Singapore Slingin

I mentioned Singapore is incredibly clean but its more than that. This little big sized city-state, island, and country (yes its all of these with 5M people), is also likely the most civilized, orderly, and polite locale I know. Perhaps not surprising since 34% are Buddhist, yet I did hear Christmas music playing EVERYWHERE in the background even in mid November. Many delish and unknown foods consumed. Its uncomfortable, even ugly, but let's face it...breaking out of our norms is undeniably good for us all.  Below is the Merlion - symbol of Singapore...part fish, part lion - that's another story for another time. 

I had originally boarded this 16 hr flight unknowing. What I discovered was an interesting blend of the cultures and tastes of its nearby neighbors - Indonesia, Malaysia, India, China (74%) etc, yet with an extremely stable, corruption-free way of life that is sustained by their strong trading/export economy (electronics, IT, pharma, and a growing financial services biz).

It was clear 'western' fashion industries inspire, high end shopping may well have no better match, and hotels rival the best Vegas or Manhattan have to offer. And yes, Singapore sling is real...and fruity. A bit over hyped perhaps, but this mixed drink has become a signature experience for visitors for over 100 years. Apparently a bartender from the Long Bar (its still there) served up a US 'gin sling', later doctored and renamed the Singapore sling (think gin, cherry brandy, orange, pineapple, lime juice, water etc.) The locals are happy to entertain you.

So lets go back to this state of unbelievable clean. Every street, in the corners, where its dark, where normally ants crawl (nope never saw one), and the dust collects...well not sure they know anything of the sort. Even the construction sites are clean. It was, I've said, almost unnatural. Where was the dirt - where did they put it? Giant bubble on outskirts of town, thrown into the waters?  Mysterious, yes, but it didn't stop me from experiencing the local culture and enjoying the night views - a skyline in all directions.

The most common gadget was the telescoping phone holder for taking bigger, better selfies - very popular. At the end of a week, I took my memories of a most considerate nature and excused myself on a flight toward Hong Kong. For those who may journey to Singapore, my short list follows:



• Gardens by the Bay (but skip the domes) and ArtScience museum
• Yes take the metro - its easy and yep, crazy clean
• Haji Lane (not on Sun am except to visit the cutest cafe) and grab an authentic Indian breakfast nearby in route
• Chinatown (eat and be merry til late in the eve)
• Try a kaya (a sugary coconut spread on toast)
• Yes, Marina Bay Sands infinity pool amazes - see or stay
• Little India (unless you need dodgy electronics or authentic fabrics, you may be disappointed)
• Orchard Road (check out sections that don't lead to Cartier) 

US Reintegration

Reintegration sounds serious, as if bodily harm could be involved.  Truth is, I'm sidestepping moments of disappointment with an appreciation of conveniences, and getting back into a groove that isn't on a 6 hr delay. 

Where was that street or store or whatever? Was it always so sedentary here; where are some stairs and walking streets I came to love while I was away? Where can I find that interesting assortment of lettuces I used to buy in Paris? Why do all our products seem to be complicated and French products often so simple (case in point: salad dressings)?

I miss my big blue door with a fake knob handle and the view that never disappointed. And so I'll set my phone ringer to the Paris Metro jingle as a consolation.  It'll do for now. 

A View of Everything

As a contractor, I don't have one office to which I must go each day.  Some days I work from the apartment, and if you've read past posts, you know I can be found working just about anywhere there's a surface large enough for a laptop.  Today, I needed a full on office for making conference calls. The only one available was at Invalides.  Ok twist my arm.  Just another day at the office.

Walking part way, I take in the view of everything. I think living here has reminded me how to really 'see' what is around me.

For the love of the Taxi Driver

 

This week I flew to Hungary (Budapest with an evening trip to Lake Balaton).  Having been comfortable at home for many weeks prior, psyching myself up to pack felt a bit like pulling myself out of bed early on a Sat morning.  But in the end, I learned more tidbits of history and culture and the view of snow capped mountains in route was not so bad either. 

Like neighboring countries, Hungary was part of the Celtic world, then Roman Empire. After the fall of Rome, the Huns (think Attila the Hun) settled and gave their name to Hungary.  It is actually one of the oldest countries in Europe founded before France and Germany. Their language is unique, difficult (locals say), but a direct descendant of the language spoken by the Huns. Therefore, it is not an Indo-European language but more like Finnish or Estonian (with some German influence thrown in). Many also seem to prefer to forget or dismiss Russian 'influence' from years past (my colleague learned Russian in school, not by choice). 

I shared the same hotel view as my prior trip, overlooking the Danube. Specifically my view was of the old palace and the chain bridge. It was clear tourist season had arrived, and lovely international tourists had settled into the hotel in route to/from their Danube multi-country river cruise tours. Indeed breakfast felt like the makings of an AARP meeting, but I held my own. Dinner out was pleasant, sometimes accompanied by a guitarist and breezy 70 degree nights. 

A Wednesday eve outing to Lake Balaton was a welcomed wave of relaxation that included a 5 min car ferry ride across to the other side of the lake.  We strolled through small villages and sought out ice cream. 

Lake Balaton is a freshwater lake, the largest in central Europe and depending on who you ask, its bigger than Lake Geneva.  There are homes dotting the landscape sparsely overall, yet dense enough to indicate it is a prominent locale for summer guests. Tucked among the foliage around the lake are dark tile roofs in shades of muted yellow and brown which look equally Austrian or German in their design. Being neighbors, I'm also told Hungary raises many horses for the Austrian army.

 

I have a special relationship with all 'good' taxi drivers and on the ride back to the airport, I came to learn a bit more about the perspective of the locals through my taxi driver, with his thousand year old name Zsord. His view is that Hungarians appreciate the attitude of their people, the landscape (countryside/lakes), and their 1000 year history the most. Zsord learned English, not by school or study, but from the patrons he has graciously transported to and from Budapest over the last 25 years as a driver, and by translating music. His English is excellent. My Hungarian not so much. From every angle of my limited view, Hungary is indeed a lovely country.

As often happens in the evening returning to Paris from an occasional work trip, I was welcomed by a faint view of the Eiffel Tower in the distance over the left wing this time.  Within the quiet confined space of my grey leather seat, I fumbled a whisper of "Welcome Home".

So that's how he does it

For all the times I've passed through the Paris Metro, I've never actually SEEN who changes the huge ads and posters that decorate its every hall and platform. One morning on the way to work I turned the corner and there he was...quietly and swiftly working, and then in minutes he was gone. It made me smile, like I'd uncovered a little secret.

Ambiance (fr)

The spaces in which I work (or in which anyone works) varies greatly; from desk crammed in the corner of a bedroom, to park bench, cafe, cubicle, community table, airport wall squat, or bar stool counters. As a result, I have begun to wonder how much the 'ambiance' of the space you deem for work matters.

In college, I considered studying organizational workplace design which combines architecture, spatial planning, and behavioral theories into one. These concepts are used by many progressive companies seeking to design more efficient, productive work spaces which foster better collaboration, visibility, creativity, cooperation, and sense of community for their employees. Often contemporary in their application (we often hear about it from the likes of companies like Apple, Google, and yes even IBM in the good old days), I have wondered how much these thoughtful designs actually do contribute to higher morale, productivity and creativity.

Yep that's a Starbucks below - looks like a Palace and still free wifi !!

After 20 years, I find that I work better when my space changes, sometimes to include a flair for formality, as if the occasional nonsensical thinking I do can find no place here or there, and as if my 'professional' ideas would not flow as freely without the proper 'ambiance' to induce them. Other times, my best work ideas float about amidst the buzzing in and out of people in a nearby cafe or my own living room.

Know and stick with what works for you, but trying something new just might surprise you too. There's always the hallway in your corporate office to try.  Just imagine the looks you'll get squatting with a laptop on the carpet near the elevator.

Its Late, Why Write

At the start of these entries is my need to feel the words before they make it to the page, first floating them around in my mind until they land just right. Its late and I need sleep, yet I write it anyway. Today I went to Place Vendome, a square I never frequent.  Its the type of place you can imagine they have daily fashion photo shoots in, because it just has that vibe; the Ritz hotel in one corner, three other corners with perfect palace storefronts, grand flair, and well to be fair, its trashless with no dog poop in sight.

Inside, leading up to the office lobby, was this georgous staircase that made me want to continue circling the levels. 15 minutes later, just as I was drawing suspicion, I 'found' the lobby. I can only imagine sometimes what the French think of me dawdling around in courtyards, interesting staircases, and characteristic doorways. Wherever your moments of simple curiosity take you, I hope you enjoy them fully.

Massive misses

Recently I was using a Paris office that was nestled in an area of the city I had never wandered.  It was near the US embassy and other embassies and government buildings, as well as a high end shopping district, the likes of which I had never seen nor really need to.  

One thing I love about walking to work or walking anywhere in Paris, are the things before you to see if people just take the time to notice them. This park below is not well known by most, and tucked away on a small side street that barely makes the map. Wandering is very under-rated.

Most of the time, I watch Parisians walk - and they do with massive doses of purpose and a sense of urgency - and I wonder if they realize how much they miss.  From what I can tell, they don't seem to appreciate my philosophical stance on the matter, so I go about my business in my room with a view, sipping tea, and working on my French 'uh' sound (which they like to do a lot).  It works. I'm blending in....

To be a Hungarian



Several weeks ago I was working in Budapest. Normally, my hotel view isn't much to talk about; however, the windows on the main floor of the Intercontinental afforded a lovely view of the Chain Bridge and former royal palace across the Danube river.  I visited this view often during my stay.

 

The group meetings included a few Americans, a Polish man, a German man, and four Budapest locals. And as tends to happen when among European colleagues, there are always surprises...

 

First off, I am not certain what I think of Hungarian food in total. While I was thrilled with the abundance of items that included a version of beet root (e.g. beet root sauce, beet root shavings, beet vouloute etc.), I was equally puzzled by the abundance of mystery soft cheese filling used in the sandwiches I observed over lunch. What was it exactly? 

 

Then, there's the fact that I've technically been pronouncing the city name incorrectly all these years (as if I use it so often, which of course I don't). It is Budapest, pronounced like "Buda peshst".  You can thank the Hungarian language for that, with its German and Polish influences.

 

One particular day over lunch, I watched as the Polish colleague sat with one of the native Hungarians and they discussed history. The polish man was asking probing questions about the decisions of the Hungarians at critical times in history.  "When you were invaded ...., why did you do such and such" (as if this one man decided on behalf of his country). Mind you, I was eavesdropping so I didn't get the details, and 'such and such' will have to do. At the same time, over the course of work dinners, lunches, and phone calls, I understood another Hungarian colleague also shares this insatiable appetite for history in minute detail; discussing and re-discussing, seeking to understand and to tell.  It is as if they need to know these details have been shared, revisited, searched, and honored in some way.  That was the spirit in which the information is asked, heard, reflected upon, and shared by these Hungarians, and naturally I wondered if it reflected the norms of them all, as a people.

 

On the way back to the airport, I asked the taxi driver about the language itself.  He indicated they traditionally taught German and Hungarian in school, but now younger generations also learn English. This also meant that often the older generations speak Hungarian and German only. I said goodbye in my worst Hungarian knock off, and closed out an adventurous week on the Danube. My appreciation of history may not ever reach such proportions, but I did feel immensely grateful for the opportunity to dwell amongst it for the week.

 

I closed out the week with a welcomed nighttime view of Paris over the right wing, and well lets face it...that's never a bad way to end a day.

Daily Paris Ungrind

The Daily Grind or un-grind as it were...


On work days, rainy mornings in Paris call for a 10 min metro ride. The act of trying to wrangle an umbrella through narrow sidewalks that slope slightly toward the street, lots of glass storefronts, and an obstacle course around other pedestrians, is sometimes too much to take. I have tried it and I'm sure poked out several peoples eyes in the process.  Excusez-moi (excuse me).  Desole (sorry).  Holding my parapluie (umbrella) really high...

So on these mornings in the am on the metro, timing is everything. Since Parisians are late to arrive 'at the office' by most US standards (strolling in after 9 is normal to many), the metro can be quite crowded at this time. Today, as a train approaches the platform, there is a great sigh to see it is already filled and there are 10 people around me all looking and angling to get a leg inside, in hopes the doors will just close on us and carry us the rest of the way.

Today, there I am, vying for position politely as Parisians do. Two train 'waits' later, I get on but my face is flush against the glass door as it closes and I brace my feet accordingly so I don't fall on those around me and create some truly unforgiving domino effect. No one is smiling. A brave few are talking. Mornings in Paris are comical to me in this way, and seemingly only to me. The doors open and I am smiling as I step off onto the platform and make my way to the nearest Sortie (exit). I'll take the sardine ride any day just to be here.

If only I could remember that in the context of everyday in my life no matter where I am!

A Change in View

Last week, I tried the office location in the Grande Arche - La Defense and it was spectacular from floor 15.  It sits at the end of Metro Line 1 which runs horizontally through the center of Paris, past the Champs Elysees, ending in La Defense - a large business district. It is a huge cube that's hard to miss.

Over 20 years ago (give or take), I took a beautiful photograph of these two views below. Now, the buildings have 'grown' up around it and the view has changed. As I stood square in the center at the top of the Grande Arche steps, one thing remained the same - a linear view all the way to the Arc de Triomphe, unmistakably by design, miles away. Hello again I said. It was good to see you after all this time.

Thanks for reading.  Have a blessed day and enjoy your view wherever you are today.

Being most alive on an old random Thursday

This is an old post from July that accidentally did not get published when it was written. It was from my work and play adventures in the French West Indies. So, read on if you like and periodically fan yourself from the heat of the sun rays that beat down upon your imagination.

The point is that if we all could find a place, a passage, a hideaway, a stolen moment unseen, and if we could remember to savor the smell, sight, and sound of it – however long it lasts – we would know what it feels like to be most alive. ------------------

Our time on the islands came to a satisfying but welcoming end.  For the past three weeks, I awoke early every morning to work while the others slept. Everything kept its sense of stillness in these hours.  I saw the waves roll in, the sun rise higher, and the fisherman and pier workers begin their daily clanging, sorting, and boat preparations for the day.  We all knew to expect the humming and surging of pier construction machinery every morning (7am to be exact), an unfortunate timing of events for us during our stay.

Some days my work rolled into the afternoon; other days only until lunch, after which we’d spend family time at a beach of choice.  It was an appreciated change of scenery and rhythm in which to complete the pile of work before me.

We will not likely forget the view from the porch, the hike to the most beautiful beach we’d ever seen, or the unpleasant ferry ride over. We will recall our (almost) daily drives, like short bursts of roller coaster thrills up steep inclines and round crazy dare deviled corners. We will smile thinking of our local walks along the narrow patchwork of concrete in route to our frequented “L’Epicerie de Corossol” store, the unending swim to the sand bar, and the old woman who welcomed and waved until we had the courage to ask her to show us how she dries palm leaves to make them into various baskets, hats, and pouches while sitting on her front porch chair. She couldn't hear us well, but she was a lovely islander with simple movements and a contented smile, and we often saw her sitting with her family on the front porch in the evening.

There were daily inconveniences, creative meals, surprises, and sometimes desperate gestures to remain cool or comfortable from bugs or heat or both, but the routine settled in our mind, became known and expected, simply because we stayed for a duration of more than a few days...seeded in our soul against that paintable clear blue sky. 

Bitte Bitte - Italian?

Another week in Germany.  For the life of me I can't quite absorb common language phrases and words as easily in German as, say, Italian, though its not for lack of trying. 

In the Frankfurt airport, I saw employees on bicycles - seriously cycling through the terminal. And, I found a 'secret' spot in a corner with a tabletop and outlet to work for my 3 hr layover in route back to Paris. I think it was an interrogation space of some sort and I felt fantastically in violation of some unknown rule or knowledge about the space.   

Earlier in the week, the team met up at a nearby Italian restaurant, and our Italian team member spent the night ordering up all kinds of lovelies for us to try.  We were all weary and groaning as the 10:00 hour approached (nearly 3 hrs later). Appetizers to die for, what it means to nab the remaining juices and drippings on the bottom of the pan, cheap fabulous wine from his hometown area of "Puglia" (the heel of the boot) and on it went. I even learned how to properly pronounce Bruschetta (which I've been mispronouncing for decades).

He showed us what to ask for there (when we go because he insisted we all go for a holiday), and explained how much they love to devour small (live) fish (think herring). Though the night wore on a bit too long, he wrapped it up with a round of grappa (a fragrant, grape based brandy from Italy, which I declined).  How I do love working with European team members. Its highly entertaining, educational, liberating, and sometimes exhausting in the best way.