Amsterdam in the sun

In the last 2 weeks, Amsterdam has been all but sun-drenched. Amazingly this was the warmest April in Amsterdam in 300 years. It was a genuine surprise to wake up this morning to the sound of rain.

The atmosphere in most cities changes when the weather is good, but for some reason there is something really special about good weather in Amsterdam. People relax and are more friendly - they smile - and are more accepting and courteous.

Probably the fact that it rains here so often is a big factor in this change. There is something about the knowledge that a thing you are enjoying is temporary that makes the enjoyment that much deeper. It makes me feel I have to take in as much as possible of it, simply because I know it will be different soon.

It's been like that at our company, where the knowledge that many of us are going in different directions in the coming months has brought about a different atmosphere. Amongst the disappointment and concern at losing our jobs or having to move to London, there has been a sharp focus on the current inter-personal relationships. The big friendships will stay - it's rather the coffee-corner chat, the smiles on the way to the canteen and the small talks in the corridor that we will miss. But perhaps knowing that it will shortly be over has helped us to savour and value those relationships more.

My time at the company is at an end in just 3 days time. And those who think my main aim is to enjoy the sun in the coming weeks are mistaken! As of Monday May 4th, I start my working life as a writer. I consider that I am changing job, not leaving Canon. The plan is to research my book thoroughly in the coming months, and that is going to take time, focus and concentration.

But for now I concentrate on enjoying the connections with the people and on making my farewell party on Tuesday a memorable one. That will give me the ending I need to be able to make that shift from Canon employee to Writer.

And if the sun shines this week, that will be a bonus.

Countdown to the Future

After the excitement of America and landing in Schiphol from Houston, I came straight to the office from the airport. I felt anxious to get in and tell my friends and colleagues more details about the trip, and to hear about their Easter.

And as I sat in the taxi, I realised that this is something which I will have to get used to changing. That solid and sure community to share all the highs and lows with will gradually ebb away.

This is the point. This is the kind of moment, with just a few working days to go, when change becomes real. One task of dealing with this change is to find a new way of interacting with people, with different people. The familiar environment which surrounds me like a warm bath is not going to be there.

While it made me nervous to think of it, it also made my pulse quicken. I want to face up to those changes and I am ready - after all, I've known for months they are coming! Being given more time would not make more ready. It is time to get on and move to the next phase.

So now I have 10 working days left with Canon, 25 working years to go (with who knows what companies or business?) and this unique opportunity to live my dreams for a year or so inbetween. The countdown to the future is on.

People ask whether it feels strange, and in one way it does. It simply doesn't feel like 16 years since I entered the office of Canon Audio for the first morning, or 11 years since I walked through the door of Canon Europa to start my first day. It's almost surreal to say out loud "I have worked for Canon for 16 years". People like me don't work for one company for 16 years!

One of my favourite semi-cliche's is "You can't steer a boat that isn't moving". Whenever somebody asks me what I am going to do, I explain my clear plan - Write a Book, Travel, start my own Business Coaching company. The feeling of having a clear direction is a re-assuring one and gives movement - it doesn't mean everything I plan will happen exactly as I want it to happen, but the direction and movement give me the chance to steer my way as I go.

Another way of putting this is the postcard my Dad had on his desk for many years, which is the picture on this posting. "Get moving, take action, work it out along the way, enjoy your victories wherever they may be" seems to be the message.

For now, I keep in mind that the warm feeling of being with nice colleagues in a safe and supportive environment is somethng not to be taken for granted. I take in every minute of it.

End of the American road

I sit in a hotel on the waterfront at Galveston, near Houston, reflecting on the trip to Texas and beyond, and preparing to head home tomorrow.

After leaving New Orleans on Wednesday, I spent most of Thursday on the road to Tennessee, driving for hour after hour on open roads through Louisiana, Alabama and finally Tennessee itself. For me, it was heaven - I love to be able to drive with my ipod and spend time going through all the podcasts I have been downloading but not had time to actually listen to.

Then on Friday morning, I awoke at Sonny's family's place - owned by his Aunt Linda and her husband, Bobby Joe. We had a big breakfast, as Sonny's family was with us too, and it felt really good to be welcomed in by them all. Later we went on a boat trip on a lake which was just huge. The afternoon was taken up with shopping, food and music at home as Sonny's highly talented nephew, Alex, strummed away on the guitar.

Saturday was not so great - I woke up sick as a dog and unable to join the planned family picnic. A pity - 57 of Sonny's family were due to get together (his mother is one of 9 siblings) so it would have been a fun event. Instead I started to head back South.

And after a full day's driving today, I reached Galveston. On the way, I passed along a coastal causeway which clearly has been very damaged by the hurricanes in recent times. The houses are built on stilts as protection from the weather, and as there is plenty of space, they are all built with space between. It means you drive for miles of causeway, seeing house after ruined house. When you think of the optimism behind the building of those places, how people must have imagined summers and weekends by the beach - it is heartbreaking to see that ruined.

Galveston is, I think, the most Southerly place I have seen the sea, and it made me realise how many interesting places I have looked out over the ocean. Tel Aviv, while working for Canon. California a couple of years ago on holiday. Corfu, while visiting my father. Westward Ho! in the South West of England, where my Grandparents took us at Summer. And Castricum, on the West coast of Holland. Something about the sea makes me reflect and feel something deeper than words.

It's been an amazing trip, full of interesting places and characters, and I learned some more about America, and myself. Even the illness has been a learning. Not exactly sure what it was, but I couldn't eat anything since Friday and I came to the conclusion that I simply ate and drank too much. My body just said "enough". Time to take a bit more care of myself.

And now this first trip of the year is over, and I look forward to the last days in the office, the chance to start the book from beginning of May, and other trips already booked to Spain in May and Greece in June and July.

PS - just as I finished this piece, I got my first bug! A huge cockroach crawled out from behind the fridge in my hotel room, ran mazily across the wall avoiding my swats like Cristiano Ronaldo, and hid behind the fridge again. Coward. I guess it won't be the last bug I see in the coming year...

Appearances deceiving – or are they?

As I stood in the queue at the petrol station in Baton Rouge near New Orleans, a guy started one of those conversations I avoid as much as possible, the type where you feel like it is all false, you don't know each other, you're expected to behave like a knowing friend, and after 2 minutes you go your separate ways.

As we stand there, the guy says “Gee, it's busy here, huh? There's a whole lotta love in this place. Get it? This gas station is called Love's, there's a lotta love around here!”. He pronounced the name of the petrol station 'lurve' – I am serious. He went on. “You should get to the casino next door, they'll lurve you right outta money, oh yeah” and burst out laughing at his own joke. As he said loudly “gee that's funny!” and turned to me to say “ain't that the truth? Huh?” expecting a response, I used all powers of polite ignoring that I possess.

He then asks where I'm from – I mention England, and a split second later he is explaining to me that he had just come back from a trip through 12 countries in Europe promoting a music band, and that he was back to do the Jazz festival in New orleans. OK, I thought – if he is involved in music, maybe he is an interesting guy. He goes on to tell me his story while we wait for the busy cashier to catch up.

“I'm an International composer, award nominated. I also promote music artists, doin' a tour with Stevie Wonder and Michael McDonald”. (My ears prick up at this – Michael McDonald is one of my favourite musicians.) I'm goin' over to Europe next year, and we'll be at Wembley Stadium in 3 years. And I am finding real talent over here, not just small stuff, tese guys are gonna be bigger than everybody!” Wow, I thought. I have really underestimated this guy.

The cashier gets to us, and I wish Joseph all the best. As I go out, he is already at his Mercedes – fitting the image he gave me of a famous guy - and he hails me to give me a business card “so that when you hear of me, you have some kind of context of how you know the name”. The card showed his full name – Joseph Samuels Messina. Even the Messina part rang a bell. He also said “check the website, you can win a trip to Italy, I'll be with Andrea Bocelli in Rome. Fantastic. I just met an International Composer at a petrol station! This trip gets more and more interesting.

As I drive off, I start to wonder about this. I wondered, what does the phrase “International Composer” really mean? Not much, really – you may perform internationally, but not compose. His message about Wembley – he wasn't really clear what he meant by “we'll be there”. He made it sound like he was going to be together with Stevie Wonder and Michael McDonald. But his “3 years away” seemed a long time ahead to plan, even for a major venue like Wembley. Then I went back to the part of the phone call I had overheard from him before he talked to me, when it sounded like he was arranging a very local gig in a bar, not some international stars.

Could it be that the guy was simply convinced that he would be successful? That his whole story was some attempt at self-fulfilling prophesy mixed with a chunk of NLP? Could he just be an agent or even a roadie for these big stars? Was his “Wembley in 3 years” statement just a description of his major goal?

So I Googled, first trying Joe Messina – and an old Jazz player came up, born in 1928. That was certainly not him. So I put in his whole name. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Then I checked his website, and a quite amateurish page came up showing his history and a couple of other bits of info. According to this, he had never played music until 1996 when a personal tragedy hit. It was unspecific about what kind of tragedy. Since then, despite not knowing any musical theory, he has been composing and playing. Despite the amateur appearance of the site, the confidence behind it was almost convincing.

The giveaway was the Andrea Bocelli concert competition. To enter, you need to send 27 dollars, and he states the competition will be null and void if less than 100 people enter. No mention of money back if that happens. It seems an odd thing for an “International Composer” to have on his website. More like the stuff of scam artists..

So now I am not sure what to think. I met him and immediately came to the conclusion from first impressions that he was just an annoyingly cheerful guy. Then in minutes he convinced me he was famous. Now I am not sure what to think.

And probably I will never know. Appearances can indeed be deceiving.

Two states of music

I've been to Austin, Texas and New Orleans, Louisiana, in a day filled with music.

Sonny, Peter and I hired a car and took a trip to Austin, a great city which Sonny lived in many years ago. We stayed in the Austin motel just on the edge of town, with its motto “So close and yet so far out”. Austin itself is very new, but that little area where we stayed was a small throwback to former days. I saw a lot of t-shirts and other stuff with the phrase “keep Austin Weird” suggesting a past history very different to the fancy high-rises and apartment blocks going up or recently completed.

We were shown round the city by our friend Michael, and it was buzzing with music and life. Michael took us first to a “typical” Austin restaurant – which basically served a huge steak and not much else! - and we went on to the music district. I heard the sound of a live bad and blasting out of one bar and dragged the others in. The band were a real hit – with a name like Sonny Wolf and Mojo Boogie, how could you go wrong? - and I was lost for the evening. The others left me headbanging (or at least trying to with my cropped hair) to a cover of AC/DC's 'Whole Lotta Rosie'...

The band played a lot of standards – Sweet Child of Mine, Honky Tonk Woman, Mustang Sally, etc – and seemed never to stop. I asked one of the locals if they ever took a break and was told “they know better than to do that!”. After a quick explanation, I got the picture. So many places in the city have Live music that when they get the customers in, they want to keep them in. Taking a break means they leave. Hard work, especially as I understood that they live from tips, not from being paid by the bar.

The following morning we drove back to Richmond, again enjoying a 3 hour, traffic free, blue-skied journey, with Blue Bonnets everywhere. I had decided to keep the hired car for the rest of the trip as Sonny and his family were having a get-together in the evening. As the planned drive to Tennessee would be around 17 hours, I thought about heading off early in the afternoon, and as we looked at the map, New Orleans was on the way. Just a 6-hour drive away from Richmond... It seems to be nothing to drive 9 hours in a day in America.

I hit the road and drove the 350 miles across the south of the country,. I had never imagined going to New Orleans, and suddenly I was there. It felt absolutely surreal, like living a dream.

After finding a cheap hotel – 60 dollars, now I am starting to rough it a bit – I got ready to leave stuff and see the city. But not without some nervousness. The area I was staying was quite rough, and when I got in the lift, a guy also got in holding a booze can in a brown bag. I later saw him cycling off on a very nice bike. Freshly stolen? We'll never know... It left me wondering whether I should really leave my passport, laptop and new camera in my room, and whether the car would be there in the morning. Then I realised I would simply have to let this feeling go. If I want to backpack again, I will have to accept that such things are risks and just be prepared to adapt if it does happen. So I took my wallet and phone and headed into the city.

In Amsterdam, there is a Blues bar called Bourbon Street, named after the central road in the French quarter in New Orleans, and I decided to go to the real thing this time. It was absolutely bouncing! The street is full of bars with live music and full of people. The music is a mixture – standards as I described before, as well as Dixie Jazz and a couple of bizarre offers. One bar proudly promoted its act as 495 pounds of soul – sure enough, the guy on stage was absolutely huge! I got there as they played the last song of the set. At the break, he just stayed put when the other band members went off – I guess it's just too much trouble to move him back and forth! Despite (or maybe because of) his size, his voice was fantastic.

As I sit here writing this in a cafe the following morning,m I hear a guy ask his friend “do you want coffee?” She answers sternly “No. I want cafe au lait”. Why does somebody behave that way? Why not just be nice? That guy must have a hard time...

Back to last night. I sat in another bar with a Dixie Jazz band, the place absolutely jammed full. I overheard a conversation behind me - “Oh, you're from Texas! We are from Sweden, do you know where Sweden is?” The answer, to the Swede's amazement was affirmative. Another stereotype blown. There is this image that Americans don't know anything about countries outside of the US. On the other hand, how many Europeans know the geography of America in detail, or could tell you where the different states are?

The Swede followed up by asking about the lady's drink. “What's in a Margarita?” The Texan patiently explained.

Other highlights of the evening included going to the home of the Handgrenade – the suitably named drink which has become a signature of Bourbon Street. Sadly, there was a very good but very miserable solo guitar player on stage, who had clearly put off all the locals. The bar was completely empty, as 100's walked by to other places with cliché bands playing crowd pleasers.

Coming to New Orleans has been great. It is a flying visit, but I will be back – anywhere with this much music is worth a second visit.

This morning, I woke to a huge fight in the room above me. Police came and commotion ensured. Time to get on the road again.

Blue Bonnets & Bluegrass - Texas Part Two

Following on from Texas Part One, on Monday we went for a car drive into the Texas countryside in search of Blue Bonnets – a wild flower which is special to this area.

As we drove, Sonny's family friend Theresa regaled us with local colour – both in information and phraseology. Within an hour, I understood that the phrase “I got 'em snowed” means “I have them fooled” as well as the specialist knowledge from her profession as a lawyer that you can pick up all kinds of evidence from hair.

She also explained the reason why the Blue Bonnets and other unusually name wildflowers had survived, carpeting the East Texas countryside with a blue tinge during March and April every year.

“Lyndon B Johnson passed a law that made it illegal to pick the wild flowers. Therefore we have Blue Bonnets, Indian paint brush, Black eyed Susans and Cowpen Daisies, because the flowers managed to germinate and develop. You get a fine if you pick 'em, and it's socially not acceptable to do it – if you do people will yell at ya”. Well, indeed. That's the way to preserve a tradition.

As we drove through the sunshine, Bluegrass music playing on Theresa's Satellite music system, we learned fact after fact about the local area. Such as the origin of the name Bluegrass as a style of music. It is a very complex pre-cursor of Country music and has definitely influenced many bands across the years.

Theresa Told us “Bill Monroe originated the type of music, his band was called bill Monroe and the Bluegrass boys, and he was referring to the Kentucky Bluegrass. The grass there has a blue hue.” She also explained that the dancing to go with it was called “clogging”, which you do with chunky shoes tipped with steel on toes and heel. A kind of Texan tapdancing, but with more power. Theresa described her own dancing style - “I'm more of a Zen Clogger myself.”

We came to the “Washington on the Brazos” exhibition on the site where the declaration of independence was signed. The gift shop was fascinating, as lots of the stuff in it had slogans about how great Texas is. “Whoever said Life is good must have been in Texas.” “I wasn't born in Texas, but I got here as soon as I could”. “Davie Crockett said “You can all go to hell, I'm goin' to Texas””. I admire the confidence of it all. One sign says “Come and Take it” meaning, if you want to take our liberty, you'll have to fight for it. “Liberty or death” is another great phrase. Texans are sure of themselves!

We drove on to a great diner called “This Must Be Heaven”, and we ate our way a bit closer to the aether. This was followed by a visit to the factory of a regional Ice Cream company, Blue Bell Ice Cream - marketing phrase “we eat all we can, then sell the rest”. If there really is a heaven, that ice cream will be the welcome at the gates.

The day trip was rounded off by a visit to the Antique Rose Emporium, where we met Marion the (male) rose adviser who apparently is really a stage-set designer and this was his side job. We concluded he might be as well to specialise in Roses – not many theatres in this vicinity.

It was incredibly lucky to have Theresa as the guide, making us laugh at every turn and giving us so much insight into the area. And we saw Blue Bonnets galore.

Laugh of the day was provided by a road sign near a penitentiary, saying “Prison Area – Don't pick up HitchHikers”. Thanks for the advice!

Detroit & Houston - Texas part One

After the first part of the flight from Amsterdam to Houston, I arrived at Detroit airport and remembered why traveling is so good. Even somewhere as familiar as USA has its peculiarities. Despite it being the middle of the night back home, I felt wide awake and alert to everything.

Detroit airport is nothing special – except for the fact that it is one long terminal with 80 gates either side of one long hallway, and it is connected by a metro above the shops! It's not even that far to walk from end to end – max 10 minutes with moving walkways speeding things up – but the element of convenience seems so important, they built this thing to keep the people happy.

When I finally get to Houston (and the airport is called BUSH, as in the first George... is that meant to be ironic?), I realise I didn't exchange any money or get cash from the ATM. The 120 dollars from my last trip to USA are all I have – well, should be enough... but it halves after a 60 dollar taxi ride gets me to the Ramada Plaza hotel.

The Plaza - sounds, grand, huh? Well, it's not. Luckily, I like crappy hotels, cos this is one of 'em! Everything in the place is worn at the edges, with huge airco machines spewing out foul cold air in the corridors and the room. I enter a freezing room despite 20 degrees outside, telling myself I should be happy that I booked it online for less than 60 Euros.

It is 10 pm, and I had seen an entertainment place on the other side of the freeway running by the hotel. I walk over there to find the sound of 80's music pumping out the windows of a bar. I am in my jacket – not used to the 20+ degrees evening temperature – and a t-shirt. The guy on the door explains that normally I would need a 'collar' to get in. What he means is, the people inside are wearing Polo shirts... it is not that fancy. The bouncer picks up on my accent, and tells the cashier to let me in for free. That quaint English accent buys you a lot...

The bar is loud, full of my favourite music and I itch to get on the dancefloor. But I am the only person in the place dumb enough to bring a jacket and there is no cloakroom. Unwilling to leave it on the side, I stand and look enviously at the locals jigging around to Saturday Night Fever and the like.

Finally I get home at 1am, and get a decent night's sleep.

Onto downtown Houston on Sunday morning, and I am down to my last 15 dollars. I tried some ATM's last night and none of them accepted my card – it's not looking good. I get to Houston, cannot find a machine, and the hotels will only change money for guests – unbelievable. I then follow directions to the last two possibilities, International banks. I try the Chase machine – nothing. But finally I am saved by a Bank of America. My own little credit crunch is over.

Houston at 9am on Sunday is not a busy place – more like a ghost town. The main industry seems to be parking areas, the city is full of them even with people standing outside waving customers in. On the way in, the taxi driver had explained “this is the cultural area – there's the theatre and that's the Hard Rock Cafe...” An additional attraction she mentioned was Wrestlemania. I don't buy into the image of all American being cultureless – that's not my experience at all, and when I've been to New York and San Francisco, I found it to be directly the opposite. However, Houston is clearly not a hotspot.

Another stereotype is there is a Fast Food place on every corner in US – but not in Houston, it took me ages to find one. McDonalds, of course – main benefits, free Wi-Fi, and being the only place open for breakfast on Sunday. While standing in line, I heard a woman explaining to a friend how her 4 year old had seen her favourite wrestler just yesterday.

The morning was redeemed by the children's festival, starting up at 10:30. There were all kinds of food stands and games for the kids plus various stages with entertainers. The most exciting thing was the motorcyclists in the cage – strange but fascinating. The boundless enthusiasm of the stage presenters, greeting every attempt by the kids to join in with cries of “that was awesome”, is impressive. It goes beyond stereotype, because there is a genuine wish to support the kids, no matter how good they are. I watched a painful scene at a Karaoke booth as a young girl died trying to sing a Kelly Rowland song. At the end, the presenter boomed over the PA “that was awesome – Kelly's got nothin' on you, girl.” Fantastic.

As I headed back to the Hotel to meet my friends arriving soon from Holland, I reflected that I am happy to have seen Houston, but glad to be leaving. As a city, it leaves you pretty cold. But like all travel, I go away with something new and am glad I have seen it.

First day of travel

The overbooked hover by the gate, waiting for the airline crew to start the check in. I am one of them. It's tense.

I am on my way to Texas. My friend Sonny has family and friend from there and last week I decided to join them on their trip. It kicks off a year when I will be traveling around the world.

That year of excitement started with a possible challenge from the very beginning. I arrived at the airport to find I was “overbooked”, that lovely phrase which means you may not have a seat. Luckily, I felt calm and quickly decided that no matter what happened, I would accept it and enjoy it. If it meant I had to wait, then wait I would.

Nevertheless, I also add to the tension, keeping a keen eye on the desk of gate E9 to spy out the first signs of movement and any possible signal to jockey for position among the other overbooked.

I am reminded of a conversation I had recently about how my working life has made me soft when it comes to traveling.

Canon life has taken me to 41 countries. All of it has been done in a luxury that I could not have dreamed of when I was young. No buses or backpacking, just nice restaurants, hotels and taxis on call. Over the years, I have made around 200-250 business trips and taken as many as 500 flights. There have probably been around 400 nights in hotels and close to 1000 taxi trips.

That luxury has certainly made me soft when it comes to traveling. And one of the purposes of the coming year is to get used to a more simple travel life. So I have a number of plans which will shake me up.

The plans include a backpack Interail trip from Corfu through the Balkans and up through Europe during July. That will be a test run for the big journey – backpacking across Central America for some months from November, and ending up in Australia, where I intend to stay in as basic a situation as possible, work in a bar and see a totally different angle of life.

Finally, I get to the desk and... do I get a seat? Do I ever! A seat in Business Class, no less. How did that happen.? It feels a bit like cheating, but of course I don't say “could I sit in Economy?” I'll wait a bit longer to toughen up.