to pick you up.You tell him/her where you are going, negotiate a price, and off you go.If the price or destination don’t work out, sayonara, shut the door and wait no more than a minute and half for the next car to pull over.It’s incredible.The trust, reliance, frequency, and efficiency of it all is mind boggling.I have done it numerous times and an average ride runs about 100 roubles which is a little more than $3.I have a chicken-and-egg curiosity about the hitchhiking method and the absence of a taxi system.I am not sure if the hitchhiking method is a cause or an effect of there being no taxis.My thinking is that the combination of the extremely cold weather and a socialist mindset of collectively helping each other out engendered the hitchhiking prevalence and that formal taxis never got a chance to develop.It is a great way to practice Russian, pick up some new words, and at the very least share some good laughs with your driver about the bewildering predicament you are both in because of an inability to communicate – as I did last night with my Kyrgyzstani cab driver.
Like many places in the world, I don’t feel that I stick out physically here.Ironic one might think for a short, dark haired Filipino guy to feel like a regular in a country commonly associated with blond hair and blue eyes.But the “colonial footprint” and sheer size of this country permeate the faces that you see in Moscow.Let’s restate the obvious: Russia is the largest country in the world.Just how large I learn in a different way everyday.The longest domestic flight in the world is 9 hours from Moscow to the far eastern islands that are north of Japan.Russia has 86 – count ‘em, 86 – states/territories (which are actually called “federal subjects.”)Moscow being in the very west, all of this country’s vastness obviously stretches east towards Mongolia, China, Siberia, and upwards towards the North Pole.“Asian” faces are a dime a dozen here.But the Asian faces are unlike any I have seen on Bowery or Mott Street in ChinatownNY.These are more exotic, more foreign, more indigenous, and for lack of a better term more Eskimo Asian faces.These are the faces from Siberia, northern Mongolia, and hell even the North Pole that have more distinct features that you don’t typically see in Koreatown in Manhattan’s mid 30s.
I had vodka a few days ago but to be honest it wasn’t that strong.You can’t walk 500 feet in this city without seeing an electric sign of the Ruble/Dollar and Ruble/Euro exchange rate.It makes sense for a country that has been punished by currency crisis over the past fifteen years.You can’t walk 50 feet without passing a machine to buy pre-paid cell phone credit.You can’t walk 5 feet without passing a street stand selling kartoshka – the unofficial national dish of Russia which is a baked potato stuffed with anything under the sun. Russians love to smoke and every public place gets real smoky real fast, which is annoying.
The city, the country, and the culture are an enigma that I am excited to crack over the next several months.I had an interesting conversation with a British “headmaster” of an international school over beers and a rugby match at an expat bar last night.He assessed Moscow as being ¼ Dubai (oligarchic and obviously oil and gas driven); ¼ London (international, expat, culturally diverse); ¼ Albania (centrally commanded where the law is a subject to the state, not the other way around); and after sipping Killian’s Irish Red pint #10, he fessed up that he couldn’t remember the last fourth.But I would say ¼ Ulan Bator (ethnically indigenous).So approaching Moscow from that angle, he believes, will put a lot of things in perspective.But he quickly followed up with even more poignant advice: that his Moscow is different from my Moscow which is different from Joe the Plumber’s Moscow.So like any city, it’s best to go out, explore, get lost, and carve out my own experience.
Germany is in the books.Over and out.Tons of fun while it lasted. Now here I sit on a cold, wet, autumn evening in downtown Paris transitioning to my next assignment for work. I left Germany today having spent close to the past three months there; a reasonable amount of time but, in a way, part of me thinks it inaccurate to feel that I am leaving an adopted “home” as I did when I left Spain and Brazil.The language factor is one reason for that feeling.I am embarrassed to admit that I barely learned any German over the past two and a half months.It’s horrible, but that’s the absolute truth.I never really pushed myself to learn because of the prevalence of English throughout the country and thus never the need to learn for mere survival.But that, in a large way, created a disconnect from the local culture.It gave me a constant “visitor” feeling so I knew that it was just a stopover for however long. The second reason was the constant on-the-go life that my team and I had. Any given week could have involved two or three six hour drives from Stuttgart to Berlin or Hamburg to Frankfurt. So not being established in one place for too long certainly makes it easier to move on to the next destination.
But all that said, I will certainly miss Germany.I will miss the order and organization of things there and of course the cheaper prices compared to the rest of Western Europe .Over the past several hours since I boarded my train in Cologne to come to Paris, I have seen a noticeable shift from tidy, organized, pleasant Germany to “the rest of the world.”My train stopped briefly in Brussels and when pulling into the train station there an announcement came on saying (in five different languages) “pickpocketers may be working on the platform or in the station.Please be careful.”That announcement would never exist in Germany.Quite frankly I was surprised it came on in Belgium where I also associate trust, safety, and order to run the show.And being in Paris I notice much more commotion than any large German city.Even in Berlin, Munich, or Hamburg (the three largest German cities) the streets are quiet after 8 and the pace of activity slows down. In Paris there’s more of a buzz extending later into the night.
I’m in Paris until early to mid next week when a new phase begins for a new project that I have been assigned to.I am in the process of applying for my visa to……Russia! I’ll be in Moscow for about three months during, yes, the dead of winter. It’s nuts.Everything about it.Russia.The freeeeezing cold which I don’t do well in. Being in the heart of the former Soviet Empire. An entirely new language that exists outside the Western alphabet even.Talk about needing to speak the language to survive! A completely foreign culture and identity that is neither European nor Asian; a hazy mix between third world and developed market where the visible remains of communist standards of living are still so prevalent.It’s such a foreign and distinct culture that the concept of going there really excites me, no matter how cold it will be! All the more exciting is that I’ll be doing a report on their oil and gas industry – talk about an industry central to a country’s livelihood. Russia literally goes to crisis and collapse mode when oil prices shoot down. But, and I stress a big “but” I’ll believe I’ll be going to Russia when I actually clear customs in Moscow. Until then, as my last minute China-to-Germany revision proved, everything is up in the air.
So for here and now, I’m in Paris for a little under a week.Time to enjoy the weekend and take in all that the city of lights has to offer.
Germany, as you might imagine, is a very organized and efficient place. This is apparent from several angles. It’s a rich, industrialized, prosperous Western democracy. It’s the largest economy in Europe. The world’s top exporter. Founding member of the European Community and present-day backbone of the European Union. If we do word associations and I say “German engineering,” the following probably come to mind: Precision. Quality. Audi. Mercedes. BMW. Reliability. High performance. Luxury. For a western European country, Germany definitely stands apart from its peers. Playing on common stereotypes when it comes to business – but remembering that some truth exists in every joke – the Spanish are notorious for their “siesta” culture of two hour lunches and lazy afternoons; the French are affixed with a socialist reputation that leads to a labor strike on every other day that ends in a “y”; and the Italians certainly carry a dodgy aura of corrupt business stemming from the Sicilian Cosa Nostra to just two weeks ago when the Prime Minister, again on trial for bribery, told reporters that he had spent millions of euros in his life on “judges” before correcting himself to say “lawyers.” But when you think German business you probably think of a very polished blond-haired, blue-eyed guy in a three piece suite and thick rimmed glasses named “Helmut” or “Dieter.” Even the German language is very direct. It doesn’t charm or lull you like Spanish, Italian, or French. Rather, it is sharp, choppy, unromantic, straight to the point and has an “all business” tone of efficiency and organization.
I often observe the little things about German culture that put this organized structure in place and make the system go round. In noticeable ways, there is a huge sense of trust, honesty, and courtesy that permeates everyday life. The metro as a basic example of honesty. In every German city with a subway, metro, or lightrail (which is most of them) not a one “requires” you to buy a ticket before getting on board. Of course, the rule is you have to buy a ticket. But there is no turnstile to swipe a card and pass through in order to board a train. New York, DC, Spain and France, yes. In Germany anyone can take the escalator down and board the train without paying. If a conductor passes thru the metro asking for tickets and you don’t have one, well, you’re out of luck. Rarely do conductors pass thru looking for tickets, however, based on what I observe and gather from my conversations with Germans, even rarer are the instances when people board without buying a ticket. It’s an honesty policy to abide by the system. And one that works.
The German autobahn is a great example of social trust and courtesy, in several ways. (I have pleeeeeenty of time to think this through given all the road travel involved with work.) The first example is an obedience to speed limits. As mentioned in my last post, there are many many posted speed limits on the autobahn because of highway construction, tunnels, sinuous bridges, etc. On all the other stretches you go as fast as your heart and motor desire. Everyone…and I mean everyone….strictly abides by the speed limit when it is posted. Drivers here don’t just take a posted speed limit to mean a general warning to slow down. When the speed limit drops from unlimited to 80 km/hr , everyone’s speedometers will drop to exactly 80 and you’ll notice the same distance in your mirror between you and the car behind you when you first entered the 80 km/hr zone. In the US there’s always that 10-15 mph leeway (depending on your driving philosophy) of how much over the speed limit you can go and still not worry about getting ticketed. Plus with radars and a sharp eye for cop cars, speed limits these days in the US are really just a recommendation for most people as long as you’re not going forty over. In Germany there are no highway patrol cars monitoring speed. They don’t exist. Speed is enforced by cameras and there are even signs on the road telling WHERE cameras are. So you figure that when there is a speed limit, most people would only slow down where there is a camera present. Definitely not the case. The sign says 80, everyone goes 80 regardless of whether or not there is a speed camera. I see it as a reciprocity and trust between the authorities and the drivers. The roads are set so that drivers can go as fast as they want. Drivers appreciate that freedom and in turn, pay it back by strictly abiding to speed limits when they appear.
The second example is a collective warning system for speed safety. Construction can obviously cause bottlnecks and long stretches of traffic which abruptly jump out at you when you’re racing at 120 miles per hour. Whenever there is a line of traffic immediately following a long, unposted speed limit stretch, it’s autobahn courtesy to put your hazard lights on to warn drivers behind you of the abrupt speed change. Simple, courteous, and completely sensible. But when does that gesture happen in the US where most people have in their mind “go ahead, hit me from behind and I’ll sue you” mentality?
Third is an organized etiquette for highway driving. The autobahn is like one big orchestra of cars. Every car/instrument does its own thing, but everyone harmoniously blends together to establish a common rhythm. You will never see anyone not just overtaking on the right side, but passing and driving faster on the right side than someone on the left. If you are driving on a 3 lane autobahn in the right lane and see in the faint distance a car up ahead in the middle lane that you eventually catch up to, you will never pass the middle lane car even if you have both been in different lanes for long stretches. Instead, you will go all the way to the left lane to pass the car in the middle lane. Forget about overtaking on the right side. That would never occur. There is probably a lot gets lost in the description of this. It’s much better to see it in action. But if you aren’t coming to Germany anytime soon then the next tine you are on a highway in the US, keep a look out for how many times you see a car passing (not overtaking) another car from the right side. It’s a steadfast and organized obedience to the system here, again, which I see as a respect for the freedom that drivers have to go as fast as they want.
Finally, deviating from the autobahn, I went to a really really cool bar in Berlin last weekend. It is a wine bar in a yuppie neighborhood with a cozy and inviting lounge atmosphere that reminded me of Tryst in Adams Morgan for the DC people. Sounds normal right? But the twist of the bar is that, other than the 2 euros you pay for a glass, it is an open bar (quality wines too I might add) and when you leave you put the money that you think you owe into a big pot. There is even a food buffet! This goes on every night of the week, every week of the month. Game over. Done. Have a good night. The place is gonna go out of business because it’s gonna attract so many freeloaders looking for a free place to drink, right? Not quite. I don’t know how long the bar has been around but they’re in business (and doing well) because that pot looked quite happy throughout the night. That stems from a character of honesty and trust that it is typical in Germany. The bar trusts its customers to pay a respectable price, the customers respect that trust, and it gets channeled into a sense of duty to uphold it. Of course, it also helps that real estate is very cheap in Berlin so bars aren’t forced to mark up prices super high. So they can settle for a lower gross margin per customer because the place has less bills to pay. I wonder such a place would work in New York, DC, LA, or Chicago – places where happy hour goers scour the internet for the cheapest drinks and if lucky, stumble upon the one hour on Wednesday evenings from 9-10 when there is an open bar and are sure to be on line by 8:30 since there will be too many people afterwards.
It’s through these stories that I see Germany in a nutshell and the societal characteristics it has in place that drive many of its collective successes as a country. Trust breeds honesty and courtesy. Honesty and courtesy generate organization and efficiency.
And for those who of course know me to be a frequent Embassy Suites Manager’s Happy Hour patron, I ended up paying a very generous bill at the end of the night.
I learned how to drive all over again yesterday.I’ve had my license since September 1, 1999 and have been behind the wheel on numerous joyrides up and down the east coast and different parts of the US….but always with the convenience and luxury of an automatic car.Yesterday I had my first ever experience driving a stick shift.And dam, what a time and place to learn.
My first lesson in driving manual threw me in the deep end of the pool and forced me to swim right away.After cruising around on German countryside back roads learning the gears shifts I found myself on the autobahn of all places twenty minutes later topping out at 170 km/hr and dodging Porsches and BMWs flying by even faster.As I’ve mentioned about work, there’s a lot of travel time on the road and because of my stick shift deficiency my coworker has been doing all the driving up to this point.He’s going to China next week for a conference and I have to do some meetings on my own.So if Naki wants to go to the meetings Naki has to drive to the meetings.We had a 5 ½ hour road trip from Munich to Berlin so figured that there’s no better time to learn.
Learning to drive stick after working only automatics up to now was a mind twisting, muscle memory challenging, paranoiac activity.Driving, as with any action that has had lifelong repetition such as speaking or reading, is automatic and instinctive.I don’t have to think about it.I just drive.But you throw a new step in there that alters the normal motions of driving, and I now have to think through and be mindful of actions that would otherwise come naturally.So not only am I learning a new step and being conscious of all the actions that come with it, but the typically routine aspects of driving normally controlled by instinctive feel such as signaling, checking blindspots, and keeping my speed are coming to mind as well.It was a whirlwind of things that I haven’t consciously thought about since I first learned to drive.So in a way, I was re-learning how to drive.
The autobahn isn’t the free-for-all that it is made out to be in terms of racing speeds that cars top out at.There are tons of posted speed limits ranging from 80km/hr to 130km/hr because of all the construction going on throughout the country.There is roadwork EVERYWHERE in Germany.You wanna jump out of an economic recession like Germany?Easy, just create jobs by doing roadwork construction every 10 miles of every national highway.So because of all the construction, only a small minority of the time are cars able to go above 130km/hr. Go figure, driving to Berlin yesterday we hit an inappropriate amount of traffic.For those that drive stick you might understand that for a new learner a real tough part is driving in first gear thru stop-and-go traffic.High speed driving is fine because you just leave it in 5th gear the whole time.But it’s a tricky art to gently balance the gas and clutch when taking off from a complete stop.I have no shame in admitting that I stalled the car about 20 times in the crawling traffic.My heart rate raced up each time I did, paranoid of hitting another car and causing an even bigger pile up.Then when we finally did get going my worry switched to making sure I shifted to the right gear and what I needed to do in case I didn’t.The “easy” part, like I said was cruising in fifth gear.But therein also lies a difficulty because when you’re overtaking a car, I’m not used to seeing another car charge up the left lane at the equivalent of 110 miles per hour.The heavy rain didn’t make things and more relaxing either.I drove for a good 3 hours and then handed the wheel over to my co-worker Jeroen who finished the rest of the trip to Berlin.
You can compare the experience to learning a new language and forcing yourself to rethink any word or phrase you want to say.That analogy works.But I compare the learning curve to another example.It’s like someone using Excel for the first time.In both cases you can expect to make mistakes, but are paranoid about avoiding one thing at all costs.For an Excel beginner (and I’m talking pre-pre-pre basic knowledge), their main paranoia is to not screw up the spreadsheet – not hit the wrong button and lose all the information.They could panic if a column width adjusts or a row is accidentally hidden or some text overlaps into another cell.None of make the spreadsheet particularly attractive or professional, but everything is still there.For me driving stick for the first time on the autobahn, my main paranoia that I wanted to avoid at all costs was to not stall the car or have a fast deceleration at the wrong gears that ultimately resulted in the car coming to a complete dead stop.Anything other than that – as long as the car keeps moving and doesn’t hit another car – hey, chalk it up as a learning day at the office.
I have a two and a half hour drive ahead of me on Tuesday.Stay tuned for how that turns out.
