Smoking elephants in Austria

Photographer Nick Brandt's image of a smoking elephant in his collection 'On this earth, a shadow falls'.

'You know what?', said my colleague Lynn today, 'I couldn't sleep last night because I stank!'

Now this might be a strange thing to say, but not once you understand the context. The evening before we had been out to dinner in a local restaurant here in Austria - called the Elephant.

Although Austria is a member of the EU, it apparently hasn't applied all EU regulations as yet. One of them is smoking in restaurants. The air and walls of the Elephant were thick with smoke and we reflected over how quickly you get used to environments that are smoke-free. It wasn't that long ago in Sweden and many other EU countries that you could also smoke indoors. But since this has been abolished, no smoking has quickly become the norm. And you only realise that you have adapted to the changed norm when you are confronted by a place where the norm is different.

Like Austria. Like smoking indoors. Like being so smelly that the smoke smell lingers in your clothes, hair and skin for hours afterwards and makes it difficult for you to sleep.

But will Austria fall into line like the rest of the EU?

Well, according to Wikipedia's list of smoking bans, Austria has in fact implemented several laws which limit or outlaw smoking in certain areas. Smoking is prohibited in all offices with certain exceptions such as bars, discos, restaurants etc. If all employees agree on allowing smoking in a work place, smoking may continue.
As of January 2009, a new law was put in place which mandates all restaurants, bars, discos and pubs larger than 80m² to introduce smoking rooms and non-smoking rooms. Below 50m² the owner may opt to either be a smoking or non-smoking place, between 50m² and 80m² there is an option under certain circumstances.

The smoke-free law has however encountered controversy initially, as well as inconsistent enforcement.

As we discovered last night in the Elephant.

Neil

Teacher Appreciation Day

Lynn and I are in Sinsheim, Germany, at the moment running a 2-day workshop. Today is the end of Day 1. We feel that it went well. In fact, we know it did.

At the end of the day, when we declared it over, a strange thing happened. Al the Germans in the room clenched their right fist and banged it on the table top infront of them. We were somehat taken aback but were informed that this is a German way of showing appreciation, rather like clapping the hands is in other countries.

Inspired by this feeling of appreciation, I later made a fantastic discovery on the internet - there is something called 'Teacher Appreciation Day'. Apparently, the 5th of October is an international celebration of teachers, and different countries celebrate this is different ways.

An essay competition was initiated in Quebec for students aged 6 to 17. Entitled “Mad, mad, mad about my teacher”, the competition gave children an opportunity to write about a teacher whose influence on their lives was decisive.

The Queen of Spain gave a reception to teachers. Teacher appreciation was shown with many activities and a special classic music concert at the national auditorium in Madrid.

in Finland, 20000 apples were given to pedestrians at the main railway stations of Helsinki to express “Teachers’ humanity and personality”.

Algerian students demonstrate on the streets to show their teacher appreciation.

Namibia organizes a teacher appreciation song and poetry event, and awards are given to the best performing schools.

In Estonia, local authorities and educational institutions held festive receptions to honour the teachers and show this Baltic nation’s teacher appreciation, together with concerts, theatre performances, and balls.

In Mozambique, a national homage to teachers is conducted by the country’s media during the whole week.


I like it! More teacher appreciation please!!

Neil

Spanish eating habits

After a week in Madrid, we’ve gained a little more insight into the eating habits of the Spaniards.

Lesson 1: Lunchtime. We were running a workshop with Spanish participants in the subject of value communication. As workshop leaders, we are responsible for telling participants when coffee and lunch breaks will occur. Our suggestion in Spain was to take lunch at 12.30, which we thought was rather late. ‘Not possible’ we were told. ‘Not possible to eat lunch before 1pm. The restaurant might be open but the kitchen certainly won’t be’. Compare this to lunch time in Sweden which is usually 11.30 and can be even as early as 10.30! There are probably a lot of hungry Swedes in Spain.

Lesson 2: Dinner time. If you suffer from late night indigestion, Madrid is probably not the city for  you. Turning up to eat at restaurants at 9pm, which we thought was late, we were the only guests there. The food was rolled out half an hour later and lots of it! We needed to take a couple of tummy-soothing tablets when we returned to the hotel.

Lesson 3: Tapas time. Many people are familiar with tapas. But do you know where the word comes from? We didn’t either until we were told by a Spanish person one lunch time. Firstly, Spaniards usually don’t eat tapas at home unless they are having a party. Tapas are reserved for bars and restaurants. Tapas originated from patrons standing by a bar and having a drink. Because of the heat, the practice was to put a small saucer (tapas) on the top of the glass to act as a lid and keep the flies out of the precious liquid. Then some smart Alec, or maybe an Alfonso, saw a business opportunity and put a small bite to eat on the saucer. And the tapas was born!

Neil and Lynn

What Spaniards think of Swedes

I was recently running a workshop in Madrid and took the opoprtunity on a lunch break to ask some of the participants what their perception of the Swedes is. Since they work for an international Swedish company, I thought they might have a valuable insight that could help me in my work as a cultural diversity trainer.

Upon receiving my question, they immediately boomeranged me with a question back. Did I mean Sweden or did I mean Swedes? Both, I said.

They thought about it and then said in a unanimous voice,

'Sweden is a very modern country. One of the world's richest. The people there have everything. They are happy and healthy and secure.'

What about Swedes themselves then? I asked.

Again some thought.

'They're very nice. Very polite. But I don't understand why they have to pretend to be interested in what everybody thinks when they make a decision. It just wastes time, and they don't really mean it anyway.'

Neil S

Stir-fried fish with barbecue sauce – Estonian style

It worked like this. The buffet was full of raw seafood, fish, meat and vegetables that you should put on your plate and take to a kitchen counter. At the counter you would choose a sauce, the chefs would stir-fry the contents of your plate and the waitress would bring the resulting meal to your table. At an Asian-style wok restaurant in Tallinn that is exactly what we did.

As we sat at our table and waited for the meal, we nibbled on sushi and salad. The waitress approached with our stir-fried food. One of my travelling companions, who is always friendly, smiled at the waitress and said

‘Mm , this’ll be good. Barbecue sauce, what d’you think?’

The waitress looked blankly at him, then at his plate and then back at him. Without the slightest flicker of a smile, she said

‘With fish? No.’

And she walked away.

Wow, we thought – that was direct! Not ‘I’m afraid I can’t say, sir’, or ‘Yes, some people like that combination’ but simply and frankly  - ‘With fish? No.’

This brief encounter highlights one of the ways in which culture affects communication. How direct is it ok to be before you cause offense? In Estonia, obviously, you can be pretty direct.

Different cultures have different tolerance levels for directness. Some cultures require a lot of ‘padding’ of the language in order for it be polite. Others don’t. But one thing to bear in mind is that, no matter if a culture is direct or indirect, both cultures are selecting what they say with care. The direct culture desires to be clear and honest with no misunderstandings about what they mean. The indirect culture desires to keep harmony in the relationship, not rock the boat and not cause upset. Both cultures feel they are being respectful.

So if ever you’re visiting Estonia don’t expect any pussy-footing about. Be prepared to take it on the chin and to be told exactly what they think.

With niceties? No.

Turning off the motorway

Sometimes great things happen when you turn off the motorway.

Last weekend, I was looking for a place to stay in the Östergötland district of Sweden. After ringing several places that were fully booked, I managed to get a room in a little town called Söderköping.

Having never heard of Söderköping, I didn't know what to expect. But, what I found was not what I expected. Söderköping is a beautiful town with an interesting place in Swedish history. One of the oldest towns in Sweden, Söderköping has many beautiful buildings from the 1200's. In the 1800's the town became an important centre for trade, thanks mainly to its interesting location, clinging to the side of the Göta canal.

The Göta canal was one of the largest civil engineering projects ever undertaken in Sweden. The canal stretches from Sjötorp on Lake Vänern to the east coast. It has a length of 190 kilometres and a total of 58 locks. Of this distance, 87 kilometres are man-made. Although disussions to build the canal were initiated in the sixteenth century, it wasn't until 1810 that the king issued a charter allowing it to be built. The Göta canal was largely built by 58,000 soldiers and it took 22 years to finish, dug mostly by hand. Throughout the 19th century, the Göta canal continued to be a very important transport route for both goods and passengers and today, it is one of Sweden's most popular and wellknown tourist attractions.

And one of the places you can see it is in the small town of Söderköping. Not only did I have a great eveníng in this town, I also learned something about Sweden's industrial history.

So, sometimes it's worth turning off the motorway.

Neil S

The healing waters of Catalonia

It came warm out of the wall at 60 degrees celcius. It tasted slightly metalic and heavy. The healing waters from the spring of Caldes de Malavella in Catalonia, Spain, attract visitors from far and wide, all hoping to cure their various ailments. It is rumoured that, thanks to these waters, the locals of Caldes live longer and healthier than those in the rest of Spain.

The practice of travelling to hot or cold springs in hopes of effecting a cure of some condition dates back to pre-historic times. Many people around the world believed that bathing in a particular spring, well, or river resulted in physical and spiritual purification. Forms of ritual purification existed among the native Americans, Persians, Babylonians, Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans.


In Caldes de Malavella there is Roman spa, now in ruins, which reflects the town's signifance throughout history. In fact, the word 'spa' comes from the Roman town Aquae Spadanae, now called Spa in Belgium.

Sitting on the terrace of Vichy Catalan, a thermal centre in Caldes, it's not hard to see that people still today believe in the potency of thermal waters - elderly people, people in wheelchairs or on crutches, zimmer frames parked against the wall, children with unusually-shaped heads, people with visible operation scars across their bodies  - all gathered on this Sunday afternoon.

But I'm here for it's youth-giving qualities. Another pint of your best brew please!

Neil

Everyone for raki

Crete, in Greece, is world renowned for being the home of the Minoan culture and civilization. Nowhere does this become more apparent than in the ruins of the ancient palace of Knossos. The palace, which was home to King Minos, was a huge labyrinth of rooms, with shafts of natural light and ventilation systems. The Minoans were a peaceful race, so secure in their own culture that they didn't build any walls around the palace to keep out their enemies. No walls, no moat, no watchtowers. A very hospitable people, the Minoans cultivated business relations and traded in olives, grains and wine.

This sense of hospitality has carried over the centuries to current day Cretans. While the Minoans would ply their guests with wine, today's island residents offer a very different brew.

In most traditional tavernas on Crete it is customary to bring fresh fruit or another kind of sweet to the guests after they have eaten. This sweet treat is complimentary and is always accompanied by a little bottle of raki and enough shot glasses for each of the guests. Raki is a Cretan spirit. Strong and potent. The kind of stuff that makes your face grimace and your toes curl. The raki comes after you've asked for the bill but before the bill is delivered. In Crete, it takes at least half an hour to pay. The time is spent knocking back the powerful shots of raki.

But the strategy of giving the guests free raki is not only hospitable, I'm sure. The Minoans were shrewd business people and so are the Cretans of today. Who leaves a better tip?
A sober guest? Or the tipsy one who's just knocked back a few glasses of this lethal complimentary Cretan potion?

Neil S

The big sky of Österlen

Light polution is a problem of the modern world. Those of us who live in large cities, rarely see the sky at night. We've lost our connection to the stars, planets and constellations and we usually only see a reflection of the dingy orange of metroploitan lighting when we look up into the night sky.

This is what makes leaving the city so exciting. A move to less populated areas, to a more rural location reconnects us with the universe.

Österlen is the most south-westerly tip of Sweden. The sandy, Baltic coastline looks out onto a horizon of sea, with Poland out-of-sight on the other side. Everything is big in rural Österlen. The sea is big. The fields of wheat are big. The sky is big and bright and blue.

But it is at night that the sky comes into its own. The night sky over Österlen, when not lit by the distant midsummer sun, is a black sheet of hugeness. The constellations of stars are all visible, just like in the text books.  You can stand for ages gazing up in to the night sky over Österlen. All those stars that we normally don't see in the cities are up there, centuries old and glimmering like sequins on a magician's velvet cape. You are baffled by the massiveness of the heavens and the smallness of yourself.

Everyone should be reminded of this, the most primitive of circumstances. The night sky, the moon, the stars - and a very small city boy overwhelmed by the magnitude of the experience.

Neil

Tradition on the streets of Britain

No matter how modern we think we are, some things never change.

Sitting in the suburb where I grew up, logged on to BT Open Zone and merrily accessing the server in Sweden via vpn, I hear a noise from the street. It's a distance noise, a cry that gets louder and louder as it moves down the street. I feel a vague twinge of recognition somewhere in the depths of my memory.

But it can't be what I think it is. It's not possible. Not in 2011!

I put my laptop on the floor and go inte the living room to look out of the window onto the street. I hear it again. A cry, this time louder, but still not visible. I look to the left and the right, but I can't see anything.

And then I hear it - clear as day. A resonant voice echoing down the street:

'Raa-boh! Raa-boh! Raa-boh..........'

I can't believe it - the Rag and Bone man is here.

Historically, the Rag and Bone man was a man who travelled the streets of a city and collected old rags (for converting into fabric and paper), and bones (for making glue), scrap iron and other items, often trading them for other items of limited value. Now they collect any junk that they think has a useful resale or recycling value.

When I was a kid, in the 70's, they would use their distinctive 'Raa-boh' (Rag and Bone) call to alert householders to their presence, sometimes also ringing a hand bell. Whenever you gave them something, you would recieve a goldfish in return - a living goldfish swimming around in a water-filled plastic bag. I loved those goldfish.

I stand at the window in amazement. The Rag and Bone man still exists! But even he has modernised his practice.

In my childhood, he trotted around the streets in traditional horse-drawn cart with colourful balloons attached to the horse.

Now, he drives around in a spic-and-span white van. And through his side window, I see the familiar blue glare of a gps system.

Neil S

The silence of the lands

Gateway to old town, Tallinn

It's been said that the further north you go in Europe, the more tolerant people are of silence. Due to smaller populations and therefore less competition for the word, the nordics are a prime example of this.

This acceptance of silence is also a key to successful communication in the Baltic countries. This week Lynn and I have been in Tallinn, Estonia running an intercultural workshop. The participants were from Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Finland,Iceland and Sweden. One of the questions we asked on the workshop was what is the meaning of silence. Thoughts differed on this one. It means I agree, it means I disagree, I like you, I don't like you, I am angry, I am respectful, I have nothing to say, I have no opinion, I am shy, I am tired, I didn't hear you. No surprise then that it's easy to jump to the wrong conclusion when people are quiet.

The overriding similarity between the Baltic countries however is the feeling that silence is 'comfortable', not to be feared or avoided. The same attitude exists in Finland. This may seem strange to those of us from cultures where we interpret silence in group situations as embarrassing and fill the gaps with chatter and noise. A skill to learn for those of us from cultures less tolerant of silence is to patiently wait the more silent cultures out. In Sweden, when we are running training courses and we ask a question to the group, we slowly count to 10 in our heads while waiting for a response. The technique usually works. In Estonia, the key was to count to 35. And, even then, we didn't always receive an answer.

There, you can talk as much as you want about being comfortable with silence!

Neil S.

The kindness of strangers - December in the USA

Ever lost something in the back of a cab?

Well, exactly that happened to Lynn and I when we were in New York this week. After a cab ride from Chelsea to the Meatpacking District, Lynn discovered that she had lost her Iphone in the back of the taxi. After hours of ringing the cab company, the police, the dispatch centre with no result, we had almost given up and Lynn was almost in tears. Gone were her text messages, her contact numbers and her photos.

We decided to give her phone number one last chance. I tiredly dialed the number on my phone and, amazingly, a man answered. He had found the phone in the back of the taxi and taken it home in the hope that we would ring him. A long taxi drive later up to the Upper East Side and we had retrieved the phone -unscathed and unused.

What are the chances of that? Losing an Iphone in New York and getting it returned? I guess there are more good people in the world than there are bad.

A few days earlier, we had been waiting in a bus station in Wilmington, Delaware. We had been running an Advanced Negotiation skills workshop there and were heading back to New York. Delaware has no sales tax, so we'd done a lot of tax-free shopping and had a mountain of luggage with us. The bus station was on N.Shipley street (my name!) and was basically a run-down, unheated room full of graffitti and toilet odour.

Slowly the room filled up with an interesting blend of people. Young men drinking beer, a rasta carrying a matress, a chinese woman hugging her stomach, a loud woman screaming into her telephone. And there we sat, with our mountain of luggage and our out-of-place fashion choices. It didn't exactly feel threatening, but it did feel like a very alien environment - an socioanthropological adventure.

The bus arrived, on the other side of N.Shipley street and we had to cross the road to get to where it had stopped. We were wondering how many trips backwards and forwards it would take us to get all of our bags to the bus. As we stood up, everyone in the room approached us and, to our amazement, asked if we needed help to carry our heavy bags. We accepted and a trail of people carried, dragged and wheeled our luggage over to the bus.

Just like the man in New York, these people acted out of kindness and sympathy. They didn't know us. They could have easily just left us to solve our own problem. But they didn't. They lent a helping hand. I guess it is true what they say about the kindness of strangers....

Neil

'Cod' by Armani

Alderley Edge High Street, a football-kick from Manchester

It isn't every day that you laugh hysterically with a taxi driver at 8am in the morning. Or at least not in my daily life. But on Friday this week, Lynn and I sat in the back of a taxi outside Manchester, UK, and split our sides in hysterics. It was one of those 'had to be there' experiences, but I'll try to describe the situation.

We were in the UK running Advanced Negotiation training for AstraZeneca. AZ's office is in beautiful parkland in Cheshire, 30 minutes from Manchester airport. Close to the AZ compound is a village called Alderley Edge, and this is where we were staying. Alderley Edge is a cute village, with a tree-lined main street, Georgian houses and thatched cottages. Very rural. It is the place where the elite of Manchester settle down, in very exclusive houses. The Beckhams once lived here and the place is crawling with footballers and their orange-skinned WAGS. Apparently, this village is the place where the most champagne per capita is consumed in the whole of the UK.

The village is also renouned for its fish and chip shop - Foster's. Chippie to the stars. No matter how much money or prestige you have in the north of England, you can still pop down to the fish and chip shop. This is where we decided to eat our meal on the Thursday night. Cod and chips twice. And a side order of mushy peas for Lynn. What is good about Foster's was that it isn't just takeaway - you can sit inside and eat. We hung up our coats and, surrounded by locals and glitterati, we tucked in to our meals.

Back at the hotel, we noticed an unmistakeable odour. Our clothes and coats had soaked up the scent of fried fish, batter and greasy chip oil. Oh well, we thought, it'll be gone by the morning. No such luck. The next day, our coats still reaked of chippie. Climbing into the taxi, we were still complaining to eachother about the revolting, lingering odour.

The taxi driver asked where we'd been. We answered that we'd been at Foster's in Alderley Edge. 'Oh', he said. 'then you're wearing 'Cod' by Armani.'

He had hit the nail right on the head. The designer image of classic clothing and perfume combined with the down-to-earth phenomena of the fish and chip shop summed up the people of Alderley Edge perfectly.

But the taxi driver didn't stop there.

'There's always something a bit fishy about Alderley Edge', he said
'Oh we're out of the frying pan into the frier in this taxi', we said
'Yeah, but this is the best plaice to be', he said

'Glad we've got you as a driver,' we said, 'you're a real catch'

'Are you fishermen's friend?' he asked Lynn

'Be careful or she'll batter you', I said

'Oh I feel like I'm in deep water' said Lynn

'Stop fishing for compiments' the driver said

And so it went on. The entire journey from the hotel to AstraZeneca, we were in stitches.

Wouldn't it be fun if more of our days could begin that way?  Especially on a Fryday!

Neil S

The buns of Ballerup

Lynn and I are working in Ballerup, Denmark, today. We're running an Effective Communication workshop. This morning when we described the logistics of the day, we said that we would have a coffee break around 10.15am.

'Will there be cake or buns?' piped a Danish participant.
'We don't know', we said.
'Without cake or buns, it's not a coffee break', he claimed.

It turned out that in Denmark, the concept of coffee break is closely associated with cake. Coffee, you see, is available all day long. You can have a cup of coffee whenever you want. Just grab and go. But, unlike in other countries, a 'coffee break' is only called a 'coffee break' when it is accompanied by cake or buns. It is not correct to refer to it as a 'coffee break' if there is no edible element to the occasion. It would be false advertising.

I wonder what they call ít when coffee's accompanied by Danish pastries. A cannibal break?

Ooh, give me a slice of that Danish Rosette cake

Copenhagen - cracking the Danish code

Copenhagen is a fantastic city located at the mouth of the Baltic Sea. It is a capital city where the oldest monarchy  and the happiest people in the world reside. Spending the day here today, it's easy to see why they're happy. The city's buildings are colourful and the architecture exciting. People cycle everywhere - safely. The city is peppered with fantastic cafés and restaurants, including the one I went to last night -Custom House. Apparently, the world's best restaurant is here. The air is fresh, the shopping great.

And the people are friendly and easy to understand.

At least when they speak English. When they speak Danish, well, that's another story. Although I speak Swedish, I understand very little Danish. It sounds a bit like they're speaking with a mouth full of porridge.

But today I had an epiphany. I think I cracked the Danish code. It seems like many words in Danish are similar to Swedish words, but where there is a T in Swedish, they have a D in Danish. 'Mat' becomes 'mad' (food), 'get' is 'ged' (goat). Likewise, a Swedish K translates to a Danish G. 'Bok' becomes 'Bög' (Book). 'Tak' is 'tag' (roof). It's in the D's and the G's - I'm sure of it.

So now it might be a bit easier for me to understand the Danish language. I appreciade id. I lige id. I thing id feels gread.

Neil S

UK - the Bronte sisters and me

Currently in the UK, I decided to head off to West Yorkshire and the tiny village of Haworth. This Victorian village consists of a tiny, narrow,cobbled street which winds its way slowly up a steep hillside. The village really brings to mind the industrial revolution and the hardships suffered by the people of the time.

On the top of the severe hill is a parsonage, a house which is a tourist magnet for people all over the world. It is in this house that the three Bronte sisters, Ann, Charlotte and Emily lived and died. It was from this house that they wrote literary classics such as Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights and Agnes Grey. Being in the house, seeing the village crawling down beneath it and the vast bleak moors spreading up behind, it was easy to relate to the stories and envisage the atmosphere of the time.

In the parsonage there is a museum. In the museum I learned that the three sisters all died before they passed 30. In their short lives, they had a huge influence on English literature. They are famous around the globe. Their stories are loved. They achieved so much in such short lives. That is truly inspiring.

A trip to Bronte country is worth a visit on so many different levels. Steep landscape. Elevated insight. And heightened respect.

Neil S

Correct Bay to Log Island

                                                             A train station. Somewhere.

When I was 11 years old, my parents allowed me to travel by myself on the train to stay with my then 25-year old sister in Wales. To occupy me, my dad gave me a notepad and he told me to write down the name of every station I passed through on my way from Darlington in the north of England to Pontypridd in the south of Wales. As the diligent youngster I was, I took this mission very seriously, and painstakingly wrote down every minor station on that long, windy track down the country.

On my journey back from Mora today, I was reminded of this. The train between Mora and Stockholm stops at many stations before arriving at its destination. As I travelled through the Swedish countryside, I realised how silly some of the place names are when you translate them into English.

Just to mention a few - after Mora, we stopped at Correct Bay, and then Pine Mountain. Next station was Play Sand and then Inland Lake. Animal Ridge is another place, as is Live Long. Honest Mother is another place worth mentioning.

Place names sound funny when you translate them to English don't they? Oh, well, only a few more hours to go till I'm home in Log Island.

Neil S

Mora, Sweden - check your assumptions

                                                        The best, and only, taxi in town.

One thing I am always reminded of when I travel is to check my assumptions. You don't even have to leave your own country to experience the benefits of doing this.

Today I've been in Mora in Sweden delivering a Cultural Awareness seminar. After the 4 hour train journey northwards, I arrived to a deserted, cold and rainy station. There were no people around, let alone taxis to take me onwards on my journey. A phone number was written on the station wall to a local taxi firm. I dialed them on my mobile. They seemed surprised to hear from me. They said they would 'see if they could send me a taxi.' I hung up.

Ten minutes later, I rang again to check if they'd found me a taxi. Not yet.'Why not?', I asked. 'Well'. they said, 'we only have one taxi in Mora during the days because nobody ever gets off the train at that time'. 'Oh', I said. 'I'll wait'.

I waited 20 minutes in the icy rain for the taxi to fetch me. And I remembered what I should have done. I should have checked my assumptions. I just presumed there would be a taxi rank outside the station to whisk me away.

I was wrong.

Neil S

Budapest - feeling at home

Lynn and I are staying at the Mercure Korona in Budapest. It's the same hotel we stayed in six months ago on our first visit to the city. Funny isn't it how, when you've stayed in a hotel, and returned home, you immediately banish the thoughts of the hotel staff? You never give them a second thought. You just go about your li´fe as normal, and they cease to exist. And then, when you come back a second time you suddenly recognise and remember them. It can go months, years even before you return, and as soon as you see the staff members behind the front desk, it's like coming home. This happened to us today when we checked in and it was rather fun.

Since we're staying in the same hotel, we also remembered a restaurant around the corner on Szarca utca that was shut last time we were here. We decided to try it out and see if it was open this time. And it was. A modern, fusion restaurant with a taster menu called Babel. The restaurant is contemporary with one wall covered in a glass-fronted fridge holding masses of wine bottles. It was a great dining experience and we strongly recommend the vegetarian menu if you happen to eat there sometime. http://www.babeldelicate.hu/

A short walk back from the restaurant and we were home, stomachs full of lovely food. Full of energy to deliver tomorrow's workshop in Budapest Science Park.

Neil S

Budapest,Hungary, 19 October 2010

We're off today to run a second Communicating Value workshop in Budapest. The first one was run in spring earlier this year. On that occasion, we arrived a day early and spent the day sightseeing and admiring the beautiful towns of Buda and Pest. We ate great food and watched the city life on the streets and the river.

This time, our visit is shorter, although we do hope there will be time to experience more of what the city has to offer. We may, however, be arriving at a city in shock. A week or so ago, a dam broke upriver, flooding nearby villages with toxic waste and killing all wildlife in the waterways. This toxic waste is threatening the river Danube and the capital of Budapest. We hope it hasn't reached the city. In a few hours, we'll find out.

Neil S.