Has Virgin lost its lustre?

A tinge - but I must confess only a microscopic twinge - of guilt zoomed through me.  I was checking in, clearing customs, sitting in the lounge, boarding, sipping champagne.  And whither?  To London, in Virgin Upper Class.

But the guilt quickly subsided.  This was my treat and why the hell not?!  I'm lucky and I appreciate the fact, and now that I was sitting in seat A1 on the tarmac at NBO (read Nairobi Jomo Kenyatta International Airport - about to jet off to LHR (read London Heathrow) I was loving every second of it.

It was quite some time since I'd flown VS (read Virgin Atlantic Airlines) in their business class.  And I remembered it well.  The seats had changed to the herring bone configuration with a flat-bed option - but surprisingly the safety video, complete with its quirky animations - was the same from about 10 years ago.  That was fine - actually, it was still quite amusing.

The in-flight service, after only about half an hour in, was impressive - even if the champagne served was lukewarm - an ice cube delicately dropped into the generously filled flute soon remedied that.  I was then cocooned in my bubble-of-a-seat and ready for the 8.35 hour flight.

BRB - as the youngsters say.

*    *    *

Well, I'm almost landing and it's been a mixed flight - if truth be told.

The seats are actually quite old; the rough-around-the-edges feel you get from years of rdisrespectful passengers is showing through.  You can see from the photos crumbs in the personal stowage pocket and wine stains on the seat where I was to place my head when snoozing.

The crew have been pleasant enough and the food very passable - but I haven't been wow-ed.  One of the best things has been the cosy duvet you get to lure the sandman in - it beats the hessian-type blankets one is thrown from many other airlines in so-called business class.

What was good?

The seat configuration - if the guy in 2D hadn't spent the first hour of the flight perched on the "guest" seat of 2A - next to me  But there I stumble...I, unfortunately, find many more things to urge improvement on.  The entertainment system was primitive: tapes on a loop with no interactive options.  Even the magazine choice was limited to at least 6 six copies of the same edition of Conde Nast Traveller magazine - I love to travel but even I can't skim the same jaunting journalism six times in succession!

Something I didn't mention earlier was the schlepp to the aircraft: we cleared security screening (with two separate passes through the x-ray conveyor belts) at gate 10.  This was apparently a UK Department of Transport requirement: apparently the Kenyans can't be trusted to get it right first time..!  Then we trawled down stone steps to the tarmac, where I presumed to find an expectant bus driver complete with bus to ferry us to the airplane boarding steps.  But that wasn't to be.  We then had to walk about 200m towards gate 12 and climb the 2 flights of stairs to access the ganty to the plane door.  

Now, I suspect the aforementioned additional security can only be accommodated in one place - NBO (remember what that stands for?!) not being the best organised airport on the planet.  It would have been nice to get an apology from VS as we boarded - but not a peep from anyone on the matter.  One would have they thought could lobby the airport for a bit more coordination - sigh.  And at least an apology from either the in-flight supervisor or the captain would have been a nice interjection to the inocuous, rambling, nauseating "do"s and "don't"s list - which I'm sure gets longer and longer each time I get on a plane (especially UK-based carriers).  (Can you believe on Virgin they even warned against standing up while wearing ones earphones: reportedly this unmeasured action can result in damaging the earphone sockets and impair your listening pleasure for the remainder of the flight.  Geez!!

So I'll be disembarking a wee bit disappointed, and think next time I'll take premium economy out and the bed in Upper Class back for the night jounrey.  As a research man, I'd give the entire experience a rather lukewarm 7/10 - just like my champagne upon boarding.  

Come on Virgin!  You can do better.

Moving in.

Sometimes we don’t think things through as well as we might – something after two wondrous years in Japan, I know the Nippon people would never be accused of – very high tsunami, failed diesel generators and a near-meltdown-Fukushima-situation notwithstanding.

But as I trudged up the 4 flights of stairs to my new Nairobi apartment, a sinking sensation set in.  I grasped the front door handle, breathless from the climb, pushed it open and a rush ensued.

Happy to be “home”; excited by imagining my furniture in situ; perturbed at the apparent lack of light bulbs; and dismayed by my realisation that the unfurnished flat, was truly unfurnished.  I scanned the kitchen to find no fridge, no washing machine and no cooker.

Merrily, yea merrily, I skipped off to the local hyper-market, Nakumatt, for a stock-up.

Anyway, after 1 hour and with 700 pounds sterling evaporated from my bank account, I got back to the flat and struck a few matches.  As the phosphorous filled the air and a flame flickered into life on my candles’ wicks, I settled down, snug on my newly acquired mattress to watch the penultimate episode of Gavin and Stacey.

iPads are surely blessed things.

Although it did feel strange: I had a 21st century gizmo, a glass of Australian whisky (cut over so slightly by Kenyan filtered water) and a faint glow of candlight illuminating my very empty bedroom in a decidedly 18 century way.

Not a picture one sees every day of the week.  (Thank goodness!)

Sometime a speech is hard to give

Unaccustomed as I am not, giving my speech of farewell in Singapore was a little more troublesome than usual.  I first was in an impromptu fashion (thanks Baxter@!) propelled to give an improvised one at my flat leaving party – standing on a chair, I had to think on my feet.....I think it was OK – but I do love planning a speech.  That said, I’m sure the guests were relieved it was short and pithy.

Then I wrote a speech for my official Synovate leaving do, with clients and all.  Well, the venue wasn’t appropriate and not many clients turned up, so it didn’t get read.

I thought of recycling it at my cake-cutting final day in the office – and that didn’t feel appropriate either.

So I recycled it a 3^rd time at a final brunch at the China Club and it almost worked.

Here it is for your enjoyment...and indeed mine – I thoroughly enjoyed writing it and when I eventually got to read it out, was moved – and saw others moved by it.

“After 8 years of living in wonderful Singapore, I’m moving on. 

8, as we know is a very auspicious number in Chinese culture and that surely bodes a good omen.

So staying with the number 8, I thought I'd list a few things in the same vein:

Favourite foods: roti prata, mee goreng, xiao long bao, fish head, kaya, ikan billis, satay, Starbucks green tea latte....!

Favourite sayings: taxi uncle, can what?, what you mean leh?, cannot!, kiasu, paiseh, fill up a form, u-turn back.....

Favourite landmarks: Orchard Road, Ann siang Hill, Esplanade, Bras Basah MRT, Ritz-Carlton (for brunch), Fullerton Bay Hotel, Gold Class cinemas at Vivo, shop-houses – especially in Little India.

And what about 8 momentous events while in Singapore?

1.         I completed my MBA at Chicago Booth.

2.         I joined Synovate 7 years ago.

3.         I bought landed property.

4.         I had my first (and so far last) fish foot spa.

5.         We moved office at work – not for the faint-hearted.

6.         I started to learn Mandarin and gave up – then I started to learn Arabic – and also gave up.

7.         I got my iPhone and convinced IT at work to allow emails on it..!

8.         I was part of the first Pink Dot.

I saw amazing places all over Asia and the most memorable 8 must be:

1.         Bali and a bungee jump.

2.         Langkawi.

3.         Bagan.

4.         Borobadur and the Amanjiwo.

5.         Colombo & Galle – Sri Lanka and the Amangalla.

6.         Angkor Wat and the Amansara.

7.         Chiang Mai – and a hot air balloon flight I will never forget.

8.         Phuket and the Amanpuri.

And fabulous people to thank: [this portion was all about work and when I read it at my brunch setting, the thanks were all adrift, so (again thinking on my feet) I decided to choose one word to sum up the various guests around the table.  Some words were inspired, some flattering and some, unfortunately due to my brain cells at the time, peculiar.  "Loyal", "friendship", “thank-you”, "emotional" and "beautiful" were amongst the sane, while "food "and "complex" might be considered amongst the less sane ones.  But that’s spontaneity for you.  

My dear Baxter, couldn’t be summed up in a single word, so I didn’t bother....except upon reflection, there is a SINGLE word for Baxter – that’s Baxter – what else?!]

That was my last list.  (thank goodness, you say under your breath.) 

So as I move on, Nairobi and the vast expanse that is Africa awaits.

It’s exciting and a little scary.  But that makes it more fascinating. 

I’ve got an office and a desk, I’ve got a work permit, and I’ve got a short list of cars to choose one from.

But the best thing of all is I have an apartment – and the unit number?  A8. 

The signs are clear: I will miss (dearly) Singapore and all of you – and after 8 years it will be a wrench to board that plane on the morning of 3rd July.  But I’ll be back and with a lucky 8 greeting me each time I return home in the evening on my front door, Singapore and all the wonderful things will never be far from my thoughts.

Now let’s get drunk.”

Well by this point at brunch, we were quite merry and while there wasn’t a dry eye in the house, the Peking duck was getting cold, so we dried our eyes with the China Club extra large napkins – complete with a large red Maoist star – and got stuck in.

First driving experience in Nairobi – bumped and battered?

I took the keys rather gingerly, if truth be known.  The driver had come over to my hotel and then announced he had to get back to the office and was about to shift over and hand me (so to speak) the driving wheel, when I almost yelped, “Please, you drive to the office, then I will take it from there.”

 

I had witnessed many journeys to and from the office, and indeed to other places around Nairobi, and there was one common theme: chaos.  So you can perhaps appreciate my trepidation.

 

Once in the safety of the office compound (yes we have an office compound) I confidently opened the driver’s seat door and clambered in.  There were at least two reassuring things that helped me focus on the challenges of avoiding collisions.  Firstly, in Kenya, one drives on the left, which, while I’m very competent in driving on the Napoleon-side of the highway, meant one less thing to worry about.  Secondly, the car was an automatic, and the need to concentrate on gear shifts also evaporated.

 

So I started her up and began (incredibly slowly) to drive towards the compound exit.  As I did, I had to negotiate a rather tight corner and managed to get round it with the only very slight accident of knowing over a gardener’s broom.  I was out – free – on the Nairobi thoroughfare.  And since the office area is residential, on a Saturday the roads were almost empty.  Great for my confidence and I when I hit the highway at the end of the road, I was (almost) ready to do battle.

 

The high was clogged with towering trucks, bristling buses, luxury cars with luxury drivers, the odd nippy motorcyclist and a herd of matatus.  These matatus are the local minibuses.  They are like the beetles of the road – scurrying here and there with utter disregard for you or other vehicles and certainly not interested in following road etiquette – let alone rules.  But I survived and was soon on Raphta Road to take a quick look at my soon-to-be new apartment.

 

I was on the way back when I hit a snag: the road I was supposed to take was closed.  Shit.....

And the reason being there are massive road works underway (with Chinese financing) to build a super-highway.  Result: more chaos.

So I checked Maps on my iPhone and glided down the hill under the overpass (still being finished) and then as I was about to turn into a side road (off the A2 and onto Wambugu road, in case you’re wanting to follow this on Maps, like a crazy soap opera) I got “sandwiched” between a huge dumper truck and the verge.

 

Mayhem?  That’s an understatement, the dumper truck had forced his way onto the main road and snarled up the entire route as a consequence.  Horns were beeping, people were shouting and then finally a man got out (not sure from where) and started directing this one forward, that one back and even asking me to move forward – where he thought I was going to drive to, I have no idea – the ditch to my right was (sorry!) NOT a bloody option....

 

The truck broke free, the road started moving again and I was at last allowed to get in my beloved Wambugu Road.  I felt localised a little.  My HR Director described me as mwenyeji which apparently means “the complete local”.  And my first on-road experience in Kenya at the helm, so to speak, was ended with no bumps and no battering. 

 

Yes, it was quite fun actually...!!

First impressions of a great new continent

I was filled with an ounce or two of  trepidation venturing into an unknown place; a bold new viewpoint.  What am I doing?  What will happen next?  Where might I end up?  Will I come back?

All these questions swirling in my head. And more. Then I landed at Jomo Kenyatta international airport on Easter Monday to a cool westerly breeze and a transfer to my hotel.  What was central Nairobi going to be like?  And what a feast of colour, new sights, smells.

People are people and that's the big learning.  Why did I think this place would be different to elsewhere?  Why did I believe here would be contorted to something unrecognizable?  Of course it isn't. The people live, the thirst for life is lip-smacking.

New customs are quickly adopted and a fresh perspective on my surroundings easily taken on board. One should wear a suit at work (thank God the climate allows) and don't wait for the traffic light to necessarily turn green before driving on.  So much to learn. So many things to wonder at.

I've perchanced on places I'd hitherto only dreamed or fantasized about. Did I really venture to Dar Es Salaam?  Did I actually land at Entebbe?  Was there an arrival in Accra?  And was that Lagos I spied from the comfort of my suitably locked Toyota?

I guess it all must have happened.  

And a colleague asked will I not miss all the wondrous things in Asia?  Naturally, I shall.  But the retort perhaps should be, "what would I be missing in Africa if I didn't move on?"  I'm already yearning to be back in Uganda, return to Tanzania and sample more of what Lagos (apparently) has to offer.

There is something that just popped into my head and it's major concern: how can one be stylish in east Africa?  I saw the eye-wincing brightness of bold tribal prints in Nigeria and an admiration of the great houses of luxury only usually witnessed in Rome.  But I must confess the Kenyan appreciation of Gucci, Boss, Dior and perhaps Ferragamo is less than slight.  The conservative nature of the east is over-shadowed by the flamboyance of the west of this great continent. Will I be consigned to scouring for khakis and safari gear on my next jaunt to London?  Will I find myself passing by Armani and heading like a misguided homing-pigeon into the Timerland store?  Will Merrill replace Prada for my footwear of choice?  And how could the North Face become my Etro or Zegna when I need an outer-garment to keep me warm or dry (or both) ??!

Then again, I don't think I shall let it happen.

Maybe it's partly my duty to bring a little bit of style and unaffordable luxury to this corner of the world.   I resolve to subscribe to Monocle and continue to scan the pages of Flipboard ensuring I won't be abandoned by the fashion and odd extravagance that is THE industry.

I have enjoyed beyond my wildest imagination my first month in Africa. I shall be returning to Singapore in a few days time and am certain people will want to know more about my "initiation" onto the dark continent.  I think I'll tell them it was "OK".

After all I don't want everyone coming over, now do I?!

Myanmar or is that Burma?

What's in a name?
I'm not always certain - but I ususally look it up!

And when I was debating internally about whether to go to Myanmar or not, I came to thinking where on earth had the Myanmar name come from.  I didn't even know why Burma was dropped - there is an official denial from the part of many parts of the Commonwealth and international community who insist on syaing Burma and Rangoon -yet the reality - as usal is somewhat more complicated.

Without going into it all here - the Burmese are actually a majority ethnicity within the country of Myanmar - and calling Myanmar, Burma is a little bit like calling the UK, England.  I know that's done - but it's incorrect - and given the recent success of the Scottish nationalists in the elections there, I would hate to pour oil on the fire.  (Mind you, as a complete aside, I struggle to see why so many cling onto the Union despite an overwhelming economic argument that is in favour of jettisoning the 3/4s of the Union that perhaps contributes less in capital and more in traditions.)

Back to my Myanmarese tale.

Our first stop was Bagan - the valley of temples.  You read the descriptions and you are made constantly aware of the stats - 4000+ temples in a 26 square mile area.  But you don't really take it in.

The dust in Bagan was of "grapes of wrath" magnitude and the searing heat made it very uncomfortable - but the sights made it all worthwhile.

We arrived just before the New Year celebrations really got under way and the water throwing (akin to what happens in Thailand for Songkran) peaked the following day just as we were making our way to a local market.  Dousing is not the word - the locals were soaking each other.  It seemed people, as they sped past on the motorbikes or in the back of open trucks were revelling in the prospect of getting more & more drenched.  Locals stand on the roadside with Tupperware bowls and small pales waiting for passing traffic or pedestrians and then they let rip.

Everyone was wet through.  Baxter and I managed to escape - with only a mild sprinkling from behind.  It's good luck you see - how could we not oblige.  I kept my camera out of harm's way and shuddered as the cold water trickled down my back.

We had a great guide who took us to all the main temples, stupas and monasteries.

And this despite his betel-nut-stained smile.  Betel nuts are chewed all over the country and the red stain it leaves on the teeth is less than flattering.  Then the locals spit out spent saliva - it's a tobacco substitute of sorts - a bit like snuff.

 This is all very well and good, but when we told to remove our shoes (and socks) to enter the temples, we had to do this in the car then tiptoe through splatterings of spittle at the temple entrance - rather perturbing, I might add.

But we survived.

We then mounted a disused monastery with our guide to get a good view of the valley.  We had to crawl up a rather dark passageway with shaky steps and then haul ourselves up at the top to appreciate the vista.  And wow what a vista it was.

This is what we saw......it took our breath away.

This was Bagan.

We were then to head back south to Rangoon (another controversial naming thing) where the colonial majesty is still felt.

More on that another time.

Moving on....

Moving is sometimes momentous

Looking back on my time in Singapore, it’s amazing, quite amazing that I’ve been here almost 8 years already. 

I recently celebrated my 40^th birthday, as if you didn’t know, and while I haven’t managed to update my blog since then, it was a truly wonderful affair – and I hope I’ll get time in the near future to do just that – and perhaps share a photo or two.  I know many of you are not on facebook and didn’t see the pics yet.

At my birthday speech in Singapore, I listed out a long list of changes since I landed on these fair – if ueber-hygienic – shores.  And there were many.  It seems the place hasn’t slept for a second in the intervening time and upwardly-mobile buildings are testament to the ongoing development of a relatively tiny plot of land on the nub of the Malaysian peninsula.  And more is planned – unstoppable?  Undeterred?  Certainly, unabashed..!

And it is amongst all this continuing change, which I, too, find myself crossing a Rubicon of my own that will bring about a huge transformation in my life.

I’ve had the blessed good fortune to travel the world, to work in many different places and meet marvellous people from all walks of life.  Working in Paris was beautiful beyond belief; living in Tokyo, tantalisingly unique.  Then came Singapore and travel from a very doable base to places of exotic superlatives such as Bali, Langkawi, Borobodur, Angkor Wat and Chiang Mai.  (Indeed, I’m zipping off to Burma in a couple of weeks’ time to wonder at the temples of Bagan.)

I’ve sipped tea in Beijing, guzzled gyoza in Kyoto, scoffed dim sum in Hong Kong, built houses in Mongolia, been awestruck at fireworks in Sydney, discovered a charm oft-hidden in Manila and still yearn to know and see more about Asia.  And yet....

And yet, the time has come to move.  And move quite a distance.

There is a place in the world that is actually growing faster than China, believe it or not.  There is a place that holds great promise and potential.  A place where corruption and state kleptomania rob its own people of health and prosperity.  A place that holds the most beautiful sights on earth; I’m moving to Africa.  Kenya to be exact and will live in Nairobi.  I will stay at Synovate and take on an operations role covering 10 markets.

Business will take me to incredibly legendary (and sometimes infamously so) places across sub-Saharan Africa.  Where I once would say, “I’m boarding the plane for Delhi”, or “I’m about to zip to HK and BKK for a few days”.  I will probably find myself quipping, “About to board for Lagos”, or “Just got back from Tanzania & Mozambique.”  My excitement is almost tangible.

Am I nervous?  Why of course, I am.  I think that’s natural when I’m over-turning, up-rooting my current way of life in such a radical way.  But I feel that trepidation is mollified by the wonderful adventure that awaits me.

So there you have it: I’m off on a new journey; off to write a new chapter of my life; off to find new challenges, new friends & new traditions.  I might even pick up a bit of a new language – they speak Swahili over in Kenya ;-)

I suspect that my blog will get more updates from now on as I discover a whole new world: a world that is AFRICA.