Sunday, 10 June 2007

Around the world, April 2007 back home


29th April to 1st May, 2007 - Home sweet home

Well that was it for this time. A 34 days trip came to its end and Sunday night it was time for me to pack my bags and head towards the airport for the last leg of my trip back to Sydney.

When leaving Hawaii, bound for Sydney, things are often a bit confusing as far as time/date is concerned. The flight usually leaves just before midnight. You then fly into the next day and then, you lose almost a day because of the 20 hours time difference. Hence all those hours which you have gained bit by bit on your way from Australia to Europe and America are gone in one fell swoop when returning from Hawaii to Sydney.

The original plan had been to board a plane of Fiji Air and take a flight to Nadi, have four hours on the ground and then another five hours to Sydney. Somehow the plans of Fiji Air had become a bit untangled and basically there was no flight. Pity for those few travellers who were looking forward to spending some time on Fiji. For me it was a simple thing, being re-booked on a Canada Air flight directly to Sydney, which got me back home some 7 hours earlier than expected. And since the plane was fairly empty, I had the entire row of seats to myself, which allowed for some stretching out and sleeping in relative comfort.

There was just one last thing I had to master somehow and that was the fact that I was carrying about 600 gram of Tobacco with me where only 250 grams are allowed without paying a hefty tax fine on the whole lot. It's one of those situation which I have been through before and where I know that honesty, at least partial honesty usually helps.

So when it came to filling in the immigration form I made a yes tick at flowers, shells etc because I was carrying one of those shell necklaces with me which I was given in Hawaii. But I kept mum about my highly excessive tobacco load. And it worked. Upon going voluntarily to the 'something to declare' gate and explaining to the girl at the controls with a slightly anxious voice and demeanour that I had infact a necklace of Hawaiian shells in the front of my mini oyster, she smiled in the most benign manner and let me go directly to the exit, without my luggage being x-rayed or inspected at all.

Hence for the next few months I will be feasting on duty free tobacco reserves which have greatly been enhanced by my house sitters, who together imported the legal quantity of 250 gram each.

And now I am back in Green Point Palace, my home and can look back on a trip with many highlights, encounters with many friends and family around the world, many re-visited places and some new ones and with a plan in the drawer for the next trip.

My old friend Reinold and I once developed the principle that one should not embark on a trip without having plans for the next one. I have stuck to this principle faithfully for the last 40 years.

But about the next one, later.

Around the world, Hawaii, April 2007










26th April, 2007 - Put on the grass skirt, Aloha

The next day was once again a day of travelling as I made my way to my last stop over destination Hawaii. The flight left in the early afternoon, so there was plenty of time for me to have a breakfast and still walk around the city for a while before the shuttle bus was scheduled to pick me up for the drive to the airport.

Given the time difference, we arrived about 2 hours after we had left SF. Now I was back in the tropics. And whilst the weather over all was extremely benevolent with me over the entire trip, it is always nice to come to the Hawaiian climate with it's wonderful balmy evenings on the patio of the hotel overlooking Waikiki beach.

Caught yet another shuttle bus to go to my favourite Waikiki hotel, the Sheraton on the beach. It's well and truly a luxury hotel with all the trappings. However, thanks to my enterprising travel agent Barry I usually get a fairly cheap room in the 'manor wing' which is the least desirable location in the hotel with views of plenty of other hotels further back from the beach and no or only very little view of the beach. But who cares. I guess since living in Green Point Palace I can do without that for a few days.

For my 3 days in Hawaii I have decided to leave work aside and the trusted laptop hardly sees the light of day. As usual during my visits on the Island, I go and rent a little tinny jeep and drive around the Island. Usually I then return in the late afternoon, in time for a drink or two by the beach at my hotel bar. Sometimes I might go out for a bit of dinner but most of the meals are actually thanks to one of the many ABC shops where I get plenty of fruitsalad, some sandwiches and every now and then a bit of sushi.

I know, there are good restaurants around the place, but they also tend to be fairly expensive. The only exception I make is ordering a tiny little pizza in a cardboard box at my hotel bar. It's really a good pizza and can be had at about 6 to 7 Dollar. Bruce, one of the waiters at the pool bar recognises me from previous visits and makes a point of welcoming me back. I guess it's the pipebag which helps in the recognition business.

Apropos pipebag. Late last year Hawaii went almost completely smoke free. In other words smoking is not allowed in any bar, restaurant, hotel etc. Irrespective of whether seating is outside or inside. You are basically allowed to smoke on the street or in your own home, the rest is off limits.

I must admit that I invented an exception to that rule in that I declared my balcony at my hotel room to be a smoking area. Bruce, who I remembered as a great admirer of my pipe collection, advised me to sit at a particular table immediately adjacent to the beach walk which he then declared exterritorial bar area where I was allowed to have a puff on my pipe. Admittedly on the edge of legality

On Friday I picked up my little jeep and began my tour of the island. There are lots of places where I use to go again and again, just simply because they are beautiful and enjoyable each time. But there are also a few places which I do visit less frequently or have never been to before.

This time I decided to explore Diamond head a little bit more and drive onto/into an extinct crater of a volcano which is not very far from Waikiki. What strikes me always anew on this island are the differences in landscape and vegetation. Leave the tropical lush green vegetation of Waikiki behind, go for half an hour by car and you end up in a volcanic region with fairly dry and bushy vegetation and lots of rocks and cliffs. And drive another half hour and all of a sudden you are back into a tropical highland with banana trees, palms and large fruitbread trees (at least that's what I call them)

Given the often steep and high cliffs above the sea, some of the areas around the island are also very popular with paragliders and parachuters who hurl themselves from high rocky plateaus towards the ocean and then glide or sail as little colourful dots in the sky.

And a visit to Hawaii would not be complete for me without a visit to Waimea Falls. One of my most favourite spots on the Island of Oahu. I have described this heavenly piece of nature many times before. But it does not stop to fascinate me with its beauty and serenity. Walking up those trails through the bush and marvelling at flowering trees and plants, all by yourself and with nature offering you its beauty in such abundance and so generously is really one of the great joys in life for which I am really grateful.

Sometimes I take to a highway and let my nose decide where to go. The occasional inspiration comes from street signs and place names which mean little when I encounter them but which at this very moment seem to intrigue me and make me decide to leave the highway and see what's that all about. That's how I got to Barbers Point. It's a beach not far from Pearl Harbour but on the industrial side of things. And it's a contrast.

On the one hand you have this typical Hawaiian tropical beach with one lonely palm on the beach and in the background, not very far off, you have a huge metal scrap heap where most of the rusted metal from Hawaii ends up. It brings back the truth that whilst this island is a holiday island, it is also an island with a lot of locals who live here permanently and thus produce waste and obviously also a lot of scrap metal.

Obviously there is no tourist in sight and the only people on the beach are probably some workers from one of the near by industrial places. Hence it is a very quiet and lonely beach but not really much different to famous Waikiki beach, just that the background is slightly different. It's a touch of reality in paradise which I don't mind at all.

A comment from my mother comes to my mind. Many years back when we were having a holiday in Davos in winter, Mum commented, that a blue sky all day could really sometimes be a bit boring and she would welcome the occasional cloud in the sky.

A paradise needs clouds of reality. Maybe that's why I find the religious definitions of heaven so un-inspiring.

Around the world, SF, April 2007




24th April, 2007 - San Francisco – a brief stop over

On Tuesday I spent most of my time with the trip from NYC to San Francisco (SF) My transport by shuttle bus was organised for 12.30 to get me to La Guardia airport. The driver was one of those professional drivers who know exactly how to avoid all or most bottle necks in such a big city. Sometimes the problem, though, is that they spend half an hour driving around backstreets and strange lane ways only to find that had they chosen the shortest way to the destination, they would probably have made it in half the time, albeit with a lot of stop and go. This one took more than ½ hour to get from Madison/47th to Madison /42nd - which is five blocks – by driving around half of Manhattan. Well at least we did not pay by distance.

My flight to SF via Minneapolis was scheduled to leave at 15.15 and arrival time was scheduled for 20.50 Somehow I have the distinct feeling that something in either my luggage, my passport or my personal exterior makes me a prime suspect for attacking airline security. That is at least in the USA.

Every time I check in for a domestic flight in the US I get singled out for a very thorough security checking. And whilst I don't object against all those procedures, I sometimes wonder, what it is, that marks me as such a high risk person. And since my 'hit rate' in this aspect of airport security has been 100% over the last four years, I can't believe that it is just random. Maybe having a few hundred stamps in your passport and some of those from what might be perceived as exotic countries such as Uganda or Dubai, has something to do with it.

The departure to Minneapolis, being delayed for about 1 hour, adds another hour to my already impressive waiting time statistics. But, as I said before, that's part and parcel of travelling around the world these days and you have to put up with it. Thank heavens for MP3 players!

I get on the plane fairly early as one of the first passengers. One might say it does not really matter whether you get on a plane late or early, your seat is your seat. And whilst that is correct, it does have an advantage and that is luggage space in the overhead locker. Despite what airlines try to tell us about the limits for everybody in terms of on board luggage, there are enough people around who manage to carry half of their material belongings around with them, stuffed in several oversized suitcases and plastic bags. And once they have filled up the overhead locker, your are stranded with your little mini Oyster. And seeing that this flight was fairly well booked, there was an incentive to get on early.

Once you sit in your seat, luggage securely stowed away, you can observe the fellow travellers pouring into the plane. That is when you play the game 'who is it for me this time' that is the question, which of the travelling hopefuls will join you in your row of seats. And I don't make any secret out of the fact that I do have my preferences for those temporary companions.

Given my considerable size and weight I don't really have a lot of reasons to complain about big people. Though I must point out that even in the most modern planes, where the allocation of centimetres for each seat appears to be calculated based on the template of a human body hailing from the Sumatra pygmies, I still fit into those seats, albeit with not a lot of space to spare on either side of the armrests.

This being a domestic flight with destination in the inner west of the USA and this being the US, there were quite a few fellow passengers rolling down this aisle who, I was certain, would have considerable trouble fitting their oversized posteriors between those two dainty armrests. And when you sit there and play the game 'who is it for me this time' you take this factor into account.

And there were a few people where I was hoping that they would not become my neighbours for the next few hours. Well, sometimes you are lucky, sometimes you are not. Here they came, Dave and Tylor. Dave being the father of little Tylor. My rough estimate was that Dave would bring every standard bathroom scales to its knees with around 180 or so kg. The consolation was Tylor, his little son of about 8 years. He was well and truly petit. That meant that Dave had to lift the armrest towards Tylor's window seat in order to be able to plonk himself onto the middle seat, never to be removed until we landed in Minneapolis. He commented with a wry sense of self-depreciation that those bloody planes where not really made for him.

Well Minneapolis came and went and at about 21.45 that night we landed in SF. Given all this sitting and waiting around I was not in the mood for a shuttle bus, but took a taxi to my hotel, the Cartwright on Sutton Street, just up from Union Square. It's one of those hotels with the much beloved "Old World Charm" which refers to some undefined bygone era in Middle Europe.

Donald Rumsfeld must have stayed in one or two too many of these hotels in his home country when he coined the phrase of "old Europe" a couple of years back.

The main and predominant features of "Old World Charm" are poky little rooms, unpleasantly red-brown carpets, a somewhat aged and creaky interior and those really old fashioned light switches which make quite an audible click and clack when they are switched on/off. And like in many city hotels in America's larger cities, your view from the room is onto some other roofs, often flat ones, piping and aircondition ducts which gives the whole thing more an industrial rather then old world charm.

But those hotels do have a significant advantage, they tend to be relatively inexpensive. And what the heck, I am here for the better part of 36 hours, two nights so it does not really matter.

25th April, 2007 - shopping till dropping

For Wednesday I have planned to do a little bit of shopping. There are a couple of t-shirts on my list from a company/store by the name of "don't Panic". For a gay man visiting SF from anywhere in the world it is some kind of brotherly duty to pay Castro and Market Street in Castro at least a brief visit. It is a little bit the equivalent to the Kaaba in Mecca. You wouldn't visit Mecca without visiting the Kaaba. But here ends the comparison.

Castro has been for many years a very vibrant and lively suburb where the presence of the gay community was more than obvious in the houses, the shops, the bars and restaurants and market street has lots of similarities with Oxford street in Sydney, the – once upon a time – golden gay mile in my home city.

But both streets have, during the last few years, undergone a visible and, more important, atmospheric change which has taken away a lot of the flair and flamboyance which once dominated their character 24 hours a day. And in both cases – Oxford as also Market Street – the demise becomes most obvious by looking at the shops and restaurants. They look old, tired, down to heel, often a sorry shadow of their former glory.

It seems that many of the former patrons have moved out, moved on but left their flags behind. I do admit that gaining an impression of such an area on a Wednesday morning at about 10.00 probably represents a somewhat selective sampling of life on Market Street in Castro, but many shop facades and restaurant windows allow the conclusion that 10 hours later things would probably not be much different. And as far as my t-shirt shopping list is concerned, I have reason to panic since don't panic is not there anymore. Well I guess I have to see it this way, ever since it's demise my t-shirts at home, which I bought here in 1994 have gone up in value!

All I am left with are quite a few fond memories of this area which take me back into the eighties and nineties. But maybe some years down the track, this street might enjoy some sort of rejuvenation like Oxford Street in Sydney did in recent times.

I am heading back for the other Market Street in the inner city of SF and towards the start/finish of the cable car. I am taking a day pass for the cable car which allows me to jump on and off as desired and, sitting on the outside in the midday sun, enjoy the beginning of a ride towards Fisherman's Wharf.

A ride on the cable car is always fun and you marvel at the 'old world technology' which keeps this vehicle moving and, more importantly, stopping on its way from Powel Street via China town down to the other side of SF and Fisherman's Wharf. You pass Lombard street, this famously winding road down the hill with the hydrangeas in its planter boxes.

I have been to Fisherman's Wharf many times over the last 20 years and most times, when I was aiming for some lunch, I would go to Houlihan's, up on the first floor for a light meal a wine and a nice view. Well, it has turned into a Hooters now and you know what that means, don't you. Not for me thanks

After that minor disappointment I wandered down back towards the centre and set down at Castagnola's Restaurant. They have nice outside seating which allows me to light a pipe. However, after sitting there for half an hour as the only outside guest I must have turned from a guest to a no-guest, since nobody ever came to the table asking what I would like to have. After all it was 12.30 and well and truly lunch time.

I guess one has to try something new every now and then and since the Castagnola's guys did not show any inclination to do anything what so ever about service, I got up again and wandered further down the road to get to Boudin Sourdough Bakery & Café.

This is a café/restaurant with a bit of a twist. Apart from the restaurant and some quite nice outside seating which is reasonably protected with glass walls against the ever blowing wind from the water, they also have a bakery where they produce quite nice sourdough bread. And part of the bakery is behind a large shopwindow front where the tourists can watch how the bakers do their bread rolls and also some more imaginative dough figures like little crocodiles etc. They get regular applause from the people on the street when a specific bread arte fact is finished and ready to go into the oven.

This being a self service place, we don't have the problem of waiting for being asked. And they serve quite nice and yummy salads with seafood and thus provide a nice lunch break.

In the early afternoon I start my trip back to Powel street, using the cable car and hopping off every now and then for a walk around the hills of SF with their beautiful views of SF Bay, the Golden Gate Bridge and the rolling hills of the wine country on the other side of the bay. In the late afternoon I take a little nap and do some work since I do have a cheap and quite fast broadband connection in my hotel which allows me to communicate with the world and send some stuff off to Sydney which I have been working on over the last few days.

A few years back in October 2000 I did a trip together with Ingrid Hillebrand and Mum where we spent 5 days in SF. From that visit I remembered a nice restaurant on the water front just at the end of Market Street where we sat with a nice view of SF bay. So I started a walk down Market Street and looked for the establishment.

Getting to the waterfront I found that they had built a new kind of Jetty, actually quite nice with some lattice work and lovely old timber sleepers on the roadway. And it stretches a fair way into the bay as it serves as a berthing place for larger cruise ships. So I took a walk up the jetty to get to the end of it and thus have a very nice view across the bay and down south the coastline. At the top end of the jetty you are also far enough removed from the city to be able to have a view of the skyline of SF. Not that that would be an overly impressive view, not really, but a nice view anyway. There are some better skylines around in the world with water in front of them, such as HongKong, looking from the Mainland towards Victoria Island (sitting in the Regent hotel dining room for example) or the view from my Oasis Beach hotel in Dubai towards Jumairah.

But then it's off to Perry's fine dining on the waterfront. As so often in the USA, trying to get a table for one is a bit of a dilemma. As one person you are taking too much space for too little turnover. It's as simple as that. And that is not a new thing in America. I remember 25 years ago in NYC trying to book a table for myself for a little birthday dinner. No chance in hell, or at least not in NYC. Well, with a little bit of cheating I managed to get a reservation at the Marguarita on Madison Av.

Here at Perry's it was just a matter of sitting everybody out for a while whilst having a glass of wine or two at the bar, observing the bar tender. Must admit he did a great job with all his drinks and mixing and he was very busy indeed.

Eventually I made it to a table and had some light dinner with nice poached Salmon and some salad. Just the right fair for a mid evening dinner.

Around the world, NYC, April, 2007






21st April, 2007 - Off to the land of the free and fair - NYC

Saturday is travel day again. I have to leave for New York. Thankfully, the start of the journey is around midday, hence no need for early rising and plenty of time for a pleasant and peaceful breakfast with Angela. The flight goes via Amsterdam, where I have a few hours to kill before the KLM takes off towards JFK airport.

The quirky thing in European Airports is the fact that these days you can't buy any tobacco products in the duty free shops, unless your immediate destination is outside the EU. So my large collection of Mac Barens Mixture which I picked up in Munich all has to go back into the shelves, since I still go down in Amsterdam. And there is no arguing about this being only a few hours stop over etc. The European answer is NO. Funny enough, the same does not apply to any other stuff in duty free. Mohamed only knows why, the duty free shop staff certainly don't.

The linguistic upshot of all this is that I now have many tobacco packs from the Netherlands with the Dutch warning on the packs that "Roken is dodelijk" which if read with an English understanding of language in mind sounds a bit like "smoking makes you doodle around" which sounds rather benign and certainly takes the edge off the serious warning!

The onwards flight from Amsterdam to NYC is unfortunately a couple of hours late which contributes to my long hours of travelling/waiting on assorted airports around the world. But these days, you learn to get into an 'airport mode' somehow.

It's a special kind of frame of mind where these things are simply taken as they come without causing too much stress. An hour or two more, who cares. With my music in my ears and the remaining few Bulletins to be read, we'll kill those hours, living with the expectation that we might re-gain at least one of them due to the fact that we are going to arrive after the Saturday evening rush-hour traffic in NYC has run its course and hence the trip from JFK to Madison Avenue might in all likelihood be at least 30 minutes shorter than it would have been, had we arrived on time as scheduled.

As you would know, entering the land of the free and fair these days resembles somewhat entry into a prison system, where your fingerprints are taken, you smile for a mugshot and you confirm on a long list of questions that your visit to the US of A does not serve the purpose of blowing something up, robbing banks or committing other felonies listed on the entry card like a list of 'what to do in the US' suggestions. I would really like one day, just as a matter of life experience, meet a girl or guy, who have ticked YES at one or even several of those categories on this list.

And imagine the following. Some rogue element travels to the US of A with the clear intention of blowing up half of NYC and hence makes a tick at the most appropriate question indicating his intentions. And imagine, this tick would be overlooked which is not such a fanciful idea given the fact that 99.99% of cards would not show such a tick in the 'wrong' place. Now this guy actually does what he intended and ends up in court, accused of blowing up buildings illegally. And now his cunning defence lawyer points out that the defendant has clearly indicated on his arrival card that he would do just that, hence it is unfair and unjust to accuse him of something which, upon asking for entry into the USA he clearly signalled to do and still being admitted for entry. That could get the justice system into a mighty pickle.

And with another of my famously twisted imagination I sometimes wonder whether I could sue the EU countries for reckless negligence and wilfully endangering my and other people's lives since they let those unwashed hordes from all over the world into and across their borders without ever asking any of those vital questions.

These procedures now require quite a different assessment of 'queue content' in order to be able to judge/estimate, which of the 20 queues you may chose from is the most likely to advance quickest.

Once upon a time, in Australia, it was relatively easy. There was one rule "don't queue behind Indians". I know, this is a fairly racist and probably totally unwarranted rule, but I remember it very well from the eighties. I have never made a proper test with it and my observations are and have been only qualitative as opposed to quantitative. However, I sometimes seemed to observe a certain degree of confirmation for the practical relevance of that rule.

Though, here in JFK, you are not allowed to make such decisions yourself, but you are ordered into a queue, selected out of the 'one fits all' snake which winds its way around and along a sheer endless number of twists and turns, guided by those fancy ropes fixed to little silver poles. A bit like Lombard street in San Francisco, without the nice flower pots in the middle. A burly immigration official orders you to …window no. 6 or what ever the number may be.

Well, eventually I make it through without being arrested and the wait for the luggage. You see that is the great equaliser on many airports and in particular JFK which is one of the worst and slowest handling Airports I have ever come across.

It does not matter what sort of tricks and assessments you employ for going through immigration as quickly as possible, you might be first off the plane and first in the queue to be finger printed, strip searched and photographed, but your suitcase comes last on the belt, probably because it was first ON the plane because you are such a cheeky bunny. And when you really think about it, it all makes sense. Just imagine if you will, this big hole on the one side of the plane where all those suitcases are stuffed in. those which are stuffed in first have every chance to come out last. So the trick is to try to get your suitcase loaded as late as possible, so that it comes out first at your destination.

At the end of the day – and that is to be taken literally – I make it to the Roosevelt Hotel on Madison/47th Street just before midnight. So there is not much more to do for the night, other than paying a fleeting visit to the bar, having a glass of dry white – no, no Chardonnay, thank you – and to fall into bed for a good night's sleep.

Opening the window in my room a little bit, I am instantly reminded of the fact that it is time to get used again to the endless humming of aircondition units. They are just simply everywhere and that applies to NYC as well as to SF and Waikiki. Sometimes I could see myself becoming a worldwide crusader against airconditioning units! In most instances of their use they are as useless as stretch limousines (an equally useless invention for the benefit only of lazy stilt-walkers, who can't be bothered taking off their leg extensions)

22nd April, 2007 - NYC a city where boots are made for walking

Given the most pleasant summer weather, the boots are sandals this time around, however, the rest is true. New York is one of the great walking cities on this planet.

Given the clear grid system by which the streets and Avenues of Manhattan are organised and the fact that the Streets are numbered from 1 to 150 and something, it is as easy as pea soup to work your way through the system. It allows you to calculate reasonably accurately how long it will take you to get from A to B since all the blocks, meaning the distance from one to the next street, are more or less equal in size. And since you get some kind of 'progress report' on every street corner, things usually seem to take less time than they actually do. And since the Avenues, at least to some extend, have all their own individual character, you can enjoy some predictable change of scenery and flair by going up, for example on Madison and then down again on, let's say Lexington or Av of the Americas.

Since I have been staying at the Roosevelt Hotel for many years now over the last decade, I know that I should give the restaurant a miss, even for breakfast. That is somewhat against my general habits but here and also in my next stop overs a fairly sensible rule.

The breakfast buffet at the Roosevelt is not too bad, however, very expensive and they have a very irritating habit there. When they present you with the bill, it has a hand written note on it "15% gratuity suggested" That means they 'demand' 15% in addition to your already hefty bill for… yeah, what exactly? Filling up your coffee cup. After all it is a buffet style breakfast which means, you serve yourself, lug all the stuff to your table yourself, and all the staff does is to mince around and, every now and then, fill your coffee cup. OK they remove your empty plates once you have gone and every now and then come around and try to take a plate away from you which still contains 2 or 3 pieces of fruit or so. You ain't eating fast enough fella!!

I remember a few years ago when this unsavoury habit of demanding gratuity at 15% started, I got into an almighty argument with the head waiter. The upshot was that I did not pay a cent of gratuity and decided then and there that this was the last time I would set foot into this restaurant. And since things have not changed there, I don't see a reason for changing my decision.

So it's back to the breakfast deli, of which there are plenty in NYC. Unfortunately some of these shops tend to change their owners regularly and you might find one during one visit which prepares quite acceptable breakfast fare, but a year down the track, the owners have changed and so has the menu and quality of the sandwiches. I usually try to find one which has some European 'ethnics' behind the cashier – which indicates owner. If it's an Italian or, even better, Spanish looking owner, you can usually assume that they have a bit of an understanding for making a savoury sandwich which goes beyond the white blend turkey with a whole Schrebergarten full of salad on top of it.

And all the while you are pounding the pavement on the search for a half way decent sandwich for breakfast, all those Starbucks joints smile invitingly at you at every street corner. But if there is one thing clear – after making a fair test of it – Starbucks is not for this hungry fella, never ever. I ended up finding a half way decent shop in, of all places, Central Station, which happens to be just around the corner from my hotel. But I was determined to find out on Monday whether I could still improve on this one.

With the breakfast hunt behind me I got ready to join the many New Yorkers for a walk up towards Central Park and the Museum mile. From Madison Av I crossed over to fifth Av and started walking up the approximately 15 blocks to the beginning of Central Park.

This Sunday was World Environment Day. And with the UNO – which declares these days – just around the corner, the good burgers of NYC were hellbend on spending a few hours of this glorious day in their green environment which is Central Park.

There was, however, a most unwelcome distraction from the relative peace and quiet. Apart from World environment Day there was also some Greek holiday. The flags around fifth Avenue and the many children and adults in traditional Greek costumes made this abundantly clear. The distraction, though, was the end of the parade (they always have a parade in NYC for everything) was formed by a large gaggle of Harley Davidson and similar motorbikes and they insisted on revving up their machines incessantly which, given the wall of Skyscrapers on the one side of the street, resonated with earsplitting thunder into the otherwise calm and peaceful environment of Central Park. It was highly annoying, entirely unnecessary but unfortunately inescapable. And the bitter irony of this environmental crime being inflicted upon us on world environment day seems to have escaped the organisers of the parade entirely.

Eventually I escaped a bit further into the park and ended up at one of my favourite resting places, the old boathouse. And by that time, the parade on fifth Av. had come to a merciful end and relative peace and quiet returned to the world. Time for a glass of dry white wine – no Chardonnay, thank you – a nice pipe and a bit of relaxing and watching your thoughts meandering through the clear and sunny air towards the heavens.

I usually visit at least one the great Museums around this area, in particular the Metropolitan and/or the Guggenheim. But I must admit on this day I felt particularly lazy and gave high culture a miss in favour of a longish afternoon walk down the Av of the Americas and back to my hotel of 47th Street. And after a healthy afternoon nap it was time to get going again and to join my cousin Anita and her family for a very pleasant Sunday dinner.

The Monday was once again a walking day. This time I was looking at going to some places I have not been to for some time, like the UNO building. Here I was interested in seeing the 'wandering' picture. That is a picture which starts in the foyer of the UN building and snakes its way out of the building, along the footpath down to the Hudson river, across the river bank, the water to be continued some further km away across a rock outcrop in the river and then to the other side of the water way. It was nice to see the band of colours floating through the landscape and seemingly crossing the river to get to the other side.

And there is another NYC attraction which I have to visit regularly and that is the Brookstone Shop at the Rockefeller Centre. It's a very nice gadget shop with many interesting designs and yes, gadgets to your heart's content. I don't quite know, how many keyrings with a twist I now call my own but many of them are from this shop. They often have a little torch built in or a little recorder for taping a brief message. I have a very sleek calculator/worldclock which I bought last year. And in my humble opinion, they have taken over from the sharper image in terms of design and elegance, not to forget quirkyness of the gadgets.

And yes, this time it is a clock again which catches my eye and which, eventually, I can't go past. Problem though is, I need to replace the American net adaptor in order to replace the 110 Volt with a 240 volt one for use in Australia.

The clock is a very sleek polished metal one with three round 'windows' in which you see the time, the date and the temperature. And those windows glow in all rainbow colours and hence make a very colourful and pleasant display.

I just have to find a place around the house where this clock can go. To be honest, I have so many clocks and time pieces around the house, it's becoming sort of a clock museum. On my desk alone there are 7 time pieces, three of them world clocks. And the entire house contains well in excess of 100 clocks and watches. It has come to the point where I have to take a day off twice a year in order to adjust all of these clocks to the changing time at the beginning and end of summer.

Once upon a time NYC was well known and justifiably proud of excellent service, in particular in hotels, bars and restaurants. After all, they kind of 'invented' customer service in this place. And whilst it might often have been perceived as a bit rush rush, it was never the less a well known and appreciated feature in this City's public life.

Those days, I am afraid to say, have gone. It is therefor even more remarkable and worth noting that on this Monday night I ended up in a restaurant on 45th Street/Fifth Avenue, called the Cinema Restaurant which I can recommend in glowing terms. Very nice food, good wine and a waiter with a personality which was the most pleasant and refreshing I have seen and experienced in a long time and certainly nowhere else in NYC. And you guessed it, my tip exceeded markedly the commonly expected 15%. And I made a point in telling the waiter how I liked his attitude, personality and attention to his job.

Around the world, Munich, April 2007




19th April, 2007 - My second old home

By Thursday it is time to pack the bags again and to make my way to Munich.

Hamburg and surrounding areas are home to me because of the people there, my family and many good friends. But I have never lived there in the past. Hence the town as such only means something to me because of the people.

In Munich, on the other hand, I have spent some 10 years of my life living and working and making friends there. So there is a somewhat different quality in my relationship to the city itself, which I love.

After Wuppertal, where I spent the first 13 years of my life – plus a few more after my school years in Berchtesgaden – and Sydney, where I lived for 20 years, Munich is the city where I spent the third longest time in my life in one place and those years between 1972 and 1982 were quite important in my adult life. So wandering down some of the streets in Schwabing, which I did on Friday, is always also some kind of trip down memory lane for me. And I have to say, those memories are very good and satisfying. Munich, as did Hamburg, presents itself in perfect weather condition. Sunny, warm and in spring colours. What more do you want?

Visited briefly Susie Eger. We go back some years as well and once in the early seventies worked for the same company in the field department of Infratest. This year, Susie and her partner celebrate 25 years of Shag's Wohnstudio, their furniture and interior design shop in Schwabing. I remember buying a matrass from them when they were still 'shaumies' and then my first sofa, a nicely designed piece of furniture which made its way into my house in Sydney.

Upon arriving in Munich I rented a little car since my usual mode of transport – the old VW Golf from Wille - has given up its life after some 25 years of reliable service, of which I have been the beneficiary for several decades as well.

Briefly stopped at Angela's house to unload before setting off to Rottach to visit my old friend Traute Wuelfing. For the first time in my life without her husband Bernd, who died late last year. And whilst it was sad for me to arrive there without being greeted by my long term friend and distant uncle as it has been for the last 35 years, I was pleased to see that Traute is managing alright with plenty of first class help from Jana and not to forget her daughters Angela and Addi.

I know full well that those relationships may suffer under the strains of old age (see above) but I guess that's part of life. And, as good old Malcolm Frazer once said so disarmingly in a politically difficult situation, "life wasn't meant to be easy".

Most of Thursday was reserved for business talks. On those days I usually spend quite a few hours in the TNS dependance in Fuerstenrieder Strasse, going from floor level to level, following the office plans on the front door. These plans are vital!

Infratest and now TNS have Herrn Wuehrer, an old hand whom I have known since my first days at Infratest back in 1972. And I think he is the ultimate removalist. I would not want to even begin to count, how often Herr Wuehrer has shifted the entire staff of the company from one office to another. And rarely, I must say, do there seem to be compelling reasons for such moving around. They were hard if not impossible to identify even in those days when I was still immediately involved in the company.

Anyway, I made my rounds and put my head into quite a few offices where people work, who already worked there when I first joined the company. Sometimes I find that quite reassuring.

On Thursday late afternoon I have made an appointment with one of my regular chat partners from OUT who lives in Munich and we meet for the first time in person. Wandering through the Inner City, from Marienplatz to Lehnbach Platz, I encounter quite a few buskers of a special kind. Classical Musicians and really good ones at that.

On Marienplatz there is a Xylophone player who does really amazing things with a very large instrument, playing two handed and with two… - well what do you call these things with which they bang on the Xylophone, in German we call it Kloeppel – in each hand. He plays classic pieces by Mozart or Bach and I am sure he has a fairly broad repertoire. Quite amazing and rarely seen/heard. Many a busker who I have heard, endured around the world could take a leaf out of this one's book.

One string quartet, not very far near Lehnbach Platz seemed to have done just that. Playing Puccini, some Verdi in very energetic and even amusingly entertaining fashion. As I spend more than an hour listening to those unexpected offerings of well known and well presented classical music, I suddenly realise that I have to hurry up a bit in order to be on time for my real life encounter with my chat partner.

Given that the chat site, which we both use regularly, is UK based and has a predominantly UK based membership, it is not very often that I meet some of my 'regulars' in real life. But when I do, it usually turns out to be a very pleasant continuation of our cyber activity. After all, that is how I got to know my friends in Kampala and see, what happened there! And I am pleased to say, some of those guys from the UK have also made their way to Australia and visited me in Green Point Palace.

The Friday was reserved largely for wandering around the Inner City, doing a fair bit of window shopping and just letting random determine my way through the streets of Munich up until 19.00 hours when my Stammtisch met at the Vinorant in the alte Hoefe.

This Stammtisch is a traditional Institution which we started some 25 years ago after I left Munich for Sydney. It's simply a group of friends who get together for a dinner and some drinks, just like a 'real' Stammtisch. The twist here is, though, that this one only comes together when I am in town. For me it is a wonderful opportunity to catch up with quite a number of good old friends whom to visit individually would be close to impossible since I rarely would have enough time for 10 or so evening visits.

As is common on these occasions, we sat together for some 4 hours of chatting, gossiping and I used the occasion to also promote Uganda as a travel destination next year for my 60th birthday celebration in Kampala. It's also an occasion which the locals amongst themselves enjoy and appreciate since they often don't see each other socially except for those Stammtisch meetings.

Around the world, Hamburg, April 2007




13th April, ,2007 - Hamburg and the North of Germany

Arriving in Hamburg at 14.00 hours on Friday 13th April I do catch a taxi to get me swiftly and without delay to Alexander Zinn Strasse. Klaus Martin and Beate are still in Berlin and the keys to the manor are left for me at the neighbours.

I settle comfortably in the basement flat of the house, inspect the fridge and decide on a little shopping spree down Waitzstrasse. There are certain things in terms of breakfast fair which I tend to indulge in when in Germany. Amongst other things these are fine liverwurst, some Metwurst, Fleischsalad and some Rollmops. Can’t pass up some really cheap offers of Italian wine. An hour later and a few shops visited, I return to my home from home with plenty of goodies for the next few days.

It’s also the time for some washing of t-shirts and underwear. Given the splendid summer weather which greets me in Hamburg, the drying outside is quick and easy.

To my amazement I find a little turtle in the green house. I am later informed that Klaus and Beate were looking for the little bugger since January when it escaped a little box which they had prepared for it and its sister turtle. It was supposed to have its hibernation nap there, but instead it had escaped and explored the garden shed. I gave it some salad leaves which were eagerly munched away and upon their return Beate and Klaus re-united the lonely turtle with its companion and the Christmas gift for the grandkids was complete again.

As mentioned before, the weather was rather pleasant, dry and warm which allowed me to keep wearing my “Australian Uniform” consisting of shorts, t-shirt and sandals. To be honest, that never changed during the entire trip!

Now it was off to Mum – this time our own Mum who lives in a pretty, little room in Rissen a, what we call in Sydney, leafy suburb, in the Reemtsma retirement home.

Oh those "oldies"

During this trip and in particular in Germany, I had plenty of opportunity to speak with friends about their elderly parents or –as is now often the fact – their elderly mothers. And in most cases, these stories had a common theme with the oldies often not being able – for various reasons – to accept the reality of being by themselves, showing a certain degree of stubbornness, lack of acceptance of help and advise from their children and at times even being hostile or resentful.

A lot of these things have to do with advancing age and to some degree loss of, what I would call, social diplomacy. Children and their help are often taken for granted and are demanded, at times, beyond reasonable limits. This also leads to the fact, at times, that our oldies see, perceive or observe the social interactions, the family dynamics around them more in colours they would like them to be rather than in those in which they realistically present themselves.

For those of us, who are more or less on a daily basis involved in looking after their elderly parents this sometimes brings a considerable degree of stress and frustration. I guess it is left to the younger people in this 'game' to realise and accept that this is a natural development, sometimes accentuated by deteriorating mental and intellectual capacities and does not always reflect the person one has known for so many years and with whom one has had a more or less good relationship for decades.

Getting older and more dependant on outside help after living a life of independence and self-reliance is often difficult if not impossible for some of those oldies to gracefully accept. And one would have to say that the more independent and self-reliant they once were, the more does it hurt if physical and/or mental deterioration all of a sudden makes an end to this 'free' and independent life. Often combined
With the more or less recent loss of a partner for half a lifetime, these changing circumstances are difficult if not impossible to accept and rationalise.

A few years ago, at one of her late eighties birthdays, my siblings and I gave our mother a birthday gift. Unconditional "Narrenfreiheit" (freedom of the jester), allowing her to say or do anything in future without it ever been taken wrongly or negatively. "nichts wird mehr krumm genommen"

And we are very lucky with our mother. You would rarely see a 91 year old who lives such a content life, hardly ever complaints about anything, always tells you that she is happy not to have any illness.

There are some positively predisposing factors at work with our mother. Widowed for 50 years, used to living on her own, physically never very active (no joy out of garden work for her!), good eyesight which allows her to read, blessed with the capacity to sleep long and peacefully (shortens the day) and a general ability to say to herself: "this will be good" and firmly believing in it.

A sometimes unsentimental realism in life, a good grasp of the practical side of things and wisdom make her and our lives today so much easier and the relationship almost completely stress free.

And I am the first to admit that my position – being some 16.000 km away on a different continent and visiting twice or three times a year – is probably also very fortunate and inducive to extremely low stress levels and frictions. But I, like my siblings, have had quite some experience in living with 'oldies' from a fairly early age.

As soon as I get to Hamburg on my regular visits twice or three times a year, I make a point of re-establishing a certain routine in my daily visits. This entails to show up at the home at about 11.30 for a little chat, driving through the forest surrounding Rissen to get to the river Elbe, sit down for lunch in one of the restaurants along the river (Mum loves water views!), bringing her back to the home for a well deserved sleep in the afternoon. This is how we spend a few hours together every day of my visit and it completely serves the purpose and is for Mum some kind of 'holiday' as the day progresses somewhat differently from the usual daily routine.

14th April, 2007 - The deep North

On the Saturday early in the afternoon I take to the road and drive the 150 km north to Faulueck to visit my good old friend Reinold and his family.

Oh those German Autobahns. I guess it's one of the few remaining places in the world where you can legally drive – on most stretches anyway – as fast as your car allows. And I admit to enjoying the occasional 160 or 170 km/hour.

Unlike in previous years, though, I seem to observe far less other traffic companions who would still whoosh along on the left lane, exceeding my considerable speed by another 30 to 40 km/hour. Usually those black or silver Mercedes or BMWs. I think the colour green has something to do with it.

The Germans, being environmentaly aware as they are, have voluntarily sacrificed some Autobahn speed and in the process save themselves some money as well. Because at 160 km/hour you can watch the petrol gauge going down towards Zero at frightening speed! And that in a country where many years ago – during the first "oil shock" in the seventies – the defiant motto of the day was "freie Fahrt fuer freie Buerger" when the government of the day introduced car free days on weekends and serious speed limits on the Autobahns against a lot of protest and resistance from the car driving community.

Those of you who know the far north of Germany would appreciate my pleasure of visiting this particular part of Germany regularly. The landscape is of great beauty and has a certain kind of serenity to it which makes it very special to me, almost on par with the Chiemgau in Spring. However, equally appealing is obviously the visit at Reinold's home and his family. Reinold and I go back some 50+ years and ours is an enduring friendship which has stood the test of time. Something we both value immensely.

One of the significant features of such a long friendship is the fact that there never seems to be any 'break' or 'interruption' of the relationship completely irrespective of the amount of communication which goes on between personal encounters. I think we could continue a meaningful conversation mid sentence even if it were interrupted for 12 months or so.

Reinold and his family are boaties. That means they have an old timber sailing boat which is, no doubt and rightly so, a priced and cherished possession. To be honest I know the boat far better from it's underside, being in the dry dock, rather than on the water. That is because my visits in Germany tend to be in early Spring or late Autumn when the boat is docked at the wharf. And as a far less committed boatie with a plastic contraption at the front of my place, I have great admiration for the time, labour and love which goes into this beauty.

Every now and then I am also allowed to do a bit for my weekend lodging and drive on the sit-on lawn mower. Great fun with a very practical and helpful component to it as well. And if there is any enduring tradition in my visits at the old school house in Faulueck it would have to be our evening and late night discussions into the wee hours of the morning accompanied by liberally decanted good dry white wine and a few pipes.

On Sunday Hamburg backons again and I start my trip back to the big smoke at around 11.00 after a decent breakfast and a leisurely stroll around Arnis to see some of the preparations for the new sailing season. And whilst the locals promise an easy ride with little traffic, once I hit the most northern parts of Hamburg, the Autobahn is chockers – probably up to the Elbtunnel – which is my destination. So I leave the Autobahn and make my way around the suburban streets back to Othmarschen. Hence the last 40 km take more time than the first 120.

16th April, 2007 - Mum's birthday

On Monday the 16th April Mum turns 91 and a little party is on the cards. Just close family and some old friends makes for a round of 16 people. As mentioned before, the weather is very benign which means that we can prepare for sitting in the garden, with a large and plentiful cold buffet being prepared by sister Beate inside for self service.

Late afternoon Mum is picked up from Rissen and the festivities begin at about 18.00 hours. 4 Generations of Wolff/Holzrichter in animated discussions and happily celebrating our mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and friend. For me obviously also a great opportunity to catch up with 'relos' and old friends who are part of the party. Having and being able to maintain this type of connection with so many people dear to my heart has made it possible for me to make that decision some 22 years ago to stay in Australia and thus being able to enjoy my new home without loosing touch with my 'old' home. And I am always very grateful for the fact that it has worked out like that.

Around the world, Dubai, April 2007

The Arabian Interlude

My common travel route these days goes from Kampala via Dubai to Hamburg. Hence on the wings of Emirates Airlines I continue my travel around the world with the Entebbe – Dubai sector. Arriving at about midnight in Dubai after a 7 hours trip with brief stop over in Addis Abeba, the 30 minutes drive to the Oasis Beach Hotel in a seriously undercooled Volvo provides me with another update on the building and construction activity in Dubai.

It’s amazing what these people do here in terms of creating new suburbs with an endless number of high rises. The dimensions are almost unreal and defy normal perceptions of city development. It is hard to imagine how they are going to fill all those millions of square meter with people and where those people are actually coming from or where they live right now. The imagination runs wild and somehow before my inner eye I see a large sea of people somewhere gathering at the gates to Dubai waiting for the boomgates to be opened and flooding into the newly created reality.

At present, though, it means driving around ever changing temporary lane ways along construction sites and protective fences to get to the hotel.

Arriving there at about 1.30 am on the 12th of April it means getting into my room quickly and into bed for a well earned sleep until the early morning.

Given the amount of work waiting on my computer and the fact that I have some internet access in the business centre, I spend most of the day on my room. In the early evening I make my way to the beach side bar for a couple of glasses of wine and I am welcomed by the friendly bar staff who obviously recognise me due to my pipe bag.

A further night in the comfy bed is cut short by the need to get to the airport at 6.00 in the morning of the 13th April and the long wait for the departure to Hamburg. I have worked out – being the champion of scurrile statistics – that on this trip I am spending some 26 hours waiting at assorted airports around the world for my next flight to take off and some 70 hours flighttime. That means that 4 full days in a 34 day trip are spent on transport. Not to talk about the CO2 output which such activity produces. For the real greens I am a fat and flying environmental disaster.

Fat hin disastrous her, I get on my flight to Hamburg and – being the regular patron of Emirates that I have become in recent years - they offer me a spare seat in business class which is mightily appreciated. In the tranquillity of my personal capsule the 7 hours to Hamburg are used for reading and sleeping in relative comfort.

A world away a friend is lost

requiescat in pace, Michael Robertson 23rd March,1938 to 30th March,2007

During all those days in and around Kampala my mind often wanders back to Sydney and to my dear friend Michael Robertson, one of my oldest friends in Sydney. In Johannesburg the news caught up with me via e-mail that he had died on the 30th of March, aged 69.

Just before my departure we still had a long chat and fixed a date early in May where he would again visit me in Green Point Palace after my return. During my trip and in particular during my visit in Kampala I did not really have the time and inner peace to work through this loss of an old friend. And I tried very hard not to show too much of my immediate feelings to my Ugandan friends. I somehow felt that it would have been a bit unfair to them who, as I know only too well, enjoy very much to have me around for those two or three visits per year. And that was made easier for me in the knowledge that Michael would have understood my feelings

Saturday, 9 June 2007

Around the world, Kampala, April 2007










Kampala 2nd of April - Day of arrival

On Monday morning it was time for the next part of my trip, taking me from J’Burg via Nairobi to Entebbe, Kampala. The luggage solution was very simple, nobody blinked and eye and despite extensive weighing before check in, my belongings made it through the checks without complaints. My conclusion: it’s the sandgropers! I guess you have to wear a Panama hat in WA in order to get away with things! (my Australian friends will understand what I mean with that)

Now I was expecting 4 hours flight to Nairobi, two hours stop over and 1 hour flight to Kampala. All in all quite a manageable thing. With reading and a bit of sleeping the first 4 hours went by. And in the process, I must admit, my luggage weight decreases. That is because I usually take about 15 or so editions of the Bulletin Magazine with me which I did not get around reading when they arrived. And once they are read, they are left on the plane. Such bulk reading habit has its advantages. You get a fairly condensed overview of things which happened over the last 3 months. You can also test the savvy of the political commentators and their predictions as to political and party developments, since you are in possession of hindsight.

We landed on time in Nairobi and I took a stroll down the shopping mall in the departure area and found a corner where smoking was welcome.

I don’t know a lot of African Airports except those of J’Burg, Cape Town, Nairobi, Addis Abeba and Kampala but they have something in common which I think is a bit typical for African if not developing countries.

Putting aside South Africa here, where the blandness of European Airport ‘culture’ has firmly taken hold, the others still have a very African feeling to them. Less gleaming and shrill as far as the presentation of the shops and rest places is concerned. In some corners you have the distinct feeling that the people working at the airport have established a little ‘home away from home’ Things at the check in are a bit more relaxed but also take longer for that matter.

Many of the fellow passengers seem to exude the ‘first time in the air’ flair, the expectations are vague and the excitement is palpable. The passengers are largely African and the few white people tend to stand out a bit. Upon entering the plane and finding my seat, a fellow passenger asks me how it comes that I am on a flight to Kampala and whether I stay or just stop over and pass through. And my confirmation that I stay for a while, come here regularly has him very excited and he welcomes me with a great smiling face to his beautiful country. A proud and welcoming Ugandan of which you find so many in and around Kampala.

The plane is scheduled to leave at 16.10 However, it seems that all the passengers had made it onto the plane well ahead of time. No one was missing, everything was ok, hence why not leave 20 minutes earlier! Indeed, why not! Ergo we arrived in Entebbe earlier as expected and my usual welcome committee was pleasantly surprised to see Jochen coming out from immigration at a time when the plane was scheduled to land.

The welcome was, as always, most heartfelt and boisterous with a large round of hugs from everybody. Unfortunately, Arnold could not be at the airport since he is suffering from a bout of Malaria. Unfortunately not an uncommon thing in Kampala.

Being night-time the drive into the city – around 60 km – has a few nightmarish aspects to it. Often you can’t see the pedestrians along the way or the bike riders who rarely use rear lights. Oncoming traffic often hits you with full beam and the occasional pothole disappears in the general colour of brown/black and therefor is a formidable test of endurance for car and passengers. But we make it in one piece to Masaka Road which for me is now very much a ‘coming home’ feeling.

Dinner is quickly made and two bottles of Sauvignon Blanc wait for me in the fridge! Before leaving Australia I always get a fairly long list of wishes and things needed most ‘urgently’ and which are – at least in their view – in Australia far cheaper, better and more readily available than in Kampala.
This time Issey Myiaki after shave topped the list, followed by some requests for new mobiles. And everyone also got a new STATUS QUO t-shirt this time.

And then there are those things, individuals can dream up, like Johnny wanting a t-shirt from the soccer team with “never say never” on the front. Jahim was eagerly awaiting a new DVD. And as a surprise there were a few gigantic packs of Toblerone in my luggage. Chocolate is a very rarely had luxury. And if I thought that those nearly 2 kg of Chocolate would, at least in some parts, see the next day, I was certainly mistaken.

This time around my visit to Kampala is somewhat disorganised due to the fact that I did not pay any attention to movable holidays in the planning early February. Hence it escaped me that Easter would fall into my 10 days, making four days unusable for any form of business. As a result, most of the meetings and business activity is concentrated on the Tuesday to Thursday before Easter. And there is only one business day left after Easter before I pack my bags again and head off towards Germany.

This kind of ‘compressed’ timing is not something which goes down well in the Ugandan psyche. It’s not so difficult to organise a meeting with ten people for Wednesday, but trying to organise it for Wednesday 13.30 to 15.30 is a totally different matter! But it, sort of, worked.

3rd April, 2007 - First day shopping

Tuesday was completely dedicated to God commerce. The first shopping spree is always the most exciting. And going through capital shoppers – our favourite grocery haunt – the diligently made list of things which we need is very quickly expanded like an overripe puff pastry to cover a lot of things – many in the beauty and personal hygiene department – which were not on our common list, but quite obviously on the individual ones!

And whilst our normal shopping outings to Capital shoppers would yield a bill around the 70.000 Shilling mark, this one hits the 300.000 Shilling with ease.

Having covered the day to day necessities at least for the next 24 hours, the extra requests are coming through. Two new Matrasses, two sets of bed sheets, three pairs of shoes, assorted underpants, new Sim-cards, an additional phone, 3 new Mozzienets. Barkley’s money tree – as we use to call the ATM machine – gets a very decent ‘run for its money’ in the truest sense of the word. Because shopping in Kampala is a matter of cold hard (in fact soft) cash. Nobody ever takes any plastic!

With our purchases loaded in the privately rented taxi van, we look a bit like removalists who have raided a large tract of bedrooms. And I will tell you, I am a bit exhausted after spending 6 hours in the city driving around like a mad man in the relentless traffic and with always the thread of larger than life potholes waiting for you on the way.

As we all know, tastes are a very individual thing. Once you move into a different culture, this becomes even more obvious. Johnny was one of the three who needed a new pair of shoes. And whilst Figaro had set his sight on a pair of Timberland boots and Ronald – the sensible guy he is – selected some fairly plain but stylish black shoes, Johnny was determined to make a foray into high risk fashion. The shoes he eventually came up with need to be seen to be believed. It’s hard to find the right words for these black and white monsters, squared off at the front with a protruding sole which looks like the bumper bars of a dodgy car. In my humble view (and fashion challenged as I am) they represent the greatest fashion sin since fat men discovered lycra. But the only thing which really counts is, that he is very very happy with them and wears them with great pride. What more do you want?!

A lonely bird

Being the time around Easter, many Ugandan families tend to buy a chook, or in this particular case a cock with a splendid set of feathers and, I am sorry to say, a very well developed voicebox.

My knowledge about chooks is limited as far as behavioural science is concerned, but I seem to remember that the cock of the flock would every now and then crow in order to show who is boss of the place. And this type of musical activity tends to be particularly strong in the early morning.
That, I guess is the time of the day where all the chooks, given their pitiful memory, are best reminded of the cock’s superiority in the yard.

This one here was, however, the lonely and only one in the yard. No chooks to impress or remind. But old habits are strong and his voice was too. I am used to hearing the Kookaburras around my house in the morning, just before sunrise. And their conversations can be very loud and plentiful for a while. But I always feel that their chatter has some meaning in that they are telling each other, what they are going to do during the day. But in the case of the lonely cock, the only effect it had was to wake me up at an ungodly hour.

At some point I had him stunned, though. As an act of revenge if you so want, I recorded some of his futile musical interludes and whilst he was picking his way through the yard, played the recording back to him. We have in Australia the expression of a ‘stunned Mullet’ well here it was the ‘stunned cock’. The poor bugger is still on the hunt for the rival who, by the looks of it, is cowardly hiding somewhere.

Some time last night, sitting outside the house and having a chat and a glass of wine with some of the boys, I suddenly seemed to smell the distinctive smell of burned feathers and skin. As we were approaching Easter Sunday, it seemed to be preparation time for the festive dinner. And as so many festive dinners, they can start a bit smelly. My waking up today in the early morning, though, told me that our lonely comrade was still around and in full possession of his proud set of feathers and voicebox. It appears that he is destined to be Easter Monday’s fair.

4th April, 2007 - HABEMUS CLIENTUS (we have a client)

My official start of the business (05/05/05) is almost two years in the past and as some kind of anniversary gift we scored our first client today – official with order and invoice etc –
The fact that it is a bank which pays us our first real money might be a good omen!

They bought one of our syndicated reports and since they have plans afoot to change some of their relation with customers etc. they might also shape up as one of our future clients.

As most things in this Ugandan enterprise, the start is modest and the sudden turnover does not even begin to cover cost BUT it is a start in a country where STATUS QUO – two years ago – was an entirely unknown entity. And market research for that matter did not count amongst the usual, common business activities either.

Apart from being welcome as a fact it is also a significant moral booster for my people here in Kampala (and for me I might add) which ‘proves’ that we can do it and achieve something meaningful here as a business.

We are ready for the flood gates to open!!


A taxing question

Now that business of the real world has made its appearance on STATUS QUO Kampala’s doorstep, it is time to establish the business credentials which means to register the business for various tax purposes and opening a bank account.

I had these plans for some time but the bureaucratic hurdles were always too high for me to take during my short visits to Kampala. And yes, I admit it, there was also always some kind of priority problem with that.

I do admit to some kind of ‘bank account overindulgence’ given the fact that I maintain 7 of these buggers with four Australian banks, plus one in Germany, one in Tokyo. And that does not count the credit card accounts. And most of these (except for Tokyo) can easily be managed via computer. Under these circumstances it may have seemed silly to open yet again another one in Uganda which I can only access by personally going there and where computer transfers, one or the other way, are impossible (as yet) My main account in Australia, on the bank website, does not even list UGX (Ugandan Shilling) as a viable currency.

A while ago I had written to some guy I know from KPMG Kampala to ask him to give me a quote for the process of establishing those official credentials. The quote came in at US$2,500.00 plus. That gave me a clear indication that those guys were charging me Sydney rates at Ugandan cost in US Dollar. The worst combination there is.

That sort of prompted me into some kind of ‘stuff you bastards’ reaction, I can do that myself cheaper.

In previous reports I have given you some inkling of the bureaucratic nightmares which the State Organs of Uganda can serve you with. Kafka would have his work cut out to describe these processes in realistic terms.

The Ugandan government is supposedly doing everything it can to fight tax avoidance. You would think that the first thing they do, is make registration of a business or individual as a future taxpayer a process as simple and pleasant as is humanly imaginable. I have to say the opposite is true.

My new found friends at Stanbic Bank – smelling success in gaining a new business client – have been very helpful and supportive in this process. However, the powers that be in the revenue department as the taxman is called here, were determined to teach little Jochen Holzrichter a lesson in futility and bureaucratic nightmare manufacture.

The thing started quite nicely with Clare, being an employee of the Bank handing me the required forms and introducing me to the gentleman of the revenue department – they have a cosy housing relationship – where I would lodge my forms. Seemed all quite simple indeed.

Having filled in all the forms over Easter, Moses and I went back to our revenue gentleman to present our case. After lengthy inspection of all the forms, some more requests for photocopies of my passport, some further copies of the registration certificate of STATUS QUO Kampala etc. etc. the revenue gentleman came with the first hammer. “Your office is in Rubaga (Suburb of Kampala) you have to go to the local Rubaga branch to get your TIN (Tax Identification Number) I can’t do anything for you”

Well that meant that all our careful investment in amenable human relationships were largely for zilch and we had to drive to the Rubaga division. Got the description of where the office is and with Moses local knowledge we found the office after about 45 minutes driving through the thick traffic of Kampala. Problem, they had moved recently and were now at the other end of this somewhat less than salubrious suburb. Back into the car and in search again of the new premises of the revenue department.

We found it and first had to wait for some time in the queue marvelling at the hundreds of cardboard boxes which were casually piled up in the back of the large venue (labelled VAT N, VAT M, VAT B,C) which basically means that the VAT (value added tax) forms from all the striving enterprises in Uganda where merrily packed up in boxes labelled A to Z. I don’t envy the business which wants to get any information on their VAT in the next couple of years.

Once we were invited to take our seats opposite our new revenue gentleman and our papers were again carefully inspected, we were given a number of additional tasks to conduct before we could be issued with one of those TINs which seemed to increase in value and desirability with every rejection.

One of the classic conditions was that we need a bank account BEFORE we can get a TIN. But the bank wants a TIN BEFORE we can get a bank account.

I had some flashbacks to the seventies when I read Zuckmayer’s Hauptmann von Koepenik. I could have adopted the Hauptmann’s type of approach and summons the liberally sprinkled military personnel around the bank building and command them up to the revenue department to get my TIN. My only problem was, my “uniform” was Australian, that means shorts and t-shirt and sandals. It would have looked very stupid and not very convincing seeing me prancing in front of those blue clad soldiers to the revenue department.

Hence Koepenick was not on. But at the moment I am lead to believe that I have produced enough copies of all sorts of official documents and signed my life away some fifty times, provided copies of my passport to plaster the entire Stanbic Building with, left countless passport photos all over the place that – 0ne day – my trusted operations manager Moses can work his way through this pile the Ugandan way and get us a TIN and a bank account. We will see.

The above was written about the time when the events took place. Now whilst I finish this report on the 10th June, 2007 about 2 months after our run through the bureaucracy of Kampala I can report, that as part of the process of issuing a TIN, the tax department has physically inspected our office on the 24th May and they have convinced themselves that this business really exists. (remember, we are trying to register in order to be able to pay our taxes as stipulated by the law of the land!!) On Friday I got the following e-mail from Moses.

Kampala June 8, 2007

Dear Jochen,

I have been to the URA (Uganda Revenue department) offices today in the morning. Got bad news for us! I just can't figure out what the psychology behind the disappearance is! I've just found out that our TIN application papers disappeared in the thin air under the watchful eyes of the URA people. Somebody, (I presume inspection officer) didn't hand them to the relevant desk after the inspection. It's unimaginable that we have to go through the same process again. I'm left wondering how these guys conduct their operations as there was no sign whatsoever of our company's name or your name in their database. It just beats my understanding. I'm totally confused!! The gentleman at the desk advised that the only alternative option at our disposal is to do the needful and just start all over again!!

Any comments? What do you think?

My response to the exasperated Moses

Dear Moses,

thanks for your e-mails. The TIN story is hilarious! As if I needed more Kampala reminders!!! (see below – the refers to our 24 hour electricity black out)

I guess we don't have a choice other than going through the filling in of forms again. As far as my signature is concerned, I will write a letter to the Taxman telling them that you have my authority to sign those forms in my name. The letter is attached. One thing – hurdle if you so want – has been taken in that we now have a bank account which supposedly is one pre-requisite for having a TIN. How's that for progress!!


Well dear reader, as you can see, the authorities in Uganda are absolutely hell bent to make paying taxes as easy as possible!!


Neighbourly relations

As you would know from previous reports, we have our office/house/communal kitchen in Masaka Road in a little compound where there are several neighbours living in the same place. Our house is a double, that means two parties under one roof.

Recently our immediate neighbours have changed and Grace moved in with a number of her kids or what seems to be her kids. Grace is a very outgoing, friendly and big woman with a very distinct and raspy voice and a laugh which can shake the walls of Jericho.

She comes from western Uganda and has a rural background mixed with some basic business acumen as well as a great social heart. Given the life circumstances in Uganda there are many orphans around, many of them due to AIDS but also other circumstances. Her three girls are infact adopted as babies and recently also one of her nephews, 19 year old James moved in.

Grace has become involved in selling, distributing Aloe Vera products. Kind of Avon Beraterin of the Aloe Vera variety. And it took not very long that we sat together and I turned from neighbour to business advisor. And like so many small business retailers she gets annoyed about the mark up by the whole salers and – easy as pie – wants to be come a manufacturer in order to circumvent the wholesaler.

In the Ugandan environment the manufacturing sector is basically divided in two main sections, one is primary production, that means fruit and vegetable which is almost completely de-centralised and industrial manufacturing which is fairly highly centralised. Food processing is somewhere in the middle. One can obviously think of some basic food processing, involving drying, dehydration and things like that which can be managed by small and individual enterprises – ie. de-centralised – but when it comes to large production, bottling, canning etc. it needs a lot of capital, machinery and things like that and that points to centralisation.

During our first visit/participation at the annual industrial fair in October 2005 I was very often confronted with those facts of life by farmers, who came to our stand at the fair and – not being too familiar with what a market research company does – asked me how can I help them to do better. And I often felt that the word ‘market’ in market research was the key to their confidence that I had all the answers to their questions. In those days the idea grew in my head that we might be able to set up some kind of agricultural advisory service with specific emphasis on marketing fruit and vegetable products. And my conversations with Grace somehow have revitalised that idea.

The upshot of this initial conversation was a two page write up for Grace on things which she might have to consider, find out or do in order to grow her business. And knowing Grace, she is going to come up with some market research questions.

Her nephew James very soon came with a similar kind of problem, though more fundamental and that is how can I get work. When I asked him, what sort of skills he might have or what his interests were, he thought that anything which needed some muscle power would be well up his alley.

It was somewhat a de ja vue feeling I had, reminding me of the time three years ago when I started with 12 guys and when most of their answers to that initial question would have been more or less the same. I get the feeling that we have got ourselves a new member in the group. Whether he will be able to do interviews, is doubtful at the moment. But then again, 3 years ago hardly any of them would have been able to do it and now than can do it and do it reasonably competently – some better than others – but it works.

4th April, 2007 Meeting under the trees

On Wednesday before Easter we have our Makerere University day. The main purpose this time is to prepare the foundation of a Uganda Market Research Society. I had started this process with a discussion paper which I produced in November 2006 and sent to all the committee members (14 of them) at MUBS (Makerere University Business School)

When I first sent the paper, I asked for some feedback within 30 days. This was obviously not to be, what was I thinking? After a bit of niggling and reminding, some summarised feedback arrived late in February. Based on that I prepared a second draft of the discussion paper which was now, early April, the basis for our discussion.

The Marketing Department of MUBS had moved to a new building and since meeting rooms were a bit small, we all gathered under a set of wonderful trees in the backyard. It was a bit of a coming and going meeting with people joining later or leaving earlier, but the core of the committee got through the proceedings within the planned two hours.

Being the ‘chairman’ of the meeting I had to be careful with the management of the discussion taking into account the cultural peculiarities of Ugandan society but also the academic bias. We managed to discuss most of the points and came to some form of consensus and it is no again up to me to prepare what I hope will be the second last draft before a final paper can form the founding basis for our society.

The setting in the backyard, under the beautiful trees obviously contributed to a calm and pleasant discussion and gave the whole affair a flair of informality which I do appreciate very much and which corresponds quite well with my nature and disposition towards these things.

I sometimes marvel at my bold decision to become involved in this, even having initiated it. If you know may general disdain for this type of organisation and my steadfast refusal to join any of those talk clubs in Australia or Europe it represents a very distinct reversal of my general attitude.

However, to be honest, I also hope that my role there will benefit my business in Uganda and enhance my ‘standing’ in the business community. And that would mean that ultimately it might help and benefit my boys in their dependence on income from STATUS QUO Kampala.

The plan now is to advance the organisation to a point where the society can be launched during my next trip to Kampala in September/October this year. My optimism is boundless!

Saturday 7th April, 2007 - Visiting the country side

During most of my visits to Kampala I would also set a day aside and drive with all the boys into the country side to visit Mum. As you might remember from previous reports, Mum is the mother of our friend Geoffrey who tragically died in a motorcycle accident in March 2005. And after his death, we have kind of adopted Mum into our group and I also support her financially every now and then when the need arises.

Mum lives some 60 km outside Kampala in a little village where she runs the village shop, selling drinks, food and small groceries. A while ago she has started building a house near Lake Victoria where she wants to start a chicken farm. About a year ago I contributed about ½ Million Shilling to get the house construction finished, so I have some interest to see what has become of the building.

The road to her village was always and still is fairly rough, certainly no tarmac, just a dirt road. And driving along this road you are limited to an average speed of about 15 to 20 k/hour. But progress does not stop, even not for the country side and they have recently smoothed out some of the big holes and cuts in the road so that the drive is becoming more comfortable and easier on car and driver.

However, most progress has also some downsides. And here it is the fact that the truck drivers now regard the road as a racing track and overtake the leisurely ambling tourist with hellish speed. And given the general nature of the road that means they cover you in a thick layer of red dust. I sometimes wished those big potholes back!!

Arriving at Mums place is always reason for a big and heartfelt welcome and a couple of drinks on the veranda in front of the shop. Being two small business people, Mum and I have a few things in common to chat about. And this time she is very eager to present to me her new house and the first couple of hundred chooks which she is housing there. So we set off towards Lake Victoria and after about 20 minutes drive arrive at the brand new brick building in the middle of nowhere. Indeed a fairly large building with several 'rooms' for several types of chicken – the young ones, the broilers and the ones which are taken to the weekly market in Kampala. That is a new source of income for Mum, to take her chooks to the Nakasero market in Kampala. And there is also a room where she can live and stay with her chooks if she is not attending the shop in the village.

The location of the house is splendid, on a little hill, looking towards the Lake which is only a few 100 meters away. All in all an idyllic and very peaceful country setting with wonderfully lush nature around and at the same time a welcome addition to her modest income stream. The often rhetorical question "what more do you need" comes to mind.


11th April, 2007 - The honeymoon is over

This is a well know expression amongst the guys and relates to the last day of my visit in Kampala. And it describes the fact that with my departure things in the kitchen, around the house and in relation to consumer desires are getting back to normal.

And normal means little money to spend. No more shopping sprees at Shoprite, no more minced meat, no more Sauvignon Blanc in the fridge. Everybody had gone through their ‘list of desirabilities’ over the last few days and managed to realise at least a few of their dreams, like a new pair of shoes, a matrass, some clothing, some fees for university, some rent assistance, some money for medication, repair of a radio, some new mobile phones, and, not to forget, plenty of Issey Miyake after shave!

Barkley’s money tree had been shaken vigorously and shed quite a few leaves but now the tree needs a lot of new fertilisation and time to re-grow new leaves before another period of honeymoon can be enacted.

But we also have achieved a few things, gotten a few steps further towards the ultimate goal of local self sufficiency. One day there will be a Stanbic Tree which can be shaken and shed some leaves without depending on Barkley’s foreign specimen.

On the day of my departure – and as some kind of act of handing over responsibility – one of the boys, usually Twahiri or Swaibu drive the car to the airport, instead of me sitting at the wheel. It symbolises the fact that they have to take to the driver’s seat and make their own fortune and their own decisions without me being the ‘leader of the pack’. At present neither of us knows exactly when that will happen. And it is clear to me every time I leave Kampala, that some residue of leadership will probably always rest with me. But a transition is inevitable.

With a last round of hugs at the airport and good wishes for each and everyone of them ends another visit at my Ugandan ‘home from home’. This time the trusted Oyster is radically slimmed down at the weigh - in and if it were South African Airlines, I would claim a rebate!! The number of pieces of luggage has been reduced to two (not counting the pipe bag) And somehow, I start my long trip back home.