Transatlantic Zeppelin

August 24, 2007

An even exchange

Despite flying just three flight segments last month, totaling 2199 miles, for which I paid approximately $300, my AA statement says I somehow added 18,523 miles to my balance. That's about $300 worth of miles. Maybe coworkers weren't kidding when they called me a "mile whore."

Posted by adrianjo at 11:19 AM

June 16, 2007

New video: ants in the rain forest

Some of the things one comes across when taking a hike through the rain forest of Peru, as I did last weekend. I took the video below:

Posted by adrianjo at 10:21 PM

March 15, 2007

Why Airlines Go Bankrupt, Reason #4948

CENTRAL TENNESSEE - Tiffany is coming down to Tennessee this weekend rather than me flying home. And I learned reason #4948 that airlines go bankrupt.

There's a big storm coming to New York tomorrow, 6" of snow predicted. Naturally there's a rush to get out. Two of the first four Delta flights to Atlanta tomorrow have already been canceled. Learning this, I rang-up Delta early this afternoon and asked if Tiffany could fly tonight into Knoxville, which is closer to me than Atlanta anyway. Delta was plenty willing to give Tiffany the second-to-last seat available to Atlanta tonight. But they wouldn't fly her to Knoxville instead without a $350 fee. Why? Because Knoxville is 233 miles away from Atlanta, which is too far, and Tiffany didn't buy a ticket to Knoxville. (Knoxville is actually closer to here than Atlanta.)

***

The situation at Laguardia at the present moment is so chaotic and dire that Delta has chartered a jet to fly to Atlanta tonight and carry the 92 standbys currently at LaGuardia. They were offering $400 travel vouchers plus hotel vouchers (perhaps another $200) to anyone willing to give up his seat and risk flying during tomorrow's snowstorm.

Meanwhile, what about that flight to Knoxville that leaves in a half-hour, the one Delta demanded we pay $350 to get Tiffany aboard? Yes, It's more than half empty. In other words, Delta is flying 29 empty seats to Knoxville and is paying to charter an entire plane to fly to Atlanta after offering anyone who wanted it $400 not to fly to Atlanta tonight.

I was trying to help Delta out tonight by rerouting Tiffany to Knoxville. Had they accomodated us, it would have been one less frustrated passenger getting paid $400 not to fly tonight. And I would have had a much better opinion of Delta. Next time one hears of passengers stranded at airports during storms or another airline bankruptcy, don't blame the weather--blame the airline.

UPDATE: Every Delta flight from LaGuardia to Atlanta until 6PM tonight has been cancelled. Basically, anyone who didn't leave yesterday won't make it until Saturday.

Posted by adrianjo at 09:02 PM

January 25, 2007

Boot-off a few more bad bambinos

A Massachusetts couple recently went public after ValuJet (now called AirTran) kicked them off a plane because their 3-year-old wouldn't sit in her seat, as Federal law requires for take-off. The parents move backfired.

ValuJet apologized, but why should they? Shouldn't the parents be apologising to everyone else who was aboard that plane? In fact, ValuJet, previously best-known for its miserable safety record, would do well to bask in the publicity. A survey on MSNBC.com shows over 90% of 160,000 people agreed with the airline.

I sent the Wall St. Journal's travel columnist this message last night:

How can I best express my gratitude to AirTran for removing that raucous rugrat and her feckless parents? When they get rid of reclining seats, I might just be willing to fly ValuJet. If they want to build their business-travel clientele, I suggest AirTran toss a few more troublesome tots and appreciate the good publicity.

I never got to experience the good-old-days of air travel when the stewardesses were young and hot, when they served real meals with crystal and silverware, and when parents would have been mortified if their children misbehaved in public. I don't know if such days ever existed, but I'd like to think they did.

Nowadays air travel involves a bratty bambino being booted from a Boeing and the clueless parents blaming the airline for their own inability to control their offspring. Meanwhile we see what happens when this sort of devil-child reaches age 25:

"There are a lot of young people hitting 25 who are making, say, $35,000 a year, who expected they'd be millionaires or at least making six figures," says psychologist Jean Twenge. She's a professor at San Diego State University and author of "Generation Me: Why Today's Young Americans Are More Confident, Assertive, Entitled -- and More Miserable Than Ever Before."

No wonder, Twenge says, we hear so many 20-somethings talking about the "quarter-life crisis."

"We're telling them they're special and they can do anything they want -- and then they're growing up and finding out that's not true," Twenge says.

Posted by adrianjo at 10:18 PM

October 26, 2006

Does anyone really care?

That stupid gnome in Travelocity's yawn-inspiring TV ads, annoying popups, and other mass-market propaganda is going away.

Travelocity's Roaming Gnome is returning home for some well-earned R&R.

The marketing icon has been a popular feature of Travelocity's advertising since early 2004, shown popping up in different parts of the world and also offering travel advice. Now, to keep the Gnome from becoming overexposed, the online travel concern is taking him out of an ad campaign that debuts this weekend.

The new ads will play off his absence. One shows a portly, out-of-work actor wearing the gnome's famous red cap. Another shows a TV reporter investigating the gnome's absence; viewers who want to know more will be directed to soon-to-launch Web site, www.gnomewatch.com, where mock-sightings of the gnome will be posted. Both ads were crafted by Havas SA's McKinney + Silver.

"In an age of DVRs and ad-skipping, we think those who are used to seeing the Travelocity commercials are going to see this, and they're going to stop in their tracks and rewind and say, 'What was that?'" says chief marketing officer Jeffrey Glueck.

"What was that?" Do people really care this much about boring TV icons? Unlike the Budweiser frogs or the beloved Clydesdales, I doubt that anyone will miss a website's static, boring gnome. Good riddance.

Posted by adrianjo at 06:47 PM

October 25, 2006

Why "exotic" travel is booming

CNN, the Clinton News Network, doesn't usually have much interesting news in fields like Arts & Leisure. There's currently an article about "exotic" or "adventure travel" that starts like this:

Chuck Carpenter's passport looks more like an exotic guidebook than an official document.

He's walked the old stone streets in Gdansk, Poland, wondering at the beautiful architecture; he's sat in the Decemberists Square in St. Petersburg, Russia, admiring the monument to the city's founder, Peter the Great; he's savored sunsets in Zihuatanejo, a quaint Mexican fishing village on the Pacific coast.

Carpenter isn't alone in his desire to visit unusual destinations far from tourist crowds and souvenir-filled shops.

That's swell, but Poland and St. Pete are now fully in the mainstream tourist circuit, easily accessible by cheap airline from virtually anywhere in Europe. The Great Wall is swarmed by souvenir sellers, and all but the most exotic travel destinations have plenty of tourists and souvenir-filled shops. There are a few exceptions, like Montenegro (the less touristy alternative to overcrowded Croatia), Bhutan (the soon-to-be-trendy alternative to Nepal), Azerbaijan (the less-trampled alternative to Istanbul), latvia (the more authentic alternative to Estonia), and maybe Laos (the alternative to Khao San Road).

Some advertising guy adds:

When [people] go to those inevitable social gatherings ... they have to have something to talk about. So there is social pressure to say that we went to save the seals in Labrador ... (that you had an adventure) where you don't act like a tourist or feel like a tourist.

He's got a point. When I screened resumes this year for my employer, it was amazing how many people said they were "extensive world travelers" and had visited "over a dozen countries" at age 24. That's swell; one country every two years. Still, "where have you traveled recently" makes a pretty good icebreaker.

The article gives a variety of explanations for why tourism is booming in less traveled destinations, but it misses the big one. The massive penetration of the internet into even the most remote corners of the world means that just about anyone with a few days of free time can plan a week's vacation just about anywhere in the world and do it at a very reasonable price. The internet makes very readily available the lowest in airfares, like the $320/person Tiffany and I paid to go to Europe earlier this year, or frequent airfares to Southeast Asia for $600 or less. A four-star Bangkok hotel can be had for $50, plus $10/day for food and $3 for a cab from the airport. From there, it's a question of where to go--Vietnam, Laos, Malaysia or Borneo--or just stay in Thailand and get there for $1 on the bus. After 10 days, the whole trip can be had for maybe $1000/person and arranged wholly online. Pre-internet, one would spend hours with a travel agent, accept some overpriced package tour, and do it at a less conenient time based on when the package tour wanted to go. There are tons of cheap adventures out there; it's just a matter of knowing a deal and finding it.

Posted by adrianjo at 10:02 PM

October 07, 2006

Singing in the Cyclades

ABOARD the M/S INSIGNIA at anchorage in SANTORINI, CYCLADES ISLANDS, GREECE – Tiffany is on Deck 5 in the Martini Lounge getting ready for her first solo show, announced in today’s bulletin as “When Did I Fall in Love? Exploring Relationships through Broadway Showtunes.” It’s basically the first paid solo show of her career, and she’s understandably nervous. But given her celebrity aboard this ship, I’m sure it will be a smashing success, sure to receive critical acclaim in the Arts & Leisure section of tomorrow’s Times (ok, maybe not). The first show that I saw, two nights ago shortly after I met the ship on the Mediterranean island of Malta, was standing-room-only, as was last night’s show done by a friendly husband-and-wife singing and comedy team.

We took breakfast of fresh berries, an omlette, and chocolate-filled French pastries this morning as the ship dropped anchor in the collapsed caldera of Santorini. The ocean has filled the caldera, leaving us encircled by only the ancient volcanic rim. There, Tiffany confessed that she’s doing the show more to show vocal talent than to do “popular” songs. “That’s fine,” I told her. “The audience won’t be coming for your songs. They’ll be coming for you.” Only a few days into this 10-day cruise, Tiffany also already quite well known, with at least a dozen passengers (oops, “guests”) seeming quite pleased to meet me, having already heard all about me.

The second night, aboard Deck 11, following a rousing game of shuffleboard under the moonlight

The ship itself is 11 decks, roughly 2/3 the length of a famous Royal Mail Steamer called the Titanic (600 feet), and home to some 600-odd guests and 400 crew. That makes it a relatively small ship, especially compared to the 4000-passenger behemoths that have caught so many headlines lately. This is a ‘proper’ cruise line, with lots of mahogany and teak, formal service (“my pleasure, sir”), a “country club casual” dress code (read: jackets at night) and bottles of Chateau Petrus offered for $2000 each in the Grand Dining Room.

A ship of comparable size as this might carry 1000 or 1500 passengers on another line. Or consider that Princess puts 2600 passengers on a 900 foot ship, vs. 600 passengers on a 600 foot ship on Insignia. The higher density of passengers elsewhere strains the ship and results in such inconveniences as filled recreational venues and assigned eating times at forced group tables. The Grand Dining room on Insignia is open to anyone at any time, and tables of two are plentiful for those not interested in meeting other passengers. (Tiffany is officially the cruise “Social Hostess,” which means she can turn up at the Grand Dining Room and “start a table.”)

The ship at anchorage in Santorini, Greece

Behind the “crew only” doors, a hierarchy forms on the basis of seniority (number of uniform stripes), privilege level, and country of origin. It goes roughly like this: Captain (4 ½ stripes), General Manager (4 stripes), Safety Officer (4 stripes), some junior officers (2-3 stripes), Cruise Director, singers (2 stripes), and everyone else. “Everyone else” comprises principally Filippinos, Romanians, other Eastern Europeans, Indians, and an occasional Chinese, who fill positions ranging from restaurant staff to engine-men. Brits and Europeans tend to hold more appealing positions involving more passenger interaction than non-Europeans.

Although the guests are almost all American, the 400-person crew includes only 3 Americans (all of them singers). The upshot is that the American crew get stretched to do dozens of important “client-facing” activities in addition to their regular jobs as singers. My favorite is the duty labeled “socialization” where she spends a half-hour walking around the decks, casino, and bars saying hello to passengers. None of this is mentioned anywhere in the employment contract, and it means the singers end up working far more than the 14 hours/week that singers are promised by the cruise line when they’re recruited. Still, the longer hours have their benefits in the form of staving off boredom. Further, the singers become like celebrities aboard the ship, which surely helps to generate turnout at the bi-nightly shows. If there is a face of the cruise line, it’s the Cruise Director and the singers.

Singers have wide-ranging privileges, including being able to dine with passengers in the Grand Dining Room, to take breakfast at the main buffet (a huge relief from the ordinary food at the crew mess), to disembark at any port where they have time, to use the recreational facilities (except the pool), to spend against an on-board expense account, and to take afternoon tea with passengers. Singers get rooms in the officers’ area with daily steward service. Tiffany’s room has a large porthole and is big enough, though its furnishings are spartan and the toilet prone to breakdowns. Some entertainers even get housed in passenger staterooms if they double-up and tolerate a view of the lifeboats. Then there are shore excursions: in two weeks, when the ship is in Monaco, the singers have organized themselves a helicopter ride along the Cote d’Azur. One of the guest entertainers, who has been working various cruise lines for more than a decade, told me, “this is the only line where they give the kids [the singers] this sort of privilege level.” Frankly it’s surprising that other cruise lines don’t use the singers for more activities, since they seem to be such an important component of passengers’ overall satisfaction with the service level. Then again, when there are 4000 passengers on the ship instead of 600, it's hard to get to know anyone.

Following the performance of Ovations on Night 2

Singers’ combination of celebrity and privilege can breed resentment among other crew that the singers are careful to avoid. One restaurant staffer sneered to Tiffany at breakfast in Santorini, “how come I don’t get to bring my boyfriend on the ship, huh?” Sometimes it’s unavoidable: consider how awkward it is to find oneself being served dinner in the Grand Dining Room by your drinking buddy from the crew bar.

Indeed, entertainers’ privileges are better than roughly 95% of the other crew, many of whom fulfill their 6 months away from loved ones with only rare appearances above Deck 3 except for work duties. One restaurant staffer (who is employed by a maritime operations contractor) said that she was told she'd hae two days a week off, working hours of 8am to 7pm (46 hours/week), use of the pool and sundeck, and a two-hour lunch break “where you can go read a book at the pool.” Instead, she says she gets one day a week off, working hours of 8am to 11pm (when she’s lucky), no use of passenger facilities, and a one-hour lunch. (That’s 84 hours/wk.) And compensation for overtime isn't really a widespread concept.

When a ship flies a “flag of convenience” (typically the Bahamas, Panama, or Liberia for cruise ships) and sails in international waters, as almost all cruise ships do, it seems to mean in effect that almost no law applies. Efforts in Congress and even in the International Maritime Organization to bring greater regulation to the labour practices of the cruise industry have gone nowhere, in part because it’s very difficult for Uncle Sam to regulate a ship that never actually enters US territorial waters and has only 3 American employees aboard to begin with. At the IMO, countries selling flags of convenience have assembled enough votes to block serious reform.

My favorite part of the ship

Nonetheless, many crew renew their contracts year after year. Many have worked the ships their entire lives, decades or more. Perhaps it’s because they enjoy seeing the world, because they enjoy the fellow crew, or because working in the bowels of a shiny ship beats working in bowels of the local Communist-era aluminum smelter. The most likely reason of all, it seems, is that the pay is fabulous. I won't go into detail, but suffice it to say that almost all crew earn multiples of what they could make in their country of origin—plus free room and board.

And thus the ship sails on for its next port, a strange blend of glamour and elegance, the United Nations, glitzy travel, the industrial factory-like crew areas, and the daily grind of long hours at the job, all on one 600-foot piece of steel and teak.

***

UPDATE from LUFTHANSA 404, SOUTH OF ICELAND – Next time the ship docks in Piraeus, Greece, I suspect that Tiffany will organize a group outing to Eat, a trendy restaurant on Adrianou Street under the Acropolis in Athens. She might only eat the bruschetta appetizer and chocolate cake, but the voyage there will be worth it.

Thanks to the huge generosity of her coworkers and the Cruise Director, Tiffany got to indulge her land-lubber side with her first night in a real bed in four months by staying at a hotel in Piraeus. It was a sweet cap on a whirlwind week from the island-nation of Malta, to the Greek islands (Santorini, Rhodes, Delos, Mykonos), and on to Pireaus. We even caught time for a game of shuffleboard under the moonlight as the ship glided along the glass-flat Mediterranean. (I came from behind to win on a last-second disc landing in #8.) Tiffany has been playing so much shuffleboard with passengers that her arm occasionally gets sore.

Tiffany did three shows, Ovations, Saluté, and her production called “When Did I Fall in Love?” Some people are the same giant personalities in real life as they are on stage, while others reveal a whole ‘nuther side on stage. Tiffany is clearly one of the latter, transforming from a demure and down-to-earth young lady into an energetic, glamorous, polished, slightly seductive woman of graceful and precise movement who seems larger than the mere stage. Her soprano voice traverses three octaves with a richness and confidence that commands attention. I was mesmerized, and I occasionally noticed the passengers who knew both of us turning their heads to watch my reaction too. No wonder this line is ranked among the world’s best for entertainment.

Following the performance of Salute on the way to Delos

She’s fortunate to have a great group of coworkers who share duties and keep her entertained with late nights at the top-deck bar, exchanging war stories and hashing over annoyances along the way. The ship’s passengers, too, provide a measure of celebrity status that is secretly edifying. We even ran into some passengers dining next to us in Athens last night, and I lost track of how many spotted us in port or asked me, “you’re Tiffany’s boyfriend, right? Oh she has such an amazing voice.” Even seemingly silly duties like “socializing” provided an opportunity to get dressed-up in formalwear and promenade around the top deck, asking passengers how their day was. “Basically I get paid to look pretty,” she says. Having tried it myself (without getting paid), it really does beat making Excel models as a way to earn a living.

The Greek islands themselves were attractive but not particularly spectacular. Rhodes has an attractive old town, though it’s been overtaken by tourist shops selling the same old trinkets and knickknacks. The sail-away, as the sun set over the island, was probably the most memorable part of the island. Santorini is stunning in its natural beauty, and we managed to take lunch at a little hole-in-the-wall Greek taverna on the beach but far from the surging hordes.

The harbourfront in Mykonos, Greece


View over the island of Mykonos, Greece

On Mykonos, overpriced jewelry stores are the rule. Tiffany dragged me into a jewelry store, to the chuckles of three old men sitting outside. They were passengers who (of course) recognized us. “Look, Adrian, we have over 150 years of collective experience in marriage,” said one of the men, a grandfatherly Italian-looking Michigan guy. “And if you go in that jewelry store with a woman, you’re not coming out alive.” Soon after, his wife emerged with a giant emerald on her finger, pretending to be keen for her husband’s opinion before buying. Perhaps in her late 60s, she had pretty blonde hair and green make-up, walked like an elderly Peggy Bundy, and probably also has a darn good plastic surgeon.

“Look, he doesn’t even care that I’m taking it outside,” she crowed. It was large, almost gaudy, like what my grandmother wore (but real).

“No,” said the husband, fearing the inevitable.

So typically: “Oh, but it’s so beautiful, just look.”

“You don’t need more jewelry,” he protested. It got him nowhere.

“How much is it honey?” he asked, resigned to his fate that he’d learned over 52 years of marriage. The average cabin on this cruise costs perhaps $8,000; what’s another couple thousand? The two other passengers were half chuckling but also aware that their wife might be next to emerge.

“Well, I don’t really know the price. I didn’t understand the sales guy when he talked about that.”

Eventually we found out that was 5800, if paid in cash. Whether 5800 dollars or euros, that wasn’t quite clear.

I don’t know if the wife ever got the ring—the husband insisted to me that he was retired from the jewelry business and the thing wasn’t worth more than $1500. The $5000 price tag on the emerald bracelet was enough to scare away Tiffany, and when we left, the husband and wife were busily haggling over that giant emerald.

Relaxing in front of tres-petite churches on the Mykonos seashore

Posted by adrianjo at 04:05 PM

October 02, 2006

Report from the company World Cup in Bruxelles

It’s rare that Americans win any sort of football (soccer) championship. So it’s is all the more amazing that the Northeast American team would win the company’s worldwide football tournament last weekend in Bruxelles, Belgium. As one team member summarized:

With the help of a rock solid defensive squad, the Northeast Team surrendered only one goal all tournament on its way to victory, and that one goal came on a well-struck penalty kick.

The A team - with the full support of a stellar NY/Boston cheering section - moved through the brackets by defeating traditional powers including San Fran and Amsterdam. In the semis, the NE team matched up with the aggressive Brazilians and overcame in a dramatic penalty kick shootout where Serhan sealed victory on the fourth NE shot.

In the finals, the NE team defeated the 2005 champion Stockholm team 1-0. The lone goal of the hard fought game was scored in the first half on a SportsCenter-quality corner kick from Scott Daubin to the far post, headed in by Solomon Moshkevich.

In the second half, the Swedes increased their offensive intensity and made several great runs but failed to close on a number of prime scoring chances. In the final 5 minutes alone, the team held off no fewer than 3 corner kicks by the Swedes. Marc [the goalkeeper] aroused cheers from the crowd as he made acrobatic, diving saves to preserve victory.

The company’s soccer tournament is attended by some 350 people a year from offices around the world. The company picks up most of the cost of transport, accommodation, and beer, so it’s not only a soccer tournament but also a prime networking event and party attended by everyone from Partners to junior analysts.

Bruxelles hasn’t changed a bit since I lived there in 2004 or since Tiffany and I visited early this year. There’s a new café open in the vacant storefront across the street from my old flat, and the wine selection at the Carrefour seems slightly improved. But in general, it’s the same city it has been for many years.

When I was in China a year ago, the Chinese kept pointing-out that Shanghai and Beijing are cities constantly changing, that there’s clearly something going on there. I scarcely recognized Beijing, aside from the big McDonald’s on Wangfujing Daijie, after having been there first in 2003. In Beijing, we met with Mr. China, Jack Perkowski, who said that “the trend is your friend.” The trend is clearly towards China, and it’s clear just from looking at how fast Chinese cities change, said Perkowski.

Paris, Brussels, and the smaller cities of Old Europe are like the foil to China, changing little, even outwardly resisting it. “Look at that café,” a Parisian told me in 2004 as we strolled Blvd des Italiens, “it looks the same as it did 50 years ago.” I’m not sure the cause vs. the effect, but 10% unemployment and 1% annual GDP growth becomes apparent in the appearance of the great cities of Old Europe.

That said, the Belgians were as warm and welcoming as always, and our group ended up staying out till 4AM three nights in a row. Even the Belgian cops, with whom some members of the group had multiple run-ins, got praise for their evenhandedness in ordering the drunks to disperse late into the wee hours.

Here are a few pics. The first is me in uniform with Costanza, from the Chicago office.

The Belgian Red Cross got quite a work-out from us, as the local ambulance service does every year it seems. Among others, my former manager from Belgium got hauled-off with significant head bleeding after going up for a header and colliding with another player.

The Northeast’s winning team pops the champagne.

Posted by adrianjo at 12:01 AM

July 15, 2006

Of Speedos and Men

Tiffany is annoyed by men in small bikini swimwear:

We are cruising along the lovely Kiel Canal today [in Northern Germany near Denmark]. ... The performers and band members all went up on the top deck to lay out and soak up some sun. Of course the band, being all Polish, started stripping down to their Speedos. Every single one of them. Even the old men! One was bright blue, one was red and white striped, all of them were DISGUSTING! There should definitely be a law passed against wearing Speedos of any kind, no matter who you are. I am still shuddering just thinking about it! Anyway, besides that mishap, everything else has been actually lovely today. I worked for about two hours and had the rest of the day to myself. Sometimes you have got to love your job!

Good to see she's having fun. She also mentioned something about going to a topless beach. Last time I was at a topless beach was at the Cannes Film Festival in 2004, and I'd quite fancy a return visit.

Posted by adrianjo at 12:06 AM

July 09, 2006

Recovered from jetlag?

I think I finally recovered from the 10-hour time change from Azerbaijan. I was quite annoyed that I wasn't able to sleep till 11AM like I usually like to do. When you wake up at 6AM, it causes problems in the evening. Last night I was getting drinks with a friend at Hudson Hotel, where I was practically a narcoleptic at 9PM. In a way startlingly similar to how TH would say it, my friend told me, "it's time for you to go to sleep." I slept 11 hours last night (yippee!) and am now awake at 11.35PM. I'll be well-settled into a get-up-late/stay-up-late routine as soon as it's time to start work in a week.

Posted by adrianjo at 11:32 PM

July 05, 2006

The land of $1.60 petrol

BAKU, AZERBAIJAN – The first thing one sees when flying into Baku is three lakes. One is bright yellow, with some black oil flowing into one end. The other two are blood red. Around these ponds, the afternoon sun shines off glistening puddles of oil and slurry. This corner of Azerbaijan was a major petrochemical center of the Soviet Union, and the Soviets cut every possible corner to produce the required quotas. Today, the dusty desert around Baku is among the most polluted places in the world, with a record of health maladies to prove it. The air is heavy with the odor of oil, and the Caspian Sea is covered with a thin layer of rainbow colored oil. The oil literally seeps up from the sea floor here, while the horizon in Baku is littered with a forest of oil rigs.

Some of the horribly polluted Abşeron Peninsula, near Baku, Azerbaijan.

One of many old petrochemical plants on the Abşeron peninsula.

Baku’s waterfront on the Caspian Sea.

It was so easy getting oil here that in 1900, Baku supplied half the world’s oil. Black gold is still the country’s saviour. Unlike Georgia and Armenia, whose chief exports are alcoholic beverages and ferocious nationalism, Azerbaijan earns huge revenues from its oil, money that goes to the political dynasty of the Əliev family, who run things around here. A young Azeri student and I discussed this.

Me: Azeris get huge amounts of cash from the oil
Him: That money all goes to the government
Me: True, but the government here clearly spends at least some of that on roads, buildings, schools, and hospitals.
Him: They’re corrupt—the money doesn’t reach the people.
Me: Try visiting Georgia or Armenia, and you’ll see how well the people of Azerbaijan have things.

Aside from vastly superior roads, far fewer beggars, and (probably) better public health, Azerbaijan can claim another distinction: a very attractive population. I don’t know why it is, but a big proportion of the Azeri population, both men and women, are quite strikingly good-looking. Even in Xinaliq, the impoverished mountain village, the people were far more attractive than just about any village I’ve ever seen. The gene pool here is arguably quite diverse and exotic, with large portions of Turkish, Russian, Persian, Greek, and (of course) Caucasian genes. (Caucasian = people from this part of the world, not necessarily fair-skinned people). With greater wealth than the Armenians and Georgians, both the men and women seem to be able to take good care of their appearance, avoiding the stoned Vegas hooker look so common in Armenia.

Apparently there are also quite a few prostitutes in Azerbaijan, as the hotel’s front-desk clerk tried in vein to get me to sign-up for a “massage” service girl to visit my room. I tried to remember the Russian words for syphilis, gonorrhea, HPV, AIDS, or “unhappy girlfriend.” “Yes, use sheath,” he retorted.

Baku’s fortifications surround the town’s old center (İçəri Şəhər), now a UNESCO World Heritage site but listed as “In Danger” because of a number of modern buildings that have been build in the old city.

Azerbaijan also gets the dubious honor of having the world’s most confusing money. They whacked some zeros off the manat recently, but they divided by 5000. Usually when countries whack zeros, it’s by an “even” number like 1,000,000 as Turkey did. But with Azerbaijan’s complicated math, a 0.10 manat coin is the same value as the 500 manat note, both of which are in circulation and called “manat.” Or one might have a 2-manat note—-it’s the same as the 10,000 manat note. Then a taxi driver might quote you a price of 1 shirak, which apparently is 25,000 manat or 5 of the “new” notes. The upshot of all this confusion is that people get ripped-off when dealing with money, though I also accidentally left a restaurant having shorted the house by 2000 manat, or about 44 cents, so it works both ways. (I left an extra-good tip the next night to redeem my waitress kharma.)

Baku spreads out behind the Bulvar, a street much like Shanghai’s Bund.

Baku is a friendly-enough city of 1.7M, though it doesn’t have a huge amount to do besides eat, stroll the Caspian Sea promenade, and get pestered by carpet hawkers. This is the furthest-out country in Europe, and while Georgia and Armenia clearly look to Europe, Azerbaijan is quite Asiatic. The language, a close relative of Turkish, is written in Latin script, but the music, food, and architecture all draw more on Asia than Europe.

Azerbaijan’s Dom Soviet government building blends Stalinist Soviet architecture with traditional Arab and Asian influences.

The highlight of the trip was the day I spent in Xinaliq, a mountaintop village of perhaps 300 people about 7000 feet up in the Greater Caucasus mountains, a few miles south of Russia’s Dagestan oblast. In ancient Albania (as Azerbaijan was known in the early centuries AD), there were 26 tribes and 26 languages, with Xinaliq being the one that still survives. Getting there involves a 3-hour marshrutka adventure from Baku to the town of Quba, from whence one picks-up a Russian-made UAZ for a 3 hour trip over mountains and through rivers to Xinaliq. The UAZ (pronounced “Waz”) is basically a Soviet knock-off of the Willis Jeep. It’s an indestructible bastard with a roaring engine, a green stamped-metal interior, and four gear-shift-like devices.

Our Russian-made UAZ, the only way to get to Xinaliq.

Xinaliq was a helluva adventure, but for reasons I didn’t expect. True, this was the first time I’ve been up into the mountains actually off-roading in an SUV (I don’t think an Escalade would make it). It was an adventure starting at lunch, an hour into the trip, when the server brought a beer bottle, slightly smaller than a “40 ouncer” here in the States. Neither I nor the guide drink, so the driver proceeded to down it. We went on through mud pits, over boulders, eventually reaching the village and proceeding another 20 minutes into the mountains. While I walked up to a Zoroastrian fire-worshipper site in the mountains, the driver and his buddy proceeded to down a full bottle of vodka plus three beers while grilling a sheep’s meat dinner. (His buddy had slaughtered the sheep earlier that day.)

Most of the people of Xinaliq are shepards, as there is no store, bank, or any other organized form of commerce or employment in Xinaliq.
A Xinaliq man brings home a sheep, soon to become BBQ.

The driver was completely hammered, though at least he was a happy drunk, offering me more lamb than I could possibly eat. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to ride with him. Then again, if I didn’t get in the jeep, I’d stay there somewhere in the Greater Caucasus Mountains, not speaking the language, at least an hour’s walk from the nearest civilization.

We ended up staying in a stone house there in the village, decorated with big Azeri carpets. The bathroom was a mere designation on the ground where clearly several people had recently preceded me. I told my told my large intestine that it would be a rough 24 hours but he’d have to wait until we got back to Baku.

A man on a roof stands staring out at the mountain, a time-honored tradition in Xinaliq and throughout the Caucasus.
The village of Xinaliq lies at the top of a mountain with 360-degree views of the surrounding Caucasus range
I believe that this man is the imam of the Xinaliq mosque, or at least he’s the guy with the key.

I stayed the night in this stone house in Xinaliq.

The bedroom was covered floor to ceiling with old Azeri carpets.

Back in Baku, I was still stinging from my marshrutka adventure in Georgia (see below). There was a small ferry line in the Baku harbor that costs 66 cents and lasts 30 minutes, or so I determined from the Russian signs. But I had no idea where it went. I watched the boats head out, but that didn’t tell me where they went. Would I end up in a forest preserve? A Soviet housing project? What if I can’t get back—-if this is the last ferry of the day?

After debating with myself for a day, I finally decided to get on the darn boat. I was surprised that no passenger had any packages, boxes, or bags, and there were lots of kids aboard. The boat headed out with a nice view of the harbor, though even this far out in the Caspian, the water was still covered with a thin film of oil. Then the boat made a 180. We were going back the way we came. After 30 minutes, we pulled back into the slip we left. Turns out that this ferry was just an extension of the nearby kids’ amusement park. So much for those forest preserves.

The Maiden Tower, about 8 stories tall, dates to the 1100s or earlier. Legend says that it was built by king who fell in love with his daughter. The daughter, repulsed at the thought of incest, told daddy to build her a tower so she could survey his domain. She kept demanding it be built taller and taller until she climbed up and threw herself off.

Posted by adrianjo at 02:51 PM

July 02, 2006

I'm still alive Tiffany

BAKU, AZERBAIJAN -- I leave tomorrow for Indiana and will write more when I'm on the plane, to be posted in a couple of days. Baku is very hot and really quite exotic, despite the McDonald's on the main square.

The mountain voyage on a Russian-made Jeep to Xinaliq was quite the adventure, in more ways than I expected. Pictures soon.

Posted by adrianjo at 04:42 AM

June 28, 2006

The devil went down to Georgia, then got ready to fly to Azerbaijan

TBILISI, GEORGIA -- They say that New York has a lot of restaurants, so it must have a lot of actors. (Who else would work in all those restaurants?) Here in Georgia, they have a lot of grand old buildings, so they must have a lot of banks. (Who else would occupy the buildings?)

Eventually I'll post Tbilisi pics, including some great bank shots (yippee!), when I download them from the camera. For now, the batteries are running low and I need them in Azerbaijan, where I fly tomorrow afternoon. I'll overnight in Baku, the oil boomtown on the Caspian Sea coast. (Actually, the Caspian Sea is often considered the world's largest lake.) From there, I'll make a two-night trip up to Quba and Xınalıq.

I'm occasionally asked how I choose destinations to visit and rarely have a good answer. Sometimes it comes down to relying on the guidebook and a travelogue or two. Here's what Lonely Planet says about Xınalıq:

This dramatically located, remote mountain village is perhaps the single most fascinating tourist destination in Azerbaijan. Located on a mountain peak with stunning 360-degree mountain views across the Caucasus Mountains..., Xınalıq boasts its own distinct language and culture, along with impossibly picturesque stone houses that, were it not for the sattelite dishes, could have been transported from the Dark Ages. Often wrapped in a spooky cloud that gives a haunted medieval feel, this is the ultimate adventure in Azerbaijan.

That said, annual tourist figures are probably under 100 people, mainly due to the remote location and difficulty of getting here. The dirt track from Quba is only passable by 4WD and, even then, the route may not be clear to those who have never been there, and changes depending on the weather conditions and the strength of the numerous rivers that need to be forded. [Fording a river = driving the jeep through it.]

The guidebook goes on to note ruefully:

Rates [for a mountain guide] from one individual to another, but you should pay a minimum of $20 per day to a maximum of $40. However, you will probably be charged extra for the horse. They are more valuable than people here; expect to pay $40 for each horse.

The guidebook should also mention that the village has a single phone line and electricty for maybe an hour or two a day. I'll probably stay overnight at some random Xınalıqi's house, but the Caucasians have proven themselves might hospitable to random visitors, so it will be quite interesting.

Further, we'll see if Xınalıq lives up to these lofty promises. Lonely Planet usually doesn't disappoint.

Posted by adrianjo at 01:54 PM

June 27, 2006

Looking for curly sperm, horseshoe, curly sperm

TBILISI, GEORGIA -- When in Yerevan, a group of people decided to catch a mini-bus (called a marshrutka) and ride it as long as they could. It didn't sound fun to me, but apparently they enjoyed it.

Both here and in Yerevan, it's hard to know where any of the 300-odd marshrutka lines go, since both Armenian and Georgian scripts are quite cryptic. Indeed, there's no English or Russian on the windscreen destination signs.

Today I wanted to go to Mtskheta, the original capital of Georgia until the 4th century, about 20 minutes from the city. This involves first going to Didube bus station and finding another marshrutka to Mtskheta. At the hotel, I got on marshrutka 39, which the guidebook says hits the bus station, going in the direction of the bus station. It ended up in a Soviet housing project, where I wandered a mile or two looking for a bus station. I took the same marshrutka back to start over. I then got on trusty number 61, which I've taken several times with good success at getting to the old city. It left me in a forest preserve. Three hours after starting, I remembered the Russian word for bus station, wandered out of the forest preserve, and found the nearest taxi, a 1970s-vintage Volga who charged me US$4 for what turned out to be a lengthy trip to the bus station.

The Tbilisi Didube bus station serves the whole country, and it's a giant chaotic mess of hundreds of small shops peddling pigs feet, clothes, smelly fish, gambling, and vodka (to the drivers, one presumes). Hundreds of busses and marshrutkas from around the country terminate here, in no apparent order, with signs in Georgian only. Fortunately Caucasians (as people here are known) have a strong sense of hospitality and responsibility towards visitors. The cabbie, an old grandfather, drove all around the station asking everyone who he could find. Eventually we got me onto a marshrutka, a Ford Ecoline retrofitted to carry 18 people.

It was time to figure out the Georgian alphabet, which I did by giving the letters nicknames. For example, there's დ (curly sperm), ო (McDonalds), ც (thirteen), ი (horseshoe), and რ (cat with tail). Looking for a marshrutka to Didube station therefore would involve finding a destination sign with a six-letter word starting with curly sperm - horseshoe - curly sperm. "Mtskheta" becomes an 8-letter word starting with curly d - round hoe - fish hook.

Incidentally, when I was leaving Mtskheta, a cabbie offered to take me back to Tbilisi for $9. I would have taken it, but by now I knew I could get there for 40 cents by flagging down a marshrutka starting with round hoe - down delta - horseshoe.

Posted by adrianjo at 01:40 PM

June 26, 2006

Georgia on my mind

TBILISI, GEORGIA -- I'm listening to Warren Buffett give a fascinating press conference as he discusses how he plans to give away almost all of his $44B fortune. I admit that there's a bit of disappointment that Warren won't endow something big at Wharton or Columbia, the business schools he and I both attended. But really, Warren couldn't have chosen a better cause. His letter to Bill & Melinda is worth a read. Interestingly, this means that about 1/3 of the profit of Berkshire Hathaway (which has major interests in Dairy Queen, NetJets, Pamered Chef, Clayton Homes, Helzberg Diamonds, and Geico), will go to charity.

A Korean newspaper has an interesting commentary:

Among American entrepreneurs, there is a venerable tradition to accumulate fortunes ruthlessly but, once successful, to give back to society unsparingly. Examples include Andrew Carnegie, John Rockefeller, Henry Ford and Paul Getty. The vitality and health of the American capitalism that leads the world originates here.

Korean business culture, by contrast, keeps records only when companies make money but none about how the money is used thereafter, while a pre-modern state power forces donations of private property by applying pressure through public opinion. Perhaps it is because of this climate that charity on the scale practiced by Buffett and Gates seems a kind of miracle.

The idea of private charity is a uniquely American concept. In Europe, government taxes everyone and forces them to pay for the government's philanthropic (read: welfare) efforts, so there's no need to give more. Most Asians I've met seem to have no idea why Americans give money away. When we were raising money for the Columbia class gift, a couple of non-Americans wondered aloud why they'd give money to the school after paying $85,000 tuition. I hope Buffett's message on the importance of giving back to society sets an example for the world.

***

This doesn't leave much time to talk about Tbilisi, which is a fabulous and beautiful city almost on par with the world's A-list cities like Krakow or Riga. Tbilisi was founded in the 400s and reached its zenith in the 1200s, when Georgia's position along the Silk Road made the city wealthy. Yet it all came crashing down in 1220 when Ghengis Khan's Mongol army sacked the city, and Tbilisi fell asleep until the Russians reunited the old Kingdom in the early 1800s.

Tbilisi spreads out along the Mtkvari River.

Today the city has an elegant shabbiness. Although considering that the city has recently been wracked by civil war, gang violence, and a refugee crisis, it's pretty impressive. The buildings combine graceful elements of late Byzantine, neoclassical, Victorian, or art nouveau with giant porches one typically sees in India and points east. (By contrast, Yerevan was laid out in 1924, after the better architectural styles like art nouveau faded, and its buildings tend to be more Soviet-style.)

An example of a typical shabby but graceful old building on a small side-street. Notice the elaborate 2nd-floor porch. I'll get pictures of some of the more flamboyant buildings later.

There still isn't much middle class, but unlike Yerevan, Tbilisi men don't have a creepy veneer of false machismo that they wear by driving big Mercedes with dark-tinted windows. The women here also dress a bit more modestly. Like Yerevan, there's a building boom here that demonstrates the strengthening economy but threatens to mar the newer parts of town with buildings barely more attractive than the 1960s-vintage Soviet krushchevas (sp?) they're replacing.

Cafe culture isn't nearly as developed here as in Yerevan, but a handful of small restaurants line streets of old town.

I will write more in a few days about this, but I think that Tbilisi could become a major tourist hub in a few years. It probably won't be the next Tallin, Prague, or Dubrovnik (all beautiful cities with far too many tourists), but Tbilisi has the history, beauty, and transportation needed to be a great destination. Its success will depend on Georgian authorities' ability to reduce further the armed robbery epidemic created by Abkhazian refugees here and to expand the almost non-existant air links here.

The Metekhi Church stands on a bluff that has hosted notable buildings since the 400s, including an early church, a palace, and a prison (where Maxim Gorky spent time). The bridge was the site of forced conversion to Islam in 1226 and 1522; those who chose to remain Christians were free to do so at the bottom of the river.

Posted by adrianjo at 02:11 PM

June 25, 2006

At this rate, it'll take forever to get from Timbuktu to Kalamazoo

TBILISI, GEORGIA –- They’re separated by only 107 miles as the stork flies, but getting between the Caucasian capitals of Yerevan and Tbilisi takes the better part of a day. If you were wondering how slow Soviet busses go, consider that it takes 9 hours to make the trip, or an average of 12 stork-miles per hour.

A taxi would do the trip, but not for less than $150. So I ended up on a marshrutka (маршрутка). Marshrutkas are big vans built for 9 passengers, but retrofitted with seating for up to 20. They run a fixed route and leave whenever they’re full or the driver fancies it. (They’re called a dolmuş in Turkey and a collectivo in South America.) A marshrutka makes the trip in just 6 hours and costs about $17.

A marshrutka bound for Tbilisi.

Thus, I turned-up today at the bus zoo and was immediately found by the driver of the Tbilisi van. The sign was in Cyrillic, which looks a lot more like Tbilisi (Тбилиси) than the Georgian rendering (თბილისი). I was the second person there, and I duly hustled for a seat. It was 9.30. I figured we’d leave at 10AM (like the schedule indicated), but there were only 2 of us. The bus next to us, also bound for Tbilisi, rumbled out with maybe 10 passengers. The van was steaming hot as we sat in the sun, windows covered with fabric. 10.30 came and went. The driver changed into a red “criminal instinct” shirt. 11.00 arrived—-surely we must go now. Another 3 people turned up. At 11.30, the driver came, got in, adjusted the windows, and got out. We now had 10 passengers, and I decided to take the front seat, not realizing the terrible case of trucker’s arm it would give me. Some arguing ensued with a passenger and the driver, but no action.

Seen at the bus station: Barf brand laundry detergent gets clothes brighter!

Finally at 11.45, a full 2h15 after I arrived, we headed out. The drive to Georgia took about 3.5 hours, plus a half hour for lunch and a half hour to cross the border. It was the slowest and most confusing border crossing I’ve ever endured, but the ill-reputed Georgian border police were spit-shine-polished and even laughed at our driver’s bribe. (The driver had small notes ready for bribes, including $1.25 we paid to Armenian police running a roadblock.) In the end, I suppose we beat the bus by an hour or so, even including the slow getting-out-the-gate.

The drive north from Yerevan to Tbilisi involves a drive up over the Lesser Caucasus. The Armenian mountain roads are in lamentable condition. Many of the heavy lorries that tear-up the road are from Turkey. Anything from Turkey comes in on lorries traveling via Georgia even though Armenia and Turkey share a land border—-which is closed and heavily guarded. Turkey still refuses to admit that from 1896 to the 1920s, Turkey and their Ottoman predecessors carried out a state-sponsored genocide that killed 1.5 million Armenians. Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, who is revered in Turkey as almost God-like for so advancing Turkey (like changing Turkish script from Arabic to Latin), was a key player in this nearly-successful attempt to eliminate the Armenian race. With Turkey stubbornly denying this holocaust, despite overwhelming evidence that the Ottoman Sultan and Atatürk committed crimes against humanity, it’s doubtful that relations will improve any time soon. Until then, anything coming to Armenia from Turkey has to first be trucked through Georgia.

The Caucuses Mountains, roughly at the Lori Valley, Armenia

The Lesser Caucuses have a few attractive valleys, but the population is tragically poor, with many living in tiny metal sheds, shipping containers, or even large storage tanks with a door cut out. After a half-hour at the border, it’s immediately apparent that Georgia is on a better path than Armenia, starting with the fact that roads are actually maintained here. Some of the Soviet-era housing blocs have new pink paint. The Georgian attitude towards Russia is apparent from the near total absence of Cyrillic lettering.

Wheat, other grains, and sunflowers grow on the plains a few miles into Georgia.

Coming out of the Lesser Caucasus, Georgia spreads out into large plains with wheat, grain, and sunflower farms. Along with Ukraine, Georgia was the USSR’s bread basket, and the bread lines common elsewhere were not found in Georgia.

Tbilisi, the Georgian capital, is a beautiful city of more than 1 million people. St. George’s cross is everywhere, and the city has large blocks of crumbling but elegant Art Deco buildings. I’ll have more pictures in a few days...

Posted by adrianjo at 03:56 PM

June 24, 2006

Last day in Yerevan

YEREVAN, ARMENIA –- We’ve laid a few hundred square feet of concrete floor, moved perhaps 10 tonnes of sand, and plastered hundreds of square feet of wall—-all in 6 days of working, of 13 total days.

***

We’ve worked on two job sites, each very different from the other. We started and ended with an old Soviet building purchased by Habitat for Humanity in 2006. It’s a 24-unit hulk of rough concrete and tufa block that was started in 1989, just before the USSR disintegrated. By 1993, the economy had collapsed and Armenia was in the final stages of fighting Azerbaijan for Nagorno-Karabakh. Work came to a stop half-way to completion, and nobody touched the shell until recently.

Click pics to enlarge

The Gavar worksite.

The structure lies on the outskirts of Gavar, a village near Lake Sevan, a beautiful big lake near the Azeri border that the knuckle-headed Soviets considered draining to make hydro power. Set beautifully between snow-covered ridges of the Lesser Caucasus range, Gavar is a ghost town that’s still inhabited. Nobody has maintained the parks, the roads, or many of the buildings in the town in 16 years. Groups of unemployed men loaf about the public square, but nobody bothers to beg, probably because there’s nobody to beg from. In the center, an office building has been turned into makeshift lofts, the windows covered with whatever sheets could be found. On the outskirts, laundry hangs from the balconies of dank Soviet-era housing blocs. A third of the population left in the early 1990s, and those that stayed did so only because they had nowhere better to go.

Typical Soviet-era housing in Gavar

Many in Gavar are nostalgic for the 1970s, when Leonid Brezhnev ran the USSR and Armenia’s factories boomed. “You didn’t even really have to go to work,” one old timer recalled. “If you didn’t feel like working in the factory that day, your supervisor would just change the records. Nobody cared, so you really worked very little.” The reality of the market economy hit hard.

Today’s Gavar homeowners are an interesting bunch, ranging from the young one-armed man to old Salomon, a grandfatherly figure who looks like a friendly version of Saddam Hussein. Salomon always turns up to the job site wearing an old three-piece suit with a fat 1970s tie. It may be his only decent set of clothes, but he’s still a fiercely proud guy.

The hardest-working homeowner in Gavar (center), a guy with one arm

The Gavar homeowners face a huge task still. Successive Habitat teams aim to have the building ready for move-in by early September, shortly after the Armenian Pope and Jimmy Carter headline a 400-person effort to finish the project.

***

We also spent two days in Khor Virap, a small village on the Turkish border in the shadow of Mt. Ararat, where legend says Noah’s Ark came to rest. There, we helped two brothers’ families (the Haroutyunyan families) plaster their walls and make concrete for around the house. The Haroutyunyans are tomato farmers who have relatively large plots. They sell their tomatoes to a paste-processor for about 2 cents per pound, while it costs hundreds of dollars a year per hectare just to irrigate the fields, not to mention the backbreaking labour required to grow a pound of tomatoes. (They nearly fell over when I told them what tomatoes sell for at Whole Foods.) Overall, the families net about $2000 per year, or about $1.22 per day per person. That’s actually a decent income by Armenian standards, and the Haroutyunyans have spent more than a decade saving and building their house before Habitat became involved. It will be finished by the fall.

Mixing cement in Khor Virap.

Perhaps the cutest experience was when I was plastering the high walls of a room in the Haroutyunyan house. The 10-year-old daughter found a putty knife and some plaster and began plastering the walls as I was doing. Somehow she understood what was going on.

***

Yerevan itself is an interesting city with a lot of history nearby. The café culture here is huge, as seemingly every square inch of available parkland is filled with semi-permanent open-air café tents, some chic and trendy, others more like divey sports bars. Drinks run $1 or $2, and every café is busy almost every night. Who needs a dark, smoky bar when one could just relax outside?

Knock-off Evian water, available for 50 cents at any Yerevan café

Accordingly, Yerevan’s bar and club scene sucks, which is fine by me. The women compensate by wearing club attire-—skimpy shirts and high heels—-everywhere they go. It means that many of the women here walk around at noon looking like cheap Vegas sluts or sorority girls doing the walk-of-shame. Then again, the men tend to sit in cafes and drool at whatever walks by, so I guess it all works in favor of the reproduction of our species.

Last night we found a Russian karaoke joint, where successive Armenian men got up and crooned out old Russian favorites. I even got up and rapped Eminem’s song “Stan,” which garnered quite a healthy ovation from the crowd.

There isn’t much of a drug scene here, which is a good thing. It’s also surprising because poppy, the plant from which is made heroin, grows as a weed here. Alanna picked one and put it in her hair, but it mostly grows unmolested in the southern part of the country. [Update: heroin is made from a close relative of this plant, but its narcotic content is minimal.]

The poppy plant (Papaver orientalis) grows freely here. Heroin is derived from a close relative of this species of poppy.

Our group of random strangers also bonded well. We had (among others) a 58-year-old cabinet maker, a 28-year-old pastry chef, a 26-year-old kindergarten teacher with her i-banker husband, a late-20s former Mormon missionary making his way around the world, a 30-something Paris-based lawyer who’s contemplating a career change, two high-school-age brother-sister pairs, and a chilled former radical who “spent much of the Reagan administration in-and-out of the San Francisco jail.” Over the course of 14 days, we debated topics including whether the French Laundry is better than Per Se (nobody was a big fan of either) and whether “fri’ chicken ‘n’ mash’ potata” is the ultimate meal. (OK, so we talked a lot about food, because it was generally really good here and meals take 3 hours with Armenians’ generous sense of hospitality.)

Two of the shorter members of the group with one of the taller members

Tomorrow I will brave the mini-bus zoo to try to find a mini-bus to go up to Tbilisi, Republic of Georgia. Destinations are written only in Georgian or Armenian, neither of which uses either Roman or Cyrillic letters. It only costs $15, but the vans packed with 20 people really don’t look very comfortable. I considered buying a plane ticket, but I was informed upon entering a travel agency that only one airline flies the route, and that airline no longer exists.

The alternative is a taxi:

Posted by adrianjo at 06:17 AM

June 18, 2006

Yerevan Day 7

YEREVAN, ARMENIA – A visitor to Armenia is never really sure if he’s in Europe, Russia, Asia, the near east, or the middle of nowhere.

The Soviet state lives on through strong appreciation of the arts and a decidedly Soviet approach to architecture. The hotel staff here also haven’t realized the USSR is dead, and planning ahead seems not to be the forte of anyone in Armenia. The Indian in our group remarked that Armenian Standard Time is remarkably similar to Indian Standard Time, where a ballet might well start 15 minutes late because most of the crowd turns up 10 minutes late. In fact, that’s exactly what happened when we went to see the state dance troupe and a piano/violin recital at Yerevan Conservatory. The state dance troupe did over 20 ballets showing classical European and Russian influences blended with the gypsy, Oriental, Persian, Indian, and Anatolian flavors that have been added over the years.

As for the work sites, we’ve so far worked 3 days on Habitat homes and done sightseeing the other 3 days. These 3 days of sightseeing have particularly annoyed at least one member of our group who expected to work every day--no, not me.

I think it’s important both to sight-see and build houses in order to put the present issues faced by Armenia into a historical and social context. That said, I also welcomed Sunday brunch this morning at the Marriott, the best Western oasis we’ve found so far. We’ve actually been very well-fed, including lunch yesterday that was prepared by the wife of the homeowner whose house we’re helping to build. It’s a small stone structure of perhaps 1200 sq ft; they started building it in 1988 and are just now getting close to finishing.

The apricots here are quite tasty, though they might also have been responsible for the barfing or the runs that have afflicted several of our team members. (I'm doing my best to follow the colonial mantra of "cook it, peel it, boil it, or forget it.") At the lunch where we chowed-down on local apricots, a number of us washed it down with a couple of shots of homemade mulberry vodka to attempt to kill any weird bacteria we might have acquired. Tomatoes and cucumbers have also been popular, along with huge helpings of bread and lavash, which is basically a soft square tortilla shell. Big trays of sweet breads are very common, along with cherries and watermelon. Borsch (Ukrainian beet soup) comes in many varieties, though it’s far too hot to eat much soup. One homeowner’s wife also cooked-up some ground beef wrapped in aubergine (eggplant). Mutton (lamb) is also common, including a very nice lamb shank last night, washed down with a 2000 Areni wine that was a great buy at the restaurant for $7.50. (The high schoolers on the trip have enjoyed the non-existent alcohol rules here, as one might expect.)

Here are some pictures. Click to enlarge.

Yerevan’s skyline lies below Mt. Ararat, the mountain where legend says Noah crashed his arc. It’s in present-day Turkey but historically was part of Armenia. Although the Armenians hate the Turks (who perpetrated one of history’s largest genocides against the Armenians—and still deny it), references to Ararat abound, including in the local brandy.

A distressingly large portion of the population here smokes, everywhere from the airport to restaurants to the job site. In a country where the average person's income is less than $1/day, a pack of ciggies costs about $1.25. This kid's claw game might be part of the reason for the national addiction.

Republic Square is the center of Yerevan. It’s more crowded at midnight than at noon, as the normal waking hours in Armenian Standard Time run from perhaps 9AM to 1AM.

The monastery at Khor Virap, at the border with Turkey, sits under Mt Ararat. Here, Saint Gregory the Illuminator was imprisoned for 12 years in a deep, dark well by a pagan king in the third century. The king was known to throw snakes and scorpions into the well, though he eventually converted to Christianity and released St. Gregory, who went on to be the first Catholicos (equivalent of Pope) in the Armenian church. The well can be visited today by climbing down a manhole-like hatch on the altar of a church on this hill.

This is the team with the homeowner in Khor Virap, where we helped him and his family plaster concrete walls. As noted earlier, he has been working on the house since 1988, so he was quite appreciative of our help. He is on the very far right.

Our other project is this old Soviet building in Gavar, in the north near Lake Sevan. Habitat recently acquired the structure, which had lain half-finished since the USSR collapsed. It will be a Herculean job to finish it, as we spent two days hauling sand up to the second-floor to make cement to finish the floors in four small rooms. Notice the pimpin’ vintage 1970s Mercedes-Benz bus we’re using.

Posted by adrianjo at 10:20 AM

June 13, 2006

First day on the job site in Armenia

YEREVAN, ARMENIA -- It's 11PM, and most of us are bushed from the work today on the Habitat apartment block. It's in an impoverished village just south of Lake Sevan, a small provincal capital of 30,000 that the guidebook describes as "struggling to survive." There's no industry or employment to speak of, and the streets haven't been maintained in many years. It's as if time stopped in the town when the Soviet Union fell apart, though the town has aged substantially in the 16 years since then.

Habitat's apartment block was started (3 of four stories) in 1989, but when the Soviet Union collapsed, construction stopped until Habitat bought the shell in 2006. Construction might have re-started in the early 1990s, but many townsmen left to fight the war against Azerbaijan over the Karabagh region. Like Poland, Armenia has a long history of being run-over by more powerful neighbors, which contributed to the dispute over Karabagh.

We spent the day hauling sand, cement mix, and water up to the 2nd floor, where it was mixed and spread. It was great to have the future homeowners working alongside, though at times we weren't terribly productive as decisions had to be made through interpreters. One of the wives even brought us a very tasty sweetened dough/pastry for lunch!

Posted by adrianjo at 02:17 PM

June 12, 2006

Armenians aren't so mean

YEREVAN, ARMENIA -- I made it to Armenia Sunday morning at 1AM, but my luggage didn't. I suppose that by country #62, my number was up. Fortunately it arrived on the next day's flight from London, although one person who took Air France from Paris hasn't been so lucky as to get hers. The unfortunate teenager has been wearing green pants with pink trim for some time now. Clothing seems hard to find, though I actually spotted a Victoria's Secret here today. But who knows if it's the real thing: we also found fake Evian water for the impossibly-low 35 cents a litre. (There was also a detergent called BARF and some nasty $2 vodka.)

Armenia, part of the former USSR north of Turkey and Iran, was devastated shortly after the Soviet Union broke apart, and 1/4 of the population fled the country as unemployment hit French-like levels of 70%. Although it was Europe's fastest growing economy in recent years, the base is so low that even 15% GDP growth has yet to make more than a few people rich. Unlike the Baltics, where signs of both a wealthy elite and middle class were obvious, the most common car on the streets of Yerevan may well be the Zhiguli, a Russian-made sedan that resembles the Yugo.

The Armenian language is as cryptic as Thai, and for once, I'm thrilled to have signs written in Russian Cyrillic. I pointed out to our group the most important sign, PECTOPAH ("restaurant" in Russian). That wasn't even necessary, because the food has been excellent, though Armenian food is overshadowed on the Yerevan restaurant scene by Georgian food, which tends to be very spicy, meaty (lamb and beef), and a bit oily.

Tomorrow we start work on our house for Habitat for Humanity, the point of coming here in the first place. Habitat has bought a half-finished Soviet-era apartment block where construction stopped when the USSR fell apart, and volunteers are finishing off the units to be sold as condos to middle-class Armenians. (Unlike in the States, Habitat in Armenia tends to benefit the middle class, since the poor cannot afford the no-interest mortgage required to occupy a Habitat house.)

Meanwhile I've put an offer on a condo in Manhattan, though thanks to some unwritten rules in my 401k plan, the negotiations are proving complex. This sort of thing always seems to happen when I'm away!

Posted by adrianjo at 12:42 PM

June 09, 2006

Departing for the Caucuses

I am departing shortly for Armenia, the Republic of Georgia, and Azerbaijan. These are often known as the Caucasian countries, from whence the term "Caucasian" originated to describe a racial group. The Caucasian actually race includes not just Europeans, but also many Arabs, South Asians, and even many Africans. (Caucasian ≠ white)

I'm working on a Habitat for Humanity building project in Armenia, then visiting Georgia and Azerbaijan for fun. (I can't wait to see the Caspian Sea, the world's largest lake.) I'll try to update the blog as often as I can while abroad, and I return July 7.

Posted by adrianjo at 06:38 PM

May 31, 2006

Pictures from Hawai'i 2006

NEW YORK -- Like usual after a holiday, the airlines overbooked everything, and making a connection in O'Hare proved trying. I flew into ORD at 6AM on the redeye from Kona. Every flight from ORD to New York was booked solid, and they were even taking volunteers to be bumped. In exchange for staying at ORD another 6 hours, I got a first-class upgrade and a free ticket anywhere in the Lower 48 that UAL flies. So, 20 hours after leaving, I rolled home, where I am now on the couch watching the Newlywed Game:

Host: Gentlemen, how many automatic things are in your bedroom?
Husband: One
Wife's Answer: Zero
Husband: But the vaccuum is automatic. It runs.
Wife: Not by itself!

Kim's wedding was so much fun, with fabulous music, a friendly and fascinating crowd (with many "small world" moments), delicious tropical food and drinks, and tons of Hawai'ian flowers. Friends of Kim could see her personality showing throughout the four days of events--she wasn't doing things just because the wedding planner thought it was a good idea. Most touching was the mix of Hawai'ian, Christian, and Jewish tradition at the ceremony.

Click for a full set of pictures. I didn't include wedding pictures because my camera conveniently started flashing "low battery" as soon as I arrived. You do NOT need to sign-in to view the pictures.

More pictures from other vacations - click here. Includes Europe, New Year's in Times Square, Asia, Russia, and Peru.

Posted by adrianjo at 01:22 PM

May 27, 2006

Mongooses, not mongeese

KOHALA COAST, HAWAI'I -- I've been looking up a lot of plural words today. The first is "men-of-war," plural of man-of-war. This is because CNN has a picture of Hapuna Beach on their website tonight. They didn't mention the swarm of Portugese men-of-war that arrived this afternoon, which stung a number of people today. Fortunately that didn't interrupt Kim's rehearsal dinner on the poolside, which was fabulous.

The second plural is "mongooses," the plural of mongoose. I nearly ran over several of these little critters today. They look like a dauschaund crossed with a squirrel as they scurry across the street. They were introduced to control the rat problems in Hawai'i, which they do effectively, but they also eat the eggs of birds and pushed several species into endangered status.

Other than these notable plurals, I had an interesting whale-watching experience off the far northern coast of Hawai'i, near the strait with Maui. After going through 20 miles of desert, I turned into a State Park and watched the ocean for a few minutes. A pod of whales, perhaps a dozen, was circling and attacking a very large game fish, perhaps a marlin. Whenever they got ahold of the fish, it leaped head-first into the air. A few of the whales beat the fish with their flippers, and after a half-hour, they were still chasing the thing through the water, and I left.

Posted by adrianjo at 04:41 AM

May 26, 2006

There's snow in Hawai'i

KOHALA COAST, HAWAI'I -- Hawai'i may be the only place that one can stand atop a snowy 13,700 foot mountain and an hour later touch the sea. I left yesterday at 7AM to drive the "Saddle Road" from one side of Hawai'i to the other, up to an elevation of around 6,000 ft. It's a violation of the rental car contract to drive that road, which is stupid because it's a fine road, though a sign at the entrance warns "WARNING: WINDING ROAD NEXT 41 MILES."

The road crosses lava fields that date to the past 200 years, including some very recent flows from Mauna Loa. At the midpoint of the saddle, one has the active volcano Mauna Loa (13,679 ft and growing) on one side and Mauna Kea (13,796 ft) on the other side. A road leads up to a visitor center at 9,000 ft, where one is already above the clouds. I wasn't too keane to take the rental car up the rocky road to the top, so I tried hitching a ride. That morning, I had seen two young chicks hitching on the side of the road, and sure enough, the first truck to pass slammed on the brakes and backed up. It worked for me too, as I joined two Massachusetts newlyweds with a Ford Explorer on the way up the mountainside. The summit has a fair amount of snow, quite unexpected in Hawai'i, plus a dozen or so giant telescopes housed in giant metallic domes. From there, one puts the car in neutral and coasts down almost to the sea.

At the sea, one can visit Hawai'i Volcanos National Park, which includes a giant volcanic crater (it's a 13-mile drive along the rim) at 4000 feet, plus a road leading down to the sea past a half-dozen other craters and lava flows as recent as 1974. The road abruptly ends where the September 2002 lava flows covered the road, and from there it's a treaterous 45-minute hike over a rough new lava field to a viewing platform where one can see, at a distance, new lava entering the sea. The cooled lava is brittle, sharp, and loose, so a slight misstep can cause a broken leg and a nasty cut. I stayed until after dark, when the lava lights up in brilliant orange colors. The only problem after dark is crossing that long black lava field with absolutely no light. With a small torch/flashlight, it's a tough journey involving inspecting every next step and hoping the lava-rock doesn't collapse.

Today was the start of Kim's wedding festivities, including a dinner and cocktail party on the beach as the sun set. Aside from this, I spent the day laying at the pool with Jeremy Seigel's new book and getting sunburned shoulders.

Posted by adrianjo at 04:31 AM

May 24, 2006

Like Iceland, but a lot warmer

KOHALA COAST, HAWAI'I -- After leaving at 3.20AM today, I am in Hawai'i for Kim's wedding. I had arranged for a car to take me to O'Hare, and the driver knocked on the neighbor's door at 3.15AM. All she could see were the car's lights, and she figured it was a police raid! Luckily enough she also knew that I was leaving for Hawai'i and directed the driver to the right house.

The weather here is great, and the landscape upon landing reminded me of the lava flats of Iceland's Reykjanes Peninsula [pic]. Like Iceland, the topography here is also quite varied, and I'm looking forward to seeing the erupting volcanoes tomorrow, Pele willing.

Pics eventually, of course!

Posted by adrianjo at 01:16 AM

April 13, 2006

A tourist destination that succeeds in spite of itself

As if you needed another reason not to visit Indonesia. Here's the first reason.

Posted by adrianjo at 12:52 PM

March 22, 2006

Just when you're about to give up...

Congratulations, mon petit chou!

Posted by adrianjo at 03:53 PM

March 18, 2006

Tasting notes from the French wineries

Click here for a full set of pictures

French wines are particularly hard to understand. Every little village has its own wines and their own classifications. Grapes are rarely displayed on the bottles, and some age well, while others should be consumed right away. Here are some tasting and degustation notes for the places we visited last week in France. I hope that this will provide a few ideas if you want to buy a few bottles of French wine or visit France.

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REGION: CHAMPAGNE

Champagne is a sparkling wine typically made from blending chardonnay, pinot noir, and pinot meunier. It was first produced when wine-making monks found their barrels exploding, since carbon dioxide is a byproduct of fermentation. Today, one in 10,000 bottles of champagne explodes in the cellar, though the dimple in the bottom of the bottle (called “the asshole of the bottle”) prevents the explosion from affecting neighboring bottles. The valleys around Reims (pronounced “RAHngs”), northeast of Paris, have a chalky soil particularly well-suited to producing the three grapes.

Vines are planted as far as the eye can see in Ambonnay, a Grand Cru (i.e. one of the best villages).

MOET et CHANDON

Napoleon’s champagne supplier, Moet is Champagne’s biggest producer by far. Today it is owned by LVMH, whose portfolio includes names like Grand Marnier and Cloudy Bay, perhaps the world's best sauvignon blanc varietal. The Moet cellar, carved into limestone over 200 years, has 18 miles stacked floor to ceiling with upper-end champagnes, including Dom Perignon, Brut Imperial, and Nectar Imperial. (The brand Dom Perignon is named for a monk who contributed substantially to champagne production methodogies.)

The 18 miles of caves at Moet.

The champagnes of Moet are well-crafted but familiar. White Star is a regular at weddings, with a higher dosage of beet sugar added to appease American palates. The rose wines are more interesting, with a bit more structure. Moet’s vintage champagnes (those bearing a year on the bottle) are most interesting, perhaps because they are least familiar.

While many producers like Chateau Canon-La-Gaffielere (see below) are shifting to traditional wine-making methods, Moet pioneers new technology and new ways of enjoying the wine. Particularly noteworthy is a heat-based technology that extracts the color and flavor of pinot noir for the rose wines without the bitterness of traditional methods. Also noteworthy is their recommended way of drinking Nectar Imperial, the highest-sugar of the Moet line. They recommend serving Nectar not in a flute but instead in a very tall, very thin highball glass with two small lime peels in the base. Traditional champagne producers shutter.

Three of Moet's mainstream champagnes.

The tasting session includes a visit to the cellars, which are worth it if only to experience their magnitude. As Moet says, “be fabulous!”

JACQUES BEAUFORT

Going from Moet’s “be fabulous” glitter to Jacques Beaufort’s quiet farm was a study in opposites, even though they both make $100+ Grand Cru champagne. Beaufort greeted our bus and promptly had us driving to his vineyards, schlepping into the muds of Champagne, where he explained his organic farming methods. When he was a young man in the 1970s, working in the grape fields, he developed an allergy to pesticides and decided to go all-organic. Unlike the suits at Moet, Beaufort wore a traditional farmer’s outfit and had the unpolished appearance one associates with a family farmer.

Beaufort’s production facility is a squat concrete building strewn with winemaking paraphernalia including new bottles, presses, corks, and even a taxidermy of a badger. We kept descending through three cobweb-filled underground storeys, all completely disorganized except in Beaufort’s mind.

One of the biggest challenges of producing champagne is to disgorge the yeasts left over from primary fermentation. LVMH uses a now-common high-tech freezing procedure involving liquid nitrogen, while Beaufort does it all by hand the old way, one bottle at a time, in the lowest level of his cellar. He even demonstrated the tricky procedure, which involves popping the bottle at the same time that an air bubble enters the neck.

Jacques Beaufort disgorges the yeasts from a bottle using the traditional method.

As one would expect, Beaufort’s champagnes are packed with character and terroir. A simple non-vintage Grand Cru starts around $30/bottle and provides attractive fruit, mineral, and acid flavors with less sugar than Moet. I particularly enjoyed the 1990 rose champagne ($65), which had mellowed and concentrated into an elegant, long, smooth, softly-effervescent wine during 14 years of aging on the yeasts.

If you visit, call ahead and bring a French speaker to translate. Mr. Beaufort sells bottles at the estate for roughly 1/2 to 1/3 of the price in stores, and they are not available in the US.

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REGION: CHABLIS

Chablis is a region in east-central France known for chardonnay. The very best wines are classified as Grand Crus, which will develop more fully if aged for perhaps a decade.

The next tier, the Premier Crus, are relatively inexpensive but provide excellent floral hints. Because Chablis is a cool region, most Chabils chardonnays lack the heavy oak taste, buttery nose, high alcohol, and high sugar that make California chardonnays taste flabby and overdone. As such, a Chablis would pair well with appetizers like light salads, lighter fishes like sea bass, and foie gras (goose or duck liver brutally made by force-feeding the animal, a method illegal in 16 countries but defended by the French).

One result of too much drinking.

LA CHABLISIENNE

The Chablisienne is a cooperative producer, meaning they bottle the wines grown by small local producers. The range is very wide, with some unremarkable young, cheap chardonnays, though the more-aged wines of the Grand Crus are a unique experience. Most chardonnay is ready to drink soon, though these have enough acid, structure, and fruit to age a decade or more. The most interesting wines sold at the vineyard are mid-1990s Grand Crus, with prices as low as $18 for a half-bottle.

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REGION: BURGUNDY

Bordeaux’s rival, Burgundy is located between Dijon and Lyon and is known for chardonnay (white) and pinot noir (red). Pinot noir is a lighter red grape that gives aromas of strawberry, raspberry, and cherries. It is very “fussy” but grows better in Burgundy than anywhere else in the world. Good pairings include lighter meat dishes.

The Burgundy classification system can be very difficult to understand. The best wines are Grand Crus (about 2% of total), followed by Premier Crus (another 15%), followed by “village” wines, which will have the name of a village with the words “Apellation Origine Controlle.” But the bulk of Burgundy’s production is still generic wine simply labeled with the name “Burgundy.” Our tastings showed that the differences can be enormous, as slightly different plots impart different mineral characteristics and allow the wines to develop different levels of fruitiness. Because Burgundy is cold (and snow-covered when we visited), the best wines come from a few plots that get very good sun and have good drainage.

DOMAINE DU CHATEAU DE PULIGNY-MONTRACHET

We were met at Chateau Puligny-Montrachet by Mr. Etienne de Montille, a famous French winemaker better known for his association with Domaine de Montille, which has been owned by his family for nearly 400 years. After more than a decade as a merchant banker at BNP Paribas in Paris, where he helped buy and sell wineries, Etienne began turning-around Ch Puligny-Montrachet after it was foreclosed upon and retained in a bank’s investment portfolio.

Etienne is quite a character. Like every winemaker we met, his veins have not blood but wine, yet Etienne also recognizes that many people find Burdundy’s complicated labels confusing and has devoted substantial energy to wine education. Of noble origins, he has a title (like Count or Baron) but bucks tradition by refusing to use it. “It depends on what century you want to live in, the 18th or the 21st,” he said—a philosophy that is reflected in his approach to wine. Over dinner, Etienne argued for revisions to France’s rigid 150-year-old appellation origine controlle (AOC) system, which guarantees a wine’s origin and production methods but not its quality. As our wine teacher at Columbia says, “if a producer says at harvest time, ‘Hey Francois, let’s go fishing,’ he can still produce wine under a good appellation.” Etienne had a slightly different perspective: “There are some producers here making terrible wines, but they think they’re making good wine because they have no taste. This is a real problem to ensure the quality of our wines.”

Tasting at Puligny-Montrachet. Click for a larger picture.

Burgundy’s history comes alive with a visit here. There is still buzz about 2003, which was the earliest harvest on record since 1422(?). Apparently record-keeping began around 1154(?), though vines have been planted on Burgundy since pre-Roman times. Over those two millennia, the exact best plots for each grape have been identified and designated the Grand Crus and Premier Crus.

Etienne put together a vertical tasting of his 2001, 2002, and 2004 vintages, as well as a comparison of a generic, village, and Premier Cru wine. The difference was significant, with better fruit, minerality, and balance in the Premier Cru—most of which is due to the subtle differences in the growing conditions. As for the vintages, we all had different favorites, even though they were all different.

Wine is not sold at the chateau, but Beaune has numerous wine shops.

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REGION: BORDEAUX

Bordeaux and Burgundy are like the Bears and the Packers: in the same division but fierce rivals. One Bordeaux winemaker asked, “You say you’ve been to Burgundy? Where’s Burgundy?”

While Burgundy produces softer pinot noirs, Bordeaux is known as the best region in the world for big, elegant, finessed blends of Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon under names like Chateau Latour, Chateau Haut-Brion, and Chateau Mouton-Rothschild. There is also a dessert wine producing AOC called Sauternes, where bottles of Chateau d’Yquem regularly fetch $600/bottle.

The best Bordeaux wines are made to age, rather than to drink today, unlike most New World wines. These “grand” reds are fermented on the lees, aged in oak barrels, and sold through an ancient system of Bordeax merchants. The producers are all named chateaux, and many actually have a grand old chateau on the property. At Chateau d’Issan, the mansion dates to the 16th century, but wine from the estate was served at the wedding of Eleanor of Aquitaine in 1152.

While many Bordeaux wines will stretch one’s wallet, we also found an excellent little producer whose wines sell for around $12.

The cellar of Chateau d'Issan, a good value producer in Bordeaux. The fresh oak and fermented grape aromas in these cellars are not apparent from the pictures.


Millesima, a Bordeaux-based wholesaler, stocks Eur 32M of wine in its temperature-controlled cellars.

CHATEAU CANON LA GAFFELIERE

Chateau Canon-La-Gaffeliere is one of the highest-regarded producers in St. Emilion. The Chateau’s owner is a colourful Count named Stephan von Neipperg. Count Stephan is Etienne de Montille’s opposite in his approach to dress, speech, and marketing. If Etienne lives in the 21st century, Count Stephan proudly lives somewhere in the 12th century, when his family first started making wine. His favorite phrase is “completely stupid,” said with a confident Austrian accent to describe winemaking techniques he disagrees with. The winery’s marketing centers around his eccentric character, which blends a nobleman’s confidence and unapologetic old-fashionedness with a hint of giddiness for showing-off his product.

We met Count Stephan with him wearing a blue graph paper, French-cuffed shirt with a red ascot. Taking preppy dress to a whole new level, he had a baby-blue cashmere sweater tied around his green plaid jacket. His pants were bright red, possibly velvet. I wondered if Count Stephan ever took his brown suede lace-ups into the muddy vineyards, but we were soon bending over a low vine as Count Stephan explained how his team prunes the vines to produce very low yields but intense fruit, acid, and tannin. The winery recently reverted to oak-vat fermentation because “it is the traditional way.” Unlike most of the world’s wineries, Canon-La-Gafielere does not crush the grapes, but instead dumps them whole into the vat for alcoholic fermentation. Count Stephan believes that this produces better intensity, tannin, and fruit as the skins break down.

The wines are indeed powerful, intense, and tannic, but also display excellent finesse and delicacy that will allow them to develop fully in 10 to 30 years, although they appeared to still be a bit harsh now. In fact, Count Stephan’s cellars feature bottles dating to the 1920s, including many from the 1982 vintage, one of the best in decades for Bordeaux. “I send some of the 1982 to the police station at Christmas every year,” Count Stephan explained. “It wasn’t that good of a vintage for our wines, but they are happy to get ‘some of the really good stuff.’” Count Stephan recommends his 2001 as a particularly good value. In France, it will run about $80/bottle, though it’s actually much cheaper in the States, where I got it for $60 at Sherry Lehman.

CHATEAU LAGRANGE

This was the favorite visit of most members of the trip. It was at >Chateau LaGrange, located on the Medoc Peninsula in the St. Julien AOC, that we learned how well Bordeaux wines age, and how much they change if left in a dank cellar for 20 years. The Chateau promised our tour leader that they’d prepare a light lunch for us with some pairings. It turned into a full-blown four-course lunch, with appetizers including a local white ocean fish paired with a medium-bodied and fruity white Bordeaux blend of Semillon and Sauvignon Blanc. The Semillon provided a bit of structure, while the Sauvignon Blanc contributed its usual fruit-salad taste. Lovers of white wine need not write-off Bordeaux completely with wines like this available (but good luck finding it in the States).

The main course was a local beef prepared the French way—seared outside and bloody, bleeding, rare inside. But the big surprise that knocked-over everyone was when a double-magnum of the 1988 vintage arrived in decanters. After two decades in the cellar, the wine had lost the harshness, astringency, and peppery notes that characterize a young cabernet sauvignon, replaced with a smoothness, roundness, complexity, and balance with hints of nuts, cedar, and mushroom. Unlike a lousy wine that ages poorly, Lagrange’s wines didn’t have an overwhelming musty, undergrowth nose.

That 1988 wasn’t all. Midway through, the tide was going out (meaning glasses were getting empty), and a double-magnum of 1985 arrived! It’s hard to even find that sort of wine, and my guess is that the double-magnums might have been $600 to $800 a piece. Again, we may have quibbled over whether the ’85 or ’88 was better, but we agreed that this was some amazing wine.

The head winemaker at Chateau Lagrange.

Fortunately, the head winemaker and other top execs of the winery joined us for lunch where we discussed how great wines are made. Among the discussion comments: “I got into winemaking when I was at agricultural school and my choice was to specialize in animals, grains, or wines. It was an easy choice.”

CHATEAU HAUT-LAGRANGE

Not related to any winery with a similar name, Ch Haut-Lagrange was founded less than 20 years ago, when Francis Boutemy left his job at another chateau and planted the vineyards on Haut-Lagrange. His dedication to quality was almost as apparent as Count Stephan’s, including all-organic farming methods, removing excess grapes when still green, French barrel aging, and hand-sorting. However, Francis was willing to use concrete fermentation vats, which are inelegant but do have benefits during fermentation.

The resulting wines won’t age quite as long, but they are very drinkable after just a few years, and at $12/bottle, it’s hard to go wrong. I particularly liked the whites, which lacked the oakiness of a California white (as these are stainless steel aged) but had excellent fruit and were smooth on the palette. They also lack the high alcohol content of many new world reds.

The chateau’s owner wasn’t the colourful character of Count Stephan, but he was incredibly friendly, even autographing a wooden case. A visit here is highly recommended to see the contrast against some of the bigger producers.

Stainless steel vats (for white wine) and new French oak barrels at Ch Haut-Lagrange. A new French oak barrel costs $720 and adds about $2.50 to the final cost of a bottle.

Posted by adrianjo at 11:20 AM

March 09, 2006

I knew someone would get hauled off by the cops--but the bus driver!?

THE MIDDLE OF FUCKING NOWHERE, SOUTH-CENTRAL FRANCE – We leave Lyon on the way to Bordeaux, a helluva drive from one end of France to the other. With our slow-ass bus driver, it’ll certainly take longer than we expected. An hour and a half in, I awaken when the bus slows. A motorcycle cop is in front. A cop waves us into a special bus parking space at what looks like a small rest stop but is really a toll authority station.

A French cop boards the bus. Wearing a black uniform with blue accents, he looks a bit gruff. Another boards in the rear door. Most of us are asleep. I figure it’s a passport check, which are common in countries with immigration problems. Usually they’re simple: the cops look in, see a lot of white people, and wave the bus on. Sometimes the cop demands a bribe, but drivers, who often travel these routes daily, typically refuse.

Our bus driver is well-dressed with a black ribbed sweater over a dark pink polo shirt. Aged perhaps 35, his hair is receding and he has shaven his head to disguise it, creating a Mr. Clean effect. He wears pinstriped wool pants with a showy buckle, plus brown leather oxfords. After he got the bus un-stuck in narrow medieval roads in Volnay yesterday, we were discussing how drivers in France are professionals who get paid well, know their vehicles, and lack the snotty attitude of American bus drivers. He drives frustratingly slowly, but we feel safe with him driving.

He hands the cop some papers, maybe his log books. I don’t know French law, but our wine tastings have been going 2 hours beyond schedule almost every day, and he’s probably close to his maximum driving hours, though he hasn’t complained.

The cop looks at the papers and hands them back. There is some quick conversation in a stocatto French. The cops don’t appear very friendly. This looks like more than just a passport check.

The three cops start going ballistic. I hear words that sound like “accidente” and “incarcare”. (I would learn later that the cops were haranguing the driver for driving unsafely, being a potential murderer, and a host of other charges.)

Our tour leader, J., looks nervous, his head shifting back and forth at the crossfire. He’s still decked-out in a purple clubbing shirt from last night, when he got bombed on some 40 drinks starting at 10AM and ending when he nearly fell-over at 1.30. With only a few hours of sleep, this is the last thing J. needs.

The driver steps out to discuss the situation with the cops, who are clearly quite angry. Half the bus is asleep still, but J. says quietly: “There is a speed control on the road. The speed limit is usually 130 kph in France, but they suddenly dropped it to 50 kph, no warning, on a long downhill slope. Our driver generally goes around 100 kph. This time, he was going 103 kph and couldn’t slow in time. Technically, if the cop wants to be an asshole, he can take away the driver’s license right here.”

That would leave us stranded in the “asshole of France” (as J. calls it), with no driver, no hotel, and nothing to eat but a few cases of wine.

It would also mean that the driver could be fired. With 10% unemployment here, being fired in France could mean several years of unemployment.

The situation looks dire, and J. jumps in to start talking with the cop, who clearly has a burr in his ass. It seems he’s pleading our case as a university group exploring France, and how we need our driver to get to a foie gras tasting. Cops couldn’t care less about foie gras.

The driver comes back on the bus. In the mirror, I see his hands clasped in prayer. A bit of sun hits his wedding band.

He calls his boss on a cell phone, probably one of the most difficult calls one could ever make. He steps out for a cigarette, where J. and another student try to console him.

J. steps back on the bus to answer questions from those who have woken up, as I notice that the cops are hauling the driver into a car to take him away. I figured somebody might be arrested here, but I didn’t think it would be our driver. And I didn’t think that our slow-ass driver would be arrested for reckless driving. J. says: “I talked to our driver’s boss and assured him that he is a good driver and doesn’t deserve this. He won’t be fired, but he will lose his license for at least a month and won’t be able to work. The boss is trying to find a driver to get us to Bordeaux, but hey, we’re stuck in the asshole of France and there aren’t many drivers around. I think we’ll sleep in Bordeaux tonight, but it could be several hours.”

We’re all a bit shocked. I thought back to my time on a jury, when we had to weigh a cop’s word against the word of three rather sketchy immigrants. I was amazed how everyone on the jury was unanimous in their disapproval and deep distrust of the police. It was a complex case, but we acquitted with less than 5 minutes of deliberations.

I thought too to when I got busted for running a red light in Valpo, how the asshole cop (who later committed suicide) had no interest in my explanation of why I thought I was being safe. No wonder so many people people hate cops.

Wow, we’re stuck here. Some of the girls find a nearby bathroom at a nearby tollbooth. We’ve all been consuming so much wine (25 glasses yesterday) that hourly pisses are common. I see a McDonald’s sign far down the road, and we consider organizing a crew to seek rations at McDonald’s. But we have no idea how far the actual restaurant is, and the plan dies.

Shit, man. We’re hungover and stuck in the middle of nowhere with no signs of getting on.

I don’t know who had the idea first, but I ask J. if it’s legal to have open containers in France. “Yes, of course, you just can’t drive drunk. Let’s open something.” So a bus can’t go more than 50 kph on the highway, but it’s legal to sit on the side of the highway and pop the cork on some champagne. I open my bag and pull out a modestly-priced bottle. J. turns on the bus and puts on some rock music over the PA system. The first bottle goes quickly, and four more soon appear out of luggage. We are a group of 19, so this means we each drank ¼ bottle. One group member is really pissed, and he pulls out a $60 bottle of Chablis Grand Cru, which is poured into plastic cups. He yells, “our driver may be arrested, but we can still be fabulouso!” I try to cheer and toast as much as possible. Passing motorists make like rubbernecks.

After an hour, the driver is seen walking back to the bus. We hide the champagne under coats. He has been released, but his license is revoked. He is nearly in tears, but we reassure him that he’s a “tres bon chauffeur.” In French, he apologizes profusely for letting us down. He adds, in French, “I hope that this doesn’t ruin your impression of France.”

A new driver is found after nearly two hours, but he doesn’t know how to drive this bus and doesn’t know where he’s going. J. whispers, “so the cops have made it that we have a worse driver who can barely drive the bus.”

We drive for several hours to a rest stop, still in the asshole of France, where we take up a collection to support the driver. When we return to the bus, we gather in a circle, where J. takes an envelope to the still-distraught driver. “We want to tell you that we think you’re a good driver and we’re sorry for what happens today. We want to give you this.” The envelope contains nearly $200.

In French, the driver says: “I am very humbled and thank you for this. I just don’t want you to think that this is what France is like.”

At midnight, after dinner and a tasting, we arrive at the hotel in Bordeaux.

Posted by adrianjo at 11:59 PM

March 08, 2006

I am a lightweight

LYON, FRANCE, 2:40AM. I am a lightweight. Whilst I was writing that last blog entry in Reims (pronounced “Rahngs”), the rest of the group was out taking more. I had already had 15 drinks that day, but several of them turned up at the bus the next morning with words such as, “I have not yet slept.” Apparently a few bottles of vodka disappeared between midnight and 7AM. It was a very rough morning for them, especially when we started drinking again shortly thereafter.

Last night was therefore a night of recovery. We joined Mr. Etienne de Montille, one of the top 10 winemakers in Burgundy, at a restaurant where topics ranged from the future of the Burgundy winery to titles of nobility. Fortunately, the wine list was “quite modest” in Mr. de Montille’s words, and after just 5 bottles of unremarkable Chardonnay and Pinot Noir, everyone got to sleep early.

Interestingly, the group got lost in the rain looking for the restaurant, so Mr. de Montille started driving around Beaune looking for us. When he found us, about a dozen in number, he ordered four of us into his Beamer and drove us to the restaurant. He then mde two more such taxi trips. When I signed up for the trip, I didn’t expect to be riding in famous winemakers BMWs through the rain in a French village.

I’ve collected a few very interesting bottles in the past few days, including an amazingly-colored 1991 Rose Champagne, a ripe and balanced 2000 Louis Jadot Premier Cru, and a nice little 1995 Chablisenne Grand Cru. They’re all lovely wines, and hopefully you will be present when they are pulled from my cellar in a few years. I’ll post reviews of the wineries at the end of the trip.

Today we visited just two wineries, but most of us managed to set new personal records with the consumption of at least 25 drinks between 9AM and 2AM. Frankly, many spat some of the wine, although it was very hard to spit such masterpieces as a 1999 Louis Jadot Grand Cru, the best Chardonnay most of us have ever had, a bottle that might cost $200 in the US. After a 5-course dinner that stretched nearly four hours (so typically French, but these long dinners are getting old), we wound up at a bar where the shots just kept coming. Someone asked the bartender if they liked having a group of 15 Americans in the bar, and he said, “Yes, if they keep ordering like this!” Our group of 15 then downed over 100 shots in two hours. Do the math, and you’ll see that some people are going to be seriously messed-up tomorrow, especially the sucker who got stuck with the thousand-dollar tab. At least life is interesting. And I am happy to report that, 25 drinks later, I am sober enough to write this blog entry at 3AM and still be coherent.

Posted by adrianjo at 08:08 PM

March 06, 2006

Piss with fruity aromas and slight tannin

REIMS, CHAMPAGNE, FRANCE - When do you know you have had too much to drink? When you stagger? When you puke? No, one has drunk too much when he pisses and his urine smells like chardonnay.

We started today at 8h45, when we departed for Moet et Chandon here in the French region of Champagne. Moet owns Dom Perignon champagne and even has a statue of the 16th century monk holding a bottle outside their caves, of which there are 18 miles, all lined with bottles. 4 glasses of various LVMH champagnes.

Then we drank pinot noir at lunch. By the way, the food has been great. 1 glass.

Then we went to a nearby grand cru (by definition, one of the best 17 of Champagne`s 323 crus) to find an older French winemaker who promptly got on the bus to show us his vines. It was truly astounding, and we ended up having 6 glasses with him.

Then there was dinner, with a starter wine, two main course wines, and the dessert wine: 4 glasses.

So that makes 15 glasses of wine in one day, and my piss smells like it. This French wineries tour is only in Day 1 of six, but I have alredy gotten my money`s worth. It`s now midnight. Pardon me as I fall over.

Posted by adrianjo at 05:39 PM

January 21, 2006

Throwing half of it away

From time to time, I get random emails from people asking how I find the funding for my various traveling. Thanks to the internet, it's now possible to travel just about anywhere on a tight budget. Somewhere, someone is offering a bargain.

Getting bargains in off-season is like shooting fish in a barrel. For example, the air portion of our Europe trip last week was $278 round trip, New York to London. I'm paying airfare of $340 to go to Paris in March. Neither of these deals is hard to find; just check American Airlines's website. One could do a week in Europe in January for less than $1000 per person without resorting to staying in student accomodation or hostels.

I was watching Jeopardy tonight and saw an ad for Perillo Tours with an "amazing offer." Their constituency is, apparently, wealthy old folks. So I checked the price of their 14-day bus tour through Rome. In the shoulder season, an October departure from Albany, Perillo will charge you $9546 per couple. That doesn't include lunch or dinner.

How overpriced is this? Well, the air portion is $804 per person on travelocity. That leaves $7938 for the land portion. A cheap motorcoach tour with guide costs $40/person/day to run. Even though Italian hotels are notoriously overpriced, with the tour guides' deals, a hotel costs no more than $200/room with breakfast. That leaves $4300 of tour operator profit on a $9546 tour. Add in the kickbacks tour operators get from restaurants and souvenir shop operators, and this tour is half profit for Perillo.

In other words, for the convenience of having someone book your hotels, airport taxi, and busses, you pay $4300 more than you would pay by organizing the trip on your own. Alternatively, a tour that costs you $9546 costs the tour operator perhaps $4800.

Perhaps this is why people think that travel is prohibitively expensive. When you throw away half your money to a tour operator, traveling gets very expensive very quickly. Some "amazing offer."

Posted by adrianjo at 07:33 PM

January 17, 2006

Report on Euro 2006

NEW YORK CITY – Tiffany and I returned home from Ireland yesterday. Getting here involved about 20 hours of travel, starting at 9:30AM on Ireland’s west coast. From there, we drove the entire width of Ireland to Dublin, where we caught a flight to Heathrow and connected to New York. At the equivalent of 5:30AM Irish time, a car dropped me off back in Harlem.

It was only my second time in Europe in winter, and January proved an excellent time to visit Europe’s more popular attractions. Amsterdam’s canals had an icy shimmer, while a cold wind blew off the North Sea into the nearly-deserted Gothic city of Brugge, and Kensington Palace was absorbed in all of the formality, dampness, and grayness that must have driven Di crazy.

Ireland was still somehow green, excepting the part near Galway that reminded me of Iceland’s R