Living through the start of the COVID-19 Pandemic

I haven't blogged in a very long time, but if anything merits some blog writing, THIS would be it!

The gif below (taken from Monty Python and the Holy Grail) represents the past month better than anything else I've seen:

On 23rd January, when Wuhan, China was placed under quarantine, I was flying from Manchester, UK to Miami, Florida to begin my holiday on The Rock Boat XX cruise.  After decades of periodic deadly zoonotic disease outbreaks in China that didn't go very far -- various avian influenzas and SARS -- whatever was happening in January was physically and psychologically a world away from me.

On 1st February, I was flying back to the UK after an amazing music festival at sea with friends and post-Rock Boat recovery chilling out in Key West with Kristin.  Global public health emergency?  Some new respiratory disease confirmed in a family of Chinese nationals in the UK?  Interesting news, but it didn't have anything to do with me, right?

I went down to Birmingham on Saturday, 8th February, to go to the CAMRA Great British Beer Festival Winter with my friend, Matt, and stopped over.  We did brunch at Wayland's Yard and hit a few pubs on Sunday.  Life was good.  That was weekend that the Chinese whistle-blower, Li Wenliang, died.  That Sunday, 9th February, the death toll in China surpassed that of the 2002-2003 SARS epidemic.

Honestly, in February, I think everyone in the UK (myself included) was more concerned about the winter storms than anything else.  Storm Dennis was TERRIBLE, and there was catastrophic flooding in some areas.  It was immediate and in our backyards.  I still believed the proven, scientific methods of extensive testing, contact tracing and quarantine would keep this new virus contained.

22nd-23rd February was a weekend in Liverpool with friends for the Liverpool beer festival and pub crawling in the Georgian Quarter.  I do remember being slightly concerned that the beer festival might be impacted, but because of the winter storms, not because of any kind of outbreak.  It was a great weekend (I love Liverpool so much!) and a lot of fun, but then things got progressively more and more weird....  29th February I was out in Manchester for Caroline's big birthday party and hanging out with Stacey.  But by 1st March, the outbreak in Italy had sunk in, companies were implementing travel restrictions, my employer's Business Continuity Plan was set in motion, community transmission was happening, the first death had happened in the USA, and we had confirmed cases throughout the UK in England, Wales, Northern Ireland and Scotland.

I've lived through an era with the Iran hostage crisis, the attempted assassination of Ronald Reagan, the looming threat of WWIII and nuclear annihilation, Chernobyl, the Challenger Explosion, the fall of the Iron Curtain, the Exxon Valdez, five decades of horrific terrorist attacks, the Oklahoma City bombing, Gulf Wars I and II, Fukushima, September 11th, Deepwater Horizon, too many mass shootings to process, multiple Black Mondays, the Great Recession, SARS, Swine Flu, Ebola, HIV/AIDs, etc. etc. etc.  I never would have thought of myself as a "sweet Summer child".  I'm Gen X, dammit, which is pretty much the embodiment of a resilient cynic.  Yet here I am, with the world gone bat-shit crazy all around us, Winter has come, and all I can think is, "Oh, my sweet Summer child!"

Saturday 7th March was the very last day of normality for me.  A colleague was having a birthday celebration in Chester, so I went into the city for his celebration.  I thought at the time -- maybe I shouldn't be hugging people, shaking their hands, or talking close face-to-face, but that still felt too anti-social.  Humans are inherently social beings -- we touch, we hug, we lean in.  It's one of the most wonderful things about us, and it's also what makes us vulnerable.

On 8th March, Italy placed all 60 million residents on lockdown, and on 11th March, the World Health Organisation declared the outbreak a "PANDEMIC".  USA's President Trump banned all travel from the 26 European countries.  And on 12th March, I quietly went shopping at Tesco Broughton and -- without panicking, without hoarding -- I finished preparing with sufficient, practical supplies, non-perishables and freezer foods to ensure I'd be covered for 2 to 3 weeks, if necessary.

Living in the UK -- Day # 1096

Three years ago, on Wednesday, December 3, 2014, my flight landed at MAN and I began my international adventure as an "Ex-Pat".  It feels slightly unreal to think that 3 years have gone by.  So much has happened, and so much has changed.

The job that moved me over here initially was everything I'd hope it would be.  It was like a dream come true.  I got to work with truly amazing, wonderful, dedicated people.  I had flexibility to go into the plant or to work from home when I wanted to.  I travelled to São Paulo, Brazil; Nanping and Shanghai, China; Delhi and Mumbai, India; Harderwijk, the Netherlands; Muscat, Oman; and Abu Dhabi, Umm Al Quwain and Dubai in the United Arab Emirates.  35 days all combined in Shanghai, and I still feel like I barely scratched the surface of that great city.  I learned a ton about international supply chain logistics, import/export, and other cultures.  I made mistakes and learned from them.  I got to feel like we were building a start-up business from nothing, and when we had project wins, it felt so good.  It reminded me of when I worked for the RedSpark start-up back in 2000 and 2001, before the nightmare of September 11th, that same esprit de corps and the rich satisfaction of developing something new.

My cynical adult self says that if something is genuinely too good to be true, it will never last long....  That was sadly true for RedSpark, and it was true for my job with the "New Markets" business.

Adapting to life in the UK was a jumble of fun and frustration, as well as amusement and anxiety.  Learning to drive a different way, dealing with tiny, narrow parking spaces, finding replacements in the grocery store for brand names I'd always relied upon that don't exist over here (Crest toothpaste, I'm looking at you), decrypting how to find and register with a local GP to use the NHS, experiencing "Computer says NO" on a regular basis, figuring out how to work the stinking combo-washer/dryer appliance, getting a bank account, a car, insurance, remembering always to flip the switch to turn the electrical plugs on.  There was a lot of stress.  But there was also a lot of fun -- learning a different vernacular, tuning in to all of the different regional accents, discovering the little, less obvious differences between American and British culture, using trains to get around the country, making new friends and - OF COURSE - appreciating the great British PUB and real cask ale.

And OMG the TRAVEL!  In addition to the work travel, the incredible ability to experience Great Britain and Europe, to be able to do in a weekend or with a 2 or 3 hour flight what other Americans have to spend thousands of dollars and 8+ hours to fly across the Atlantic to do on vacation.  The Paris to Normandy river cruise on the Seine with a weekend at Disneyland Paris.  BERLIN.  A week in Sorrento, Italy with excursions to Capri, the Amalfi Coast, Naples and Pompeii.  Popping down to Luxembourg when my brother and his family still lived there for Christmas and later for the Formula 1 Belgian Grand Prix at Spa.  AMSTERDAM.  A week on Tenerife, las Islas Canarias.  18 days in my beloved Spain between Barcelona, Madrid and Sevilla.  Lisbon and Porto, Portugal with the Duoro river cruise east to Salamanca, Spain.  Within the UK -- holidays in the Highlands of Scotland, Bath, Cambridge, Derbyshire, Birmingham, Newcastle, Cardiff, Hadrian's Wall, a walking weekend in Gloucester, a musical festival weekend in Glasgow, the Lake District, the endless pleasures of London on a regular basis, everything that makes Manchester and the Northwest so fantastic, and now living in beautiful North WALES.

As much as I miss my family and friends back in the USA, and as much as some times I miss things about America (let's be honest, mostly food things), I cannot imagine giving up the experience of the past 3 years for anything.

Not even with the gut-wrenching blow of losing the job that moved me over here, after taking a loss on the sale of my Atlanta condo, after 10 years of working for that company, being treated like dirt by a douchebag coward of a boss and then made redundant after only 21 months, not even if I'd known that was going to happen would I have passed up this opportunity.

I was in Edinburgh the weekend after I'd received the news that my job had been eliminated, there with friends for the Festival and the Royal Military Tattoo. Edinburgh in August is absolutely ELECTRIC.  It's one of the world's great cities on any day, and during Festival season, it just might be the greatest.  I was walking down Rose Street in New Town, and I clearly remember feeling anger (obviously) and fierce determination.  "I will not go home.  I am not going home!", I thought to myself.  The company would offer to move me back to the USA, but I wouldn't take them up on it.  I wasn't ready to throw in the towel, and I would fight to stay overseas.

When I first moved over to the UK, a few people told me they thought I was brave.  I never felt brave.  Getting moved internationally by a large company who handles and pays for just about everything?  Not really that scary.  Especially not when you're moving to a 1st World country where people conveniently speak English and tax treaties eliminate the problem of double taxation.  However, staying here after getting laid off by that company, cutting all strings, and starting a new job search at 45 years of age whilst needing sponsorship for a work visa?  I'll take "brave" on that one, with a little bit of possibly daft thrown in, too.

Hell, though, I DID IT.  I struck gold with a fabulous company, working with more great people, and they sponsored me for the visa I needed.  No need to marry a prince; I did it By Myself.  I had to move houses (and I truly miss Altrincham and Manchester!), take a pay cut, and work even harder and longer than before.  The upside is that this grand adventure gets to continue, because I've fallen even more deeply in love with the UK, and I still have so much more I want to see and do in this incredible world of ours.

Moving back to the USA is no where on my radar right now.  In terms of work, I'm loving my job; people over here truly respect work/life balance; I have 33 days of holidays (compared to the 26 I had in the USA) and those days will continue to increase; when I'm off work, there is zero expectation that I will check my emails or be available; I'm protected by an employment contract and statutory redundancy laws, and the pension plan is generous.  In terms of life, I'm still happy over here.  What to do and where to go are practically limitless; the only limits are time-off and money.  I've settled in and made new friends, and some of my longer-term friends have been a real lifeline.  I couldn't have made it without seeing them and having their love and support.

Having droned on long enough, I'll wrap it up by saying it's been an emotional milestone.  Years 1 and 2 didn't feel momentous.  Year 3 definitely feels so, probably because with the change in jobs, it no longer feels like a temporary Ex-Pat assignment.  This is for the long haul.

That calls for some Brit fizz.

CHEERS!

My lengthy thoughts on Donald Trump's call with Taiwan

When I was in Shanghai on business back in April this year, I had the opportunity over the weekend to wander around the former French Concession and to visit the house/museum of Song QingLing.  Song QingLing was married to Dr. Sun ZhongShan (aka Sun Yat-sen), who was known in China as the Father of the Nation, and so QingLing herself became affectionately known as the Mother of the Nation.  The home she lived in from 1948 to 1963 is lovingly preserved as a permanent memorial to her and a testament of her devotion to her homeland.

Statue of Song QingLing in front of the museum about her life, on the grounds of her house estate.

As an American growing up in the 1970s and 80s and under Reaganism, I'd learned the usual limited world history taught in American public schools at the time, which mostly centred around the global threat of Communism and just how BAD the USSR and all affiliated Communist bloc countries -- including China -- were.  Even living through the crisis in USA-China relations in the early 1980s and its ultimate "resolution" (which was to become the foundation for our mutually beneficial foreign relations for the past 30+ years) failed to teach me the full back-story between China and the USA and how it all related to Taiwan.  Now as an adult, I always love and appreciate learning "The Rest of the Story" (nod to Paul Harvey) and the differing perspectives that my basic education seemed to miss.

In Song QingLing's house, I learned about Charlie Soong, a wealthy businessman who started out as a Methodist missionary selling Bibles, and his six children -- three daughters and three sons.  His daughter QingLing actually studied in America at Wesleyan College in Georgia, and she celebrated the Chinese Xinhai Revolution of 1911-1912.  Her English was outstanding.

Paper on the Chinese Revolution written by Song QingLing while at Wesleyan

The Soong family was integrally involved in the Republic of China:  it was perhaps the most politically and financially influential family of those decades.  The son TV Soong became the Republic of China's finance minister and premier and the richest man of his generation.  Daughter AiLing married the head of the Bank of China who later became finance minister.  Daughter MeiLing married Chiang Kai-shek, who would go on to become the Kuomintang (the Nationalist Party of China) leader and future president of the republic.  Daughter QingLing ended up eloping to marry Sun Yat-sen, a man 30 years her senior and the original founder of the Kuomintang.  He died in 1925.

I can only imagine what family dinners might have been like after the Chinese Civil War broke out in 1927 between the Communist Chinese Communist Party (CCP) and the Nationalist Kuomintang (KMT).  The family's safety and money were firmly tied to the Kuomintang.  The civil war was soon overshadowed, though, by the Japanese invasion of Manchuria in 1931 and then World War II.  Civil war picked back up again with a fury in 1946, and this is where America and her infernal international meddling come into the picture.

In fairness to the USA, the USSR was meddling, too, and China became one of the first of many fronts in proxy wars between the USA and the Soviet Union that would last for most of the Cold War.  It would be nice to say the Chinese people should have been allowed to determine their own fate, on their own, but the Soviets were backing the Communists and the Americans were backing the Nationalists, and it was all very messy.  The KMT did not help their case with the Chinese people, having by that time engaged in two decades of corruption, mismanagement, betrayal and killing of opposition while in government.  They were arguably fascists.

Enter again Song QingLing, who apparently loved her country first and foremost, more than the CCP or the KMT or her own KMT-embedded family.  Her open letter to the United States, appealing for an end to interventions by foreign actors, is framed and hung in her museum.  It really struck me, and you should read it for yourself.

"The American people, who are allies and long friends of the Chinese people, must be clearly told of this road [i.e., continuing military support for the KMT] to disaster. ... They must be warned that loans should be given only to a reorganized and truly representative Chinese government. ... The first flame of world conflagration is burning today in our land.  It must be quenched lest the fire destroy the world."

Open Letter from Song QingLing

Lacking popular support and staring at defeat in the civil war, the Kuomintang and the government of the Republic of China looked to the island of Taiwan for retreat.  Mao Zedong declared the People's Republic of China in 1949, and the KMT and ROC fled to Taiwan.

The PRC and the USA were not able to resolve the stalemate, and then the Korean War started, so Taiwan stayed as a break-away province, protected by the USA for the next 30 years, and the USA and the PRC had no diplomatic ties.

With all of that history behind us, the reset in USA-China relations in 1979 which finally switched diplomatic recognition from Taipei to Beijing could be viewed in two distinctly different ways.

From one perspective, it could be viewed as the final healing of the wound of the Chinese civil war, recognising the legitimate victor of that conflict, acknowledging the will of the majority of the Chinese people, and putting America's past interventions behind us.

From a different perspective, it could be viewed as a terrible betrayal of America's long support for the ROC in Taiwan as well as tacit acceptance of the human rights abuses and killings that happened on the mainland.  Whatever popular mandate and consent the CCP might have had to govern back in 1949 has been cemented over time through violent suppression of any dissent or even free expression, and the Communist Party rules absolutely today like a Mafia enterprise.

Since 1979, there is no doubt that the diplomatic and economic ties between the PRC and the USA have grown and strengthened tremendously, and that has had enormous financial benefits for both countries.  We have had solid, lasting peace, and the lives of many mainland Chinese have improved.  (The Party wisely noted that allowing The People to share in some wealth and creature comforts would keep them sufficiently happy so as not to think about another revolution.)  At the same time, Taiwan has continued to be protected by the USA, living in a sort of diplomatic purgatory, where they are not truly free but they are not being overrun by the Communist Party.  This has been a delicate balance that I am certain must keep a squad of diplomats and CIA operatives occupied full time.  A crucial part of this diplomatic compromise has been the ability of the PRC to "save face" by continuing to pretend that Taiwan still belongs to them, and the USA quietly agreeing to disagree without actually saying anything out loud.

President-elect Donald Trump has come in like a bull in a china shop (ironic analogy) and thrown into utter chaos 40 years of diplomacy layered on top of 70 years of complicated geopolitical history.  I suppose he might have known exactly what he was doing, but it looks heedless and ignorant.  The Chinese are rightly complaining.

If you are of the opinion that the 1979 U.S.-P.R.C. Joint Communique was a terrible mistake and a betrayal of US obligations to Taiwan and the ROC, I supposed this Trump disruption would make you happy.  It certainly throws egg on the PRC's face.  If you wanted to slap them and put them on notice on unfair trade and currency issues, it accomplishes that.  Personally, I would caution that insulting the government of a country where respect, courtesy, formality and pride are foundations of their culture and where America has a less-than-becoming history of imperialist meddling is probably a bad idea.

The "world conflagration" warned in Song QingLing's letter is still a very real possibility today.  The USSR may no longer exist, but the Russians are still around, and anyways, the PRC doesn't need the Soviets anymore.  They are incredibly strong and well-armed on their own.  Why antagonise them?  If they decide to go ahead and invade Taiwan to end the ROC once and for all, what would the USA do?  A trade war is also a possibility: less bloody but still very harmful.  China is currently the USA's largest goods trading partner with nearly $600 billion in total trade during 2015.  China is the largest foreign holder of U.S. debt with more than $1.24 trillion in bills, notes, and bonds.  America's iPhones come from China.  America's deficit spending is funded by China.  America and China are intricately linked, and those links need to be managed carefully, respectfully and with well-informed deliberation.

Song QingLing broke with her family when she sided with the CCP against the KMT.  She embraced the PRC, survived the Cultural Revolution, met Stalin and continued to live in China until her death in 1981.  Her sister MeiLing was offered an invitation to return to China for QingLing's funeral, which she declined.  MeiLing died in 2003 in New York City.

View from inside Song QingLing's house to her garden.  Photographs of the contents of her house were not permitted.

New Mills & the Torrs Millennium Walkway -- Saturday, February 13, 2016

The very first time I went into Derbyshire to explore some country pubs, the train I was on passed by a little station called New Mills, and I noticed a sign indicating the way to the "Millennium Walkway".  Intrigued, I Googled it, and I quickly decided that it was someplace I'd like to come back and visit.  So I pinned it to my Britain Pinterest board, and there the pin sat for a number of months.  Then recently, one of the Manchester Ramblers groups posted a walk in New Mills, and I knew that I had to go.

Today was the anticipated excursion to New Mills, and I was a bit worried about the weather.  The forecast called for cold and a chance of flurries.  Fortunately, the forecast was wrong, and it was a beautiful day.  It was chilly but clear, and with the right layers and a little movement, you were fine.

I met up with the Ramblers group at Manchester Piccadilly train station, and we had about a 25 minute train ride out to New Mills.  Within minutes of leaving the New Mills Central train station (funny enough, little New Mills actually has *two* train stations!), we were onto the Millennium Walkway.  It was beautiful.

Built in 1999-2000, it follows along a retaining wall over the River Goyt, with an old abandoned Mill on the opposite site.

This area is called The Torrs, a 30m deep sandstone gorge formed by the River Goyt.

The rushing river through the gorge was harnessed for power, hence the old Mills all around.  One of the Mills continued in operation until 2000!

There were also the ruins of a Mill that had burned down over a hundred years ago, and actually one of the fellows in the group said that it had belonged to his family back in the day.

The industrial heritage of the area made the two railroad lines and stations suddenly make sense.

My only "complaint" about the Millennium Walkway is that I was expecting it to be longer, and it was over too quickly.  We followed along the river, underneath a grand old viaduct, and then we were off on the serious walk, about 6 to 7 miles along canal paths, through fields and forests, and looping back around to end back where we had started.

At one point, we passed through a farm, and I saw the last farm animals I would ever have expected to see in Derbyshire, England -- LLAMAS!!!  A Mama Llama and her baby.

We also passed by a sunken canal boat that someone had decided to turn into a joke.  Note the sign on the retaining wall identifying it as the Titantic II, and the L-plates on the sunken boat (L-plates are used on cars and motorcycles to indicate a Learner).  I guess when your boat sinks and you don't have the money to salvage it, the only thing you can do is have a good laugh about it.

We also had about a 20-minute rest stop for lunch.

Afterwards, we walked into New Mills instead and had a few pints and crisps at The Royal Oak pub.

It was a GREAT day, and I had a lot of fun, but I definitely pushed myself with the length of today's hike both in terms of distance and time, and I know I will be feeling it tomorrow.

Torrs Millennium Walkway -- done.  :-)

Munch : Van Gogh -- Saturday, December 5, 2015

The Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam, The Netherlands -- Saturday, December 5, 2015

I saw all the people behind their masks—smiling, phlegmatic—composed faces—I saw through them and there was suffering -- Edvard Munch

Back in September, I'd read a magazine article on the plane about an upcoming special exhibition comparing and contrasting the artists Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890) and Edvard Munch (1863-1944).  The exhibition was a collaboration between the Munch Museum in Oslo and the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam.  It had started in Oslo from May to September, and then it moved to Amsterdam at the end of September.  I had seen an exhibition of Munch at the MOMA in New York a few years ago, and I'd visited the Van Gogh museum when I was in Amsterdam back in 2011.  However, this exhibit was a unique and rare opportunity to see some of the iconic masterpieces of both artists side by side, and I knew as soon as I read the article that I would have to plan a weekend in Amsterdam to visit it.  Besides, I love Amsterdam, and any excuse to visit the city is a good one.

I'm not an educated art historian or critic, but for a 'layman' who loves art, the Munch:Van Gogh exhibit was educational, interesting, powerful and emotional.  I always enjoy getting guided tours or multimedia audio guides when visiting art museums, because I find they help me to appreciate the art better.  The multimedia guide for this exhibit was absolutely essential for understanding, and it did a fantastic job.  Over multiple floors, they showed the artists developing as contemporaries in the 1880s, and then they showed some of Munch's later years, where you could see how he continued to develop and grow as a artist long after Van Gogh's sad suicide.

One wall I particularly loved had Monet, Van Gogh, Munch and Pissarro in a row of four paintings.  Monet and Pissarro were shown on the far outer left and right, and then you could see Van Gogh and Munch experimenting with Monet's and Pissarro's techniques on the inner two paintings.  Another wall showed Gauguin's stylistic influence evident in both Van Gogh's and Munch's work.

The wall that packed the most visceral punch for me was Munch's Starry Night, 1922 next to Van Gogh's Starry Night over the Rhône, 1888.  

Left: Vincent van Gogh, Starry Night over the Rhône, 1888. Musée d’Orsay, Paris. Gift of Mr and Mrs Robert Kahn-Sriber, in memory of Mr and Mrs Fernand Moch, 1975. Right: Edvard Munch, Starry Night, 1922. Munch Museum,Oslo.

Nothing replaces seeing a painting in person and up close.  You cannot appreciate brush strokes, texturing, thickness or paint drips from a photograph.  Nothing compares to seeing the individual strokes of vibrant color that combine to create Van Gogh's eyebrows and beard in his self protrait with a straw hat, to seeing the scrawl of his simple signature, "Vincent", or to noticing deliberate surface texturing, scarring and paint runs in Munch's work.

I remember when I saw the exhibit dedicated exclusively to Munch at the MOMA, I left feeling bruised and depressed.  Munch's art is beautiful and incredible, but it is also full of existential despair, and that emotion only became more pronounced in his later years and works.  I saw some masterpieces I had seen before, and I saw some new pieces as well, and the feelings were still the same.  Awe at his talent and angst at his later themes.  Munch's art reminds me of a poem I read long ago in university by the Nicaraguan poet Rubén Darío that affected me deeply and has stayed in my mind ever since.  This poem was written around the same time that Munch painted The Scream.

Nocturno

Quiero expresar mi angustia en versos que abolida

dirán mi juventud de rosas y de ensueños,

y la desfloración amarga de mi vida

por un vasto dolor y cuidados pequeños.

[...]

El ánfora funesta del divino veneno

que ha de hacer por la vida la tortura interior,

la conciencia espantable de nuestro humano cieno

y el horror de sentirse pasajero, el horror

de ir a tientas, en intermitentes espantos,

hacia lo inevitable desconocido y la

pesadilla brutal de este dormir de llantos

¡de la cual no hay más que Ella que nos despertará!

The Scream, Edvard Munch

In contrast, Van Gogh's work is generally much more hopeful and uplifting.  He saw beauty, dignity and solace in the world and in people, and you can see that in his paintings.  Although if he had lived longer, who knows?  Maybe the emotions of his paintings would have changed and become darker and more depressed, too.

After finishing the special exhibition, we did the quick highlights tour of the rest of the Van Gogh museum, mostly because you cannot be in the museum and not take the opportunity to see (or re-visit) as many of his masterpieces as you can.  The new thing I learned that surprised me the most was that Vincent could not paint when he was severely unwell with his mental illness.  When he was in the depths of his illness and confusion, he did not paint.  It was only when he was feeling better that he could paint.  People tend to think that his mental illness drove his genius, but that's not true.  His art flourished *in spite of* his illness.  When you think of the beauty that he was able to paint in the context of his internal suffering, it's astonishing.

Almond Blossom, 1890, Vincent van Gogh

The Munch:Van Gogh exhibit is on at the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam until 17 January 2016.  If anyone has the opportunity to see it, you should definitely GO.

In which an American girl visits the Middle East for the 2nd time...

Saturday, November 14 - Thursday, November 19, 2015 -- the United Arab Emirates

I am inconsistent at blogging, so I never got around to finishing my first narration about my June trip to the UAE and Oman.  How do people ever manage to write their first novel while holding down a full time job?  I can't even keep a silly blog up to date.  So it came to pass that I completed my second trip to the Middle East; this time, only to Dubai and Abu Dhabi in the UAE.  I supposed I'd better try to capture some of my thoughts and impressions on a more timely basis.  :-)

My Emirates chauffeur was scheduled to pick me up for my flight at 5:45 AM on Saturday morning, so I was at home on Friday night, November 13, getting packed and ready to go, when I found out about the Daesh terror attacks in Paris, France.  The situation was still unfolding, but I couldn't do anything, and I had to get some sleep, and I went to bed not knowing how things would turn out.  It wasn't until Saturday morning at the airport that I could find out how things had ended, and I sat in the business lounge, watching the news reports with tears streaming down my cheeks.

Fortunately, I had planned on arriving at the airport a full 3 hours before my flight, and as would be expected, the queues were long and security was very tight.  It never crossed my mind to be concerned about flying or traveling to Dubai, though.  Airports are no longer favored terror targets, because the security is so good and there are so many armed guards.  And oddly, the UAE is actually safer than most major European cities right now.  Go figure.

I had a nice, uneventful flight, and we arrived into Dubai at 7:45 PM Saturday night.  I continue to be very happy with Emirates equipment and customer service.  True, any airline that generously plies me with French Champagne will earn my appreciation.  The Emirates planes are also beautifully appointed, though.  This Boeing 777-300ER had lights in the ceiling like stars for when the cabin lights were dimmed.

See the "star" lights in the cabin ceiling?

Another Emirates chauffeur ride, and I was back at the Hilton Jumeirah Walk beach resort in time to unpack and go to bed.

View of the Jumeirah Walk on a Saturday night.  Taken from my balcony at the Hilton.

To put things into an American frame of reference -- a non-stop flight from Manchester MAN to Dubai DBX is about 3,500 air miles and lasts about 7 hours (give or take 15 to 30 minutes depending on winds).  The normal flight path would take you over northern Iraq.  After the Malaysia Airlines tragedy in the Ukraine, no reputable airline thinks Iraq is a safe flight path, so there is a little extra time added to kink east and pass over western Iran instead.  Take away the avoidance of Iraqi airspace, and it's basically like flying from Boston, MA to San Francisco, CA.

Geographically, the UAE is close enough to be a favorite winter holiday spot for European tourists, pouring in to soak up the sun, to enjoy the 20 to 28° C winter temperatures and to swim in the Persian Gulf.  The high season runs from November to April.  Given the recent terror attacks targeting holiday-makers in Tunisia and Egypt, I am guessing that the UAE will have a banner season for tourism.

From a business perspective, the major difference in business norms is the Sunday through Thursday work week.  In Muslim countries, Fridays are for prayer.  There are many ways that Islamic countries are adapting to do business in the global market, but I cannot imagine Friday Prayers ever being changed.  So if you are working in the UAE and you want to get in a full, productive, work week, you have to work their Sunday through Thursday work schedule.  Hence, I was up and heading to our distributor's office on Sunday morning.

Sunday we just worked in the office, catching up on general business and administrative items.  Most people in the UAE work very long hours.  Granted, they will generally take a long afternoon dinner break as well as the breaks for prayer times, but the hours are still very long.

The Islamic prayer times vary based on the sun and are determined depending on the date of the year and your geographical position.  It can get complicated, and there generally are not any mosques in the industrial zones, so of course, there's an App for that.  I was startled the first time a push notification with a call to prayer came through on one of my colleague's mobile phones.  Modern technology makes everyone's lives easier.  I do not mind hearing the calls to prayer, either coming from a mobile or being broadcast from a minaret.  I think the calls sound peaceful and beautiful.  I also like Gregorian chants, medieval polyphony and church bells.  It's a music thing.

The first time I visited the UAE, I had sort of expected people to stop everything for prayers, the way workers in some manufacturing plants (especially Japanese ones) stop everything at a periodic alarm for ergonomic microbreaks and exercises.  However, from my observations in the UAE and from my one day in Oman back in June, prayer times during the day and at sunset are ignored as often as not.  Part of that is undoubtedly due to the high number of foreign workers, the majority coming from India.  But India has a lot of Muslims, and there are also large numbers of foreign workers from Pakistan, Bangladesh, Iran and Egypt -- all Muslim majority countries.  My impression is that most of these people, although Muslim, follow the daily prayers about as much as modern Christians follow the Liturgy of the Hours.

Considering that an estimated 90% of the UAE's population are foreign workers, and the population is estimated to be growing by 7% each year primarily due to immigration, you have to wonder how the Emirati people intend to keep their culture alive, or if that is something they even worry about.  In the UAE, there is no possibility of becoming a permanent resident, and there is no clear path to citizenship.  Only a child born to an Emirati father can claim citizenship with any certainty.  So they do lock these foreign workers and their families out of the full guarantee of Emirati protection and participation in local government.  I am not sure that actually accomplishes anything other than disenfranchising the very people powering the engine of their economy.  Thinking on it now, it brings to mind how citizenship worked in ancient Rome.  The Emiratis are like the Cives Romani with full civitas optimo iure.  They may be able to preserve their privileged political and legal status, but their culture will be like a grain of sand on the beach in the face of a tsunami.  Maybe that doesn't bother them.

Immigration is such a highly charged topic in the USA and Europe that it's surprising to see a country that seems to know they cannot grow without immigrants.  Keep in mind, though, that the UAE immigration process is extremely rigorous, difficult and time-consuming, and you can have your visa revoked and be kicked out of the country with relative ease and for a variety of reasons, some which are shocking to the Western mind.  Take the case of the American who posted something negative about his UAE-employer online while he was on home leave in Florida, and when he got back to the UAE, he was arrested for slandering his employer.  No more visa for him.  There are also no social or benefit programs for foreign workers.  You pay your own way, or you are out, period.

Our distributor's office is 100% foreign, which is not unusual.  Apart from Immigration and Customs workers at the airport, the only other Emirati I've met in person was the top executive of one of our suppliers.  Our partner's office is comprised of a German, a Syrian, a Pakistani, two other gentlemen that are either Indian or Pakistani (I'm not sure) and the new administrative assistant, who is an Egyptian woman.  The one gentleman from Syria has lived in the country with his family for I think 9 or 10 years, and he has been dealing with visa renewal issues, requiring multiple court appearances and updated medical and blood tests.  Anyone found HIV+ or with AIDS gets deported.

That's probably enough rambling for today.  After a day in the office, Sunday night I enjoyed a pleasant evening at the hotel's Wavebreaker Beach Bar & Grill, eating a delicious grilled salmon for dinner and watching the Formula 1 Brazilian Grand Prix (which to be honest was a snoozer) on their large, outdoor TV screen.  They had a Wither Hills Marlborough-style Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand that was wonderful.  And who could complain about eating dinner beachfront in 26° C and low humidity?

A birthday in Britain - Wednesday, October 7

Wednesday, October 7th was my 44th birthday.  As my birthday celebrations from years 40 to 43 ranged from truly epic to merely outstanding, and this year my birthday fell in the middle of the work week, I was content to let 44 pass by with a whimper.

I had noticed over the past 10 months, though, that people tended to bring treats in to the office on their birthday.  My non-scientific poll of English friends via Facebook confirmed the general cultural norm that on one's birthday, it is the birthday celebrant who treats everyone else to cake, a round at the pub, etc.  "When in Rome, do as the Romans do", or as my old friend Efrain opined, "Al Pueblo que fueres has lo que vieres", so I stopped at Booth's on Tuesday night to pick up a few cakes to bring in to work the next day.  Once they found out it was my birthday, my co-workers surprised me with their ability to whip together some kind birthday cards on short notice, and we all enjoyed a nice afternoon break filled with sugar.  As an added bonus, there were two slices of the chocolate cake left over, and those went home with me to enjoy for the next couple of nights.  :-)

Since this year was mellow and next year, my birthday falls on a Friday, I suppose I'll have to make up for a 'year off' by planning another epic adventure for 45.  And since I don't have any photos to share from 44, instead I'll recap 40-43.

Here's my 40th birthday, celebrated first at the Oktoberfest in Munich and then in Amsterdam.  My actual birthday night proper was spent dancing at Coco's Outback club.  My friend Gerry got me the awesome glasses and boa.



For 41, I had a weekend in Pittsburgh.  My dear friends Dave and Kristin tried to organize a surprise party bus on Saturday, but due to a mechanical failure, the bus was out of commission.  Instead the owner of Bar 11 opened up his bar for us in the afternoon for a private surprise party, with most of my Pittsburgh friends, which then segued into a bar crawl on the Southside.  Sunday my friends Jack and Tom helped organize a big tailgate party on the North Shore, and then some of us went in to the Pittsburgh Steelers versus Philadelphia Eagles football game.  The Steelers won.



For 42, Kristin and I went to Walt Disney World Resort in Orlando for a day of eating and drinking around the world at the Epcot Food and Wine Festival.  We were joined by my brother, Jon, his wife Karen, and another friend, Brian.

  
Finally, 43 was the Great American Beer Festival in Denver, Colorado, with my friends Kristin, Trish and Mo.  As if the GABF wasn't enough, since October 7th actually fell on a Tuesday, I had dinner with friends back in Atlanta at a nice restaurant followed by a free Macallan Scotch tasting.