Lost City Serenade

lostcitycommunications@gmail.com (LostCity) — Thu, 28 May 2009 19:29:00 +0000

Driving on the Wrong Side of the Road - Part One

May 28, 2009 - Derby, U.K.
(Part Two may be found on my bicycling blog: http://www.lostgears.blogspot.com)

The Magic of the Tardis and other Reality Shifting Devices:

I’ve just had one of those unfortunate flights. Seven hours in economy class; knees braced against the seat in front of me. No sleep possible, none given. I’m dispatched at Heathrow Airport with my bags and a sharp pain behind my eyes. It’s 7:30 AM…in this time zone.

Due to some issues back in the states I haven’t yet received the full details about my destination. I know approximately where in England my client is, (Derby – about 200 miles north of London,) but that’s about it. Not enough to book a hotel, or even calculate my ground transport options. All this weighs on my mind as I emerge from the doors into the bleak cacophony of the arrivals level.

There is some usefulness in ubiquity. As I thrust my bags through the arrival gates, an island of normalcy appears in the form of a Starbucks. I tug my little train of luggage through the line, order a quad latte’ and find a seat. A few moments later my laptop is sparking itself to life and greets me with a Boingo log-in screen. Already my headache is receding. This Boingo account has saved me hundreds of dollars over the past year. For $9.95 per month, I get to log-in free to hundreds of thousands of hot spots around the globe. Just a tip for you travelers out there.

Still I’m in a bit of sticky wicket here. It’s Tuesday morning in the U.K., and my client, Rolls Royce, is on holiday. So there’s no-one answering there. It’s still only 2:30 AM in New York, and my partners won’t turn their phones on for another few hours. I decide to start calling everyone anyway. Oh, and there’s another indication of things looking up….my mobile phone is working perfectly. I’d had to have my alternative service, Brightroam, Fed-Ex a new SIM card to me on Saturday. Upside of that is the new SIM card has data. Text messaging is handy to have here in the U.K..

While leaving frantic messages across four time zones, I also pull up Google maps and begin to make my best guess at where I need to go and how I just might get there. It quickly becomes apparent that I can take a series of trains to Derby, but it’s pouring rain here and I’ve got a lot of luggage. Against the advice of several friends, I decide to rent a car. I’ve got all day and can take my time.

An hour or so later, after making my best intuitive plan of action and catching up on email, I get a little KIA Ceed and pay the extra 27 pounds for a TomTom GPS navigator. She’s got a lilting British accent and is quite cheery. A definite step up from the gal on my Blackberry. I think we’ll be getting along just fine.

60 of Her Majesty’s seconds after leaving the airport my lessons in driving on the wrong side of the road begin. “Go right on the roundabout and take the fourth exit….then stay in the left lane.” Oh my, roundabouts, they may be the end of me. I’m having a very hard time learning to simultaneously look over my right shoulder for oncoming traffic, and shift the little five speed with my left hand. Thank God the pedals are all still in the same positions on the floor. Several times I careen across the roundabout in jerky motions hazarding anyone who might come near. I’m sure they know I’m tourist from a thousand yards away. Somehow I manage to only miss my turn once, which of course sends me round for another lap before I fling the little car towards the proper exit.

A few scary and embarrassing minutes later I’m on the M-25 motorway heading to “the North” in fifth gear and things settle down. I’ve got a two and half hour drive ahead of me. About half way into the drive I start to get a road weary. I’m afraid I might make a mistake, so I find the English equivalent of a truck stop, a “service,” and find a place to park. Bam! I go right to sleep and it feels good. I’m startled awake by the sound of my phone ringing. It’s my contact at Rolls Royce confirming some details. I walk to the service area to get something to eat and I’m beginning to relax a bit.

This service area might as well be on the Ohio Turnpike. The names of all the business are unfamiliar, but the layout and purpose of the place feels right at home. No frills here, just a few shops, a Wimpy Burger, a Costa Coffee – the U.K.’s version of Starbucks, a newspaper stand and public restrooms. About the only real difference I can see is the big sign that reads, “Parking Limited to Two Hours – A Charge Will Be Proffered for Longer Stays.”

By the time I get to Derby, a quaint little hamlet in what are called “the Midlands” of England, I’m beat. I manage to quickly find a hotel – a Holiday Inn Express – where I happen upon a sign asking Rolls Royce employees to announce themselves. I ask for the Rolls rate, and get it without question. It’s 60 pounds, or about ninety eight dollars US. I take the key, walk to my room, put the “do not disturb” sign on the door and crash.

A Thing of Beauty
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

John Keats

In the morning I end up taking a Taxi to the Rolls headquarters. I don’t need the headaches of driving during rush hour in a foreign country before a long day’s work.

The facility is beautiful. It’s specially designed for training. The people here are surprisingly upbeat and gregarious. They quickly extend a welcome to me and make me feel at home. We were warned that they might be reserved in that British way, and a bit difficult to read. I’m relieved the truth is otherwise.

At the end of the day I go back to the hotel and sleep for while again, still trying to catch up. Then I rise, freshen up a bit and head out looking for a pub to experience. As it turns out, tonight is the European Cup Championship League Football game. It’s the Superbowl of European soccer and the match is being played in Rome. England is fired up as they’re being represented by Manchester United, a very popular team here. On the other side is Barcelona FC, from Spain.

I sidle up to bar in the Harvester Pub and Grille. There are no stools. Just a crowd of revelers vying for a place to see the small TV screen. I shout to the barman the name of the first beer I see on a tap. “Make it a Worthington.” “Right then!” he says, and I begin to truly settle in to this new place.

The first ten minutes of the match are very exciting. Manchester United’s famous captain, Ronaldo, is controlling the field and making it look easy. Then, suddenly, the momentum shifts when one of the chaps from Barcelona scores a goal. The waves of blue-clad Man. U. fans in Rome are silenced. They never get a chance to celebrate again. A lot of tears are shed in England.

I’m very happy to be here for this event. It’s my first time in the U.K.., and I’m looking forward to spending a few days as a tourist in London at the end of the week.

Remember, this is my business travel blog, part two may be found on my bicycling blog: http://www.lostgears.blogspot.com

lostcitycommunications@gmail.com (LostCity) — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 18:50:00 +0000

Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

October 26 - 27, 2008

Part Three:

Behind the Veils:

Greg and I are met at the Sunset’s breakfast buffet with two Turkish coffees already in play. For the record these are “medium sweet.” They mix sugar with the coffee grounds before brewing. The service at the hotel is over the top. They seem ready for us before we show up. It appears we’re the only Americans staying here and that in itself may bet the reason we’re easy to pick out of the crowd. It’s either that or the fact that Greg tends to tip our servers with U.S. greenback dollars. You decide.

They are big on buffets here. Breakfast looks like another amalgam of east and west. The table starts as most American breakfast buffets, with breads. Standard white bread quickly moves to croissant and pita. From here it quickly moves further east. Next are huge trays of hummus, tabouleh, goat cheese, and yogurt. Fresh veggies follow suit and then the hot items. Stewed tomatoes with basil are in the first serving tray, then rice, some type of egg dish, (frittata, scrambled, etc.,) then some type of sausage meat. They look for all the world like hot dogs, but are some cross of beef and herbs. There’s also usually some type of lamb dish. In essence it’s as if the hotel chef saw a picture of some American buffet and just filled it in with local foods.

Today we change gears completely and move from a one-day presentation style approach with 100 participants to a two-day workshop approach with about 20 people. Because our MENA region partner, the ZAD Group, set up all these events we’re somewhat less informed than usual. (Here's a picture of Greg and Ahmad Haikal from ZAD in the limo.) These are their clients and we are acting mainly as the drop in big-shot Americans, so it’s not necessarily unplanned. What little we know about the next two days however leaves us off balance to start. My calendar says: “Train the Trainer Program College of Business Administration Jiddah, (CBA.)” We’re also told the day before that much of the class will be women from the college taking the Leading Bold Change™ course as an addendum to their business related studies.

What we’re not told until our limo, pulls up to the well-guarded front gate of the school is that men and women attend independent universities here. This particular school is the women’s version of the CBA, a place where men rarely travel.

We and our partners are simply not prepared for the level of accomplishment and sophistication of the people in the room. As we make our way around to introduce each other it becomes immediately apparent that Greg and I are outclassed by both the men and women here. Many of the participants have PhDs in such areas of study as human relations, psychology, women’s studies, education, etc. Most of these people hold their degrees from some of America’s finest universities: Harvard, Penn State, Ohio, Kansas, Vermont, North Carolina, and several from Michigan, not to mention European institutions. We’ve got our work cut out for us!

Our friend and fellow trainer Dr. Mona Mousa, someone I certified while in Cairo last spring, is a faculty member of the CBA and helped to set up this event. (Here she talks with one of our participants from the Panda Company, Haney Kandil, and Ahmad Haikal from ZAD.) She stressed to the dean, who is also attending the training, that diversity is vital to the success of the workshop both in who attended and how they are seated. In a gesture whose pure brilliance goes far over my head, the dean mixes each table so that men and women are seated together. In the states this would not in any way be considered progressive. I’ll remind you that we’re in Saudi Arabia, a place where women must wear head coverings and are still not allowed to drive in the streets. At one point a male participant takes me aside to tell me that I can be assured this is the only university level course in Saudi Arabia today where men and women are sitting together! My entire view of the importance of this class suddenly changes. Change management has never had more meaning.

Further discussions with class participants unveil that many of the women are in women’s studies programs and that they aim to use the Leading Bold Change™ program to do nothing less than help change the country’s views of women. One young man has a nonprofit NGO that deals with the issues of youth in Saudi Arabia. He started this organization right out of grad school. The women and men are all outspoken and not afraid to voice their opinions in this mixed session. There is a palpable sense of discomfort with some of the men when the subject of women’s rights is brought up, but everyone seems interested in collaborating to get whatever they can from the program. There is some meeting half-way here, compromise of the highest sort, which leaves me with a sense of hope and optimism for my work.

There is of course more spectacular food for lunch. And the realization there is no “facility” for men in this school. So each time one of the men needs to make use of said facility a woman faculty member must first clear the ladies room and then stand guard out front. We are indeed not in Kansas anymore! Before I leave, one of the men jokingly asks me to look in on his house near Detroit to see if I can get it to sell. Another man sets up a holiday appointment with me for a cup of coffee while he visits his other home in Burlington, Vermont.

The two days at the CBA go very fast. The conversation and level of participation is of the highest level. This is another session where the teacher is also the student. We have never before brought our program to a place where the stakes for change are so high and where the willingness to take change on might be a hazard to the personal freedoms of those involved. We learn a great deal from one another and I am sorry to leave them behind.

lostcitycommunications@gmail.com (LostCity) — Sat, 25 Oct 2008 06:26:00 +0000

Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

October 25, 2008

Part Two:

They Know Our Names:

We get our first inkling of the service modality here as we step out of immigration at the airport and a middle aged Philippine man greets us by calling our names. “Mr. Greg, Mr. Bill, come with me?” he says absolutely, holding up a computer printed sheet of paper with our names on it. (It is custom here to call somebody by their first name preceded by a title of some sort. If I had a PhD, he would undoubtedly call me Dr. Bill instead.) Samad walks us to his white Toyota van and pops the door open.

I neglected to mention that we arrived in Jeddah on Friday. That’s the last day of the work week in America and most of the western world. The car ride in from the airport gives us the impression that this big city is desolate. Barely another car on the road for the first few miles. Then as we approach town, it’s quiet. Little traffic, stores closed, just a few people walking the streets. But something’s amiss and I know it. So I ask Samad if this is a day of rest here. In a broken yet clearly comprehensible amalgamation of several western languages he says: “Qui, holiday off Mr. Bill.” In this part of the Muslim world it is in fact the last day of the weekend, what we’d consider Sunday. So right off the bat, I’m confused. Add to that the concept of a 7 hour time differential from the east coast and it’s a mixture destined for calamity.

The Sunset Hotel is located a bit off the beaten track facing a major roadway. We’re told that there’s a very popular shopping mall, (closed today,) just a few blocks from here, but I must admit nothing looks familiar. The Sunset is obviously a bit behind the times and looks as if it caters to more of a middle-eastern than western clientele. Around the corner is the Radisson Jiddah which would look familiar and comfortable to most anyone reading this. Our hotel is a less sophisticated style but nonetheless opulent in its own way. As Samad drops our bags off at the front door we are met by a Pakistini man who quickly shuttles our bags up the marble stairs. Then once inside Mahmud, an Indian man waves us over and drops our preprinted check-in forms on the counter. Without us saying a word he already knows each of us by name. We’ll find this to be a common and always unsettling skill in this part of the world. How do they know our names? Granted, I’m a 6’3’’ tall, really white American. I’m difficult to conceal on the cloudiest of days, especially in this land, but it’s simply uncanny how they do this! One begins to ponder if Google® has something to do with this phenomenon.

As we take our keys and head to the rooms, we cross a beautifully envisioned white marble floor in the lobby. It’s a subdued and traditional pattern with the occasional border or pattern in black or tan. As we make our way to the elevators we pass two Malaysian men busily pushing electric floor polishers. They leave a brilliant sheen behind them as they move from the back of the lobby towards the entrance.

Jet lag strains our minds and bodies as we settle into the hotel for an late afternoon nap. But first we both crack open our computers and seek reattachment to the outside world. A quiet and dim icon greets me when I look for a wireless connection. Then a search around the room for an RJ11 jack proves fruitless. I begin to feel like a smoker whose just gotten on a 17 hour transcontinental flight. Where is it? I need my net! When I call downstairs to inquire, the front desk answers with “Good day Mr. Bill, how may I serve you?” I relay my request with mumbling lips and trembling hands and I’m not sure if they’re symptoms of jet lag or the Internet withdrawal. Mahmud manages to understand me, apologizing, and sends a technician to the room. The technician, a young Pakistani, comes laden with some gear and an armful of wires that drag behind him swishing loudly, echoing on the marble floors of the hallway. The cable modem he installs suffers from an intermittentcy reminiscent of my old VW Bug when the tank would find itself below half-full. The bits and bytes sputter along seeming to gasp for some comfort in the ether. I do manage a noisy and spurious Skype call back home where it is, by this time, early morning the same day.

We’re told unceremoniously by our hosts that Saudi Arabia has a strict if informal labor practice regarding the ex-pats that come from around the world to take part in the wealth streams associated with Saudi oil. Visas are readily available to any American willing to come and work. It gets tougher for others. Brits, Australians and South Africans seem to have equal footing, but from here the disparity begins to creep in fast. As we get to the eastern and middle eastern countries visas are more difficult to get and the jobs tied to them run in a fairly downward economic profile starting with the Americans on top and Pakistanis sharing the near bottom with their global neighbors. Examples of this policy at work might be the Philippine taxi drivers and the Pakistani floor polishers. A pretty common pairing in many places we went.

Saturday, (now Monday in Saudi,) comes early for us. We’re up with the Saudi Sunrise and already it’s our first ghastly realization. The Saudis are not fans of anything that resembles a good American cup of coffee. The hotel restaurant has no big perk-pots. There is no espresso machine. There is only the huge simmering tank of hot water on the breakfast buffet. And next too it - lying sadly in a pile - are the little envelopes of Nescafe’, eek! But all is not lost to freeze-dried woe. Our disdainful looks bring the ever attentive staff running and soon we each have a double Turkish coffee, little brass pots burbling, in front of us. The thick detritus at the bottom of each tiny cup threatens to erase years of tooth whitening efforts.

Eventually we are met by our Egyptian partners Ahmad and Dr. Amr. They’ve done all the ground work for us here in Saudi and will act as our guides. It is already evident that communication here may be an issue. We pile into Ahmad’s car and head to our first paying gig for the week, with a large automobile importer Abdul Lateef Jameel (ALJ.) The car pulls up to a gated compound with ten foot high iron gates. A honk and a nod, the windows roll down and a friendly argument ensues. This seems to be an accepted part of any transaction here. There’s always some amount of lively repartee before any deal is struck. The gate motors engage and we pull though and around to the front of an ornate looking building on the campus of ALJ’s headquarters. This is their training facility where I’ll be working for the next 15 hours or so. It’s nothing short of opulent. We discover from our host Carlo that the entire building is designed after a Moroccan palace and that it includes many artifacts taken from Morocco. 25 foot ceilings are adorned with a rich lattice of mahogany or teak wood. The walls are a combination of fine mosaic tile and ornate sculpted wood. Occasionally a piece of contemporary western art juxtaposes the massive colorful walls. It is by far the most stunning room within which I have ever had to ply my trade.

Today we have 100 or so high level managers from the company. We’ll take them through the Leading Bold Change(TM) program. Greg is here to assist, along with Dr. Amr. As the meeting is called to order, before I’m introduced by Carlo, a young man is brought up to the front of the room to stand before a microphone. He begins to sing an Islamic prayer and the rest of the room falls silent. His clear and sweet voice bounds off the tiled walls with energy and fills the room. When he's done, I want applaud, but resist the urge. Suddenly it’s my turn to step into the silence left by this. The roomful of men mostly dressed in traditional robes welcomes me. We have a great day of learning from each other. The day is highlighted by a magnificent buffet lunch of traditional middle eastern foods. This continues a theme that will repeat itself all week. We love this food!

The first session ends at 5:30, giving us a short break. I step outside and listen to the call to prayer being broadcast from a P.A. system in the minaret of the local mosque just outside the door. It is now dusk and the green neon lights in the tower of the mosque begin to appear providing an eerie backdrop to the long chanting strains of “Allah uh akbar, Allah uh akbar. “ I am left with no doubt that I am truly deep inside the Islamic world.

ATHAN or AZAN
The Call to Prayer

Allah is defined as the ONE who ALONE, without partners or helpers created all that IS created in creation, either known or unknown.
-------------

1 Allah u Akbar, Allah u Akbar
-- Allah is Great, Allah is Great

2-Ash-hadu al-la Ilaha ill Allah - Ash-hadu al-la Ilaha ill Allah
-- I bear witness that there is no divinty but Allah

3 Ash-hadu anna Muhammadan Rasulullaah
-- I bear witness that Muhammad is Allah's Messenger

Ash-hadu anna Muhammadan Rasulullaah.
-- I bear witness that Muhammad is Allah's Messenger

4 Hayya la-s-saleah - Hayya la-s-saleah
-- Hasten to the prayer, Hasten to the prayer

5 Hayya la-l-faleah - Hayya la-l-faleah
-- Hasten to real success, Hasten to real success,

6 Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar
-- Allah is Great, Allah is Great

7 La Ilaha ill Allah
-- There is no divinity but Allah

The day ends with a 3.5 hour board meeting and then another buffet. This one we’re told, is an “executive dinner.” Much better than the earlier lunch. A spectacular spread of seafood, lamb, beef, rice, tabbouleh, hummos, pita, yogurt, pasta, and four types of salads. When the desserts come we are agog. A table full of artwork appears, chocolates, chiffons, crème brulee, a French patisserie on wheels.

My favorite has to be the little pastry bird nests. Each delicate nest of light pastry noodles filled with green roasted pistachios drenched in honey. We have an elegant sufficiency. An embarrassment of riches. We are sated….at least until tomorrow.

lostcitycommunications@gmail.com (LostCity) — Fri, 24 Oct 2008 16:57:00 +0000

Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

October 24, 2008

Arriving in a New Land

Part One:

It starts almost immediately on the plane while the doors are still open. The universal sign of Arabic hospitality. An aromatic scent, clear, precise and something my travel partner is unfamiliar with. It is cardamom. At first it appears as what the flight attendant calls “coffee” but resembles more a cloudy green tea. It’s sweet, light and served in a tiny porcelain cup about the size of a shot glass. Alongside it, a Persian date. Almost wet in its glistening sweetness. Greg my business partner passes me his date and asks the flight attendant for a larger cup for his al-qahwah al-'arabiyyah. He likes the flavor even through its unfamiliarity but would prefer this Arabian treat in an American quantity.

Surprisingly this spice, associated so closely with the Middle East, is sourced from a small region in Guatemala. The Cardamom plant provides work for several hundred thousand people picking, sorting, drying and packaging its green pods for people halfway around the globe. Offering Cardamom to your guests is a sign of traditional hospitality, but also a show of affluence. It’s very expensive, in the same league as saffron.

After the dates and the cardamom coffee the food comes in waves.

We’re in first class, upgraded from business class by our new friend Savahn at Saudi Airlines in JFK. She took care of the discrepancy between the name on my ticket and the one on my passport. Bill vs. William isn’t a big deal in everyday practice, but throw the TSA into the mix and the names might as well be in different languages.

After the first wave of food we’re given our first class gift bags. Huge shopping bags full of Saudi Airlines swag to make the 14 hour flight a bit easier. Among the treasures: slippers, eye mask, ear plugs, an entire designer dopkit, and most amazingly a sweatsuit! The dreaded airport sweatsuit. I’m stunned. Not longer than a month ago I’d asked my friend Torie to promise to shoot me if she ever saw me wearing one of these while walking through an airport. Now I know where they come from!

Another stunning realization about the gift bag is that buried in that dopkit is nothing less than a shaving kit with a razor! A razor! Meanwhile the TSA made me give up my 3 ounce bottle of expensive cologne and my foldable golf putter. But here in first class, they hand out razor blades! Maybe they trust us more in the cushy seats.

The food on the rest of the flight addresses a middle ground between western tastes and eastern tradition. Familiar items like pasta, steak, chicken, and roasted veggies are balanced with rice, hummus, olives, lamb, pita, and curries. Its refreshing to have a choice of food with actual flavor on an airline. And of course each meal is followed by green tea. If cardamom coffee is the aperitif, then green tea is the digestif. It's served piping hot in tall slender glasses, usually with fresh sprigs of mint on the side. Sometimes they ask, “with mint or without?” And the last thing we get is a small dishful of anise seeds. We chew them as a breath freshener so as not to offend anyone with the dread “coffee breath.”

As morning rises through the windows of the 747B, the city of Jeddah (also spelled "Jiddah",) comes into view in the distance. This coastal city of the Saudi peninsula is a flat expanse of desert with some mountains in the distance. Much like Egypt the color scheme is all tan; shades of the sand blowing on the horizon. For the most part the buildings are short and blend into the vista. There is one exception, and the only building that truly catches our attention as we circle for our landing. It’s a worldwide icon and seems a bit out of place here. The massive structure is blueish-purple and has large yellow letters that spell out IKEA easily readable from the plane. Jeddah is the most western of Saudi Arabian cities. It is clear that they are pushing to diversify Jeddah’s economy from its historical base of oil.

Customs in Jeddah is surprisingly quick. It did come with one caveat which was reinforced from the earliest contact with our Visa documents. In big letters on every immigration doc, it reads “Drug trafficking = Death!” No messing around here. On the far side of security our driver finds us immediately and takes us to our home for the next week, The Sunset Hotel, in the heart of downtown Jeddah. Greg and I settle in for some downtime and sleep, then it’s off to tomorrow’s venue to set up.

After the subtle culinary introduction to Middle Eastern food on the plane, our hosts decide to take us to a local fixture that is apparently purely Jeddah. The place is called Al Baik.

And to our chagrin it is the number one competitor in Saudi Arabia to none other than KFC. The stores and the menu are almost indistinguishable from one another, and often are found side by side. The clear difference, and one that immediately lets westerners know we’re “not in Kansas anymore,” is the lack of women in the restaurants. Each restaurant, in fact, has a separate window declaring itself the “women’s window,” on the outside of the building.

Our trip comes not without some very recent historical context. Not far from our hotel sits the US Consulate compound. On December 7, 2004 it was attacked by highly organized militants apparently connected to Al Qaeda. No Americans were killed, but 8 foreign security guards and some attackers died. Most Americans and other foreigners living for any length of time in Jeddah must live in highly fortified compounds with tall concrete walls with armed guards and often tanks in the streets behind. As I said to my partners in preparation for the trip, “We’re not going to Disneyland guys!”

lostcitycommunications@gmail.com (LostCity) — Wed, 21 May 2008 20:01:00 +0000

Vilnius

Day three

Part One

It's been an interesting time here. After working with our client today, I excused myself for some rest and went to my room to watch local coverage of the Giro d'Italia. Great stuff. In the US, we only get to watch the Tour. The Giro is a fascinating and a very different beast. Levi Leipheimer had a horrible crash at the front of the pack, ending up struggling to finish with the peloton. Great excitement.

Greg and I went to a local bar/restaurant tonight. It was just five or six blocks from the hotel. He chose it because of its "dive" appeal. That's a Greg thing.

As it turns out, we were the only ones that spoke any English. And the menus were all in Lithuanian. We could figure out a few things... they were at least in a similar order as American restaurants. The top was made up of appetizers, clearly. The next, salads. Then an amalgam of things that might be fish, might be pork, might be beef. Who knows? What we do know for sure is that everything will be served with potatoes...somehow, some way. It's thier thing. We end up asking the waitress to just choose something for us. She winces... doesn't smile. It's not a Lithuanian trait. We try sign language... "you... pick... something... for... us...." Now it's a grimace. Maybe we insulted her, I'm not sure. Greg decides, just like the SNL skit, to repeat the same thing, just at four times the volume, "YOU...., PICK.... SOMETHING.... FOR.... US?" She runs away angry and comes back with the burly bartender. "Jeez,"I think. "It's way too early in this trip to get in a fight." Somehow we manage to communicate that we're hungry and that we want him to pick something. I'm not sure if he thinks we want to buy him dinner or if we're looking for some other type of excitement. We also ask something like, "YOU BRING US LITHUANIAN DRINK?" He comes back with these huge glasses filled with something that looks like brandy and tastes like a cross between an Anise based liquor and kerosene. PERFECT!

Finally he says, "Oh, yo! Porka!" We take this as a good and universal sign for some kind of pig product. This, being Lithuania, is a pretty good bet anyway, but exactly which part of the pig might end up on our plate is still questionable.

The choice ends up being appropriate. It's a slab of pork-steak with a piece of ham on top, with a sauce made of pork sausage. As the French might say, this is throwing "Cochon to the wind." Also some steak fries and a salad. All-in-all, it's not bad and Greg actually eats it! Amazing. Half way through the meal, I go to the bar and point to the draft handle saying "TAURAS." Hell! It's named after a car made in Michigan...well almost. Must be the right thing. We leave feeling sated and culturaly enriched. We nail a good 'ol US Dollar to the wall along with all the other higher valued denominations, (Yen, Euro, Canadian Dollars, etc.) and make our way to the dark street.

I ditch Greg on the way out of the restaurant and go for a Palladino stroll. First thing I come across is a movie theater. I love the poster for Indiana Jones. Check out the spelling... Indiana is spelled perfectly, but "Jones" is a different story altogether.

The walk ends up being two hours in length and takes me through the breadth of Vilnius neighborhoods. I finished up the night at a bar watching one of the weirdest cultural conflagrations I've ever witnessed. Sitting in Lithuanian hotel bar, watching the Championship League Football game between Manchester United and Chelsea with about 50 tourist from around Europe. I ended up calling my friend Dennis back home in Traverse City, just for some sanity. So here I am drinking SVYTRUYS" beer, listening to an all English soccer game, broadcast in Russion (from Moscow,) in a Lithuanian bar, with a mixed group of English, Irish, Russian, Japanese, and Polish soccer fans. Whew!!

Back at the Pub, it's the first time watching the Premier League championships, and the first time doing so at a European bar. Man.United and Chelsea are into overtime and it's a shootout. All I'll say is one team just won, and GOAL, GOAL, GOAL!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm afraid there will be some brawling in England tonight.

lostcitycommunications@gmail.com (LostCity) — Sun, 18 May 2008 21:21:00 +0000

Day One
Part One

Iowa to the Easter Bloc:

I’ve set off on an unusual trip this time. It started with a quick hop and a skip from Traverse City to Des Moines. Two flights, each under 45 minutes… a brief stop at O’Hare. The Des Moines gig is for the Iowa Department of Public Health and is attended by physicians and administrators from hospitals and clinics around the state. They are a great audience! We have fun and laugh quite a bit. One of the more engaged groups I’ve worked with in some time.

Iowa is….well…. Iowa. I am reminded of my days at Minnesota Public Radio, just up highway 35W from here. Long stretches of freeway, greening crops of every kind in all directions, immense wet fields awaiting the tender care of vanishing farmers. They’ve had their wettest (and snowiest) winter in decades here. Everywhere I go there is talk of surviving the winter. It’s different in a place like this than in say Minneapolis. In the Twin Cities people are prepared for such weather. There are winter sports to match the dark hours and a humor designed to dryly pierce the layers of protection a mind puts before it in such places. Snow is not welcome as much as the season itself. Winter represents, if nothing else, a respite from the green vastness of the fertile plain. It is a time to dig in, to play cards, to drink peppermint schnapps along with the beer, and to heal your body of the wounds of a year’s labor. After this long season, these people are looking forward to the work which lies before them.

I am here but briefly, just one night and part of a day. Wednesday afternoon I hop a flight for Chicago to work with a private company. The gig in Chicago is a hidden resort which seems to hover between the suburbs and the city. All the time I’ve spent in Chicago and I’ve never before known of this place. Eaglewood Resort and Spa is technically in Itasca, Illinois. But it’s only twenty minutes from O’Hare, and that was during rush hour. It’s an oasis wedged between the Eisenhower Expressway, 355 and highway 20. It comes highly recommended by me. The entire facility including the hotel and conference center reflects on the architectural work of Frank Lloyd Wright. Everything is in sepia tones, with tall and bright interior areas. Seating is Stickley inspired Prairie School in design. Lovely place. And it’s the only private resort I’ve been to that includes a bowling alley. My clients rented the place on my last night for a great team building gathering. Beer and bowling! What else could a group of hard working folks ask for after a long day of change management?

I left the resort and found a room at the O’Hare Hilton for a couple nights. Rather than race home for a few hours, I decided to stay here and relax. It was a good choice. I was able to catch up on a lot of business, including paying some bills and doing some writing. It felt like a little private retreat.

Today, I’ve walked across the street to O’Hare and searched out Terminal 5, for international departures. It’s a scoot on the tram….ten minutes away. I decided to go and check in early so that I could commence with more relaxing. This was a reality check for my travels to eastern Europe. The ticketing counter for LOT, (Polish Airlines,) was empty at noon when I showed up. Disconcertingly there is a sign here that reads, “Check-in starts at 6:30 PM.” A nice round number, but my flight leaves at 5:30 PM. I’m starting to get nervous.

So I decide to ride back to the Hilton and get a beer….I’m allowed! And I know it’s comfortable and I can find free WiFi. While sitting at the bar I noticed an interesting sign that reads, “These premises are for the use of Hilton guests. Trespassing is not allowed, except by hotel employees.” I find it comforting to know that the low paid staff here can at least choose to augment their incomes by trespassing. I must admit to occasionally trespassing here myself on overnight layovers. The lobby can be quite comfortable, and the staff friendly, as long as you don’t smell like Jack Daniels or act like Jack Black. I’ve met some interesting people while ignoring that sign.

So now I’m finally ticketed, (Business Class Baby!) but as I walked up to the counter I noticed an interesting sign hastily taped to the edge of each station. The sign has no words, but is readily understood by all. It has a picture of a chainsaw, (not just any one mind you, a Husqvarna,) and a big circle with a slash through it. Hmmmm. One has to wonder if they need a sign for such a thing if they’ve had multiple attempts to bring them on board. None of the other airlines had the signs, only Polish Airlines. Hmmmm..

I’m behind security. Here there’s another reality check… no restaurants or bars on this side of TSA scrutiny. It’s funny because Terminal 5 is certainly the most modern construction of all O’Hare properties. It’s bright and clean, but somehow they forgot to make room for vendors. All the vendors are lined up using fold-out carts along one of the walls. No stores, no McDonalds, no Sam Adams, no Brookstone. I must admit it’s actually a relief. I’m waiting in the executive lounge here for Greg. (Imagine that, me waiting for Greg!) Anyway….I’m actually excited to be going to eastern Europe for the first time. Lithuania was behind the iron curtain not so long ago. Now, it’s free to travel in and out, no visa needed.

lostcitycommunications@gmail.com (LostCity) — Mon, 05 May 2008 10:22:00 +0000

Day Two
Part One

LOST

I couldn't resist finding a way to ride a bike here. The hotel boasted of over ten miles of horseback and bike riding trails. The process of finding a bike to rent unveiled something I'll just call "the Hawaiian Thing." It actually started the moment I got off the plane. Those of you who know me will understand that I'm a sign Nazi. That is to say I'm a firm believer in signage playing an important role for travelers, not just a way to decorate public spaces. So building upon what I said about this on day one, there became obvious a certain smugness about giving away information. It never seemed malicious, but always oddly familiar. When asking the clerk at the check-in desk of the hotel what there might be to do one night, she said "nothing going on here...you can go to the bar." What she neglected to say was that on the night of my arrival the hotel was hosting a big Luau with dancing, music, fire-twirling, etc. And it was right there on the other side of the building. Just no one thought it important enough to mention.

Then when I tried to rent a bike, another clerk said "no, we don't rent bikes, but you can drive to town and there's a place there." So I did just that... drove to town and right where she said it was, next to a Starbucks!, was a bike rental place. But it was closed up. Funny because the town was bustling otherwise. It looked like he just didn't feel like opening up that day. So now, I get some groceries and go back to the resort, and this time as I'm walking in I see (less than twenty feet from the front desk,) about 15 bicycles all lined up. So I drop the groceries off in the room and call the desk, "no we don't rent bikes." "But really, ma'am, I just saw all these bikes right there near the front desk. What are those for?" "Oh, let me check." Sure enough, of course they rent bikes! I just had to ask enough people several different times. Some of the natives I worked with referred to it as "Hawaii-time," but it was more like some Hawaiian trick they play on us Ha oles.

Interestingly I dug a little to check into this term ha ole. It has both positive and/or negative connotation. I've always known it as the Hawaiian version of "cracker!" But I much prefer this etymology I found on a website, written by Cheryl Taupu. The meaning represented here clearly gets at the Hawaiian Thing I'm talking about. I love this:

"Ha ole originates from Ha meaning breath and ole meaning without and loosely translates into without breath. When western man first arrived in Hawaii the Hawaiians, being of darker skin thought that the whiter skinned westerner must be without breath (oxygen), thereby being of whiter skin. Ha ole is both good and bad depending on the contexts of which it is used. Ex. That ha ole chick sure can surf. as opposed to Stupid ha ole chick find another wave."

A few years back Greg told me about the TV series LOST. Since I don't have a TV, I can't really participate, but waited until the DVDs hit the video rental store. You know the deal, group of travelers stuck on some deserted island and weird stuff starts happening. No, I'm not talking about Gilligan's Island! Anyway, the show is shot in Hawaii.

As I rode the bike along the trail, marked in that Hawaiian Thing way, (a brick seemingly tossed along the trail here and there,) I first came across a beautiful little cove with almost no-one there. Walking along the beach I stumbled upon fresh green sea turtle tracks. Here's a photo, (not mine.) But the tracks I saw looked just like this except they only went in one direction....towards the water. It looks like she made her way in the night before, the surf washing away her incoming tracks, and then must have left early that morning.

The north side of the Island is loaded with places like this. Guess that's why they call it Turtle Bay.

Heading back into the jungle on the bike several interesting things came to my attention. One was the occasional erratic appearance of preformed concrete pillars. They were square, about 12 inches on each side. I first imagined them to be left over from the old military installation here. Maybe they were footings for an old building. But then as I investigated further I realized there would be a crop of five or ten of them in no real sensical order that I could see. Most bedeviling was that they were all of varying heights. One was buried in the ground so that you could only see its square top. Others were twenty, thirty feet tall, some hidden in the undergrowth, some out in the open. To top off the mystery there were signs all over saying Keep Off - Private Property, or US Government Property - Stay Out. But I was following that dumb trail! There was one of those little bricks with the arrow painted on it right there.

In the last photo of pillars in the field, the one on the left is about fifteen feet tall, the two in middle somewhere about twenty, and the one on the right at least thirty feet tall. No wires or other attachments anywhere on them. In total there were at least ten little collections of them around the property.

Then as I went further down the trail, just beyond a big collection of those pillars, there was this otherworldly set of trees. They were completely different than anything else around.
It was like a wall of thick whitish vines hundreds of feet across lining the path. There's a few in Waikiki that look the same but it's a small cluster, only ten or twenty feet across. They were identified as Indian Banyan Trees. Here's a couple shots of them and a video, with one showing how the trees enveloped some unsuspecting boulders. Very Tolkienesque. Remind anyone of Ents?

All of this sci-fi deep in the foliage was already putting me on edge when out of nowhere this guy walks up with a huge Nikon camera and asks "Want me to take your picture?" Really! I started getting flashbacks to episodes of LOST, and Hurley's numbers: 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42. Who is this guy? How'd he find me in here? Who put these pillars here and these weird trees, and why? Was I supposed to find them? "Jaaaaaaack!"

So not wanting to insult the Gods of the Island, I handed him my camera. I'm thinking the gloss white legs helped protect me. I must admit that I had a ball with this mystery, and I'm not sure if I care to find out the answers. Probably far too banal in reality.

lostcitycommunications@gmail.com (LostCity) — Sun, 04 May 2008 09:43:00 +0000

Hawaii
Day One
Part One

Going from this side to that:

I've made myself to Oahu, rented a car and driven across the Island to what the native folk call "Real Hawaii." This is the north side. It's about an hour drive from the airport. H1 to H2, then 80 to 99 and over. After H2, I watched for the exit and was surprised as the road turned from a four lane monster into a rural town street in a flash.

Immediately upon landing in a place....anyplace, I tend to get a sense for some of the culture I'm about to experience. This time, it was the signage....or the lack of it in critical places, that caught my attention. There seem to be many opportunities to make it easier for people like me to find myself around. I'm not judging here, it's simply an observation. For instance, when leaving the airport terminal it's not very obvious where the busses to the rental car facilities are. I did a very unmanly thing and actually asked a guy. He told me and I looked in that direction to see a chaotic maelstrom of travelers, but still no obvious signs. I followed his directions and, sure enough, there were busses, but what he didn't tell me was that the rental car facility was actually just across the street. The busses were for returning passengers only. Again, no signs to suggest such. This would become a theme on the highways, in the small busy towns, even in the grocery stores. It's almost as if they don't want to give away too much information. Don't want the visitors to know too much. Best let them bother the locals for a singular answer than to give it all away. It's a "need-to-know-basis" thing.

I'm staying at the Turtle Bay Resort. A young man in the same row as me on the plane said, "that's where the movie stars stay!" Yup kid, you found me out! Went for a nice two-hour walk along the beach this morning early. The resort owns a couple mile stretch of land here. First I slathered on the Sun block. It's my world these days. I retreat from the Sun when I can, peeking my head out occasionally. When I do pop out in it's warmth my whole body looks something like a lifeguard's nose. Streaks of opaque white cream everywhere. I only hope I haven't left gaps where the tell tale racing stripes might develop. I'm not a NASCAR fan.

Almost immediately upon venturing off I stumble upon a local man fishing. He holds a white nylon net perfectly coiled as he slowly creeps forward a step or two at a time intently staring at a single spot under the surface. He's watching a fish, but I can't see it. My angle and distance are not amenable to it. He crouches low, in the same pose he'd use first standing up on a surfboard, then still low he takes a step towards his prey when it turns for a moment away from him. He's trying to get closer to it. Close enough to throw his net. Slowly he gains on his mark, and now he's moved into the water, frozen solid with his right armed cocked. All the while the tide is coming in fast. He stays down there in that position for the longest time, legs bent, back parallel to the water's surface, arm ready to uncoil the net. I watch him for 30 minutes. He throws the net only once. He misses, but is not deterred. And once retrieving the net from the shallows returns again to the rock and searches for the fish. Once again he's locked on and back in position. The pure elegance of his movements, very much martial or dance-like, fascinate me.

I never did see him catch anything, but I imagine he did at some point.

I'm here for another Leading Bold Change keynote and workshop. It'll be in Waikiki on Monday and Tuesday. Funny, today I picked up Hawaii's Business Today and found a small advertisement for the workshop. Here's what it says: "Society for Human Resource Managers Workshop, featured speaker, John Kotter. " Oops! I hope no-one's disappointed when they see me up there. Guess I'll have to give them a real show. For the moment, I'm not too worried about it.

Later today I took a drive to town, (about 20 minutes,) to get some real food and stopped at a roadside stand for some fresh fruit. A ripe pineapple, cut up and bagged by the master while I watched, a couple papayas, and some fresh bananas, all for nine bucks. I can see why people run away from the mainland to find a place here.

While at the store I also found a new reason for living. I might have to smuggle some of these babies home. Milk chocolate coconut macadamias!

That's my last word for now. Got a mouthful!

And here's a little video to keep you company. Just put it on repeat and let it play for awhile.

lostcitycommunications@gmail.com (LostCity) — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 02:12:00 +0000

Day Seven
Part Four

April 14, 2008

Last Words on Egypt:

More than a week hence I'm moved again to add some more about my time in Egypt. A lot of the blog thus far has been light-hearted. But there's more. You can't travel to a place such as this, steeped in history, and dripping with a culture so much richer than yours, and not be moved. Not to somehow be awakened by the very difference in front of you.

Brown:

The plane descends into the desert. It shutters a bit then settles down, leveling. A look out the left-hand windows unveils something out of a 1950s movie reel. The pyramids sit atop the Giza Plain motionless; the shadows cast long against the plain ground that surrounds them. They are stunning and powerful and full of a hope that only comes with things this ancient. Things time has worn but not broken down. Only here are there things of this age. Millenia pass these things and they barely notice. These were here when Ghandi walked for change in India, when Saladin pushed back the infidels, when Jesus walked the sea of Galilee. These were here before man understood that he could take advantage of buoyancy and float things atop the water. These things, these stone and sand monuments built to honor the life of one man each, manage to honor an entire people. Their fortitude and permanence, their gratitude and grace. I am humbled by what they are and what they represent.

Overwhelmingly the pyramids, the land, and all other things here are brown. All hues of it. The color dominates all surfaces. The fertile ribbon of the Nile proves a small respite. Everywhere the apartment buildings, businesses, condominiums, bridges, and fortifications, even the simple clothes on the backs of the people seem hewn from the same stone as the pyramids themselves. On many buildings the mechanical equipment that in American we imagine as galvanized steel, here is painted and crusted to match the desert. It all blends in.

This blending in is perhaps the cause of one of the greatest misconceptions of this place. The site where this monument, and in fact the Sphinx, is located is surrounded by the city of Giza. Less than 100 yards from the foot of the Sphinx is the edge of town with a Pizza Hut and Kentucky Fried Chicken overlooking the gate. All of my previous perceptions of Egypt through books and media put the pyramids in the middle of some vast ocean of sand that may take hours to get to. It just isn't so. The desert does stretch out in one direction, but in all others the town is clearly in view. Due partly to the height of the Giza Plain where the pyramids were built, and the ecru color of everything in view, the city disappears into the background noise of the desert. It is a powerful and fascinating effect. If you look closely at the above photo, (Click on it to enlarge,) between the two great pyramids on the left and smaller one to the right you can clearly see the city looming in the distance with tour bus making its way down the access road.

Turning the other way, looking back towards the pyramids from the Sphinx, you can see the effect clearly. As you look up to the pyramids the background disappears into the wash of the desert making it appear the monuments exist by themselves alone.

Further countering the illusion on closer inspection is the fetid swamp at the base of the Sphinx. Apparently the water table is very shallow in these parts and they have difficulty with ground flooding. That may explain the extremely high humidity inside the pyramid we ventured into.

All this made me appreciate the anachronistic Cairo that follows the Nile. Here, it is bright lights and neon, loud music, honking horns, and color everywhere. I had some fun with the camera aiming at the funny little party boats that ply the river late at night. These were termed by my hosts as "boats for the poor people." On each little vessel you could hear the loud music bellowing across the river, neon lights flashing, men and women dancing and cavorting on the decks. I truly wished to be on those boats and not on the fancy dinner cruise where I'd been escorted.

On another note, for my bicycling friends out there wondering why I don't have any pictures of myself on a fixed gear bike pounding the streets of Cairo.... in the words of Tony Soprano "fahgedaboutit!" It would take someone with more skill, youth and testosterone than me to venture onto these streets on a bike. In my eight days here, I counted only seven bicycles total! Here's one I managed to snag a photo of out the car window.

Every bike I saw was like this. A working bike, designed to carry large loads. No frivolous frilly rides with pink tires here. Seriously, you'd be taking your life in your hands to ride these streets. Imagine New York city with ten times the traffic and no apparent use for the lane markings on the road. A typical road had three lanes clearly demarked with paint, but six or seven lanes of traffic squeezed into them, turning here and there, ipso-facto, no rhyme or reason, very few traffic lights or other controls. In fact I asked my host why they even bothered to paint the lane markings. He said, quite plain-faced, "to make work for the people." Something now I completely understand to be true.

So that will do it for me and Egypt....at least until next time. I know now that I have a place here and that I will be welcome. These are some of the most kind, generous, and genuine people I have ever met anywhere. If they will have me, I promise to return.

lostcitycommunications@gmail.com (LostCity) — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 16:01:00 +0000

Day Seven
Part Three
April 14, 2008

Some Miscellany:

As we wandered the streets in the old section of town on Monday night, we came upon a section of open-stalled shops serving drinks and food and selling rugs and clothing and most anything else you might need. This section was only two blocks from the heavily secured and touristed area known as Khan El Khali or Khali Kashlili and differed distinctly because it served the local peoples. The first photo to the left is of the bazaar at the former. Take a look. Mainly westerners wandering around here looking for trinkets. This shop on Salah Salem Street was much like the others around it.... about ten feet wide and twenty deep. It was crusted with dust from the traffic and the goings on in the open air back room behind the closed doors in the rear. A cheap plastic-bladed fan blew incessantly, hanging from the wall, from which it hung with some copper wire.

This was a stalwart business here, the sugar cane juice shop. A man with the brightest smile you've ever seen stood behind the counter and served us a sweet concoction known as assab. It's served in a glass with a metal handle. Our friend Sherif bought a round for the crew as we all leaned into the shop from the street. The liquid is soft green in color with a light foam on top. It's cold and good and the man behind the counter smiles even broader when I suggest how much I like the drink. Dr. Amr, takes me through the back of the shop, opening a flimsy set of double doors, revealing an open air room covered in a foot of sugar cane stalks. There was a young man working on a machine that squeezed the canes, extracting the juice and pouring the richly colored stuff into large containers. "Don't concern yourself with healthy (sic.) issues," he says.

The man at the counter, Mohammed, acted as the Assab Barrista, doling out quantities of the juice to his customers and conversing with people as they slugged down his refreshing product. Most people seemed to chug the stuff. Here's Greg getting his taste.

On another note I'd been interested in seeing some real Egyptian jewelry, but didn't want the pressure of the bazaar and the wild energy that would erupt around a group of Americans with dollars in their hands. At some point I'd made this known to our hosts and without my knowledge they'd made some arrangements for Greg and I that were quite special. After downing our Assab, we walked a few stores up Salah Salem Street to the Egyptian equivalent of a chicken barbecue shop. The smell was great from the open flame wood-fired grill built into the long wall of the shop. Its grill was stacked with chicken parts. For westerners unfamiliar with the digestive mechanism of this part of town, this is one specialty we passed up. However, we weren't brought there to eat.

Amr, led Greg and I through the shop to a set of steep stairs in the rear. At the top of the stairs were a set of glass doors that opened into an air conditioned room overlooking the street. Amr asked us to take a seat at one of the large round tables. Then a man came in carrying some suitcases. He was introduced as Mahmud, a friend of the family of Zaineb, one of the ZAD staff. She assured us he was an honest man and that he would show us some hand-made Egyptian jewelry and give us a good deal. So Greg and I sat there as Mahmud unloaded pile after pile of silver jewelry onto the table in front of us. The ZAD staff encircled the table eager to see what we might choose. That's Dr. Amr Fass behind us with Zaineb to my right and Mahmud's hands coming into the frame.

Note the plush penguin still along for the ride post-pyramid excursion. We used him to model our selections. Amr asked us to pick what we were interested in and when done to let him know.

As soon as we did that, he and Mahmud began an animated negotiation in Arabic. I understood it to suggest something like,

"Give my friends your best price."

"Sure, but they're Americans, I have to make my money somehow!"

"You insult me, these men are my family."

You get the picture, it's all part of the package. They expect this kind of banter. In the end, a good price was offered and taken. Whatever the price, the experience as worth every pound. As soon as Greg and I finished our transactions, the gals of ZAD dismissed the men so that they could do some table-top shopping themselves.

One of the ZAD Group staff members assigned to assist us is Ahmed Idrain. He was at the event rooms before I showed up and stayed long after I made my way back to the hotel room. As most of the other ZAD staff, Ahmed is young, and full of passion. Just after our Assab and jewerlry buying experiences we stepped out onto the street in front of the Islamic University and watched flocks of doves (pigeons) move in that flowing way they do around the rooftops of buildings. As one flock burst toward one of the mosques with one bird leading the way Ahmed started to describe the pattern the birds used and why, relating it to the leadership conversation we'd been having all week. I managed to grab a snippet of him on video. Watch his hands, they are rather beautiful as he gestures.

Later we wandered into Khali Kashlili's defenses to endear ourselves to the shopkeepers. "Hey mistah!" they'd shout as soon as they saw a westerner. "Tell me how I take your American money? I have many ways, but you tell me which you want." Brash, bold, and kind of funny.

In the square in front of the mosque, (one of the largest in Cairo I was told,) there are a score of coffee shops and cafe's. All of them overloaded with tourists....hardly an Egyptian among them. In fact it was so much an assumption that my host, Amr, was constantly spoken to in Spanish by the shopkeepers, mistaking him for someone of Hispanic decent. The perimeter of the square was held forth by Egyptian military and Cairo police armed to the teeth. We eagerly sipped espresso and mint tea under the watchful eye of these nameless guys with Kalishnikovs. Take a close look at this last photo. You'll see one of them standing with another unarmed police officer.

lostcitycommunications@gmail.com (LostCity) — Thu, 17 Apr 2008 06:29:00 +0000

Day Seven

Part Two
April 14, 2008

The Great Penguin Caper Chapters Three through Ten:

So the Great Penguin Caper Continues.... After Amr umm... convinces the security folks it's O.K. to do it. Amr tells us we can only take one picture so it better be good... then he winks at me. One of the security guards has to come with us. We all pile back in the van and venture forth towards the Great Pyramid. (Chapter Three)

It's a busy day on the Giza Plain but we "Penguin Up" and push on. (Chapter Four)

A few more tricks with the trio of flightless birds.... (Chapter Five)

And the gang celebrates.... (Chapter Six)

Time to move on... (Chapter Seven)

Now we turn our attentions towards the unsuspecting Sphinx of Giza... (Chapter Eight)

More Sphinx fun with the setting Sun blinding us. (Chapter Nine)

And we finally put the penguins to bed.... poor birds. All this illegal activity took the air out of them. (Chapter Ten - The End)

Tune in for some more serious ranting next time.

lostcitycommunications@gmail.com (LostCity) — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 03:09:00 +0000

Day Seven
Part One
April 14, 2008

The Great Penguin Caper Chapters One & Two:

Our great hosts and new partners in Egypt, the ZAD Group, took the day off on Monday to accompany Greg and I on an adventure around Cairo. As you may know the work I do in Change Management is based on John Kotter's book Our Iceberg Is Melting. The icon for the story and for managing change after the class is a penguin, and we carry with us huge blow up penguins. Our expedition on this day included an attempt to take elicit photos of the penguins at the Great Pyramids.... just for the fun of it. We had a blast. The security at the gate put up a big fuss, but our leader, Dr. Amr Fass, pulled out all stops, twisted some arms and greased some palms. I captured some video of the process. Here are the first couple chapters:

That's Greg Kaiser, my business partner in the Hawaiin shirt, and Sherif one of the ZAD crew in red. And here's us in the van after a tourism police officer got in and rode with us to the main office.

lostcitycommunications@gmail.com (LostCity) — Thu, 10 Apr 2008 20:42:00 +0000

Day Three
Part Three
April 9, 2008

"From Rectangles to Pyramids"

It's been a few days since I last posted something. There are still some thoughts left blowing from the trip to the pyramids on Tuesday. So this is a continuation.

If you remember Rafek our Egpytian guide was also an effective historian. One of the things he talked about was how the statues of people in ancient Egypt had one thing in common. They all had the left foot of the subject, (royalty, Gods and dieties mostly,) forward and the right foot back. Turns out it's because this ensured they would cross over into afterlife, and with their heart first. Preparing for just this afterlife was the preoccupation of most of the ancient Egyptian society. The flip side of this belief was that as you crossed into the underworld, there would be dogs awaiting you. If you were a good soul they would let you go through. If you were a bad soul they would eat your heart. Interesting parallel to many Christian beliefs of judgement.... four to five thousand years before Christ.

Speaking of the afterlife. The mummification chamber just in front of the Sphinx was of most interest to me. It's where they cleaned out the bodies, removing the organs and storing them in clay jugs.

While the pyramids lived up to the best efforts of my western education....they are big and stunning and indestructable. They are absolutely worth a trip here. Rafek also told us that the original burial monuments were large, but rectangular in shape. The pyramidal shape came later and accomplished several things. It allowed them to build taller monuments to honor thier kings, taking less blocks to do so. It also had the unplanned effect of allowing the towering things to withstand thousands of years of desert storms, allowing the winds and destructive sands to move around the shape easily. Wow!

The Sphinx surprised me. It is much smaller than I'd expected. I can credit this I think to Hollywood. With all due respect to Charlton Heston, I probably watched the Ten Commandments a few too many times. The Sphinx is also at a different level than the Giza pyramids. I'd always imagined it as being close to the pyramids and at the same ground plane. In actuality the Pyrimads exist on a hill, the Giza Plain, and thus are the highest objects for miles around. Again reminding me of Christianity in the way that Catholic cathedrals are often found on the highest points of land. Inside the mummification chamber, the path leading to the Shpinx is paved with these magnificent flat stones of granite and limestone . They are beautiful and I can only imagine that 4000 years ago they were polished to a bright shine with their colors showing clear.

The Giza pyramids are surrounded by deep swirling neighborhoods of tan residential buildings. On the first floor of each is some type of small shop, rugs, scarves, trinkets, food. It's all available right there. So when our hosts said they'd like to take us to lunch we hadn't imagined the two choices they would offer.

Yes, here is the rather ironic "KFC SPHINX!" I won't describe the meal for you.

On the way home from the pyramids we got behind one of the ubiquitous white VW vans that act as inexpensive taxis. The big sliding passenger door is missing on these. People just jump in, often while the thing is still moving. You can ride across town on one of these for five cents. This one has a fat bumper on the back and it's perfectly normal for them to jump on the back. Rafek says these people pay about half price.

lostcitycommunications@gmail.com (LostCity) — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 18:34:00 +0000

Day Three

Part Two

April 9, 2008

"The Social Program"

Our host, ZAD Group, took great care to show us some of the more tourist-laden areas of this part of Egypt today. Mohammed Rashed, our main contact here, took the day off to ride along with us and keep us out of trouble - which I'll describe later for you is not a task taken lightly here. Proving this point further Mohammed, a life long resident of Cairo, hired a private tour guide and a car to take us adventuring. This is something I'd strongly recommend to anyone coming to Egypt. Finding a respectable tour guide can make a huge difference in the type of reception you get in public places and can dramatically lessen the tourist-sniping that local traders and purveyors excel at. Our guide, Rafek, was our protector and instructor. He would simultaneously lecture on the history of ancient Egypt while fending off the hoards of vendors of trinkets and hawkers of services. If either one of us stepped as much as ten feet away from him, we'd instantly be entreated to "take picture me?" or "see my camel sir?" Nice line, eh? Here's one such guy who's just convinced Greg he should come closer to his camel. In the kind words of my Egyptian host, "no, no, he's just trying to make with you business."

Sure enough, as soon as Greg got a safe distance away from Rafek the guy just bluntly said something like, "O.K. America Great! Now give to me American dollars."

Here's Rafek diving in to save Greg.

And here's Greg counting his Egyptian pounds with the Camel guy making a break for it out the left side of the frame.

And here's the first offending Camel guy, all bright eyed and thumbs up with American spirit.

With due respect to these guys, this is how they make their money. So who am I to judge that? Rafek had already made arrangements with an entire family of Camel guys to take us riding around the pyramids.

Greg, Mohammed, and I, all got a camel led by one or another of Abdul's family. His cousin, his father, his brother? Who knows. It was difficult to keep track. Here's Abdul measuring up Greg with a Camel twitch. Just before we mount up, each Camel guy... to a one... all said exactly the same line when they started to lead us out. "Hiyo Silver! America forever!" I kept waiting for them to call me "John Wayne" or "American G.I."

And not to be outdone, (or under hawked to,) here's your fearless leader looking scarily like a poster for why middle-eastern peoples should dislike Americans. Check out those bony white legs and dorky sunglasses. At home these didn't look all that out of place, but here? And the turban.... Oy!

Anyhow.... the Camel guys quickly found reason to take us each running across the desert... in different directions so as to get us each alone and... you guessed it, ask for some good 'ol American greenbacks. I had only Egyptian pounds with me, but figured every service deserves some kind of gratuity right? So I hand him a fifty pound note. That's about $10.00 US. Then he pushes the bill back in my hand and says, "This?, this is not enough to feed my family for one day. I have manys (sic.) family. You have American money?" Well, having grown up in the Bronx, I know a thing or two about street, (...um, desert,) negotiation, so I stick the tenner back in my dopey looking tourist shorts and say, "Cool." Of course Abdul then pleads forgiveness and says, "you can just more give me when we gets (sic.) back with others. You say Abdul makes you very happy. You happy now?"

This last little piece about making us happy was not necessarily said in jest. They take it seriously. There's a level of responsibility here regarding hospitality. We often hear people say to us something like, "My wish is for to make you happy today." From doormen, to waiters, to yes even Camel guys. We have some things to learn from this culture.

Oh, and Greg and I and Mohammed took the tour of the second pyramid. This was a true test of my claustrophobia. The movies have it all wrong! The entries to these tombs start at ground level, then the ramps leading into the interior are actually more like limestone culverts about three feet wide and four feet high. While negotiating this squared off pipe, the whole thing is sloping downhill at a good 30 degree angle. And it was loaded with people speaking all sorts of languages moving in both directions! No cameras allowed down there.

lostcitycommunications@gmail.com (LostCity) — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 09:50:00 +0000

Day Three
Part One
April 9, 2008

Catching Up:

Sleep! A great friend to me. I awoke refreshed this morning and ready to engage this time zone. Greg and I went down to the Club Hyatt for a nice breakfast. Hummus, shaved beef, fresh dates with honey, croissant with fig preserves, and fairly decent coffee.

This place, undoubtedly like it was 5000 years ago, moves for the river. The Nile teems with life and activity. Many bridges connecting distinct parts of the city. Boats of all shapes and sizes, barges, sail boats, skiffs, little fishing boats. The earliest depiction of a boat in the entire history of mankind comes from an Egyptian stone pot dated to 3200 B.C.

These of course were made of papyrus. Ingenious little devices, no? At breakfast we looked down from the balcony to see several fishing boats with shirtless men dipping nets into the river, almost exactly as pictured. The main difference was the outboard engine on the back and the Nike shoes on the men. Now a more common site would be a 200 foot long party boat. Neon lights from stem to stern, loaded with revelers.

Some of the only green you see here is along the river, otherwise the color scheme is decidedly brown/ochre. Like one big khaki blanket. The great Sahara could come in one night covering this place and you might stub your toe on a skyscraper before seeing it. When asking one of our guides about the size of the population here she says: "We are about 17 to 18 million people. I say 17 to 18 because we fluctuate, moving in and out, like the desert itself."

lostcitycommunications@gmail.com (LostCity) — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 23:02:00 +0000

Day Two
Part One
April 8, 2008

Delivered to Cairo:

This is the view from my hotel room balcony looking north along the Nile as it slices through Cairo at night.

Ah, the wonders of Egypt! We flew in today, after 24 hours in transit starting for me in Minneapolis. I had stops in Newark and Frankfort. Greg – my Homer Simpson-like traveling partner - was his inimitable late-running self today and I had to beg the Lufthansa crew to hold the plane while he ran across the terminal due to a delayed flight from Raleigh. I managed to get a bulkhead seat and sleep a bit.

We arrived to a crew of Egyptians waiting for us and making all manner of whirling service to ourselves and our luggage. We’re staying at the Grand Hyatt Nile. It’s on an island in the Nile River across from downtown Cairo. About as excessive as it gets here. Turning into the hotel was another site altogether. The security! Wow! Three checkpoints between the road and the lobby, including bomb sniffing dogs and metal detectors. Then the company we’re working with took us for drinks upstairs.

When I finally checked into my room I simply slumped on the bed but not before looking out my window at the Pyramids of Giza in the distance. Greg and I just got back from dinner. It’s 11:30 PM here.

Tomorrow our hosts will take us on a “Social Schedule.” This will include a trip to the pyramids, and if I can twist an arm or two the camel market, and maybe some real Egyptian food.

The traffic is as bad as I’ve been warned. My friend, Rebecca Glotfelty from Charlevoix, spent quite a bit of time here while going to the American University. When I asked her what the scariest thing she did as an American woman traveling alone in Egypt, her reply was swift and unapologetic, “Shit Bill crossing the street everyday… I’m dead serious!” She then went on to give me advice on how best to cross the streets in Cairo and live to tell about it. Now I can vouch that she was completely of sound mind and body while saying those things. Whew!

lostcitycommunications@gmail.com (LostCity) — Mon, 07 Apr 2008 22:49:00 +0000

Day One

Part One
April 7, 2008

Leaving Minneapolis:

Five days ago I drove from Traverse City to Mankato Minnesota for a client – job. I decided to take my time rather than pushing the limits from airport to airport. If given enough advance planning driving can be relaxing. I also decided to take Emma with me. We crammed into my 1990 Saab 900 Turbo convertible, strapped my bike on the back and pointed the car west and north for 800 some miles.

I’d not been in the Twin Cities for some time and the changes were interesting to see. For the first time I stayed in the TownSuites on North 2nd street. It’s just north of downtown in the old warehouse district. I remember the entire area as a big muddy lot with salvage yards and thick weeds. When I left town in 1990 the first of the condos had been developed from renovated warehouses. But this new site was different. There used to be a pretty clear gap between the big buildings on Washington and the renovated dwellings closer to the river. Now the entire gap is filled in with various sizes and shapes of condominium units. For several years I dated a woman who rented a studio space at 700 North Washington, now all condos too, and situated directly behind the hotel. Gentrification doing its damdest. My friend Kate always predicted it would go this way. She'd seen it all before.... artists taking the financial and safety risks of moving into a depressed neighborhood, paying rent for years, then being dumped on the street. It presented an odd nostalgia for me.

While in town I took several rewarding bike rides around the city. Up and down Nicollet Mall, over to the Walker Art Center, along the river on the Great Rounds Trail. It’s a city vibrant with bicycle life. Everywhere I looked, and probably 50% of the bikes I saw downtown, were fixed gear rides. You do get the feeling it’s a full-fledged fad here. Middle-class kids looking urban and riding $700 Bianchi Pistas. It makes me grateful for the still rare occasion in Traverse City to glimpse a fixed ride. Gives me the notion that what I’m doing is still esoteric. At least my funky studded tire mountain bike stood alone. No one riding anything as practical as that here.

Emma accompanied me on several of these tours. She’s a good traveler, whether sitting next to me in the car or running alongside while I ride. She paces at a comfortable trot with occasional urgings to stop in a park or sip from a stream. I indulge her where I can and offer her undoubtedly delectable treats from my pockets.

I dropped Emma off this morning at my old friend Andrea Stern’s place. She’ll watch the pooch until Claudia flies in from the west coast tonight. A precise handoff of shared canine. Claudia and I haven’t seen each other in weeks, and won’t for quite a bit more time.

Now the land of the pyramids is calling... birth place of civilization and the home of some of the oldest and richest cultural treasures in the world.