9 Million Bicycles in Beijing

It's been 4 months since I last checked in: a lot has happened within that space of time. While I feel compelled to give my loyal readers (all 10 of them! If they're still reading my blog...) an update on my life and what has gone on, I also feel like I often write posts just updating people.
The lowdown on the last four months:

1. I wrapped up work in Australia. The last time I posted anything here, I was somewhere in Melbourne chilling out with my sister and not doing much work. I didn't really need to be there: the boss just wanted some closure over there, so off we went, said hi and bye to a few people, and generally stopped talking to the Australians we worked with after that.

In retrospect, that time in Australia was, on the whole, quite fun: there was plenty of drama along the way, some travelling, and the best part was just catching up with family. I would do it all over again except for the part where I froze my balls off every night walking back from the MR firm to my hotel in North Sydney... All so I could save on cab fare.

2. I also did not announce this, but I hooked up with a gal a little before my last trip to Australia. At that point in time, I wasn't sure if I was ready for another relationship. However, after 4 months (and still counting...) it looks like it's in for the long haul.

It is serious... I think. Somehow, we always cracked jokes about how we should just break up and see other people (you know, for the variety?). But all these remained talk, and I knew, some 2-3 weeks back, that she was serious.

So I should be, too.

Come to think of it, I don't think I'll be blogging much about my relationship though: it is just not my style to. Unless, of course, I start that angsty trip again, one that took me some 1 year to recover from.

3. Lots of travelling the last few months: mostly, it is for work trips to Beijing. There were also a couple of holidays: one to Bali and another to Ho Chi Minh City. Both were short excursions / getaways to seek hedonistic pleasures in... oh, I'm saying too much there. ;)

Ed Note: Hey, btw, what do you think if I start blogging about sex? I haven't quite done any of that before. Probably won't do that though: too many people know me in real life and know about my blog. Heck, it's even in my facebook profile.

More on Beijing in a while: impressions and stuff. I have a somewhat biased impressions of Beijing (they're positive btw), largely because I'm glad I finally got a chance to work here.

4. Workwise, I got onto a really interesting project in Beijing. Remember that I work in a consulting outfit for a client in the technology sector. The 'really interesting project' was a strategy piece that involved formulating a plan to grow the client's business in China. That's the 3 second spiel anyway.

The more interesting aspects of the work, though, were in learning about:

a) the challenges of marketing tech products in China;

b) the battles against counterfeits in a notoriously IP-ignorant country;

c) the importance of channels and why we should never piss them off;

d) how come no one knows the 'who, where, what' when it comes to Small and Medium Businesses; ande) the magic you can create with some customer data and a spreasheet

----------------

Let's hope I find the time (over the next week or so) to delve a little more into some of the 4-5 things above. Stay tuned!

Late Like a 40-Year Old Virgin

Rant and Rave ahead - skip this post if uninterested.

-------------

I have never waited so long in my life for an airplane to take off.

It was a simple domestic flight from Sydney to Melbourne for the purposes of work, meeting relatives, and a more pleasant environment to spend the weekend.

Instead, it turned into the interminable wait.

In hindsight, it wasn't entirely the fault of Virgin Blue (the domestic carrier I directed all my invisible rage at). But I can't help but blame them for what ensued.

First off, I checked in at those ubiquitous self-service kiosks that were meant to reduce the need for front counter check-in staff. But because I also have a Samsonite to lug onboard, I still have to drop my bag in the bag drop-off counter.

What I didn't get was why there was a queue for the bag drop-offs - don't you just 'drop' your bag and then go? So why the need for a whole slew of counter staff to check and tag bags? OK, I guess it is necessary, but somehow, it kinds of defeats the whole purpose of self check-in entirely.

Additionally, checking in was also confusing because there were 2 long queues formed: one for the self check-inners who are queueing to bag drop; another for the stupids who are queueing to check in. Of course general confusion ensued and additional staff have to be hired to manage the lemminged passengers into joining the right queue.

And to make things worse, there are guys who will join the wrong queues, and hold up counter staff in meaningless arguments over mindless stuff like: "Yes I know I didn't check in at the kiosk, but can I still drop my bag? No? WHY THE HELL NOT? WHAT RULES?"

Ok, so all in, about 30 minutes to self check-in (5 mins for the computer illiterate to figure it out and move on from their frustration at the kiosk, 1 min to check myself in, 24 minutes shuffling in the queue and nudging my bag to the drop-off counters).

Next up: Krispy Kreme doughnuts for brekkies and off to Gate 32 we go!

At Gate 32, I whiled the time away reading a little book about finding your strengths, which Virgin Blue isn't very good at showing me at this present moment. Its one claim to fame is perhaps that it keeps you in transit for a SHORTER period than its archrival JetStar.

So while at Gate 32, there were ominous signs looming: the first one was the airport announcement over the public address system that there were "Strong Westerly Winds" blowing in and one of two of Sydney's runways will have to be closed. It meant delays and Sydney airport decides that the best thing passengers can do is to "check with your respective airlines' staff". Like they aren't hassled enough already huh?

And to make things even worse, Virgin Blue flight DJ 818 was 'DELAYED' getting out of the Gold Coast. Which meant that it was going to be 'DELAYED' getting out of Sydney as well. Alright, fine. Virgin Blue's ground staff immediately announce in a cheerily happy voice that the 8.15am flight would most likely leave at 9.30am or so, after the Gold Coasters disembark and the plane refuels.

How optimistic of them.

So next up, DJ 818 finally got into Sydney airport and the harried Gold Coasters shuffled off the airplane. Hurray! Gate 32 should start getting busy soon.

Except for one problem: DJ 818 has an engineering fault and "our engineers are working on fixing the problem" and the ground crew announces that "as soon as we know how long it will take, we will let you know."

At this point, I am starting to seeth... I'm already late getting out of Sydney, and I am going to be very late showing up at my client's office.

To make things worse, ground crew eventually pronounces (in the same cheerily happy voice) that "unfortunately, our engineers cannot tell us how long it will take, and we apologise for being unable to tell you when our aircraft can take off". They also say that "if you would like to leave the gate area, please listen to the public announcements for updates".

Tell that to the iPodders who probably didn't understand any of the ruckus going on. More on iPodders later.

Eventually, the engineering problems proved insurmountable. Ground crew at Gate 32 finally made the executive decision that was to create the 'Mr Bean' situation of domestic airport hell: they decided we should switch to... another Virgin Blue plane! Yatta!

Ground crew promptly decides that the plane at Gate 31 will become DJ 818 and thus announces that "all passengers of DJ 818, please move to Gate 31 for immediate boarding". Happily, the passengers all shuffle across the passageway to the gate opposite and promptly forms a queue in front of the counter. There were few seats available because some passengers of another flight are plonked on them.

Ground crew happily skips from Gate 32 to Gate 31 and picks up the microphone. DJ 818 passengers look on in mild anticipation that they will finally board the plane. Ground crew cheerily announces that "all passengers of DJ XXX (I forgot the number) waiting at Gate 31 will now board at Gate 32 instead. Please kindly move to the gate opposite to await your flight".

Ahhhh... now I get it. We did a plane swap! Collective groans from the passengers of DJ XXX were greeted by indifference from several iPodders - some sleeping to the sounds of Handel, others pumping their heads to techno. It did take a while for the iPodders to register these domestic terminal comedies and, of course, they did eventually move. (Some of the thick ones did eventually try to board the 'wrong' aircraft and were shooed away with much irritation and confusion).

Okay, so the plane swap has happened and Gate 32ers are now Gate 31ers, and vice versa. So DJ 818ers finally look at our skippy cheery ground crew gal and she finally announces that "we are now removing your bags from the previous plane and transferring them onto this plane, and there will be another delay".

Wow... 8.15am has turned into 10.15am, and none of us are on the plane yet.

And finally, the plane swap has been done and the bags were moved across, ground crew gal finally starts checking boarding passes and letting people onto the new DJ 818. Collective sighs of relief and happy customers of Virgin Blue start boarding their flight for Melbourne.

So boarding takes another 20 minutes or so and I chucked myself comfortably into window seat 5F, with a view of the starboard side of the plane. I can see the wing to the right and back, and a mean looking yellow manhole cover nearby.

With everyone safely in the aircraft, and the right bags onboard, the pilot proceeded to welcome all passengers and greeted us with this news: "the plane needs to be refueled and we have already called Shell to come refuel the plane, but they seem to be taking their time coming."

Ok, sanity check: Plane swap - checked. Passengers boarded - checked. Crew moved to new aircraft - checked. bags transferred - checked. Oh wait! I can't take off coz I don't have enough fuel!

Ok. Yet another delay.

Eventually though, out of my little peephole of a window, I saw what look like a bunch of shining alumnium pipes-on-wheels zip over the mean looking manhole cover near to the right wing of the newly christened DJ 818. A bored looking man wearing a lime green jacket and big lime green headphones (NOT an iPodder this one) got out of pipes-on-wheels and started fiddling with his mean looking hose.

In fact, he had TWO of them! On the truck anyhow.

The small one led to the plane, and he slowly and laboriously lugged this one to a little hole at the side of the aircraft, plugged it in, and shuffled back to the truck.

Next, he brought out this rod and prodded it into the manhole cover. He removed the cover and attached another hose (thicker but shorter this time) into the recess that was exposed. (If that didn't sound like a dirty romantic novel, then I guess I will never carve a career in writing books with Fabio on the cover; side note: where's my career counselor when I need one?).

So anyhow, the fuel truck guy from Shell FINALLY filled the plane with fuel and drives off. Meanwhile, cabin crew were busy telling passengers to stay in their seats. They were also busy showing their disapproval whenever someone whipped out his / her mobile. Much clucking of tongues and shaking of heads and wagging of index fingers are meant to indicate that it was a bad idea to call the darling while fuel was injected into the aircraft.

With the plane fueled up, it was time for all passengers to hear what the next hold up (you think its over???) was.

Oh yeah, the "Strong Westerly Winds" theory of plane delaying tactics. The pilot promptly announces to us that "due to Strong Westerly Winds" one of the runways had to be closed. Which meant that all planes are taking off and landing on one runway, which meant that "we are now negotiating with air traffic control to let us take off as soon as possible".

At this point, despite my reservations about the delays; despite my seething rage at waiting for 3 hours already; despite my resignation at the inevitability of it all; I have to say that Virgin Blue staff are perhaps the most informative of all airline staff ever. Kudos for the information age!

Not that its a bad thing: it just doesn't help if you have people like stupids, thicks, and iPodders, all of whom generally don't care in their own special ways what you tell them about delays. A delay just meant that: a delay. And no amount of information regarding what you're doing or when things are happening are changing the perception that Virgin Blue is one big cock-up in the eyes of these people.

Finally, and this is the last time I use that word 'Finally', the plane gets permission to take off, and we taxi onto the runway, slowly, but surely, and DJ 818 is off the ground - almost 4 hours behind schedule, and with all passengers intact.

It was with fanfare - and a huge dose of relief - that all DJ 818ers started to clap and cheer when the plane landed in Melbourne airport. I don't think I'll ever look at another 'DELAYED' sign in the same way ever again.

I Wanna Hold Your Hand... and Other Vows

There are many rules relating to what you do or do not do at work, and there're probably many rules you can create about blogging, and what you do or do not do while you blog.

One of the work rules is that you probably do not blog while you are at work. Unless, of course, if you're my boss who is currently using his blog as a platform to replace the mass emails that he spams us with. Or if you're the resident blogger of Microsoft / Google / Apple / (pick your favourite IT hothouse), pimping their latest and greatest creations.

One of the blog rules would be that you probably blog on a pretty regular basis, or your faithful readers (all 10 of them!) abandon you for some other tripe (there are a lot of junk celebrity bloggers out there in Singapore).

And because I have never seen myself as a person to follow rules on a consistent basis, here I am: blogging while I am supposed to be working. There's a bunch of stuff waiting to be spreadsheeted and powerpointed but who cares? I've got stuff to talk about.

-------------------

Speaking of breaking rules, I have a knack for breaking rules related to my car and my driving.

Ever since I started driving (my own car, that is), I have not failed to collect a fine or ticket in every country that I have so deigned to rent a vehicle at.

In Singapore, there have been at least 6 parking fines in the last one year. The range of fines that I have garnered (much like some ill-conceived collection that I'm not so proud of):

• Rule No. 4(1)# - Parking without displaying any valid coupon(s) : This happened once when I cheated on my parking coupon. On some occasions, I will fold back the coupon flaps rather than tear them out, just so that I can re-use the coupon at a later date. To date, I think I managed to save enough through such efforts to actually pay the fine, so... in a way, it is perhaps worth it.
• Rule No. 11 - Displaying coupon(s) where the time of commencement of parking indicated is later than the actual time : This happened once when I tried to squeeze a little more time out of my folded-back cheater of a coupon. I put a time that is 15 minutes later than that particular point in time, and promptly got a fine because an alert car park auntie passed by the vehicle 3 minutes later. 3 MINUTES!
• Rule No. 10(1) - Parking a vehicle in a parking place not designated for its use : This happened when I parked near Fort Canning. I was heading to church and chose to plonk the car in a bus park lot (much like MANY other cars there were doing). So there are actually lots designated for coaches, ok, but why can't I park there when they aren't being used at all? Talk about a waste of space.

In France where I spent 4 months of last year, there were mainly parking fines garnered from the Parisian traffic police. The problem for me was that I spent most of the time in Fontainebleau, where the only parking rule around is that you can park anywhere except where it'll inconvenience someone else. Parking cars up on the kerb is not uncommon in sleepy Fontainebleau. Paris though, is another story, and they slapped me with a parking fine for leaving the car there for longer than stipulated.

To date, I have yet to pay that fine.

And finally, due to an over-eagerness to hit the Great Ocean Road with my colleague, I ended up speeding along Prince Edward Highway, somewhere east of Melbourne. All it took was to be 10km/h above the speed limit, and the camera went snap. The Melbourne police took great pains to locate our address (they called the rental company, the hotel, our client, and my Aussie mobile #) and finally found out we wanted the ticket to be served to us at a grand old CBD address in Singapore.

We haven't got the letter yet (it's been 2 months?). Guess the postage was not worth it.

-------------------
What is it about dating a beautiful woman that makes you feel insecure?

Why does it make you feel like you will lose her eventually, that there is nothing you can do in your power to hold onto her?

Why is it that jealousy bubbles to the surface whenever she gets approached by other men?

When is it possible to say 'I love you' to her and mean it, and not because you want to get comfortable with her (because she's beautiful)?

What can you do to keep her with you, knowing full well she can have the pick of the crop?

Why is it that you feel an urge to protect her, to hold her, and to reassure her that she is beautiful, despite the reservations you have that it is that which gives her strength and confidence?

Questions.

-------------------

Sydney right now is an odd place. It is a living irony.

It has rained copiously the last 3 weeks or so. I arrived here on Tuesday to find it showering torrentially - there was half an expectation that Noah's Ark will loom over the distance, overspilling with kangaroos, koalas and wombats. (the Australian version of it, anyhow). The folks I were visiting at the market research agency we work with were apologising for the weather, like it was their fault that the rain came along (and the British aren't the only ones who have extensive vocabulary for weather conditions).

Yet... and this is weird... the people here are still experiencing a drought. They still do not have enough water.

I found out soon enough why: the rain in Spain falls mainly in the plains; but in Australia, they are falling in the damned cities where the damned dams cannot catch them. So the best possible solution to this water crisis might be this: bring out the bathtubs and start collecting the rainwater off of your rooftops.

Or if divine intervention be required, pray for rain - but pray with more geographic precision.

-------------------

Have you ever thought about the wedding vows and how they all sound similar? Apparently, even wedding vows have certain best practices. For example, the following wedding vow is too often said to death:

"I _____, take you ______, to be my wedded wife/husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in
sickness or in health, to love and to cherish 'till death do us part. And hereto
I pledge you my faithfulness."

Another one which is uttered by the minister in attendance:

"_________________, will you have this woman/man to be your wife/husband to live together according to God’s decree in the holy estate of marriage? Will you love her/him, comfort her/him, honour and keep her/him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, faithfully keep to her/him alone, so long as you both shall live?"

"I will."

I think we can all do better with our wedding vows: be creative and come up with your own. The website My Wedding Vows
might be a good place to source for ideas.

However, I think a vow, whether creative or traditional, needs to be made with genuine intent. Otherwise, it is just another meaningless utterance, air let out of lungs without any commitment to it.

And where vows are concerned, I believe I shall write my own one when the time comes around to it. (Ed note: Actually I was thinking of sprucing this entry with a few vows of my creation, but there's no time for that now - I have to get back to work!).

-------------------

Last piece of news for those who are friends and who read this (and count themselves loyal to my cause whatever that might be at the present moment of time).

I am very happy right now. I also miss home a lot now and rue the fact that I am in Sydney. If you must know why, you know how to find me.


Oh all that rain... and not a drop to drink.

Mapless in Melbourne (aka Fatigue and a Shortage of Everything)

This is one of those 'ME' posts - long, ranty, and not very much useful in the bigger scheme of things. It does feel good to write these once in a while though.

----------------

I am tired:

- of being me.

- of being me being a crutch.

- of being me being a crutch once too often.

- of being me being a crutch once too often, and for other people.

- of being me being a crutch once too often, and for other people, without anything in return.

- of being me being a crutch once too often, and for other people, without anything in return. What's more, it isn't like I am expecting some reward (though I do habour some expectations).

Being supportive, or otherwise being a friend, is sometimes a tiring exercise. Sometimes, I just want to quit it. If I could just easily tender my resignation as a friend sometimes, it'll be so much better.

A leave of absence will probably not hurt either. In some way, being 6000 miles (approximately) away from home does help.

I don't get too bothered by folks back home when I am here.

I don't get knackered at the end of a day chasing deals that never materialise.

I don't worry about people around me.

I get time away from all that has saddened me and worn me down. I am still sad about it - I just can't do damage to myself from being physically where it hurts (thinking about it still hurts... but it's containable here)

*** By the way, don't believe that bull shit about how getting away will help you forget.

----------------

But I don't get to be myself though. Over here, my social circle is diminished, and there is increased interaction with a very small number of people. Being with colleagues for 12 hours a day, constantly, and without respite, is probably none too healthy (even though most consulting engagements are such, I've always been the local and never realised the almost 24/7 interaction required with other colleagues).

Consider this: I live in the same hotel as them; see them the first thing in the morning before heading out; take turns driving the rental car and bitching about traffic; work in a small meeting room overrun with cables, laptops and assorted fat-inducing munchies; hunt for new vegeterian options (I work with a vegeterian Indian, a somewhat renounced vegeterian Indian, and a none-too-picky Thai) during lunch; brainstorm over coffee about our collective problems; fire off emails and make cruel jokes about our counterparts from Hong Kong (they and their 'sing-song' English); check out eatability.com for new dinner options (Thai today, Italian tomorrow) - the first suggested restaurant wins (so long as there is vegeterian); and then retire to the hotel room, with the privacy it offers me to watch my latest downloaded shows (ack... Heroes is ending!).

I see my colleagues too much. I even talk like them now (affected Indian accent with bobble head thrown in for good measure; kawaii Thai intonations - quite charming for a gal, very gay-ish if you're a guy though).

My rant is: I need to be home... and they aren't letting me be.

Part of the reason is cost: it costs less to house me in the hotel over the weekend than fly me back and forth. The hotel is none too bad: it has broadband, the room is big and spacious, and I get a queen sized bed all to myself (anyone wanna come share it?). The flyback is not bad either: the company books us on SIA (Side note: Since I fly economy class, I always check into seats near the galley, somewhere around row 53 or so, and on the window aisle seat - go find out why).

Another reason is my bad timing: I chose to stay over one weekend, just for the heck of it (and me and another colleague did the Great Ocean Road! 2nd time round for me but she was totally thrilled to see the cliffs and winding roads). That was last weekend, and the intention was to fly home this weekend. Which proved impractical because we were going to fly home ANYWAY next Wednesday (or Thursday, or possibly Friday because we are such poor planners).

It sucks that I can't go home this weekend because: 1) I already miss home and people I know - I also miss TCC coffee; 2) I am going to miss a friend's wedding, and furthermore, that is my one chance to play being a 'Brother'. This sucks ass - I've always wanted to be the guy helping the groom tackle the ruckus of 'gate-crashing' while fighting off demanding bridesmaids. It always sounded like so much fun.

----------------

In other news...

1) Melbourne May 2007 is probably not the best of times for this sunshine state. The water shortage is made further acute by the realisation that the government has miscalculated its water reserves by 40%. 40-freaking-percent! This means further water restrictions are likely, with Stage 4 being a distinct possbility now. Yikes... people are already not washing cars due to current restriction levels. What's next for this drought stricken land? What is a stupid tourist like myself worrying about a drought in this country? Perhaps I just like the collective environmental conscience that seems to permeate policies within this country, and therefore hate to see it suffer such (un)natural problems.

2) When driving in Melbourne, you cannot do without their version of the Street Directory. The Melway is one really comprehensive road directory - it never fails to list every major or minor road. The one thing that impresses me about it is that it accurately reflects how 'big' a road really is (which is one gripe I had about Singapore's version of it - all roads look the same size and one-laners are no different from expressways). Much as the Melway helped within understanding and planning a route, Melbourne itself makes it disappointingly hard to get your bearings: street signs are not the most conspicuous objects and the necessity of doing hook turns at junctions featuring tram lines still baffle me sometimes.

3) The Great Ocean Road is one big scenic drive - doing it the 2nd time round is decidedly more fun, since I am now a more seasoned driver and can navigate the curves better (there are other curves I navigate better these days too but... sighs... no chance there). This time, I was driving in a generally west-bound direction and during the mid-morning to afternoon period. The views were amazing - sheer towering cliffs, waves crashing on rocky shores, inlets carved out by years of pounding surf. Given the chance, I would love to do it all over again - and bring a camera... and lose the non-too-adventurous colleague.

4) Finally, the last news item of the day: If you know anyone who can take me out to somewhere chic in Melbourne and have a swell time, sign me up with them. I hang out with people who are currently married / engaged or otherwise seriously dating someone while here. This means there are no singletons like myself who would love to hang out over some drinks and meet other people, and this means that this means post 9pm, I'm mostly back in my hotel room watching downloads or checking out Australian TV shows like Big Brother, 1 vs 100 etc. In the short term, it is kind of nice having a hotel room to thrash like a rock star. In the longer term (which is the next one month or so) this place will start to seriously bore me. HELP!

There.

Oh btw, since I have a surfeit of photos which I have yet to blog about, I will probably put a couple of posts to showcase them a bit - bear with me as some of them date back to last year.



Mapless in Melbourne, May 2007

Two Steps Behind

It's been 5 days in the Garden State of Melbourne and it looks set to be much longer now. Going by what is required, the work is going to be done by a partner in Australia, with my company being in a more supervisory and advisory position. I believe that this can largely be done out of Singapore. But given the tight timelines and strict deadlines, I guess there's no choice but to be here in Oz-land, stepping on tails and cracking the whips.

Coming to Melbourne in May is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it means that I get to meet my sis and her boyfriend again - the last time we saw each other, it was in rainy December. A blessing also when it comes to food and lodging: the food's largely covered by the per diems, and lodging comes courtesy of the company (of course!) so I'm living here like a well-fed happy consultant, with nary a care who cleans the room or washes the toilet (eh... it's not like I worried about these things back home either... )

It's a curse because I ended up being here (initially) with 2 Indian vegeterians. They're nice guys who took the trouble to explain all things Indian to me - I understood more about Hinduism and why Hindus are such tolerant folks when it came to other religions, and also why they aren't (Hinduism is both everything and nothing at the same time, but at a less abstract level than Zen Buddhism is); I understood also why a map of India from India is geographically depicted to have more land area than the typical atlas, and why Indians are outraged at seeing maps from so-called authorities on national borders; I understood that arranged marriages have a whole structure and organisation to them, that it is in and of itself a grand affair with parents on both sides involved, and brides chosen with much care, and that even if it was a love marriage, the logistics of an arranged marriage are followed nonetheless (70% of marriages in India are arranged marriages and they have one of the lowest divorce rates in the world!).

Oh wait, it's a curse because they are vegeterians and are really good at wrangling a situation to their benefit. :) When it comes deciding where to head to for dinner, the research on Indian restaurants in the area had already been done, and the decision was moot: 2-1 Indian curry place wins hands down. Oh yes there is a concession on one of the nights to go to a noodle joint, but the less than enthusiastic response from my Indian counterparts told me where their cuisine preferences lie. They are picky, cautious and particular when it comes to the food they eat - 'Rightfully so!' Ravi claims, 'because it is what you put into the system, and the system is all that matters in the end.'

Philosophical, that Ravi.

---------------

Melb's left an impression as well over the last 5 days or so. First thing I noticed on getting here is the water restrictions put in place. From the various sources I've got (sources include sister, cab drivers, receptionists at workplace and hotels among others), it appears like there's been a drought in the state of Victoria for a long time already, something in the area of the last 5-6 years apparently (according to one source).

It's probably been quite severe before, and there are actually water restriction levels that are put in place to control water usage (to some extent). This also explained why my sister's beat up car looked more beat up (dust, grime and dirt is obvious on a 20-year-old white Honda) because it hasn't been washed for months. Water restriction was at Stage 3 during my stay there and I can't help but think about other such similar 'levels' and stages out there: Hurricanes, Tornados, DEFCON, Terrorist Alerts etc. (for more details on water restriction levels, go here)

---------------

An additional curse, if you can call it that, is that our client site isn't located in town. Initially, the expectation was that the site might be on St Kilda Road, which was a hop, skip and jump away from the city centre. Following our own research on the Internet, hotel rooms were booked nearby.

However, upon further information provided by the client and other sources, it was apparent that the client site that we thought was the client site is not the client site that we were supposed to be at. The actual client site is in some suburb outside of town, in the 'city' of Whitehorse (I'm not gonna give away the actual 'urb' it's in because it just might give too much information away on my client and what I do).

The city of Whitehorse is not a city in the strict sense of the word: from the looks of it, it's an extension of Melbourne, or rather, a suburb of Melbourne. The road trip over here passes many houses, and it appeared like we never left the urban areas behind at all. In contrast, during my time in France, driving from one town to another is usually through forested areas and the distinction between one town and the next is usually clear cut (exceptions exist... like Fontainebleau and Avon, which are essentially two towns merged into one big urban mess).

I suspect, though, that Whitehorse might be a local municipality: i.e. it is more of a political entity than that of a geographical one. Given that I am in the airport transit lounge at the moment, I'll check that hypothesis out at some later date and perhaps qualify what I'm babbling about here. This might mean that the jurisdiction over essential services might be separate and distinct from the main Melbourne area itself - it might have its own police force, garbage disposal services, and the like.

Nevertheless, seeing the phrase Whitehorse brings back memories of my NS days. Singaporean males will know what I mean. The White Horse is that oft-used phrase describing a full-time national serviceman who is a 'priviledged son'. He is typically the son of an influential politician, rich and prominent business person, or some other similar e-literati (A l33t in netspeak). The name came about because the dockets (35A and 34B for those who care to recall) will have a white horse stamp on it to remind the unit commanders of the special treatment require for the rich kid.

Few people liked the system (for obvious reasons) and its existence was only very recently acknowledged.

---------------

Right. Boarding soon. Thank god for the new IBM Thinkpad my company has deigned to bequeath to me: this baby runs on juice for more than 2 hours at a stretch! (on those days I don't run power intensive programs on it like Azureus). The Thinkpad is a tool for the pro: it looks chunky for sure, but the whole charm of it comes from its ubiquitous black monochrome and the sleek black lines with hard edges and sharp corners. In other words: don't mistake this for a fluffy mac pretender; it is a work tool through and through. And it doesn't say 'I look like I might collapse' like the Dell does sometimes. Thinkpads are made to get you looking like the professional you are, and there's no looking like a pro than tapping away on one while in the airport transit lounge.

Now... if only I can look like I'm actually doing work than blogging away. hehe...

---------------

See you in Singapore soon. Bon Voyage.

How deep does the Rabbit Hole go?

It's been a while.

That's all I got to say on the subject of my tardiness.

Now on to the main course.

----------------

Firstly, the update. For the last 3.5 months, I was working away at a search firm / recruitment agency / headhunter (choose your description) interacting with a lot of people and generally getting a handle on the recruitment industry in Singapore. Also, I started seeing signs that the famed 'Employees' market' is back again: candidates show up with multiple job offers and companies are getting pressed to hire as quickly as possible (to stem outflows and offer rejections). What has not changed though were the salaries: they do not accurately reflect this demand.

So, that fun time at the search firm lasted until a kickass consultancy offered me a 3-month contract with them. It was not the most lucrative offer that an MBA can get, but it was good enough to entice me to join them. I had talked to them since last November and the expectations were rather clear in terms of compensation and work (the work is exciting stuff - strategy consulting always is). Thus, I took the plunge: I ate the red pill and took a dive down the rabbit hole to see how deep it goes.

----------------

It goes deep south, far enough for me to be currently in Melbourne. Today (30 Apr) happened to be my first day at work (not counting the 2-3 hours at the project kickoff and that office party event, which were before my official start date). I had barely left the search firm (last Friday) and found myself on a plane Sunday night headed towards Melbourne. There was the inkling of an idea what the project was about (a Market Research thingy), but largely, all I was doing was heading to Australia with little idea what I was meant to do there.

Sitting pretty in the hotel room now, I can't help but wonder if this is what my worklife is going to be for a while: travelling at short notice to strange places and seeing a lot of airports, the inside of taxis, and intimately knowing the interiors of the hotel room (oh carpet, you're so fine!). The consulting life is going to be like this for a while... which is great! I never got to travel much at my last job.

Melbourne also affords me the opportunity to see my sis. It also afforded my dad and mum the opportunity to pile my luggage with stuff they want me to send to her (at last count, this was a headset with microphone, a couple of MicroSD cards, and some baby stuff for her bf's niece). We haven't caught up yet but I reckon I might take part of the weekend to do that. We shall see.

----------------

On another note, I'm not sure I will be able to write much anymore. The following reasons are all why I haven't updated this blog for the whole month of April (btw, this post is backdated to 30 Apr so I have something in April... it was written on Labour Day... which is NOT a holiday in Australia):

1. Anime - Spring's offerings have intrigued me: I started on about 7 new animes that came out for the Spring season and have followed every one of them up until at least episode 3 or 4. Each anime takes up about 25 mins and this meant that time lost to anime amounted to around 3 hours every week.
2. TV - There are two programs I've followed throughout this recent period (let's call it greyscalefuzz's search firm times): The Amazing Race and Heroes. Whenever possible, I download both shows from bittorrent sites and collectively, they amount to almost 1hr and 40 mins away from more productive work as well. I still like TAR's reality show concept (comes from my travel bug syndrome) and Heroes is just simply mindblowing for its plotlines.
3. Interviews - and the preparation for them also took up time in April. While the 1st two months of the year were a drought where interviews were concerned, March and April brought a bit of a windfall in interviews. I met 5 companies for interviews (some leading to a 2nd round) even while juggling the possiblity of accepting the rabbit hole job. :) It was good to be desired, but only one other job came to a conversion. There is no way to estimate the time spent here though.
4. Other distractions - I surfed voraciously in April (my search history shows this) and this also meant much of my downtime (while not at work) was spent reading stuff off the Internet. Topics ranged form Spartan history on Wikipedia to recaps of TAR on Television without Pity. Engaging content on the web abounds - I will never read it all!
5. Oh yes, there is also The Gym. Since I signed up for a gym membership, I've been working out twice a week (almost religiously). This is a new thing on my calendar and has amounted to 3 hours in The Gym. The Gym is a noisy dancefloor music haven with hunky dudes pumping iron and gym bunnies in 2 piece attires prancing around. Eye candy aside, it also has too many gay guys (getting checked out in the shower room is the usual norm, especially when it came time to wrap the towel around the waist).

----------------

So the rabbit hole goes deep: I know little about what I've gotten myself into, but it is a reality I am happy to explore for a while (if just for 3 months, so be it). Beats the uncertainty of recruitment. :)

PS: Give me a shout if you're are in Melbourne!

Wrapping Things Up

This is going to be largely about me: I'm getting so ego-centric these days...

------------

The year at INSEAD is almost over: for most, today heralded the last day of school. The Strategic Pricing prof was nice: he provided champagne, toasted to the success of each and every one of us, and bid us a good life ahead.

It has been a bittersweet year for me. I started the year a rather ebullient personality, enjoying every moment of it, but I ended up alienating a certain section of my network in the process. I'm ending the year on a somewhat depressed note: I'm sad to leave, I'm also happy to go to the next phase of life at the same time.

A friend said that I haven't been very social all period (P5) and it's true. I've shied away from contact with most INSEADers, sticking to the ones I know better and just hanging around with people closer in ethnic terms (the Asians, largely). On the whole, it was perhaps a strategy of withdrawal: to slowly distance myself from INSEAD and the wonderful time it has been. Ironically, because it has been the experience of my life for the last 5 years (or so), I wanted it to end as soon as possible. Because, in my most twisted opinion, it is artificial.

This year is not like life as I know it to be. This year has not been progressive in terms of achieving my life goals (I did get my MBA, but I believe I regressed when it came to being a better human being). That, for me at least, is why I will always regard this blip (of a year) as something of an anomaly in my existence. It was fun, it was great, and the experience was wonderful. But it isn't my life: and that's what I so desperately want to get back to.

Someone said that my reaction seems somewhat escapist in nature, it's like a retreat from all the fun and enjoyment everyone else has been having. An utterance that is not entirely untrue, but also 'reflective' in a way. I'm not escaping: INSEAD itself has been the escape for me.

In the grander scheme of living, I didn't really need this MBA at all, nor the one year away. I just wanted to escape from mundanity, conformity, perceived lower sense of self-worth and a non-too-exciting career. I could have plodded on and not 'seen the world' (albeit through rather biased eyes), but I chose to live this one year of wretched debauchery - oh I exaggerate, it is a fun year, with everyone placing emphasis on different aspects of it.

I chose this year at INSEAD to escape, but I found myself wanting to go back now. My colleagues will probably think that this is a regression, a retreat - something quite like a tortoise who stuck his head out and wished he'd never left the comfort of his shell.

------------

The cabaret was last night and I wished I'd gone for it. The cabaret is an INSEAD tradition brought over from the Fonty campus that is meant to showcase student talents. One can perform, dance, sing or just croak on stage in front of fellow INSEADers. Can't say much else though because I wasn't there: from what I heard about it, the performances were funny, superb, and there was a lot of fun all round.

Another INSEAD 'tradition' is also taking place: The End Game. This one is somewhat more interesting, but again, I'm a non-participant (not by choice alas!). The End Game came about because of a gender disparity in INSEAD. Primarily, the problem with B-schools is that there are more males than females enrolled: in INSEAD, the males outnumber females 3 to 1.

Thus, when it came to the general dating pool, the INSEAD female is faced with 'choice', and the INSEAD male is faced with little choice and too much competition. And if you've read my take on the game theory aspects of the dating scene here, you quickly realise that with competition being stiff, girls find it hard to fend off the die-hards they don't fancy, and find it difficult to approach the ones they do.

Hence, the premise for the End Game - the game to end all games (yuck, I hated how that sounds). The End Game is a party to which only 'certain' guys get invited to go. The invitation can only come from one girl i.e. one girl gets to invite one guy (whom they fancy / had the hots for / lusted after), and everyone gets an equal chance to hook up. No competition, no guys blocking each other out, and more attention given.

The rules (for the gals): 1) you cannot invite your boyfriend; 2) If a guy is already invited by another girl, the girl has to choose another guy to go (the 2nd choice, or 3rd or whatever); 3) you're supposed to keep it a secret, i.e. not to reveal it to the invitee nor other invitors.

It all sounds fun until you think about the poor guys who don't get to go. So, in the spirit of all things to do with parties at INSEAD, there is another element added on top of it: guys have to campaign for that 'coveted' invitation to the End Game. Wow... and I thought there was no competition. :)

I think decisions have been made and invitations sent out: Have fun all End Gamers! And if you've ever lusted after someone, tell them.

------------

The end is nigh and I've got another location update to... well, update on. I'm going on a grad trip to Goa next week onwards, and then will return just in time for the graduation ceremony. If I don't blog in the meantime, it is because I didn't drag my laptop along, or I was just having too much fun to drag myself in front of a PC to hammer away on a keyboard.

Also, since I started using StatCounter on this blog, I've noticed certain discernible patterns among my readership: applying what I've learnt from Marketing classes, there are 3 main segments among the readers of this blog:

1) The Friend / Relative / ex-Colleague / fellow INSEADer who I've told about this blog;

2) The click-througher from another (more popular) blog that links here (Thanks to whoever links me!);

3) The ones searching for 'Markstrat Tricks' - seriously, I have so MANY of these guys that I'm seriously considering posting up a solid article that actually espouses the tricks behind Markstrat (there is ONE and only ONE trick I know: when it's time to kill babies, you have to KILL babies).

There: my segments. :) Which are you?

Pics on my Phone - Set 1

There are a bunch of pictures on my phone that I seldom look at or even bother with. Some were taken using my phone (an old battered Nokia 6260), while some were sent by others. All are, alas, low-res pics that will only have some esoteric value to me. In no particular order, here's a set of 5 of them:



I took this picture illegally. Camera phones aren't allowed in camp, but I snuck mine in nonetheless. This is a pic from the top of a watchtower, looking down the chute and ladder from which you climb to access it. It was night, there was nothing to do, and my poor myopic eyes couldn't make out stuff moving in the dark anyway - in other words, I was so bored that I resorted to taking pics of the surroundings (and got this).



This one is from INSEAD, specifically during a time in June when I was on the Fontainebleau campus. My assigned exam number was 44 which, to the Chinese, is about as unlucky a number as you can get. The exam numbers determine where you sit in the amphitheatres during the exams. As you can see, I have a good view of my fellow MBA's exam paper from where I sit (didn't cheat though... no time to).



This is a metro station in Barcelona. In most parts of Europe, their metros (from my perspective) are little more than 'holes-in-the-ground'. There's a hole, you climb down, and - voila! - trains. I like the train stations in Singapore better: at least they can be considered to be buildings, or have the semblance of a station - they're also far easier to locate and find (you tend to miss holes-in-the-ground).



My ex-colleague and his opinion on me using my phone to take his picture. Not the most flattering shot I'm afraid, and if he ever finds out about this blog, he'll be screaming for that pic to be taken down (I doubt he'll sue - he does have a good sense of humour about such things).



A pretty girl, coffee, and a picture taken without my notice. Never leave your phone behind while you go to the washroom: some beautiful lady might decide to leave her pictures on it. (of course it helps if you were dating her...)

Planes, Trains and Automobiles; A new Period

A combination of a few things put me out of blogging action for a while:

1. I've gotten lazy.

2. I was catching up on anime I haven't seen. Anime freaks out there should go catch Kanon and Death Note (the anime, not the movie, though I've heard good things about the movie too).

3. I started re-playing this very long-winded turn-based time-consuming ego-feeding empire-building game which took too much time (because I had too much of it currently). It distracted me from one true purpose of having this laptop (which is to blog with)

4. I was on holiday... with my ex... it was really fun hanging out with someone you know well, but you may never know people well enough (I've come to realise that people can change - someone you think you know now won't be the same person you know later). That makes life interesting, but I'm not looking for interesting experiences nowadays. I just want a life. Period. (punctuation notwithstanding)

5. I was suffering from a writer's block of sorts - there were things I wanted to blog about, but I couldn't put them into words.

----------------

There was an idea to talk about one oft-cited topic: Love. Or rather the reasons for love. I think that love is based on a primal urge to procreate, and as human beings, we are driven to find love because we want to have sex and to reproduce (from a biological point of view, of course). It just gets complicated that we develop feelings along the way: stupid things going by names such as jealousy, hatred, ecstasy - you know them well.

But then, I thought about the fact that too many people have expounded on this topic already, and what can I add to the people who actually read my blog? (I think my regular readers have reached a number that I can count with both my hands!).

So I shan't discuss love - I don't have it now, and I certainly am hungry for it, though I'm beginning to think it is a function of a biological urge.

----------------

There is this post that I wanted to do regarding Singapore Airlines though - I even took notes while the incident was playing out. I was flying out of Changi Airport (Singapore) to Bangkok on an SQ flight (my first in years) and a situation occurred which prevented me from boarding the plane for a long while.

It started with me queueing to check in at Terminal 2's Row 7 check in counter. The first irritating thing is that there is actually a very long queue: it was a rope-lashed snake with 4 bends, which meant one having to navigate an airport push trolley onto people's ankles at least 4 times. One snaky queue feeding something like 12 counters (or positions depending on whose choice of words you chose), of which some were available and some were intermittently closed. I soon found out why there were positions that had to be 'intermittently' closed.

There was actually a lady, not in the usual SIA counter staff garb (the one counter staff wear with the distinctive SQ kebaya pattern for a top and a schoolgirl skirt), standing at the head of the queue directing people to the various counters. She looked authoritative, and she even 'selected' people to skip ahead to the front of the queue, depending on how late they are for their flights. There seemed to be a bias - she seems to move Caucasians ahead of the pack more often than not, but I was probably just being too sensitive. Maybe these ang-mohs just have a thing for checking in late.

Anyhow, this was the situation 2 hours prior to my flight. And I finally got to the counter to check in. I presented my passport, the girl tapped away on the keyboard. I was kept there for something like 5 minutes before being told that a situation had arisen where I might not get a seat on the flight.

Time-out... Now, typically, I think the usual SIA customer will be outraged and suitably angry at this point. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CANNOT PUT ME ON THAT FLIGHT?" might be something I have uttered in utter desperation. With my Outraged Customer Hat on, I might have made a scene or a huge fuss out of the fact that I come 2 hours early to find myself not checked onto the flight. Not impossible yah?

But I am not a usual SIA customer: this is my first SIA flight since I was 10. So I put my
Operations Consultant Hat on instead and decided to find out why she said that.

The reason, oddly enough, actually made sense operationally. SIA is an airline that connects people via Changi airport between people flying out of Europe and Australia going to destinations in Asia (and vice versa, though it was the former case for this situation). A flight out of Sydney coming into Singapore was delayed, and a bunch of the passengers on this particular flight missed their connection in Singapore to other destinations in South-East Asia like Bangkok, Manila and Hanoi.

Knowing that these people are going to miss their scheduled connections, the system did the next best thing it could for them: it put them on the next available SQ flight out to these destinations. One of these next best flight happened to be SQ62 to Bangkok: my flight. All this probably happened even before I showed up at the airport. It made sense then and there to secure the next flight out for these folks, but obviously some things have not been well thought through.

For one thing, the flight was already overbooked - this is a typical airline practice: there is some complicated system to actually calculate yield rates and airlines know that they can overbook an aircraft because there will be cancellations. However, I was flying out on a Hari Raya-Deepavali holiday weekend, which probably screw things up a bit because complex booking algorithms can seldom account for irratic holiday weekend travel patterns.

So while pushing delayed passengers on subseqeunt connecting flights made sound business sense, the fact that the flight was OVERBOOKED, and that it was a HOLIDAY WEEKEND meant that there WILL be people actually boarding that flight in Singapore and one cannot discount that they WILL want to get on the flight.

But... Singapore Airlines, well-known for providing the BEST service to customers put their delayed customers on the next flight out nonetheless. So what was the effect of this happening?

You should have seen the scene at Changi Airport Terminal 2 Check in counter Row 7. Customers were told they needed to wait while the front counter staff scramble to get them seats. My bag was checked in: my bag could actually get on the flight while I had to wait for my turn. I sat on the seats next to the check in row, observing other passengers suffering the same fate. Irate ang-mohs are a sight to behold: this lady was frustrated, furious and screaming at one of the supervisors. Quite understandable: this is Singapore Airlines you're talking about, and what level of service is it that you cannot check in someone who's arrived two hours early?

In providing the best possible service for the folks boarding a delayed flight in Sydney, it has made it impossible for the folks boarding a confirmed flight in Singapore. Pretty well thought out for a world class airline, I must say.

Now, let me assume the Front Counter Staff Hat and see the real victim in all of this. I make no bones about the fact that the real victim isn't myself, the customer. The real victim is the Front Counter girl and mine is named Elline (I never found out her last name). It's a good thing I have had an opportunity to work behind a counter myself (A&E, NUH, something from my previous life as an IT consultant) and I understood what she was going through - I think I was the most reasonable customer for her all of that busy morning.

Often, the Front Counter Staff (FCS) have to handle things on two fronts, both of which are beyond her control in the first place. There is the irate customer on the one hand: the FCS has to deal with frustration, irritation and emotions which are generally beyond their level of comprehension. People hate to wait, and having reached the front of a queue, people hate to be told that they have waited for nothing. The FCS needs to be gentle, reassuring and understanding all at a time when they might be screamed at, shouted at and verbally abused. A crying FCS is a typical sight when things in the backroom get out of hand.

And this is where the FCS faces the biggest ordeal: things happen in the backroom which are beyond her control, and which she might have an inkling of an idea about. The FCS is tasked to provide the best possible service and her KPI is measured based on that - customer waiting time, turnaround time, service etc. But her KPI is affected by backroom events such as the one I have mentioned above.

So, the FCS can try to explain the situation to the irate customer, and at best hope that the customer will understand. It is a tough job with a frequently high turnover, but you do develop a thick hide after facing the worst of them. Elline, my SIA FCS of Row 7, was kind enough to explain the situation, checked in my bag, got me to wait patiently while she put up the sign that said 'Position Closed'. She then ran back and forth between some unknown backroom location and the front counter, all in the name of getting me on that flight.

Me? I was thinking a few things while making notes about the ordeal (I was too free, no book to read, no laptop to punch away on). Firstly, I should have just used SIA's Internet Check-in: much easier, no hassle, and my bag can be carried on. Alternatively, I should have gone in as baggage: bags can get on the flight, passengers cannot. It is SIA, I kept repeating to myself, and it has the best service. Yup, to the irate ang mohs it sure does, since their tempers are well on display. I can still picture this supervisor saying "Sorry... sorry" over and over again to customers who complained.

But I guess there are miracles. Half an hour before the plane was to fly, Elline got me onto the flight. But well, it was the last available seat on the plane - all the way at the back, no choice of aisle or window (I got aisle), near the area where the stewardesses prepare the food. I thanked her, asked her for her name - this is so that I can write this post with a name in mind. The FCS are not nameless assistants to your customer experience: they are also human beings.

I ran, boarded and enjoyed the rest of my trip to Bangkok. But I don't think SIA is that good anymore: Does it make sense that providing good service meant bumping up delayed passengers onto a connecting flight, at the expense of kicking off full-paying passengers who are booked on that flight? I'm tempted to assume my CEO of SIA Hat but I think not: its enough that I blogged about it - if they offer me a job, I think I might even try to help think through strategic imperatives to DEAL with it.

They need some serious re-thinking there... Singapore Airlines.

From one Desert to Another

Where: Dubai Airport

What?: Yup. It is like the busiest airport in the Middle East and it shows. Haggard transits lounge around the coffee joint where I'm enjoying the free wifi and (finally) a real iced mocha blended that the French hiss their disapproval at.

Whatcha doing there?: I'm transitting. I hate airports and crowds.

Again?: Ok, I'm leaving France and on my way home. Sorry I didn't write about it.

You're forgiven. Now where are you going?: That's a no brainer. I'm going home to Singapore where my heart is.

Why?: Coz I'm finishing up INSEAD over there, and see more of my parents before I start on my next big adventure.

Which is?: a secret... Ok, I don't really know yet, but I hope it'll be in China. Shanghai specifically.

Good luck to you: Thanks.

Anything else to share?: Yup. I never said this out, but there was also the matter of a death in the family. My grandmother passed away like... 2 weeks back. I've not blogged about it because I think it kinds of give away my identity and stuff (there's another thing I want to blog about... but I'll keep that for later).

Sorry to hear that: I hear that a lot. Thanks anyhow.

Miss her?: Kinda. See, I also want to be home for my family because of that. Like, you never know when you'll see them again, right?

Ditto: Yup. Batt's running low. Next time!

Authenticity, Careers and Art

Like a track out of Prodigy's best album ('Fat of the Land' I think), this post is probably a wierd mish of skippy beats.

Much as I have learnt from my course in PIM, perhaps the one big lesson that came out of it was that one should aim to be authentic. Being authentic with yourself is the first step in being a better person - when you don't lie to yourself, you will see more of your own flaws and come to view your self-esteem in the right light. In a way, if your ego is the inflated sort (like most MBAs are wont to be) then you most likely need a dose of self-criticism, and see where you really stand as a human being.

Being authentic with other people is a lot harder though. The oft-used cliche of 'putting on a mask' reminds me of how people that I sometimes interact with on a daily basis aren't always being true. Typical casual friends tend to assume a veneer of falsehood as some kind of screen, maybe in some attempt to hide the true self underneath. I guess most people do want their true selves to be 'revealed' in some form or other - they just aren't comfortable enough to want to do that in an obvious way. I believe everyone likes to be heard, and when you can bear to listen to some of the false pompous shit for a while, the true self emerges.

Speaking of revealing, a lot of what I am doing these days is trying to get folks to reveal more - not about themselves, but about their companies. INSEAD's P4s are in the thick of the recruiting season, with 2-3 companies coming every day for this week and next, all in the name of snatching the best MBAs for their firm. The P4s that are job hunting go out of their way to socialise, mingle and network. The P4s that aren't job hunting go out of their way to have fun (and make us job seekers jealous). Cruel, cruel world we live in out here - job search one moment, group meetings the next.

But... somehow, I found time to go to Paris on Sunday. Short trip to see the Musee d'Orsay for free. What struck me about the museum was how they seemed to have a different policy with regards cameras. In contrast with the Louvre (where photography was strictly forbidden), the d'Orsay allowed one to take pictures of the paintings, as long as no flash was used. This meant that one had to grapple with trigger happy tourists taking pictures of other happy tourists standing in front of modern art. How grothesque: go buy the bloody postcards ye cheapskate tourist!

Does it really add to your 'here I am' collection to have a picture of you standing in front of a Renoir or Monet? Like the folks at home are even going to notice. I was really peeved with a particular Brit tourist who shooed me out of his shot while I was looking at a Monet. Like I had no right to be between his phone camera and the painting. Come on... this is an art gallery, not the Eiffel Tower.

Oh, I was guilty of taking a couple of pictures though:

The ground floor of the museum was all sculpture. Rooms to the left and right housed older paintings, some just prior to the impressionist movement.


A clock on the fifth floor of the building offered some interesting picture opportunities. Didn't hang around long though - people just don't like their pictures taken by a stranger that much.

No to no; Pics from Prague

Things have improved - I was able to finally register on the course I wanted, but at the expense of dropping another mini course.

For this period, Psychological Issues in Management (PIM) was offered in 2 sections, and with an initial cut-off point of 80, it was a popular course and in high demand. Furthermore, there was already an expansion from one to two sections and when I checked with the professor, he exclaimed that 2 was as far as he can possibly handle: any more would have been too much of a drain. Organizational Behaviour (OB) courses tend to be an energy-draining affair for the professor: my P1 OB lecturer wept at the end of an emotionally charged period with us.

Still, I'm happy to get to do PIM: after getting a 'No' from the professor, I followed a suggestion from a housemate and approached the administration instead. I guess they like their more enthusiastic students, and I got accepted into PIM. The only snag was that I had to drop something else (a clash of classes - even though I had a solution around it, the lady from the MBA office refused to hear any of it)

Perhaps what I should learn from this is that no 'No's are absolute. There are always ways to work around a rejection and perhaps get a compromise or another way to achieve the desired outcome. Rejection should not be hard to handle - though life may be full of it, there's always something else to go to, or another way to approach it. With the job search activities going on the next few weeks, rejection is probably going to be a frequent occurence.

--------------

My last batch of pictures from my trip in Europe during July. I approached Prague without a guidebook, map, and hardly any idea what to see. Until, of course, a friend in the UK tsk-tsked away and lent me a guidebook for some ideas. I enjoyed Prague, but the problem was I never ventured out of it - interesting nearby towns like Cemsky Krumlov and Kutna Hora were missed on account of my reluctance to spend more money and a little poor planning. Plus I was already stuck in Prague after putting money down on that hostel room.

Shadows played a huge part in the photos I took in Prague. Summer in Europe meant long days and long shadows, and that's what I composed most of the pictures with. Have a look!

Sunset on Charles Bridge - I started getting artistic with the black and whites - there're many of those in the set.


Reflection of some logs on the Vltava River - for what purpose I still can't fathom.


I have a theory that a city big enough to have a metro train system is too big. Prague has a smallish metro system and people still get around alot on trams. They're kind of romantic but watch out for the pickpockets.


Too bad I couldn't get this guy right where I wanted him in this picture. I don't understand why seeing a photographer meant you have to avoid the space he is trying to capture.


Mum was trying to show her toddler the beautiful rose stained glass window in the church. Nope, I don't take pictures of rose stained glass windows because they're too common (on the web)


Under the Bench. Neat thing you can do with lines in a shot, but the bright parts just wash out when you up the contrast on the picture. I like it nonetheless.


Another sunset shot done at Charles Bridge, with the unnecessary areas of the bridge darkened away to highlight the people walking under the bridge tower.


Sighs... the flares ruin an otherwise perfect shot. Maybe I should get my photoshopper friend to do something about those flares.


At the tower overlooking the town square, and looking out at the rooftops of Prague.


Fishing for sunshine.

A Exercise in Futility

Last period's Negotiations Analysis was a hoot: Horatio proved to be the uber cool nego teacher that previous promotions claimed, and he lived up to his reputation (and unfortunately, only some of our expectations) of delivering an entertaining, high-impact negotiation class.

One of the exercises that I did for that class was the 10 'No's exercise. For the purpose of writing the paper, one is supposed to make requests of people that go beyond what they usually can offer for us: get the bus driver to give a discount on the bus ride; ask for more cockles in the kway teow (truly Singaporean, hehe...). Out of these situations, one is to collect 10 Nos for the purpose of documenting the negotiation process. The purpose was to test one's negotiating ability and to see how one can navigate from a 'No' to a 'Yes'.

The stupid thing was in trying to wrack my head to find the 10 situations to write about.

The even stupider thing was in finding myself in more 'No' situations after the class itself. It is a case of divine providence (or some shit like it): after doing a class about getting people past 'No', I find myself getting more 'No's than before.

Take, for instance, Emirates. I was on a flight out of Paris CDG to Singapore on an Emirates flight with 36kg of baggage, 6 more than the allowed requirement. I asked to check in all 2 pieces of luggage, and was denied. The Emirates staff then said oh-so-nicely something about having the authority to allow an extra 4kg, but the extra 2kg had to be charged at something in the range of 60 euros per kg. That is extreme extortion!

The case is thus: I can bring the 9kg piece on board as hand carry, and the other 27kg piece checked in. BUT I cannot check both in because, together, they exceeded the check-in requirement. However, both pieces EVENTUALLY ended up on the same airplane (Oh... so if I pay, I can expect to carry less and make you more money?). The best was in the explanation of the policy: Emirates won't let me check 36kg in because if that happened, then they open the floodgates to everyone demanding the same treatment.

My cheeky question about whether they indeed have everyone making my apparently 'outrageous' drew heated angry berating from the angry french Emirates lady at the check-in counter - I blew my value creation opportunity right then.

Anyhow, that was back in July. More recently, the last 2 days brought its own drama of 'No's to have permanently scarred my naive self. (Ok, I exaggerate: I am just peeved at not getting them to 'Yes').

Yesterday: the Business Card affair. I needed to make a batch of business cards for schmoozing purposes and went to the INSEAD bookstore (appropriately called FootNote - bottom of the page, small font; INSEAD's bookstore used to be tucked neatly away in some basement) to fill in the application form. The business cards had a section for ONE telephone number. I asked to put in TWO: one for my France mobile, another for my Singapore mobile (I am going back in two months after all).

'No.'

So, like the diligent nego pugilist that I am supposed to be after Horatio's course, I asked 'Why?'

Because the format is stated as ONE number by the administration and there's no going against it. So they've defered to a higher authority on this matter and refused to do anything about it.

So I looked for other options...

'No.' (I hadn't even fully explained my half-baked suggestions)

The conversation carried on in a similar vein and 'No' was all I got (and I was both courteous and nice in the entire transaction).

The French don't really make it easy: it seems like when their mind is set on a way of doing things, nothing on Earth is going to worm its way out of the set way of doing things.

My most recent 'No' was, for me, an unfortunate one. Having been waitlisted in the PIM course (Psychological Issues in Management) I was hopeful of being able to attend the class. Turnover is usually quite high and being #4 on the waitlist usually means that one can get into the class of choice. But the OB professor was not keen on having more students - he seemed more interesting in whiling the numbers down instead.

So waitlisted students on PIM? No chance.

I asked him about it during the break and yup, 'No.' Albeit in a much nicer tone of voice than the way with which he conducted his expletive laden spiel. His speech may be explicit laden ('Fuck', 'Piece of Shit' - if it were on TV you might as well call it the 'Bleep' show), but what he is teaching has so much relevance to how we relate to one another. Damn I wished I had put in more points into that damn course.

'No' being all that I've heard recently, I'm getting worried about facing the impending job search activities ahead: am I to expect more 'No's?

My feel is that it'll only make the 'Yes' that is to come sound oh-so-sweet. (Yup, I'm still an optimist).

Google-Addled and Familiar Sights from London

A couple of weeks back, I decided to make this website contribute a little to the greyscalefuzz get-rich-and-retire fund by adding Google ads. Making this blog a somewhat more commercially viable enterprise was just an exercise in seeing what that new-fangled Google tool could do. And I ended up being more interested in what ads they pulled out with the words written on my entries.

One thing that caught on immediately was my brief reference to the D_a Vin_ci Co_de - lots of links to Christian websites debunking Mr Brown's wild theories. Another one that was more recent gave me a link to a site that had a detailed theological explanation of Jo_hn chapter 1. Interesting stuff - I think it is good to know that a true reading of the bible need also involve some understanding of the context, and the language it was originally written in.

(Oh, in case you're wondering what explains those underscores... '_', I'm trying to see if they fool GoogleAds - I don't really want the same results returned again, like a broken record... that annoying thing)

-----------

London.

I kind of liked and disliked London all at the same time. I've always liked old cities with a lot of history and culture behind it. Everything is in English - the signs, the announcements on the Tube, the maps. Everything is immediately understandable and not too much of a cultural shock. I can actually order a quarter pounder, fries and coke light without tongue twisting in excruciating French, or getting all signy-pointy with Spanish counter staff.

What I hated though was the whole hustle and bustle of a big city - I think any city with a population in excess of 2 million, and owning a subway system qualifies as a big city. And cities having subways are annoying in the way that they swallow individuals up and spew them out in mass quantities at precise locations within them. The crowding makes people short on temper and short on courtesy at times - I've never felt more small and insignificant. I've never felt more swallowed up than in London (perhaps I might feel the same in Tokyo; I've certainly felt that in New York)

Pics:

The London Eye when your eye cannot see the whole of it from the bottom up.


A small pic to show you everything London: the double decker, Big Ben, part of the London Eye, and the unholy mating of the London Cab and Hello Kitty (pink cab, bottom right)


Squinty-eyed me 'flying' on the London Eye. Didn't help that I seldom trusted strangers with my camera, so I held it by myself.


Kids, this is the Tower Bridge. NOT the London Bridge of that nursery rhyme fame.


My favourite pic from London does not show anything Londony at all. :) A couple holding hands and walking away. Ahhh....


Picadilly Circus (did I get that right?) Busy junction et al.


Scene from one of those ubiquitous Tube stations. Someday, I got to go back and get a better shot at these places - damn hard with people walking all over the place and shoving you towards the tracks.

See other pics of London here

Of Reading Lists and Postcards from Barcelona

Given the time out from full-time student life, I've come to appreciate the fact that I can finally read fiction work again. It sounded strange when I first verbalised it to myself: as a student in uni, I consumed fiction voraciously. Textbooks were full of gibberish and the only thing I counted on were notes and scraps of paper.

Then that monster known as work came along. Consulting is not for everyone, and was definitely not for the fiction afficionado. So I compromised: I read less. Still, I could consume enough books to satiate that lust for stories. I read stuff from all over, and it was during this time that I started liking Margaret Atwood's feminist gab and David Mitchell's dreamy sequences.

Along came biz school and this time round, reading anything other than the required cases for class is a travesty. What's more, the profusion of reading material on the net (I speak of blogs, newspapers, whatnots) meant that my whole day is spent in a constant infusion of text into my brain. I just did not have enough bandwidth to consume fiction as well, and it was on a sad note that I stopped reading anything interesting (hey, some business texts are interesting in their own right - just go read Blue Ocean Strategy... but they aren't stories).

So summer without an internship was a kind of blessing in disguise. I've read David Mitchell's Black Swan Green (I like his previous work better), Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Love in a Time of Cholera (I never thought I would touch that novel, to be honest), and Haruki Murakami's Kafka on the Shore (very weird stuff in this book... very very indecipherable). And due to the dearth of good fiction around the house, I'm actually reading the Da Vinci Code (after having seen the movie).

The Da Vinci Code reads like a person driving a car with both the accelerator and brake pedals depressed: start-stop-start-stop-start-stop-start... the protagonists find some new clue, and then the action stops at a critical juncture, and you ask yourself "Gee I need to know what happens!!!" and so you read on. Until the next critical juncture. Ad nauseam. Very useful device to convince the reader that you have an engaging and interesting book (but seriously though, the book reads like someone throwing his high-school history+art+bible lessons at you, wrapped around a treasure hunt story).

-------------

Someone once said that there were only 2 kinds of stories in the world: "A man goes on a journey" and "A stranger comes into town". Every other story is a variation of the 2 themes, a combination of both, or a sluice of something in between. Try looking for these themes the next time you read a book.

-------------

As promised, here are the photos from Barcelona. While there, I met up with a friend who was learning Spanish there (lucky guy) and he introduced me to some of his classmates, one of whom was Italian. That Italian lass and I sat glued in a pub watching the World Cup finals: I cheered for France; no questions who she cheered for. And for my efforts in cheering the losing team, the Italian lass gave me a lesson on what Italian hooligans sing about (they were everywhere in that pub and sang the lewdest songs!), and of course, goaded over their goddamn undeserved victory.

Anyhow, photos:

Go to Barcelona, if for nothing else, thn to see Gaudi's irreverent artwork

La Pedrera

Parc Guell

And the Sagrada...

...with its interesting doors.

The only place where skateboarding can be done around gothic buildings...

...and demonstrations take place outside the mayor's office regularly.

Art, in whatever forms it assumes, is always being restored. The lady here is painstakingly restoring a letterbox carved during the renaissance for the building formerly used by a lawyer's guild.

Port Vell, where a shopping centre's front arcade features mirrors on the ceiling. Perfect for the narcissist in all of us; and a strain on the neck.

Oh yes, the bridges also tend to break up often. :)

Also, do not miss Las Ramblas for the street performers - to be honest, I find them all a tad too touristy and profit driven. Much preferred the occasional guitarist or opera singer I encountered around parts of the Gothic Quarter (a maze to certainly get yourself lost in).

Due to space constraints, check out the rest of my Barcelona impressions here.

Home and Postcards from Provence and Cote d'Azur

I'm finally home. I can finally enjoy having uninterrupted Wi-Fi and the peace of mind to slowly upload my photos, sort through my clothes, and work on relationships. This is all the next month is going to be about: relationships.

One of the things you learn from Negotiations Analysis class is the usage of a framework known as the Seven Elements (our instructor, Horacio, absolutely swears by it). One of the elements is Relationship, and it is about considering how you can, and should, build the relationship in any ongoing negotiation that you may have.

Make no mistake about it: destroying the relationship, be it through the careless use of words or inept outbursts of emotion, is detrimental to any negotiation. It is not about being tough and acting tough - negotiations are also primarily about building the bridge between you and your counterpart and working towards a value creating outcome.

Hence, my focus for this summer: relationships. I am already starting by mending the most important one, the one which my future happiness and life depend upon, though the subject of which is somewhat depressing. I never realised how much distance can break a relationship. I never realised that feelings of longing can be so satiated with a simple meeting of hearts. I never realised how much some values meant to other people - too often, I held values with little regard, thinking them hinderances rather than morally upheld principles. I belittled the power of an idea, of a principle.

Next comes the next most important relationships: my parents and my grandmother. My parents have aged before my eyes and I have been blind not to see that ageing process. It is a slow, slow loris that creeps upon you unexpectedly, pouncing on you in the most unexpected way. He is 60, she is 58, and they have reached the point in their lives where the roles have somewhat reversed: he's forced into retirement and whiling his time away; she runs her own business and works insane hours. I'm amazed at the ingenuity my mother has displayed; I'm saddened by my father's spiralling descent from the peak of his success.

My grandmother has few years left, and the dignity to live it has gone from her, for each day is as uncomfortable as the next. Unable to speak properly for the strokes have atrophied the right side of her body. Unable to walk, to eat by herself. Worst of all now, she's unable to control her defecation and urination. I know people who'd rather die than live through a life such as hers - our dignity seems to supercede our quest to live. But she lives on and she has lived well by all accounts. Few years are left to her - she is 90. She wants to go on.

Then perhaps, the relationships that come next: friends. I'm not an initiator. Never has been one to initiate and start something going. I'm the classic tortoise - living in my shell of a house and hoping someone else invites me to the party. Perhaps I want to do something on my own this time. Perhaps I want to reach out, cast my net, and widen that small social circle. Perhaps I want to build stronger friendships.

Perhaps.

------------

BTW, photos from my trip in Provence and Cote d'Azur below. I hung out with a cool Shanghaiese babe, and an opinionated Beijinger dude. They made the trip really fun (and really tiring as well!).

Old busker playing an accordian. I dropped in 50 cents and asked him not to smile at me.


That disgruntled codger shut his windows on me after spying me taking this picture of him.




She didn't really like me taking candid shots after a while. Such a poseur. :)


Yes, walking among lavender is hazardous to health.


We 3 spent hours searching for the perfect field. We never really found it but this one takes the cake for being the most expansive we found.


My dear friend's 到此游图. He wants one at every significant juncture we reach. :)


Living here = strong calves. Gordes is magnificent.


Pont du Gard - part of an old roman aqueduct that now is a UNESCO world heritage site, and place where tourists dip themselves in the river at low tide.


My attempt at being artistic.


My attempt at being artistic once more.

The changing of the guard at the residence of the Prince of Monaco. The ridiculous affair requires the guards to slap their sides when standing to attention. Several of them were actually portbellied. I fear for the Prince's safety.

See the full set of pictures from Provence and the Cote d'Azur