Wonderful Chat with Adris En Route to Woking

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Woking is a town about an hour southwest of London.  I was glad to have a business meeting there on Wednesday, January 22nd.  My client graciously arranged for his driver to pick me up at Radisson Blu Portman, and in fact my overall itinerary was perfect: check out of the hotel, meet and lunch at Woking, then ride back to Heathrow for my flight home.  I was home by evening time in Chicago.

I had a very pleasant chat with the driver - Adris (sp?) was his name - as he was quite a gentleman, knowledgeable, articulate and friendly.  We talked about how green the landscape was, even though it was the dead of winter.  The trees were bare, mind you, but the grasses looked as though it was spring.  So I loved the drive through narrow highways toward Woking.  

He shared a story that explained why the British rode on the left side of the street, opposite to that of Americans.  Drivers of horse-drawn carriages naturally whipped the horse to prompt it to walk.  Unfortunately the whip would get tangled in the trees, so they learned to ride on the left side: whip on the right hand, the trees on the left side.  

I learned that a British driver could drive to other countries, where cars and traffic were similar to those in the US, without obtaining any special license or permission.  Of course they were tasked with navigating the roads capably and safely.  Adris said that he and his wife traveled to Paris on car.  They spent two hours by boat to cross the channel, car and all, then drove a leisurely four hours to Paris from there.  

Apparently he's driven to the northern tip of Norway, where in the summer the sun hardly sets.  I told him about an old friend in Stockholm, who helped me realize that in the summer it was daylight virtually 24 hours a day.  Altogether he made me want to drive not so much in London per se, but outside the city, and to a select destination I shall determine later on.  

Adris also told me about a mosque that is about 300 years old, built by an Indian emperor - Sharjahan (sp?).  The mosque was for students who were studying in the United Kingdom, a subject I don't quite remember.  

Woking was a lovely town.  My client and I walked out for a sandwich, amid cobblestone pavements and small to medium size buildings.  I loved it all, and I was thankful for my client.   

Musing and Walking About Oxford Street

I was back at my hotel that early that Tuesday evening, January 21st, my client having been so kind as to have me join them on the taxi ride back from their Pall Mall offices.  I had planned to try again to walk a route back to the Radisson Blu Portman, just as I had tried the day before, but I readily accepted this invitation.  Speaking with my client was my priority the entire trip, of course.

Instead of spending an hour on the elliptical in the gym, though, I went out for my exercise walk later that evening. I needed to eat dinner at an affordable eatery, McDonald's as it turned out, and perhaps also buy souvenirs for my family. I knew how to get to Oxford Street easily (above), so I headed there.

It was cool and drizzly, but not bad at all. London was otherwise sunny and in the 40°s for the four days I was there this week. Such a welcome relief from Chiberian (Chicago + Siberia) weather. Post-holiday Oxford Street wasn't so populated or trafficked, and that was perfectly fine with me.

I did my T'ai Chi workout right before heading out, so I was warmed up and well stretched. But I was baffled and aggravated that my left shin got so painful. I had to stop several times to massage it, and I was thankful to have found that McDonald's after 20 minutes of walking. It was a bit better on the walk afterwards. It must've been my shoes. I don't normally wear gym shoes when I walk.

I reminded myself that I did a very good job locating the Radisson on foot, late one night in December, when my client transport never showed up. Years ago, when Karen and Eva were with me, we managed to find the Conrad at night time as well and then the Fulham station the following day, both on foot. I have had a handful of other walking abouts, and found places quite well, really.

So getting turned around the evening before, and flat out getting lost, was exception for me.

I found myself in a stretch of getting lost, when I lived in Dubai, that I decided to formulate an Algorithm for Spatial Orientation. It was a dramatic improvement right away: from finding my way just one out of five times, to four out of five times.

An algorithm is smart, and it learns, and it adapts itself to particular situations. So I will try that walk again, when I'm back in London, and let's see how well I do.

From Pall Mall, and Circled Back to Pall Mall

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I am grateful to my client that I was back in London for several business meetings.  I flew out of snowy Chicago on Saturday afternoon, January 18th, and virtually hit the ground running on Sunday morning.

I spent the day at their offices on Pall Mall on Monday, January 20th.  That morning, I decided to track the route the taxi driver took to Pall Mall, so I could walk it back to the hotel that evening.  I pretended I was Liam Neeson in the film `Taken 2, who was abducted, covered, and taken to a hideout.  Well-trained and highly sharp, he kept mental track of sounds, distance and time, and later drew on these notes to help his daughter locate him.      

I looked at a London map, and what I saw was consistent with my mental tracking.  So I felt confident I could retrace my steps to Radisson Blu Portman.  I'd save taxi money, and I'd save workout time.  

It was challenging, to say the least, as that roundabout at the foot of St. James Park had me turned around.  I had three hurdles to overcome: reversing the route in my mind wasn't as easy as I expected, as it was dark and my visual cues were often not clear enough.  Plus, being on foot meant I couldn't just reverse the route, but actually had to modify it.  

An hour passed, and I was nowhere near getting a bearing on where I was.  I kept walking the whole time, as I wasn't in any hurry, my body felt comfortable, and I was determined to find my way back, even if it took two hours.  

Another fifteen minutes ticked off the clock, and I found myself at the Charing Cross station.  I went in for dinner at Burger King, and used the washroom afterwards.  I reviewed the map, and saw an alternative route.  I ventured back out, and once again the London streets had me turned around.  To make a long story short, I ended up back at the Pall Mall offices.  

Literally, right where I started.  

Two hours had passed at that point, and minus my dinner break, I had done a good amount walking that evening.  I decided, wisely, to take a taxi back, instead.  Enough was enough.  Thankfully, I was not hurting for cash, so this was not at all an issue.  

London-Milan-Amsterdam: Home to Chicago

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I had plenty of time at Heathrow to catch my connecting flight to Chicago, after arriving from Amsterdam that Saturday afternoon, December 14th.  I met a couple who were on vacation in Spain, and headed home to Chicago (Naperville, if I recall correctly).  It was fun to yak it up with them a bit, as we wound our way to the boarding gate.

As usual getting through security was a production, more like a public dressing room, than an airport checkpoint.  But thankfully there was no process glitch or time squeeze.  I didn't have to queue for a long time, just to check in.  Getting my boarding pass was quick and easy at a satellite counter for British Airways.  

The flight home, though, was full, and I had the pleasure of sitting in the middle seat of the middle set of seats.  The two young women to my left and right were fine.  They were quiet, and I felt no desire to converse.  

I felt hemmed-in, however, and I was too restless, maybe too rested actually, to nap.  This was an American Airlines plane, and it's clearly not meant for long hauls.  There was no private video screen, for instance, and I had to angle my neck up to see the closest one.  Moreover, the audio, like that of my laptop, wasn't working.  I was also too tired mentally to focus on reading, except maybe in the last hour of the flight.

The flight felt interminable in that sardine can.  But ah, oh, well, life is fine and life is good.  I was very grateful for this European tour, courtesy of my Kuwaiti client.

London-Milan-Amsterdam: At Schiphol Airport

From my hotel, I walked to the food court at Schiphol Airport, in an effort to save money for dinner on that Friday evening, December 13th, after my client meetings were through. I had afternoon flights to London, then home to Chicago the next day. So walking there helped me make sure I knew how to get to the airport on foot.

There was muted Christmas spirit in Amsterdam.  There were certainly signs and symbols of the holiday, but they were all modest, I thought, and that suited me just fine.

I was able to relax and work out in the evening, and sleep in and get some work done in the morning.  I don't know what's come over me, but years ago I was the epitome of push-the-envelope, last-minute traveler.  On this European tour, I gave myself ample time to catch my flights.  So it was relaxing, by and large.

The sun poured in waves, as we waited at the gate for our Amsterdam-London flight.  Outside our plane sat, like a mechanical horse, strapped and ready for a rider to mount.

London-Milan-Amsterdam: Conversation with Robert

It was a pleasure to visit Rotterdam for the first time, even though it was only a matter of hours and I spent them in meetings on Friday, December 13th.  I flew into Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam, on a KLM flight from Milan, shuttled from there to Rotterdam, and into a meeting in my client office in Europoort ("gateway to Europe").  Then it was another hour long ride from there to my hotel near Schiphol, right after my second meeting.

I was exhausted and sleepy on the first ride, but on the second I was far more alert and engaged myself in a good conversation with my driver Robert.  What I learned was that Europoort is the oil and gas capital of Europe, just Houston is in the US, where many concerns in the industry have set up shop.  I'd love to come back, then, and develop client relationships, I told Robert.

Then, Robert shared that his daughter's boyfriend is a young Iraqi businessman, whom he likes and hopes will become his son-in-law.  Apparently it's a serious relationship, and while the boyfriend travels home regularly, the daughter is dead set on staying in The Netherlands and not relocating to Iraq.  The young man is inventive and entrepreneurial, and his father introduces him to business contacts at home.

Robert runs his own transport company, and I was right that he has eyes and ears goings-on with business people.  One time, there was news that a company was in financial difficulty and was laying off scores of staff.  Near that announcement or even on that same day, the CEO and his wife arranged for a pickup by him and ride to a posh restaurant that was just five minutes from their hotel.  For Robert, it was an odd thing to witness: the executive extravagance, in light of laid off staff.

Finally, he mentioned that my accommodation was for a Hilton in Amsterdam, and my client arranged for him to pick me up again on Saturday and take me to Schiphol.  Alternatively, Robert suggested the Hilton right by the airport.  It ended up being cheaper, and because it was only a short walk away, I didn't need pickup service.  So why not?

London-Milan-Amsterdam: Dinner at Boeucc

I was thankful for the nap, rest and preparation time in my room, a spacious suite with a large bathroom.  Then, it was off to the gym.  It was unstaffed, and no other guest was there.  I thought that the Grand Hotel et de Milan didn't necessarily attract people who were fitness buffs like me.

My iPhone rang in the middle of my workout, and I was surprised to get a call.  But it was one of my client contacts, and he graciously let me know our timings for the evening.  I was afraid they were arriving already, and I prepared to ask for a half hour to change and get ready.  Thankfully my first meeting - with the client President - was two hours hence, right there at the hotel.

Boeucc Restaurant

After that meeting, the President, his Vice President and two managers, and I walked 10 minutes to the posh Boeucc for dinner.  I often don't need to orient myself to locations, when my client takes care of my itinerary, so I had no idea exactly where we were in Milan and where we were going.

But of course I am curious now.  

From the Grand Hotel et de Milan

To the Boeucc Restaurant

The walk was on cobblestone, with reasonably wide sidewalks.  Southwest on Via Manzoni, then left onto a small artery.  The evening air was cool, enough for me to turn up my coat collars to keep warm.

    

I needed to have a private audience with the President first, then it was a very pleasant conversation over dinner with the four gentleman, a mix of business and social topics.  Once back at the hotel, the Vice President and I also needed to have our own conversation.  All went superbly, and it was after 12 M when we finished.

London-Milan-Amsterdam: Grand Hotel et de Milan

 

My room wasn't ready, but it was a luxurious wait at the Grand Hotel et de Milan.  I had the privilege and pleasure of this hotel, because the President and one Vice President of my client were staying there and we had scheduled meetings that Thursday evening, December 12th.

Traveling for a management consultant like me are long and exhausting, but it certainly has its perks.  Over the past 10 years, for example, I've stayed at the Conrad in London, the Ritz-Carlton in Bahrain, the Four Seasons in Riyadh, the Grand Hyatt in Muscat, and the Dusit Thani in Dubai.

I was barely awake, when I checked in, and the staff were a bit too eager to accommodate me.  One of them, Valentina, must've noticed that I was out of sorts, and did her best to ease up while still fulfilling her responsibility to take care of me.  She directed me to the luxurious lobby, I captured in photos above, and arranged for me to have tea.

It piqued my interest, when Valentina said that Verdi took up residence at the Grand Hotel and composed some of his pieces:

The construction was commissioned to architect Andrea Pizzala (1798-1862) and was inspired by the Neo-Gothic movement. Near the end of the 19th century, the hotel gained significant importance as it was the only hotel in Milan to offer postal and telegraph services; for this reason it was frequented by diplomats and businessmen. The hotel rose to prominence in 1872 when composer Giuseppe Verdi established his residence in one of the suites, given the hotel proximity to the famous opera house La Scala. The building was completely refurbished in 1931 and equipped with tap water and telephones in every room. During World War II, in 1943 the hotel was bombarded and the fourth floor was destroyed; after the end of the war, architect Giovanni Muzio was engaged in 1946 to restore and renovate the building. The hotel was very popular with fashion designers in the 1960s and 1970s, when Milan began hosting annual fashion weeks. One last important renovation took place in the early 1990s when a defence wall dating back to the 3rd century was brought to light and featured as a peculiarity of one of the hotel's restaurants.

Reference: Grand Hotel et de Milan.

London-Milan-Amsterdam: First Visit to Milan

It was a day of client meetings in London on Wednesday, December 11th, and while I settled down nicely once I arrived at Radisson Blu Portman, from that long trek the night before, I had difficulty falling asleep.  Of course.  It was about 5 AM when I did, but then it was difficult to get up at 7 AM, as I planned.

I managed my cash rather well on this European tour, and I am thankful that my client took care of flight and hotel expenses.  So I just had to have cash for the taxis to their office and back to the hotel.  It was £12 each way, and £2 tip must've been generous, given how thankful the drivers were.

I napped for an hour, and rested for a handful in all, before hitting the gym in the evening.  I used to want to get out and explore the city, but with all the traveling I've done, I know that rest and exercise trump sightseeing.  This way, I'm in the best possible mind-and-body for working and meetings.

I had a 7:05 AM flight to Milan the next day, Thursday, December 12th, and I arranged my pickup to arrive at 3 AM, so I could be at the airport three hours ahead of time.  These days I am a far cry from the last-minute traveler I used to be.  Hurriedly finishing my packing, making my pickup at home wait for me, then waiting tensely at and sprinting to points in the check-in and on-boarding process.

Still I was way too early arriving at Heathrow.  The self check-in for British Airways didn't work, even after a few attempts.  No problem, I connected to the internet, and did work until about 4:45 AM.

I learned that the clerks didn't come on duty until 5 AM, but these ladies were rather slow and a bit inept.  I must've been queued up for an hour.  Even when one of them tried to hasten the movement of the queue, some chaos ensued and it took more time.

I knew, then, how to better time my arrival at Heathrow, the next time I have to catch an early morning outbound flight.  I extracted the algorithms.

The flight to Milan was packed, but I have little memory of it, as I slept for most of that two-hour journey.  I am thankful that I sleep well on airplanes.

One of my favorite memories is from a few years ago, when I was frequently shuttling between the US and Middle East.  I must've dosed off upon settling into my seat.  Then I thought it took forever for the flight to take off.  At some point I woke up, and realized that we had been in flight for an hour.  I must've been in Stage 2 sleep, and dreaming actively, maybe even lucidly.      

So it was for the five flights of this London-Milan-Amsterdam tour.

Thankfully my transport was there at Milan-Malpensa airport, although I had to go back to double-check.  The driver had the client logo on a tablet, and I must've either missed it on the way out the first time or he didn't have it showing properly for me to see it.

I was in sleepy land, and the cool Milanese morning air felt a tad surreal.  The drive to the hotel was through heavy fog, and that, too, felt surreal.