Behind the Wall

Hello (Insert your name here)!

If you're reading this, you're obviously a mate, or one of my 2 blogstalkers, welcome in any case.

So the hotel in Shanghai has 'free' wifi (once you upgrade to the Club floor – the free beer is a bonus) but not necessarily 'free' internet access.  Not their fault, mind you.  Appreciate all the sensitivities at play.

So here's my workaround – I spend small fortune logging into FB (can't even google using the whole word ;-) via the cell network (evidently freedom of speech has its price) to let you know where to find me if you need me, or indeed just want to chat.

Comments will automatically generate an email and I will respond.

I'm wearing a black skivvy.  I'm finding ways of communicating from behind the silk curtain.  I'm feeling rather chuffed at my ingenuity and at the same time considering how to repel down the 25 floors once the thought police arrive.

Love, Me

A Great Wall but not Impenetrable

Arrived safely in Shanghai, only to be further threatened with death during the trip from the airport to the hotel. Fangio Chan, my driver, took particular delight in seeing how many times he could get the impact and proximity sensors to go off, at speed. I think he beat his high score. It was like the game of Frogger - and I was the frog.

And now at the hotel - 5 star of course but with a decidedly communist twist - no access to Facebook via wifi.

As if that's gonna stop me connecting with my tribe.

Just don't expect an immediate response - back in the neutral zone Saturday night.

Love, Me

Buckles Chance of Survival

I love flying. I can't say I've always felt that way, nor that I enjoy flying in any aircraft smaller than a 777. But get me on something built in this century by either Boeing or Airbus, plop me in a business class seat and I'm a reasonably happy traveller.

The newest livery in the Singapore Airlines fleet is swish to say the least - the largest business seat in its class, the seat truly is wide enough for two of me - or indeed me and a close, thin friend. Alas, they expect me to occupy this seat on my own for the most part, so they've had to come up with a means to address the safety issues relating to having so much free air around me.

The solution takes the form of a seatbelt mounted airbag. Now I'm a fan of airbags in cars, though the stories of broken noses received from an ill timed deployment coupled with a poorly situated hand on the steering wheel are numerous. For the most part, I believe in their efficacy and indeed believe the stats regarding the number of lives saved since their inception. (Research sponsored no doubt by the airbag manufacturers themselves, but such is life.)

I must admit to being skeptical as to the likelihood of what looks like a large tea towel wrapped in a sumo suit saving me in the event of a fiery, abrupt landing - particularly after 34 seconds of whiplash, scream and pee inducing free fall from 37,000 ft. I can't quite envisage me jumping up from my seat, which is now several metres from the main wreckage, all the better for having been strapped to a pillow which inflates only upon impact.

But then again, I'm not 100% confident that, in the event of a successful water landing, the light and whistle on my life-vest are going to attract anything other than sharks.

Better just to sit back and order another glass of champagne. I remember reading somewhere that a significant portion of drunk people walk away from crashes as they don't tense up on impact. Yep, that'll save me.

Love, Me

"I've always relied on the kindness of strangers ..."

Okay.  That's a lie.  Having lived a number of years on this particular planet, in a variety of locales, I will admit to the development of a surprising level of independence and self sufficiency.  It's not that I haven't regularly found myself the recipient of assistance, rather that I rarely encounter individuals who go out of their way to offer guidance and help without a formal request.

Which makes the activities my partner and I experienced on a recent train trip from Bruges to Brussels particularly noteworthy.  Having spent an amazing few days wandering around this delightful little village, taking in the sites, drinking beer and eating chocolate (it's pretty much what you do), we boarded our morning train for the return journey.  With a plane to catch, and thus a schedule to adhere to, we were nevertheless relaxed from the start.

About halfway into the 1 hour journey, the train slowed and the announcements began.  Having only kitchen and bar level French under my belt, and not even close to the same competency in German, and nothing in the way of Flemish, I was unclear as to what was happening. Ditto the gorgeous man sitting next to me, encouraging me to think about pink fluffy clouds.   But that's another story for another day.

Out of nowhere (okay, the back of the carriage), a woman arrived and asked if we wanted to know what was happening.  Explaining that there was to be a 20 minute delay due to another train, we sat back relieved - we still had time.  The announcements continued however, each time with further bad news for our schedule, and the all important flight.

This amazing woman, completely unprompted, got on the phone several times to check the best way for us to proceed.  When ultimately we ended up in a station diametrically opposed to where we needed to be, she offered us advice on how best to make the connection.   We rushed to a taxi and paid a hefty price, but in the end we made the journey in time.

We didn't get her name, will likely never see her again.  But she's made an impression that will last a long time - one of proactive assistance, rendered with care and attention.  Kind of reaffirms your faith in human beings.

Love, Me.

Six Degrees of George Clooney

Attention passengers, Nespresso flight 666 to Coffeeville will be boarding shortly.  Please form an orderly queue, here, here and here.

My apartment in Paris comes complete with all the mod cons, including a Nespresso machine.  I've resisted purchasing one in Singapore, as my little Philips drip works just fine.  I make my pot in the morning, it gives me 3 generous mugs of the particular blend I buy from a little guy in a little shop around the corner.  It's fresh, tasty and cheap.  However, when in Rome (or Paris as the case is), may as well cafe as they cafe.

So when, during one of my walks around this spectacular city, I spotted a Nespresso store on the Champs Elysees, I thought it a perfect opportunity to replenish the stock of coffee capsules with the genuine article.

That's when I fell. Hard.

Nespresso is not a product - it's an airline.  And not just any airline, it's Singapore Airlines, the best airline in the world.  And this isn't a store - it's an airport terminal.  And not just any airport terminal, it's Changi Terminal 3, the best in the world.  (I keep hoping that all the glorious free press is going to get me an upgrade on SIA.  I keep hoping.)

On the ground floor, you have departures - this is where all the fancy aircraft, er, coffee machines are on display in all their glory.  There are dark suited hosts and hostees, perfectly turned out and just begging to assist you in the purchase of your private jet, er, coffee machine.  The place is positively buzzing, with numerous passengers, er, customers test driving the apparatuses (apparati?).

On the lower level, you have arrivals.  This is where you form an orderly queue in one of three lines (more on that later) to pick up your bags, er, capsules.  Again, there are no shortage of well manicured attendants to help you choose just the right bag, er, capsule.

There is also a Club.  Like any good frequent flyer program, membership in the Club entitles you to a host of benefits, including getting to queue in the 'Club Lane' for your capsules.  An iPhone app which allows you to quickly locate your nearest 'Capsule Collection Point', and a dedicated lounge where you can taste all of the flavours available (and there are a lot of flavours!).  You can also request that George Clooney join you for dinner.  Okay, that's not part of the standard Club service, again I live in hope.

Having picked up my bags (whatever), I left the terminal, er, Boutique and wandered further down the Champs Elysees until I reached Avenue du George V.  I felt an odd compulsion to head down the avenue to the George V hotel, and venture into the lobby bar, where I promptly started comparing frequent flyer experiences with a nice old bloke with grey hair.

The Swiss are evil.  I've been seduced by the dark side and am loving it - even if it is about to cost me US$700.00.

Love, Me

LOST: The Art of Conversation

During this extended tour of Europe, I am encountering a disturbing trend which I plan on avoiding at all costs in the future.  In restaurants and bars of all ilk, price points, cuisine and theme, the tables are regularly filled with middle aged couples on holiday, and for whom the simple act of engaging intelligently with each other on any topic -- other than the weather, the cost of everything or how their back is killing them after all those bloody stairs they chose to climb -- seems to elude them.  In a room of 15 tables, no fewer than half will be populated by those who have apparently lost the ability to hold an interesting, topical, engaging conversation.

Yes, I'm listening in.  In Paris, where I am now, this is not such a stretch as most tables are placed virtually on top of each other.  You are so close to the folks around you, you may as well join them.  But I resist because once I've heard the absolute drivel spewing forth, I simply stare ever more intently at my steak tartare.  Which, as an aside, is a gift that continues to give 18 hours later.

This afternoon, I ducked into one of my favorite hotels for an aperitif before heading off to dinner.  At the table next to mine, the typical example of what I refer to above.  A couple in their mid 50's, he's on a business trip and evidently she's been given the distinct privilege of coming along for the ride.  Their interaction goes something like this:

Him: "What do you want to drink?"
Her: "A glass of wine."
Him (to the waiter): "Two glasses of the house white please."
Him: "My back is killing me, those stairs at the Trocadero really got to me."
Her: silence
Him: "By the way, did you pay the mastercard bill?"
Her: "Yes."
Him: "Probably should check if the hotel can arrange a car for Tuesday."
Her: "Hmm."

This exchange went on in a similar fashion for 73 minutes.

You're in FREAKING Paris!! Have a PARIS conversation - ask for opinions, thoughts, ideas!  Wonder together at the marvel of this city, how it's held the world's attention for so long, how the Parisiens have turned having a coffee into a spectator sport with their little tables on every sidewalk.  How the buildings are museum pieces in themselves!  Something, give me ANYTHING, that communicates that you're actually living in the now and sharing an experience!!!

Conversation coaching should be mandatory for everyone.  I'm going to write to someone about making it a law.  In the meantime, I'll step down from my soapbox.  Besides, I need to use the loo again.

Love, Me

Cyn's Vital Italian PhrasePost*

Flitting around Italy for the second time in 12 months, it was clear that I needed to develop a quick and easy guide to those phrases I find myself employing most often during the tour.  And because I'm certain that molto of my friends will one day find their way to this magical land, I thought to post 'Cynthia's Essential Italian' to save them the effort of actually learning the language.

English	Italiano
Good morning	Buon Giorno
G'Day**	Ciao
Good afternoon/eve	Buona Sera
Please	Per favore / Prego
Thank you	Grazie
Now (used with below)	Allora
Faster (used with below)	Rapida, Senore
Wine	Barolo
Sparkling Wine	Prosecco
Good Sparkling Wine	Frangicorta
Health Tonic	Guinness
Another (used with above)	Un altro
How Much?	Quanto?
That Much???	Phwar!!**
Do you accept Amex?	Tako youo Americano Expresso?

*Trademark/copyright/patent pending
**Ref Cyn's Essential Aussie PhrasePost

Love, Me

A huge Morris Iemma

Firstly - I've just created my own (copyright) Australianism!!!

A "Morris Iemma" is a dilemma!

Now, where was I? Oh yes ...

I've always loved the phrase "if you're not living on the edge you're taking up too much room". I've discovered a corollary to this while trekking the alley ways of Rome - if you're not obese, traveling with at least 3 others of equal or greater girth, walking at a snails pace abreast, you're not a tourist. Next trip I'm bulking up and bringing friends!!

Love, Me

Phrases you'll never hear from someone who's been to Rome

1. "Darling, I think we should redo the entire back garden in cobblestones!"
2. "Air conditioning is useless here - we have high ceilings after all."
3. "I'm thinking of taking up smoking, it seems so chic."
4. "I can't get enough of ancient architecture, Churches in particular!"
5. "Are you craving Pizza as much as I am?"
6. "Oh look! A fountain! How unexpected!"

There is such a thing ...

...as too tan. You can't be too rich or too thin, but you can, definitely, without reservation, be TOO TAN!