Nicholsclan.com : a dimension of mind...

If you visit only one political parody site today, please make it this one. You won't be disappointed regardless of which side of the fence you're on.

Didn't the Amazon Warriors cut theirs off?

We're baaaack...

One final thought before I go. Over the last two nights I've discovered that the women here have odd names. I've met Gretchee, Hershey, Sugar, and Happy among others. I've never been at the sites at the beginning of the shifts, but I can't help but wonder if they march in single file while singing, "Hi ho, hi ho... It's off to work we go!"

Now try to get that song out of your head... You're welcome.

We are DONE!!! I was sucking life through a straw for most of the company visit tonight. I felt a little sorry for our hosts. They were trying so hard and they really had some great things to show us, but the bunch of us were sitting there looking like extras from the remake of Dawn of the Living Dead.

Now I just have to survive the flight home. It's only halfway around the planet. I sure hope I get a comfortable seat with some slim and freshly washed neighbors. Which reminds me, I have time for a shower before going to the airport.

Homeward bound...

You know... after 42 hours without anything more than a couple of naps, you really start to hit your stride. I honestly don't even feel tired right now. I expect I'm just numb.

Uncomfortable seats aside, I might have gotten more sleep on the plane except I was sitting on a packed plane next to the Stinky Triplets. At least that's how I came to refer to them as I was muttering throughout the flight. These were three guys in matching white robes and purple turbans. The one next to me seemed to be having trouble with his outsized lid. Every few minutes he'd reach up to adjust the headpiece, and every few minutes my nose would try to scrunch up inside my face to get further away from the air. If I'd have had a roll of duct tape on me I swear I'd have taped his arms to his sides.

We are in Manila. It's been a long stretch. We've been over 30 hours since we last saw a hotel room. Even now, we've just got time to have a desperately needed shower and check email before going to work.

I was surprised by the level of security here. Our car to take us to the hotel was manned by two security guards and they had a flack jacket in the front seat. When we pulled into the hotel, the car was inspected for explosives before we could get in the lot. We had to pass through metal detectors to get into the lobby, and our luggage had to be inspected by a dog. I think this is supposed to make me feel safer, but I think it's having the opposite effect. Then again, maybe we just checked in to the Paranoia Inn.

Off to work...

And the Confident Sales Award goes too... a young boy in Delhi. He approached me on the street as many do, but his product was unique. He was selling fake beards. And like a good salesman the 10 year old was wearing his product. At his insistent pitch, I protested that I already had a beard. He remained undeterred, pointing out that his was at a great price. I noted that mine grew for free. He considered that briefly... and offered me a discount.

Oh my... I think I found Jesus, or Allah, or maybe one of the 16 odd Hindu Gods whose names I can't pronounce. But someone was clearly watching over me on my way to the Delhi hotel from the airport. It went down like this.

We wound up on an earlier flight but weren't able to rearrange our ride from the airport prior to leaving Mumbai. We tried again once we got to Delhi, but ultimately opted to just take a couple of local cabs over to the hotel. Sounds simple, right?

Off we go to the cab stand. We have to split into two cars. Now the other car is a 50 year old vintage English something or other made of way to much iron and steel. Let's just say that a lot of chrome wouldn't have looked out of place. On the other hand, my cab, was made of tin foil and in all probability was a gas conversion of something that was originally pedal powered. There are three of us in this thing, plus the driver, plus our luggage. I'm pretty sure that the people and luggage outweighed the vehicle. Oh, and lucky me, I got to sit up front. To build our confidence, the cabbie took off with the back hatch not latched and would have launched our luggage onto the tarmac were it not for Chris' quick reactions and sticky fingers as he dove over the back seat to grab the bags. Then we headed into traffic.

Have I mentioned that Indians aren't real big on traffic laws. Lane markers, where they exist, are treated more or less as suggestions. I've seen a few traffic lights, but most of them are not actually powered. Turn signals, brake lights, etc. are pretty optional. Driving is basically like one big game of vehicular Chicken. Turning right (which is across traffic as the Indians learned to drive from the British) is accomplished by nosing into traffic while cheerfully tooting your horn until someone decides that denting their car on you is not worth their effort.

So I'm in this turbo'd Schwinn-mobile. My knees are pressed against the plastic panel which passes for a dash. The dash is warm because the headlights are warming it from the other side. Were there no windshield, I could have literally reached forward and touched the vehicle in front of us. I'm even in closer proximity to the cars beside us. So of course we go hurtling through traffic, rushing up on vehicles, trying to intimidate larger vehicles (which included everything except the occasional scooter), and generally just seeing if the one nerve I had left was still functioning.

It's good to be safely in Delhi.

We had a spectacular dinner this evening. We did it as a family style meal and got to try a variety of local dishes. Also, I did finally have a chance to try the local brew - something called Kingfisher. This beer pretty much confirms my theory that countries close to the equator don't make good beer. I miss Canada.

Our first night time site visit went well. That is to say, we all stayed awake. To cement our new upsidedown schedules, we returned to the hotel at 7am for a well deserved beer. Then it was off to bed. Afterall, we had to get up early (1pm) to catch our next flight.

The people here are friendly and helpful in the extreme. Sometimes the translations don't work out so well though. Yesterday, Mark had arranged for a friend and former colleague to show us about the city. We were to meet that afternoon, however the schedule changed and Mark wanted to let the whole group know. The concierge desk agreed to forward the message to us all. This morning, 15 hours after we met for the outing, I found a typed note placed in my room. The note read, "This is to inform you that Mr. Mark had left the message that Mr. Ride has arrived." I guess it's the thought that counts.

The food here is wonderful, despite the well justified fear of it. It takes awhile to get used to doing a risk assessment of the food on the table prior to judging what looks or smells good.

Mark's friend also had us back to his house for "high tea" after the city tour. It amounted to a light supper and was a quite tasty repast. It was also interesting to see where and how he lived. While he was in a corporate position equivalent or higher than our group, his home was a very modest and small apartment. Kudos though. His wife and two children were delightful, and we couldn't have asked for better hospitality or a more cordial host.

Another tidbit: I had the chance last night to sit in on a bit of an accent neutralization class. The Indian instructor was doing excercises with his Indian students to teach them how to say words like native English speakers. He stops after a bit and asks is there are words they would like us to pronounce so they can hear what a native speaker sounds like. On my right is a British guy. On my left, an Austrailian. Who were the three of us to tell them they had an accent?

Wish you were here...?

India is a place of both incomparable wealth and unimaginable poverty. The scene above is a very common sight as you pass through all but the most upscale neighborhoods in Mumbai. People actually live in these shantytown structures of plastic and corrugated metal. I really can't even fathom how a disturbing portion of the population lives. Still, the people we spoke with here (who arguably aren't the impoverished ones) absolutely love their city and wouldn't trade it for the world.

It's off to Delhi soon... which reminds me, I could really go for a good sandwich.

One more update.  The sun is up and from my hotel I can see the huge Hyatt hotel not a five minute walk away.  Between here and there is a shanty town of sorts.  Little handmade shacks and lean-tos, probably 50 of them.  Lots of mud.  Animals wandering around with the people as they amble between the makeshift buildings.  Abject poverty.  So I guess what I'm saying is that there's still ample room to build more call centers over here.

I'm in India.  I arrived after midnight local time, so I can't say I've really seen much of it.   There are lots of "helpful" people here who want to carry your bags, your friend's bags, your friends, wash your feet, or pretty much anything else you might give them some rupees for.  Speaking of rupees, I'm feeling rich.  I traded $20 U.S. for over 1750 rupees.  Okay, so it isn't worth much, but it feels cool to be wandering around with $500 bills in your pocket.
 
The hotel is very nice.  Quite a step up from the Holiday Inn Express in Belfast.  You know, I waited all day for some crisis to come up which I could fix and claim it was because I stayed in a Holiday Inn Express last night, but I got nuthin'.   Anyway, back to Mumbai.  We went down to the dining room (which was still open at 1am) and had some food.  (I'm reluctant to label the meals as keeping track of the time is increasingly difficult.)  Oddly, we weren't alone.  There were quite a few people there.  To be in the lobby of the hotel, the activity level looks more like 9pm than the middle of the night.
 
Oh, and the weather.  I will never complain again about the humidity back home.   Okay, that's probably not true, but this is a whole new level of wet air.  It's thick, with palpable moisture.  Walking through the air is like walking through a light rain - without the refreshing coolness and the desire to sing and splash in the puddles.  I can hardly wait to walk outside tomorrow once the sun comes up.

Well, what the Spanish lack in airport securlty, the Irish make up for. This morning, I endured the most thorough carry-on search ever. Every bit of my laptop bag was extracted. Every device had to be turned on. Every notebook riffled through. Then when she was done, she individually swabbed everything for explosive residue. Good thing we weren't running late for the flight! In the end, I'm sure it was for the best. She did confiscate a tiny 1"x 1/2" multi-tool. In the wrong hands this could easily have been used to puncture a seat cover. We're all a bit safer now.

I'm considering a plot for a made-for-TV movle. The plane experiences mid-flight mechanical problems. The dashing young pilot is worried he'll lose the plane. Right after the touching flashback where he thinks about his beautiful bride and the baby he'll never see born, the haggared old vetran in the tower radios up the solution. Just remove that panel and cross-connect those wires. And this is where the tension builds. The camera zooms in on the panel, and to everyone's horror, it's affixed by two (key dramatic music) screws.

With nary a nail clipper on board, the flight attendants scour the cabin begging passengers for anything small and sturdy enough to remove the fasteners.

Meanwhile, the plane wanders near restricted air space, and Dick Cheny orders it shot down.

Oh, and there should probably be a small child on board who is awaiting an organ transplant.

Some other tidbits about Ireland:
 
I learned this morning that a snug is a small confessional sort of wooden cubicle found in pubs.  They used to be there because it was deemed improper for women to be seen in a pub.  So they'd come in and be squirreled away in a snug.  Now they just seem like really great places to have a Euchre game or six with a ready supply of beer.
 
I also learned that "snog" is slang for making out.  It occurs to me that having a snog in a snug would be bloody brilliant.  Unfortunately I'm one beautiful blonde from the opportunity and the motivation.  Maybe next trip.
 
I'm also growing weary of being reminded that bathrooms are properly called washrooms here.  It's hard to argue that "wash" is more accurate than "bath".  And I suppose both are more accurate than "rest", but none of them really get to the heart of the matter at hand now do they?
 
Well - it's time to hit the road again.  About the time most readers will be going to bed tonight, I'll be heading to the airport to fly to India.  Which reminds me, I need to take my Malaria medication tonight.  I'll also be trying to get my body clock upside down.  We'll be spending the rest of the trip visiting centers at night, which is when it will be day in the U.S.   This should bode well for when we return home, but it's gonna be tough to sleep all day for the next week.  
 
Yeeeehaw!!

Things to know about Belfast:

When you ask the locals where you should have dinner, they all (at least 5 of them) recommend The Red Panda. We declined the advice, mostly because we didn't want to explain why we ate Chinese in Ireland. We also discovered that after 8:30 all the kitchens close. This explains why Guiness is such a meaty brew. It's all there is to eat after dark.

We also learned that the oldest pub in Belfast is right across from the most bombed (literally) hotel in the city. Coincidence? Makes you wonder if the hotel was just a convenience target for the chaps in the pub, or if the bombings were really an attempt by the chaps' wives to liberate them from their bar stools.

Greetings from Belfast, and welcome to all the new blog readers!!
 
Tomorrow, Friday, at 4pm EDT we are intending to make a live web-cam appearance from here.  It's a special set up we've arranged to show people some of what we've learned.  Go here at 4pm and click on the web-cam link.  No promises, but hopefully this will work!

Given the relative vaguaries of this mobile blog application, I rather expect that this will show up in front of the entry which says I'm about to get on the plane. Nonetheless, I'm in London now on my way to Belfast.

The good news is that some of the frequent travelers with us were able to get me into the airline lounge where I was able to sample a long overdue Brittish bitter draught. Okay, two of them. The UK may not have a lot of cullinary clout, but short of Germany, they get beer.

Come to think of it... why don't the southern European countries have any beer sense? Wine is fine, but it's not a meal in the sense that beer is.

Speaking of meals, I've more than met my match. Several have noted my capacity for food intake (Kim, most notably of late), but one of the guys I'm traveling with can eat me under the table. He hasn't stopped chewing since we left. If Kim were here and he were a she, she'd say, "bitch..." in a sort of endearing envious way. Maybe she could help me with what the male equivalent for that should be.

Well, enough of Spain. It's on to Belfast. It will be a shame to leave the gorgeous weather of the Mediteranian coast. But duty calls.

On an interesting note, security at the Barcelona airport is almost non-existant. They have scanners you have to walk through, but it went so fast they obviously didn't look at much. I guess they only blow up trains here though, so I shouldn't be nervous.

What did I learn today?

Well first I learned that when you show up at breakfast dressed almost identically to the other guy, you're grateful you're a guy. No rapid redressing is required.

Second, when a European asks what languages you speak and your respond, "English, American, and a touch of Australian," they don't think it's as funny as you do.

Third, when they talk about late European dining habits, this place is the poster child. Most restaurants don't open until 9pm. 11pm isn't an unusual time to make a dinner reservation.

Finally, Barcelona isn't in Spain. It looks that way on the map, but it's one of those political technicality things similar to Quebec being in Canada. The people here are Catalan. They speak there own language, they have there own culture, and you - you culturally bereft American mudblood - are not Catalan. I didn't have the heart to explain that I understood their pain. I have friends who are Texans.

So it's Monday night. First night out of the country. And the boss asks me up to her room. Now I've seen the sit-coms and made-for-TV movies where this happens, but still this was all a bit new to my experience. So I'm there awhile. I've fixed her laptop and her curling iron, and it's really not clear which she's more grateful for. So as I'm leaving I'm thinking that maybe this isn't really such a new experience after all.

It's about 5pm here in Barcelona. That's 11am for you east coast readers. I did mange to catch a few naps last night on the plane, but I'm reaching critical now. The goal is to stay awake until bedtime. But in truth I almost dozed off in my lunch.

The city here is beautiful. We are walking distance from the harbor, and it's mostly street vendors and performance artists between here and there. It was a nice quick outing, but now I'm back in my room and ready to work.

Man! I want a nap...

And so it begins... I'm airborne, but not yet out of the country. It's 9pm in Atlanta, but my body is still on Vegas time so I'm thinking dinner. I'm trying desperatly to convince myself that it's really 3am (like in Barcelona). Basically, I should just crush the clock and admit I'm screwed already.

It's comfy here in coach. If I tuck both feet back under my seat and point each knee outward I can actually avoid them being mashed into the seat in front of me. I won't get much sleep this way, but it is close enough to the lotus position that I may find inner peace before I hit Europe.

Oh wait! Up on the video monitor they are showing how to do excercises from your chair. They seem to be missing the point that if I could stretch that far without wounding another passenger I wouldn't feel the need to exercise. They're just teasing me. Well, there's always the in-flight movie, 50 First Dates.

Today begins the most exciting trip to hell ever devised by man. In just a few short hours I'll be leaving to evaluate 6 call center sites in five cities in four countries in 11 days. In the process I'll be circumnavigating the globe, which is exciting because I've never really had a legitimate use for the word "circumnavigating" before.

I will attempt to blog during this trip so that you can keep pace with the minute-by-minute excitement of me sitting on planes wishing something other than my butt was asleep. Punctuating my restlessness will be whirlwind fly-bys of a couple boring places in Europe followed by some truly terrifying trips though a couple of third world hot spots. And when I say terrifying, I mean it in the sense that so far I've been warned that in India I should refrain from getting tattoos, having sex, eating, drinking, and bathing with my eyes open. I'm assuming that breathing is still safe, but if I don't bathe, then that's gonna begin to lose its appeal too.

Stay tuned...

Just back from Vegas where I managed to lose $7 and most of what little sense of good taste I had. It's probably the most gaudy yet sureal place on the planet.

And speaking of surreal, I was treated by my girlfriend to Trekie Heaven at the Star Trek Experience. Despite not being remotely Trek oriented herself, she struggled through. I think in the end she even had fun. The museum and the Simulations in the Trek Experience are very cool. She was a little worried though when the Borg 4D Experience "probed" her through the bottom of the simulator's chairs. She's recovering nicely though.

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Yeah yeah, I know, the blogging has been sparse. And it's probably not going to get a whole lot better soon. I've been off on vacation where we experimented with the Brady Bunch Effect under less than ideal conditions.

The setting: the boys and I were at the lake with my girlfriend, her daughters, and my parents as neutral U.N. observers. The weather was unseasonably windy and cool which dramatically limited the boating, swimming and other lake specific activities.

The background: we tried this last summer for a few days. While everyone got along, there were definite boundaries. My kids stayed close to me, hers stayed close to her, and the twain didn't meet a whole darn lot.

The result: the adults were judged by the kids to be useful and necessary only when it was time to eat. Otherwise, we were pretty much dismissed. The kids had what amounted to a 4-day pajama party - literally at times. They even asked to "go to bed" earlier on day two so they could all sit around upstairs and be goofy together. They played, giggled, yakked (my how they yakked), and rolled their eyes. The girls played ball tag with the boys; the boys wrote stories with the girls; the three oldest even taught the youngest to play Euchre. Who were these kids, and how cool was that? And the best thing was that my youngest learned to actually sleep in. Nine years of rising at the crack of dawn came to a glorious and screetching halt. He even slept in to 9:30 one morning. Weather be damned, it was a great week.

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