Boundaries stretched and crossed

When I was 6 years old, we lived on a housing estate in Kent, UK. 100 metres from my front door, there was a bridge over a rough little stream, and that was the boundary my parents put on me. I was allowed to play around the block of houses that we lived in, but I was not allowed to go up the street any further than The Bridge.

I needed no further motivation. One Saturday morning, my parents picked me up five miles up the road. Unbeknown to them, I had been stretching that 100 metres further and further over the past months. It felt perfectly natural to cycle away and lose track of time exploring.

As time went on, I pushed my boundaries further. The next shock for my parents was to find me secretly taking the train to London and wandering around bookshops when I had told them I was going for a cycle ride nearby. The best feeling for me then was to be somewhere I hadn't been before. It's a thrill that still lives with me.

This drive to be somewhere and do something new has followed me ever since. Moving country and living in Holland and Vienna was all about pushing the horizon as wide as possible, to see more and be more. Little wonder, then, that when I returned to Amsterdam and reigned in my horizon to the known big skies of Holland, I felt something was missing. Maybe my sense of adventure had been stifled by a perceived need for safety and familiarity. It simply did not suit me.

The blessing of the life-challenge last November – stay in Amsterdam or go one step even further back, home to UK with my job – caused an instinctive reflex not to go back or backwards just yet. And the year that has since passed feels like it has been leading to this moment.

Because today, Nicki and I take our boundaries and throw them to the winds. I write this sitting next to her on a plane to New York on Day 1 of our 145 day adventure. Our Round The World tour will take us to 9 countries across 4 continents, with every country new for Nicki, 90% of the trip new for me.

As we neared the date of leaving, we were asked again and again “are you excited?” We had to say “not yet” because the practical reality of preparing for such a trip has been all-consuming.

It has been a flurry of arrangements as Nicki put a hold on her life in UK for these 5 months. Renting her house, loaning her car, sorting the packing and setting up banking – all done against a back-drop of farewell dinners and cards, calls and texts from friends wishing her well. I left Amsterdam 11 days ago, so these days have been easier for me, supporting rather than having to manage and finalise the arrangements. But we finished everything together, just as we will do so much for the next 5 months together.

The excitement probably really started as we checked in at Heathrow. The counter-attendant asked us “is New York your final destination?” and I answered “Not exactly...”. As she looked through our schedule, she exclaimed with a broad smile about how great the trip looked. We assumed she sees people on such round the world trips every day, but if the woman from American Airlines was excited for us about our tour, we felt we should be too.

It still feels slightly unreal to be starting. It hasn't been that long in the planning – we first talked in early July about going travelling together – but I feel like this trip has been waiting for me for a long time. Perhaps the most unreal part is the feeling of “normality”, to be heading away for so long.

We landed at JFK airport and quickly got our bags and hire car, and within 90 minutes of landing we were checked in at our hotel by the airport. To get the blood moving after being sat down for 9 hours, we went for a quick run around the industrial surroundings of the hotel. As Nicki said, you can find beauty anywhere, and we saw a beautiful red and pink sunset over huge silver cylinder tanks of petrol (the pic here was not taken by us, but you get the gist...). An early night after gasping at airport hotel prices in the bar helped us minimise the jet lag of a 4 hour time difference.

On this trip, a past experience of breaking boundaries will come in handy for sure. But the unforeseen will throw itself at us and we are ready for it, together.

It's a small world...

Almost 12 years ago, I came to live in Amsterdam. It was the single best decision I have made in my life until a few months ago.

I fell in love with the place. I was taken to bars and restaurants in the Jordaan and the Pijp, enjoyed Bokbier in the Autumn, partied on Queens Day in the Spring and drank in the melancholy of the long winter before the glimpses of sunshine Amsterdam calls summer returned. I was introduced to the small villages outside of the city, watching the sunset at Marken and enjoying pancakes in Monnickendam. Finally I fell for the charm of flat Dutch polder landscapes and big skies.

Great friends came into my life and stayed - Morten and Christine, Sonny and Peter, Helena, Rogier and Carmen, Bruce, Siobhan, the Li clan, Mieke, Chantal and Frank. Those friendships lasted through a 4-year absence while living in Vienna. Since returning, new friendships like those with Yvonne and the Angel Mafia have also come.

I didn't give one second's thought to moving to London when my job moved there. With all this joy and love for the city and the friendships here, why would you leave? It would have to be something quite dramatic, right?

And so, one day before I do indeed leave - for 5 months, or even longer? who knows? - I flick through printouts of some of the bookings Nicki and I have made for our Round The World trip. It is unreal to see my notes on each one - "car hire, New Zealand", "hostel, Cuzco", "log cabin, Maine", "visa Australia", "hotel, Tahiti". I feel like one paper should say "car hire, The Moon". Because I thought other people do these kinds of trips and make these kinds of decisions in life. It seemed impossible that I would do so, and on the eve of departure, it still feels incredible to think of visiting all of these places.

And not only that. To do this trip with a great person who has also committed a chunk of her life to our adventure together is the best possible way to take a next step in life.

One little surprise. The guy who is renting my apartment comes from the same town I went to school in. He is the first person from Gravesend I have met since leaving England. It's a small world...

First stop, Greece - to celebrate my father's 70th birthday with his Greek friends, an event that has been a mark on the calendar for the whole year. Then back to UK for a few days, and we fly to New York on 26th October. My own journey starts tomorrow when I fly to England and join up with Nicki. It's 4 months since we met and I can't wait to be together with her.

The full story of the trip will appear here and this blog will continue Round the World. From Canon to Canberra.

6th November 2008 - A Final Word

This is the last time I will write about coming to the end of Canon life - time to move on.

On November 6th 2008, Canon announced the changes I and so many friends have experienced over the last 11 months, 234 jobs moving to London. That evening one of those people, Pascale de Rooij, went to an art class and painted the picture you see here.


People see different things in this painting (and that's a sign of how great a painter Pascale is). But for most, it seems to suggest a Shipwreck in the foreground with a positive and bright horizon behind it. That's how it has felt over the last months. Life as we knew it was de-constructed as we learned about how a big corporate deals with such situations - coldly, impersonally and practically.

As a member of the Works Council and a Director of the company, as well as an employee for Canon over 16 years, it was a hard and emotional journey to realise and accept this harsh truth.

It was not what we expected, because we thought Canon was a human company. But what we learned is that NO company is human. Finally, for the corporate and its highest management, it is only about the numbers. The human element is provided by the social connections we created together, made special by the rich diversity of culture in a building housing people from 50 nationalities.

For me, the social connections are the thing I miss most. I learned that my Amsterdam life is heavily associated with the experience of being in the daily influence of interaction with people from such incredibly different backgrounds. The deeper friendships which I made over the years have stayed and the bonds will be there for years to come. But the small kindnesses and simple contact from so many people in Canon - a smile on the way to the canteen, a chat at the coffee machine, a bit of moral support in a tough meeting - was something I fed from and didn't fully recognise.

The last months of being starved of that hour-by-hour warm contact with colleagues have made me see that I need to do a job which involves exactly that. Working on my own is not my thing. It doesn't mean there is no option to set up my own company - when I talk to my friend Mieke and her company, she is replacing the social interaction of a big organisation by being part of lots of groups and finding other ways to connect. What it does mean is that, whatever the next work step is, I will prioritise daily connection with people and development of a team I like working with over money and position.

Yesterday, a few of us met up in Amsterdam's Vondelpark. It's not insignificant that a different group of people met up in Amstelveen. We start to go our separate ways.

During the meet-up, we talked about the future. Jobs we're applying for, agencies we're discussing with or travelling we are going to do. The anger that was a constant feature of our talk about the company 4-5 months ago has faded. We all realise that Canon did not target any one of us as individuals. They just made a business decision. And in the end, "it was just a job".

But what a job. Morten and I sat together aftewards, drinking Bokbier in a cosy, dilapidated bar opposite the Rembrandt House. We talked a bit about some of our experiences in the early days, 1998 and 1999 when we first arrived in Amsterdam, and reflected on a few of the people we have met. We've come a long way from where he and I first met at Penrith in England's Lake District. We've travelled to amazing places with Canon (China, Japan, Brazil, USA, South Africa, Middle East and most of Europe) and we leave with CV's stuffed full of experience and characters developed by diversity. Our conclusion is often "we lived the dream" and its true.

And now it's time to create some new dreams, build new relationships and establish a new path. My own new path started when I met Nicki just over 3 months ago. It reaches the beginning of the biggest next step in 2 weeks, when I leave Amsterdam for 5 months to travel the world together with the girl I love.

How About Some GOOD News?

I don't know about you, but I feel a general sense of change for the better around me. A number of positive things are happening which give me the feeling that the air of crisis and doom is lifting.

One ex-Canon friend of mine, who had gone through the summer feeling like the job market was dead, suddenly has one offer with a great organisation, and another offer in the pipeline. Another friend also had a very interesting job offer and meanwhile is getting 2 calls from Headhunters a week. My brother rode out a difficult re-organisation, coming out the other side with a new role.

My friend Sonny has made a breakthrough in his career recenly. Currently he's making the most of a posting with IBM in India, being trained as an SAP consultant. How cool is that! You can read his blog at http://sonnysindiaadventure.blogspot.com/.

Meanwhile, all the signs in the economy are that things are at least bottomed-out and ready for recovery, if not already so. That means that companies will plan their headcount budgets for next year a little more optimistically. Recruitment freezes will start to thaw in the last quarter of this year and especially in the first quarter of 2010.

Almost every day I hear some new change among my ex-Canon friends looking for a new role. The first months seem to have been difficult for all, but gradually people are having interviews and getting closer to new positions, or finding them already. Summer is over - the job-market is moving.

It's amazing how the sense of gloom is contagious. There was a period around April-early July when the news was bad, the atmosphere at my old company was naturally difficult and the general feeling among friends was not positive. It genuinely feels that atmosphere is lifting and the new catching disease is optimism. Even my running is improving (the pic is of me after a 10km dune run - the gray skies could not stop me running a minute faster than I hoped!)

As for me, I have a very odd sense right now that this might be my last month living permanently in Amsterdam. I don't have any firm plan about that - the experiences of the 5-month world trip from Mid-October will make clear what the next steps should be. And I will visit Amsterdam for the rest of my life no matter where I go. Living in this city transformed my life.

This morning especially I feel a creeping feeling of gradually leaving something great behind and moving onto a great next step, wherever and whatever that may be.

A Question of Identity

I left England in 1998, coming to Holland without any serious thought beyond "that seems like a good chance - let's go". Instinctively, I knew I had to go beyond current boundaries.

Just 2 days before leaving, I had quit my job and apartment - no other preparation had been done. But then, the roots of my life in England were so loose - no wife and children, no owned home and my recent history of moving 13 times in 10 years had resulted in very few firm friendships. In 2 days, I shut down my English existence, packed my stuff, called the gas and electricity companies, put the keys through the door and left.

In the following 12 years, living in Holland and Austria, I have tried to learn the secret of being an International Englishman. This secret came to me thanks to working in the melting pot of my company, with its diverse group of nationalities, and especially through working with Japanese colleagues - such a different culture to my own. One of the first big realisations came quickly - that speaking "English English" was not going to help me communicate with people.

This meant a fundamental difference in my conversation with others. The English language is full of slang, strange sayings and little oddities, things that mean absolutely nothing to a foreigner. Naturally, as an island of 60 million people, English culture has a massive focus on all things English. TV, Radio, Newspapers & Politics fuel the native humour which is quick to find its target and push it over the edge.

I learned that "International English" is not like that at all. It is a simpler and more universal way of communication. That simplicity is so essential for a multi-cultural environment, where English cultural references mean precisely nothing. It proves that Language is Culture. And I realised that if I wanted to understand other nationalities' culture, I would have to learn International English, by mirroring the way that people from different countries communicated in the common language.

For 12 years, I have concentrated on this. If language is culture, then I believe I was constantly making an attempt to dilute my own cultural sense of Being English in the interests of understanding a wider set of cultures. By flattening my vocabulary and removing slang and typical home humour from my conversation, and by seeking the commonality among many languages and the way other nationalities communicate and laugh with people in English, I made a sub-conscious decision to to shut down (or at least suppress) a part of my English identity.

That decision has served me well and it seemed no price to pay. After all, I was living in a foreign country surrounded by people from all over the world speaking my language. The least I could do was to make an effort to be understandable.

Over the years, I have met people from so many different countries and increasingly been able to communicate with them in English on an equal level. Non-native speakers are often nervous about speaking English to a native speaker because they become more conscious of making mistakes, thinking perfection is required. But I always tried to put them at ease by saying "don't worry about accuracy of grammar - I can understand you, we can communicate, that's all that matters."

I never thought there would be a price to pay for that choice. But now that I am spending more time with groups of English-only people, I am reminded that there is always a price to pay for going for what you want, small or large.

Recently in the UK at a party of Nicki's friends, I had my first taste of culture shock - in my own country. I could understand the words of the conversation, but often I had no idea of the real meaning. I don't know what is on TV or what's going on in politics over there. I don't listen to English radio or read the newspapers. Suddenly, I felt like a stranger - it was hard to contribute as the quick-fire humour passed me by. My English language is outdated by 12 years, because I have not been immersed in the country's culture for 12 years. It was a genuine shock and it knocked me sideways.

And I will get through it. Come on, I tell myself, I learned to speak German in Austria and a good amount of Dutch in Holland. How difficult can it be for an Englishman (no matter how International) to learn English English?

And despite the discomfort and shock of this disconnection (the Dutch word is 'vervreemd' - it more accurately expresses what I felt), I don't regret one single thing. That decision, so lightly taken all those years ago, to leave my home country and seek something wider resulted in exposure to such an incredible diversity of people and cultures. Surely it has made me a better person.

It took me 12 years to learn how to be an International Englishman. It will take much less to learn to be English again. But it will take time.

Contrasting Squares

A city of contrasts. I believe that's what we all love, the contrast to what we are used to. Maybe that is why we love Amsterdam.

The peace of the Hofje. The green, the calm, space, solitude, earnest learning of the university building, Minerva's wisdom.

The bustle of Nieuwmarkt. The market, terrace bar wisdom, tourists and locals mixed in this old place. De Waag dominates the square - the ancient castle-like building where merchants weighed their goods.

It's a mound of sounds. Car engines, bike bells tinging, voices, chains, squeaking breaks, coughs and splutters, high-heeled footsteps, a louder engine, English, Spanish and Dutch voices, a baby crying, a stool squeaking.

Nieuwmarkt - remarkably, the site of riots just 40 years ago, Most of the people here - mostly tourists - would be amazed to know of the riots. But I know and am always amazed too. To think this place, where we drink our tea and write our words, was the scene of police-truncheon violence and water cannon as the protesters against the demolition of old buildings to make way for the new Metro were herded away.

But much worse lies deeper, the war history. I feel it when I come here, ever since I learned that this was the Jewish quarter of a city known as Mokum (Yiddish for "Safe Haven"). Tens of thousands were removed from the area in the war. Of 80,000 Jews in Mokum before the war, just 5,000 survived. 5,000.

This deep sadness and shame of Amsterdam. We talked about it, Tine and I - she described it as "A Wounded City". Unspoken. Unspeakable. Not to be spoken of.The city recovered. Of course it did, life moves on and nearly 70 years have passed now since the war. 34 years have passed since the riots and the demolition of the rotting but beautiful buildings that stood in the way of the progress of the city.

And the Nieuwmarkt square goes about its life, serving up a beautiful atmosphere of the world moving, oblivious to the past and enjoying a present, peaceful and busy Amsterdam moment.

Calm moments in the Hofje

When the sun shines in Amsterdam, it's like God is Dutch. It makes the city feel different, people look different, walk a little less hurriedly, enjoy the moment more.

Sitting in a 'Hofje' I have never sat in before (a Hofje is a small coutryard). That's also Amsterdam for me. It's not a huge city, but still after 12 years I find places even close to the centre which are new and involving.

It's just off the alleyway with bookstalls, between two streets in the Nieuwmarkt area. I've walked through that alleyway 50 times. Why did I never see this small square of peace and stillness in the heart of things?

I sit and breathe in the clear air and the almost-silence, even though I am encircled by the city. I feel the warm breeze on my skin. Surrounded by green. Are the plants symmetrical? No, the Red Beech is only on one corner. But the rest of the plants and trees are in all four corners. My knowledge is too limited to name them, but I feel good to be among them.

Green. Sunny. Calming. Intriguing, with a statue of Minerva centring a ring of roses. Why Minerva? Of course, this is part of the university. Minerva is the Goddess of Wisdom in Greek Mythology.

The bench I sit on is wooden, solid. It's been here for years. So many people have sat here – preparing for tests, lectures, presentations. Or just tourists passing through. As I am leaving, a group of Spanish tourists come in with a guide – my timing has been lucky. It would have been a different moment had I arrived with them.

Years ago, I visited Hofje after Hofje with a German friend. She had come to Amsterdam on a mission – visit all the suggested locations in her guidebook. We raced through 10 courtyards in less than an hour. I don't remember even one of those little squares. We just ticked them off her list, never truly experienced them.

But I will remember this one, come here again, and again experience this moment of peace. Next time it might rain, another time it could be just cold, another windy. But this moment of warmth and peace will live again in my Amsterdam memory.