August finds me back in Belgium--the long-sought objective of my decade-plus European wanderings and ponderings. Yet, as I pause my commute for an ever-so-unctuous Grimbergen Double, thoughts turn to the old Chinese curse, "be careful of what you wish for..."
August is a strange time to land in Belgium. This is the time of year when those wacky"Flems" and "Loons" with their fully-vested 32 vacation days blow the bulk of them in sunnier climes, and the time when I found out I would not be so generously vested until 2010. The place has a post-neutron bomb air to it, even as it retains its considerable visual, imbibatory and gustatory charms.
Waking up daily to quintessentially Bruxellois scenes is surreal for me--hence the term "surreal for breakfast." And waking up as an actual Employee of an honest-to-Buddha US multinational (with a concomitant cut to my comparatively lordly consulting pay across the Dutch border) makes things weirder still.
But in Belgium, weirdness is normal. Indeed, the second to last stop on my commute is named for it. "Weerde."
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Minnesota, Hats Off to Thee
Much of my August was spent at the spanking new offices of my global programme team in Suburban Minneapolis. That too resulted in weirdness. I actually liked the place-a lot. I actually liked the people-a lot.
Having avoided extended tours in the Midwest since my days at the University of Wisconsin (How 'bout dem Badgers, eh?), two weeks in The Twin Cities were a revelation. Great food, great people, nice lakes and rivers and a relocated Danish London Business School buddy who has adopted baseball's Minnesota Twins with unseemly fervor.
I'll effectively be splitting my time between Belgium and Minnesota for a while. It will be interesting to see who wins in the end.
Having avoided extended tours in the Midwest since my days at the University of Wisconsin (How 'bout dem Badgers, eh?), two weeks in The Twin Cities were a revelation. Great food, great people, nice lakes and rivers and a relocated Danish London Business School buddy who has adopted baseball's Minnesota Twins with unseemly fervor.
I'll effectively be splitting my time between Belgium and Minnesota for a while. It will be interesting to see who wins in the end.
Two Sides of the Beer Spectrum
Two recent brews are front of mind at the moment. In the Minnesota corner is Grain Belt Premium. Grain Belt is a beer the likes of which have all but disappeared in North America--a clean, fresh, malty, locally produced lager/pilsner to serve as an accompaniment to life's bigger and smaller occasions.
Having had several at Nye's Polonaise Polka Bar and Retro Emporium in Mpls (the perfect vinyl-upholstered old school setting for the quintessential old school American brew) I had wistful thoughts about the other local lagers that guided my early beer developments: Huber, Augsburger, Regal Brau, Point (which has been reduced to knocking off Belgian style wheat beer), Leinenkugel (before it started coloring its beers red) and the all-time classic, Genesee Cream Ale (mockingly called Genocide by thirsty but broke and resentful grad students at SUNY-Albany, where I spent a watershed year majoring in Buffalo Wings and minoring in wanting to leave Albany).
Grain Belt is distinctly American in flavor, but could compete well with Europe's commodity lagers. In contrast, Trappieter, my Belgian Beer for this month, is a unique combination of the citrusy flavor seen in many Belgian brews with an assertive (but not overwhelming) hoppiness evocative of English ales and American Microbrews.
Trappieter, at the moment, is not in mass production or circulation. Indeed, after sampling some with the brewer himself in a small beer cafe on Ghent's fabled Graslei canal, it became clear that Trappieter is, for the moment, a labor of love. It is brewed at the Proefbrouwerij in nearby Lochristi, a contract producer of recipes generated by independent brewers and brewenthusiasts. But despite the limited production, this struck me as a brew with some legs. At a comparatively weak 6.5% alcohol, it could be sold in the US and UK without facing hefty tax. At any rate, it's the first (and best) beer I've had in Belgium with the actual brewer at hand.
Until September, that's FlightKL18!
Having had several at Nye's Polonaise Polka Bar and Retro Emporium in Mpls (the perfect vinyl-upholstered old school setting for the quintessential old school American brew) I had wistful thoughts about the other local lagers that guided my early beer developments: Huber, Augsburger, Regal Brau, Point (which has been reduced to knocking off Belgian style wheat beer), Leinenkugel (before it started coloring its beers red) and the all-time classic, Genesee Cream Ale (mockingly called Genocide by thirsty but broke and resentful grad students at SUNY-Albany, where I spent a watershed year majoring in Buffalo Wings and minoring in wanting to leave Albany).
Grain Belt is distinctly American in flavor, but could compete well with Europe's commodity lagers. In contrast, Trappieter, my Belgian Beer for this month, is a unique combination of the citrusy flavor seen in many Belgian brews with an assertive (but not overwhelming) hoppiness evocative of English ales and American Microbrews.
Trappieter, at the moment, is not in mass production or circulation. Indeed, after sampling some with the brewer himself in a small beer cafe on Ghent's fabled Graslei canal, it became clear that Trappieter is, for the moment, a labor of love. It is brewed at the Proefbrouwerij in nearby Lochristi, a contract producer of recipes generated by independent brewers and brewenthusiasts. But despite the limited production, this struck me as a brew with some legs. At a comparatively weak 6.5% alcohol, it could be sold in the US and UK without facing hefty tax. At any rate, it's the first (and best) beer I've had in Belgium with the actual brewer at hand.
Until September, that's FlightKL18!
Sunday, July 20, 2008
An Update
My inevitable and inexorable drive to return to Brussels appears to be on track for an August move, as I head to De Hoofdstad van Europa to sign a job contract and, potentially, find a flat to move into as well.
While saying farewell to Shell was more pleasant than painful for a number of reasons, I can say I left behind many more friends than I left problems. I would assert that my enjoyable--and occasionally raucous--farewell dinner at Den Haag's excellent Cafe Rootz was testament of a year that was largely-if intermittently-a mutual success.
Many thanks to all of my Shell friends, and I look forward to welcoming you (and all of my readers) to Belgium soon.
While saying farewell to Shell was more pleasant than painful for a number of reasons, I can say I left behind many more friends than I left problems. I would assert that my enjoyable--and occasionally raucous--farewell dinner at Den Haag's excellent Cafe Rootz was testament of a year that was largely-if intermittently-a mutual success.
Many thanks to all of my Shell friends, and I look forward to welcoming you (and all of my readers) to Belgium soon.
EMELI '08
EMELI
In addition to winding down at Shell, the last few months have been occupied by my leadership of an event that was potentially quite risky for me--the Europe Middle East Leadership Institute for the International Association of Business Communicators (IABC).
I had been an IABC member intermittently since 2002, and often a public critic of the Association's overall direction. But at the same time, as the biggest international association of communications pros, IABC offers a degree of collegial depth that makes active participation worth it even if there are disagreements and items needing change.
Indeed, one of the great things about a room full of communicators is that they instinctively get what leadership and change are all about. So, in convening EMELI at Amsterdam's ABC Tree House conference center (a phenomenal self-service venue in the heart of the city) the challenge of understanding the change in mindset and tone required to take a 650 member association to 1000 members within two years was one, I think, which produced more light than heat.
I do despise event planning. And this event stretched me. But I see a major change--perhaps even a full-blown paradigm shift--has taken place within a group of very smart people. I'm glad to have taken the lead, and am pleased I will be leading EMELI'09 as well.
In addition to winding down at Shell, the last few months have been occupied by my leadership of an event that was potentially quite risky for me--the Europe Middle East Leadership Institute for the International Association of Business Communicators (IABC).
I had been an IABC member intermittently since 2002, and often a public critic of the Association's overall direction. But at the same time, as the biggest international association of communications pros, IABC offers a degree of collegial depth that makes active participation worth it even if there are disagreements and items needing change.
Indeed, one of the great things about a room full of communicators is that they instinctively get what leadership and change are all about. So, in convening EMELI at Amsterdam's ABC Tree House conference center (a phenomenal self-service venue in the heart of the city) the challenge of understanding the change in mindset and tone required to take a 650 member association to 1000 members within two years was one, I think, which produced more light than heat.
I do despise event planning. And this event stretched me. But I see a major change--perhaps even a full-blown paradigm shift--has taken place within a group of very smart people. I'm glad to have taken the lead, and am pleased I will be leading EMELI'09 as well.
Unfinished Business: My Letter to the Welsh Rugby Union
As you may imagine, as I prepare to move to another EU country, I have enormous gratitude to the United Kingdom for having granted me a passport that allows me to live and work in any EU nation.
There is one other benefit to such naturalisation, one which I had yet to take up, and as I approach my 43rd birthday next month, it is one whose value is nearing it's sell by date. I am requesting it in the letter below:
18 July 2008
Mr Davies (or is it Mr. Jones, Williams or Rhys)
Fearless Leader
Welsh Rugby Union
Millennium Stadium, Arms Park
Cardiff, Wales
Dear Sir,
I apologise for the tardiness of this letter.
Four years ago, I was awarded British Citizenship. But I only learned recently that naturalisation as a British citizen allowed me to declare my eligibility for one of the four British sporting nations-England, Scotland, Northern Ireland, and, of course, the Principality of Wales.
I would like to declare my intention to declare my eligibility for Wales, and request due consideration to become the captain of the Welsh rugby side.
Sure, Wales has met with much success on the pitch, with your stunning thrashing of all comers in this year's Six Nations. And it is true that my playing experience, consisting of 10 minutes of actual play in Second Row while a student at London Business School, does not on the surface amount to much.
But what I can offer is access to a whole new market. An American-"Welsh" captain like me could sell a lot of shirts in the US. Plus, having a short, overweight, slow, aging Jewish guy on the pitch will require you to get even more out of your other players to keep them in peak position.
I realise my proposition would be risky for such a world class rugby country as Wales. But my debt to your principality--for bringing Brains Ale, Shirley Bassey, and Tom Jones to the masses--and for producing the best in-stadium singing on the planet--is such that I would be most remiss if I wilted from the challenge of offering my leadership, commitment, and bodily health to your cause.
You have my eternal loyalty.
Welshly,
Mike Klein
There is one other benefit to such naturalisation, one which I had yet to take up, and as I approach my 43rd birthday next month, it is one whose value is nearing it's sell by date. I am requesting it in the letter below:
18 July 2008
Mr Davies (or is it Mr. Jones, Williams or Rhys)
Fearless Leader
Welsh Rugby Union
Millennium Stadium, Arms Park
Cardiff, Wales
Dear Sir,
I apologise for the tardiness of this letter.
Four years ago, I was awarded British Citizenship. But I only learned recently that naturalisation as a British citizen allowed me to declare my eligibility for one of the four British sporting nations-England, Scotland, Northern Ireland, and, of course, the Principality of Wales.
I would like to declare my intention to declare my eligibility for Wales, and request due consideration to become the captain of the Welsh rugby side.
Sure, Wales has met with much success on the pitch, with your stunning thrashing of all comers in this year's Six Nations. And it is true that my playing experience, consisting of 10 minutes of actual play in Second Row while a student at London Business School, does not on the surface amount to much.
But what I can offer is access to a whole new market. An American-"Welsh" captain like me could sell a lot of shirts in the US. Plus, having a short, overweight, slow, aging Jewish guy on the pitch will require you to get even more out of your other players to keep them in peak position.
I realise my proposition would be risky for such a world class rugby country as Wales. But my debt to your principality--for bringing Brains Ale, Shirley Bassey, and Tom Jones to the masses--and for producing the best in-stadium singing on the planet--is such that I would be most remiss if I wilted from the challenge of offering my leadership, commitment, and bodily health to your cause.
You have my eternal loyalty.
Welshly,
Mike Klein
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Into Antalya's Embrace
The escape from the all-inclusive hell of the Orfeus Park was swift and painless. Rather than just leave, I checked out, thus letting them know they had three nights of a free room to resell. Still, I encountered a bit of shock (You are leaving?!? Where will you go?!?), before the clerk said good bye and pointed me to the nearby minibus stop.
A minibus, bus and taxi ride and 16 Euros later, I arrived at a little hotel that can best be described as a bit of paradise, the La Paloma Pansiyon in Antalya's old city. Here, EUR 35 buys me a faithfully restored, air conditioned double with free wireless internet and a modest breakfast buffet. But best of all was the pool situated in the courtyard with a pool bar selling. reasonably priced drinks in congenial company.
Arrival at the La Paloma signalled the beginning of the vacation part of my vacation, the previous days being far more of an ontological obstacle course. Suddenly, I lack plans or intentions above and beyond which much-taste Turkish treats I have still to indulge in before my departure on Wednesday midnight.
What makes the La Paloma really work is the woodwork and foliage--it was an Ottoman mansion and still very much looks the part, down to the lush foliage in the poolside courtyard. Its neighborhood is a bit mixed, comprised largely of similar hostelries, restaurants and architectural sites of varying levels of repair.
Beyond Hadrian's Gate is the city's modern commercial centre, offering goods of varying degrees of brand authenticity and numerous grills and restaurants serving often-fantastic renditions of Turkey's national dishes.
I don't feel compelled to explore. The combination of climate, chatter and chaise lounges at poolside allow me to have the downshift that the culmination of a hard-fought year of consulting and an equally hard-fought six month job search have richly earned me in my relatively generous estimation.
Still, the city beckons--certain basics like cash machines (La Paloma doesn't take plastic), filter coffee (most establishments here offer the all or nothing choice of strong Turkish or rough instant), and restaurants with a local clientele.
Quickly, I find a cross between a street and a food court, with stands selling Iskender and the natural Doner kebabs side by side, most with the telltale wood fire of true professionals. Sampiyon was the best Iskender, Sultan the best doner, and Ozdemiz the best airconditioned place to sample both.
With the abundance of historic buildings, there may be a temptation to hire a freelance local guide, particularly if a reasonable fee is agreed beforehand. My experience was not salutary, even after throwing in lunch and a tip, my 'guide' not only insisted on €20 more than agreed, but also was demanding I 'change' an additional €50 at a busy intersection, a transaction with potentially hairy implications.
I said "that's enough" and walked in the other direction. Mercifully, I was not followed, and proceeded to buy sneakers with velcro straps instead of laces (shoelaces being a perennial nemesis of mine since early childhood) at a fair discount over Low Countries prices.. What goes around, comes around, so they say.
While Antalya is now a city of 800,000 plus, with easily 100,000 seasonal 'residents', it had barely 250,000 in the 1980s, accounting for its relatively small historic center and comparatively puny football stadium, named for the nation's "father" and everpresent icon, Kemal Ataturk.
The question I ponder, aside from its convenience as an alternative to the five-star nightmare that was the Orfeus Park, is whether Antalya is worth a visit in its own right?
I wouldn't choose Antalya as my first helping of Turkey. Istanbul is much more compelling, Bodrum much more welcoming to the English-speaking traveller. But what Antalya has going for it is a combination of a well-contained historic center, congenial and cheap poolside lodgings, tangible urban buzz and proximity to excellent beach and water journeys. To chill out for a week, I'd certainly return to Antalya and particularly the excellent La Paloma.
A minibus, bus and taxi ride and 16 Euros later, I arrived at a little hotel that can best be described as a bit of paradise, the La Paloma Pansiyon in Antalya's old city. Here, EUR 35 buys me a faithfully restored, air conditioned double with free wireless internet and a modest breakfast buffet. But best of all was the pool situated in the courtyard with a pool bar selling. reasonably priced drinks in congenial company.
Arrival at the La Paloma signalled the beginning of the vacation part of my vacation, the previous days being far more of an ontological obstacle course. Suddenly, I lack plans or intentions above and beyond which much-taste Turkish treats I have still to indulge in before my departure on Wednesday midnight.
What makes the La Paloma really work is the woodwork and foliage--it was an Ottoman mansion and still very much looks the part, down to the lush foliage in the poolside courtyard. Its neighborhood is a bit mixed, comprised largely of similar hostelries, restaurants and architectural sites of varying levels of repair.
Beyond Hadrian's Gate is the city's modern commercial centre, offering goods of varying degrees of brand authenticity and numerous grills and restaurants serving often-fantastic renditions of Turkey's national dishes.
I don't feel compelled to explore. The combination of climate, chatter and chaise lounges at poolside allow me to have the downshift that the culmination of a hard-fought year of consulting and an equally hard-fought six month job search have richly earned me in my relatively generous estimation.
Still, the city beckons--certain basics like cash machines (La Paloma doesn't take plastic), filter coffee (most establishments here offer the all or nothing choice of strong Turkish or rough instant), and restaurants with a local clientele.
Quickly, I find a cross between a street and a food court, with stands selling Iskender and the natural Doner kebabs side by side, most with the telltale wood fire of true professionals. Sampiyon was the best Iskender, Sultan the best doner, and Ozdemiz the best airconditioned place to sample both.
With the abundance of historic buildings, there may be a temptation to hire a freelance local guide, particularly if a reasonable fee is agreed beforehand. My experience was not salutary, even after throwing in lunch and a tip, my 'guide' not only insisted on €20 more than agreed, but also was demanding I 'change' an additional €50 at a busy intersection, a transaction with potentially hairy implications.
I said "that's enough" and walked in the other direction. Mercifully, I was not followed, and proceeded to buy sneakers with velcro straps instead of laces (shoelaces being a perennial nemesis of mine since early childhood) at a fair discount over Low Countries prices.. What goes around, comes around, so they say.
While Antalya is now a city of 800,000 plus, with easily 100,000 seasonal 'residents', it had barely 250,000 in the 1980s, accounting for its relatively small historic center and comparatively puny football stadium, named for the nation's "father" and everpresent icon, Kemal Ataturk.
The question I ponder, aside from its convenience as an alternative to the five-star nightmare that was the Orfeus Park, is whether Antalya is worth a visit in its own right?
I wouldn't choose Antalya as my first helping of Turkey. Istanbul is much more compelling, Bodrum much more welcoming to the English-speaking traveller. But what Antalya has going for it is a combination of a well-contained historic center, congenial and cheap poolside lodgings, tangible urban buzz and proximity to excellent beach and water journeys. To chill out for a week, I'd certainly return to Antalya and particularly the excellent La Paloma.
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