I am at Charles de Gaulle Airport, waiting for them to call my flight for boarding. The Air France lounge offers free Internet access so I am updqting my page as best as I can zith this very unfamiliar keyboard arrangement. I walked around again this morning and took yet more pictures, but I will not be able to edit or upload them until I get home, which, if all goes well, will be in about 14 hours.

More then, perhaps…au revoir for now!

Last Tango…err, Walk…in Paris

This morning, I didn’t have to get up in time to make an 8am meeting; instead, I only had to get to the airport in time for a 1:30pm flight. So I slept a little later than I’d been able to, and still had time to have breakfast away from the hotel (and save some money — breakfast at my hotel cost over $20…no wonder they had smoked salmon freely available!).

I wandered around for a few minutes, then randomly chose a bistro and had a croissant, coffee, and juice. The only glass I had was the juice glass, which was only half-full, but they also brought me a big pitcher of water. I thought, perhaps, that they’d put concentrate in the glass and were expecting me to mix it, but when I tasted the juice, it didn’t seem particularly strong. I guess that’s just going to be a mystery of French culture I won’t solve on this trip.

I didn’t have anything to read, and I was on a side street without much pedestrian traffic, so there wasn’t much to look at out the window, so I didn’t linger; I continued to wander around. And a few blocks later, I finally found some real Paris — a neighborhood with bakeries, greengrocers, and the like.

real Paris:

Up till this time, all I’d seen around my hotel was “tourist” Paris — the big department stores, some stores (like one called Paris Look) which explicitly catered to bus groups, and plenty of restaurants and entertainments. On my previous trips, my hotels had been in more residential areas, and so I’d been immersed in the real Paris; this time, I felt isolated.

I celebrated by buying an orange from the closest greengrocer and eating it while I continued walking, then had some pain au chocolat from the next baker I saw. Both were excellent. I even visited another bistro and had another expresso — while it was good, I have to admit that I would have liked to have found an American-style coffee shops and had a big cup of coffee.

And then I kept walking, and found myself at the edge of Montmartre, not far from the tour I’d taken on Sunday morning. The economy must be very good in Paris, because the restaurants all had signs like this:


and some of the prices seemed a bit high:

le joy:

10 euros for a Coke…that’s over $9. One might almost think they didn’t expect to sell much food and drink — but all of the restaurants on that street had similar signs, so I guess they must make ends meet somehow. The street was the Rue Pigalle, for what that’s worth.

Since I didn’t want anything that was on offer on Rue Pigalle, I walked back to the hotel, packed, and wheeled my luggage back to Rue Scribe to get the bus to the airport. But as I left the hotel, the tread on one of the wheels partially fell off; I was able to fix it,though, so I didn’t have to drag my suitcase half a kilometer — and it didn’t even start raining until I was at the bus shelter.

Then onto the bus to the airport and duty-free shop, then the Air France lounge for my first experience with an AZERTY keyboard, and onto the plane, where I’m typing these words. Soon, I get to experience the new SFO International terminal’s arrivals hall, see what precautions US Customs is taking about the foot and mouth epidemic (France seemed to go in for signs, but nothing else — there was a sign at the terminal advising people to walk on the specially-treated carpet, but as far as I could tell, there was no specially-treated carpet anywhere), and be driven home, where I’ll upload this entry.

Then all I’ll have to do is keep my eyes propped open until bedtime tonight. And worse yet, open them and go to work tomorrow, where I already have a few conference calls scheduled.

I’m ready for vacation…hmmm, Paris might be nice….

And now I’m home!

Boy, it’s nice to be back in familiar territory. Nobody else is here yet, but it won’t be long. I can’t wait!

Cafeteria food — oh, well….

Lunch was an interesting experience today; I had a hard time finding something I wanted to eat (not unusual when I’m eating at an IBM cafeteria, even at home!), but I thought I’d succeeded…until I cut into the meat and discovered that it was nearly raw on the inside. The only reason I’d gone to the cafeteria in the first place was to spend time with some of my colleagues, so I didn’t want to waste the little time we had by going back and trying to negotiate having the food cooked right.

But I may bail out at a break and visit a real restaurant. There isn’t really a shortage of them in Paris — or even at La Defense (which is a huge office supercomplex, much like Crystal City outside Washington, DC). I am looking forward to dinner — and even more to going home tomorrow.

I stuck with the meeting to the bitter end, then paid for it by being in the thick of rush hour on the RER — one of my co-workers couldn’t get to the door across the car in time to get off at his stop, which, to me, is a sign of a frighteningly overcrowded system, but it appears to be business as usual here.

Then I walked down to the Louvre, wandered over to the Seine, and walked along it till I approached the Marais, then back to L’As Du Falaffel for dinner (yummy, especially after lunch!). By that time, it was raining, so I took the Metro back to the hotel, and now it’s time to pack. And then to home. It’s time.

The life of an industrial spy

For the next couple of days, I’ll be spending my time at the IBM location in La Defense, two RER stops from my hotel but definitely not in tourist Paris. I’m at an IBM internal meeting; everyone here works for the CIO’s office or is an official representative from a business unit. Well, everyone but me; I introduced myself as a spy, since my group is not at the right level in the organization to be officially represented.

The good news is that I have connectivity here without having to watch the phone bill; the bad news is that I’m inside a windowless auditorium instead of outside enjoying Paris!

About 30 of us converged for dinner at
Sam Pepper, which claims to be a “New York Bistro”, and which has an interesting assortment of cuisines, including things like Pastrami Quesadillas. None of the beers on offer were French — or even European; they had three Mexican beers and Budweiser, so I had Bordeaux instead. And I ordered one of the set menus, which was all French and very tasty, especially the dessert: Fondant au Chocolate Amer. The neighborhood was very familiar — in fact, Sam Pepper is across the street from the laundromat which we used on our vacation in 1998, though we never considered eating there on that trip.

Two great things to do in Paris

Of course I mean eating and walking. If I weren’t here by myself, there would be at least one other thing to add to the list, but I am, more’s the pity — c’est la vie.

Last night, after buttoning up the computer, I realized I was slightly hungry, so I left my hotel, turned left down the Boulevard Haussmann and continued on as it turned into Boulevard Montmartre, eventually deciding to turn around just before reaching Place de la République. I spotted a creperie and got a crepe with marmalade to go, then took the Metro back to the hotel. One of the things I really enjoy about Paris is being able to take a nice walk and have a nice snack at 11pm — or even later, if I only had the energy.

This morning dawned early, and only slightly wet. The Louvre and Musee de Orsay had been closed yesterday due to a strike, and no one knew if they’d be open today (the hotel called and got no answer, but they weren’t sure if it was because of the strike, the time change, or both). I didn’t want to waste my only full free day hoping to find an open museum, so I decided to see if I could make the Paris Walks tour of Montmartre that the Mercury News had so kindly written about last Sunday. The article had omitted small details, like the time of the tour, but they gave the phone number (+33 1 48 09 21 40). The person who answered the phone didn’t bother saying “bonjour” — their clientele speaks English, and so do they. As it happened, I had about a half-hour before the tour, so I dashed to the Metro and made it to the Abbesses stop with ten minutes to spare.

Our guide, Iris, came from the Bronx and had been in Paris for about three years, with no plans to leave. She took us on a two-hour walk through Montmartre, mostly up! Unfortunately, it was cold and raining the entire time (and I’d forgotten to bring my sweater), so I wasn’t able to take as many pictures as I’d’ve liked to (those of you reading this page on a dial-up connection may be grateful).

We started by talking about the history of the district (even though there are churches in the area dating to the 12th Century, Montmartre wasn’t annexed to Paris until about 1860), then walked along Rue des Abbesses, where we stopped near the house where Van Gogh lived with his brother. I couldn’t get a picture of that house, but one of his neighbors was Toulouse Lautrec, who worked in a house about two blocks away (Lautrec’s house is the one behind the traffic light, with the “D”-shaped top window and the very large window beneath that):

lautrec house:  The house where Toulouse Lautrec worked is the one with the big picture window one floor down and the 'D' on the top floor.

We continued on our way towards Sacre-Coeur, with many stops along the way; at one, Iris told us the story behind this picture:

through walls:

The statue, at Place Marcel Aymé, is based on a story by Marcel Aymé about a mild-mannered man who discovers that he can walk through walls. Eventually, he builds a life of crime on this talent, uses it to escape from prison, finds a lover whose husband locks her in a room with no windows every night (no problem for this guy!), but then loses his power while leaving her one night.


Our tour ended at Sacre-Coeur; most of the way, we’d been by ourselves, but here we returned to Tourist Paris, loaded with postcard vendors and overpriced restaurants. The view was good, but I bet it’s spectacular on a clear day.

paris from sacre-coeur:

The Mercury News article recommended spending the rest of the day wandering around Montmartre on your own, and even suggested a few cafés to try, but I was cold and wanted to go back to the hotel.

Once there, I grabbed my sweater and set out again; after a quick lunch (how un-Parisian of me!), I joined my second Paris Walks tour of the day, this one through the Marais.

The Marais is one of the oldest sections of Paris; the name means “swamp”, but it’s been drained for centuries. And it’s the heart of Paris’s Jewish community.

synagogue de Rue Pavee:

This is the Synagogue de Rue Pavee (this was the first paved street in the Marais, hence the name). It was built in 1913 to handle the influx of Polish Jews fleeing the pogroms; after World War II, the congregation was replentished with Sephardic Jews from the former French colonies in North Africa.

by Guimard:

Hector Guimard was the architect; he is probably more famous for having been the man who designed many of the original Metro stations.

parce que nes Juifs:

During World War II, the Nazis attempted to exterminate the Jews in the territory they controlled, and the Vichy government, which controlled Paris, cooperated in that attempt. This plaque is on the wall of the Ecole des Travail, in memory of the director, staff, and students of the school, all of whom were sent to Auschwitz where they were killed.


But, though the Nazis killed six million Jews, they failed to exterminate us, and there is now a large, vibrant Jewish community in Paris. Falafel and shwarma probably weren’t common before the war, but they are now, and seeing this shop gave me a pretty good idea of what I was going to have for dinner (though I wound up eating across the street at L’As du Fallafel).


There are Kosher (err…Cacher) restaurants representing many cuisines in the area; I saw sushi, pizza, and steak, to name but three. And, of course, there’s New York style deli; this restaurant, Jo Goldenberg’s, isn’t actually Kosher, but it’s noteworthy because it was the site of a bombing in the 1980s. You can see a memorial to the victims, including newspaper articles about the bombing, on the rightmost portion of the left-hand wall, just to the left of the center of the picture.

hotel des sorbes:

There’s more to the Marais than the Jewish community, and we continued onward to look at some of the old mansions which have survived (many have had their courtyards filled in and been converted to apartments, stores, and the like). The Hotel des Sorbes (I may have misspelled that) is now part of the National Archives; it was owned by one of Louis XIV’s official mistresses.

louis xiv:

Only one statue of Louis XIV survived the French Revolution; it’s now in the Museum of the City of Paris.

Our tour ended at the Place de Vosges, a huge square dating back to Henri II (or before). I took pictures, but they don’t do it justice.

If you’re going to be in Paris, I highly recommend Paris Walks; they offer many more tours than the two I took, and I wish I could take some more on this trip.

After the tour, I visited some of the Judaica shops (I saw more Judaica in the Marais than I did on my trip to Israel last week; of course, I also spent more time touring this afternoon than I did during my entire trip to Israel) and picked up a Matzah platter (inscribed in Hebrew, of course) and had dinner. I tried to visit the Jewish Museum, but there were only 15 minutes before closing and they wouldn’t let me in, so I went back to my hotel.

Daylight Savings Time started here this morning, and it felt too early to give up and do e-mail, so I decided to do one traditional tourist thing and visit the Eiffel Tower.

The last time I was here, the front of the tower was adorned with a giant countdown to the year 2000; fortunately, that particular problem is behind us, and I was curious to see what the tower looked like without the timer, so I took the Metro to the Trocadero to take advantage of the view of the tower from across the Seine:

eiffel tower:

But some unsung genius, probably in the city government, decided that the Eiffel Tower wasn’t beautiful enough as it was. So they affixed a bunch of strobe lights which started flashing on and off in random patterns shortly before 8pm, like this:

eiffel tower with sparkles:

No one asked me, but I don’t think the tower needed improving — and they didn’t succeed, either.

I didn’t come to Paris to play tourist; I’m here for two days of internal IBM meetings out at La Defense. I’d like to blow them off and tour some more, but I’d probably be found out (hi, boss!), but I hope to do a little sightseeing in the evenings after the meetings end. If I can stay awake, that is — we’re starting awfully early, and I have a feeling the room is going to be hot, stuffy, and full. At least it’ll be a non-smoking hot, stuffy, and full room.

Though I have to admit, I’ve been pleasantly surprised by how well Parisians honor no-smoking signs. Why, I haven’t seen anyone smoking within nearly a foot of any of the signs I’ve seen!

And on that note, it’s time for bed…or maybe to go out for a snack. It’s only 11pm, so the evening’s still young!

Paris in the rain

paris in the the spring:

When I was a kid, our elementary school library had a book of puzzles, one of which is pictured above. The book claimed that if you look quickly at the picture, you’ll read it as “Paris in the spring” — if you did, take a closer look (and let me know that it worked!).

Well, it’s spring, and I’m in Paris — but the weather is not the stuff of legend — or maybe it is, but not the kind of legend I like telling.

My flight to Charles de Gaulle airport left late and arrived late (like almost every flight I take these days, now that I think of it), but was basically pleasant — even though we were only in the air for 40 minutes, they managed to feed us our choice of sandwiches, unlike US airlines, which have given up on food for flights of under 2 hours or flights which don’t take off or land when they think people should be hungry. The delay was due to weather, which should have made me think — but it didn’t, so I decided to save the company some money and take the RoissyBus into town (48 francs, about $7, instead of 250-300 francs for a taxi); I knew my hotel was only a few hundred meters from the end of the bus ride and I didn’t expect to have any trouble finding it.

And finding the hotel was easy, and it was only a ten-minute walk — but by the time I got there, I was drenched, because a weather system caught up with us, and it was pouring down rain. I managed to register (it’s not easy when you can’t read the form because your glasses are wet, and when you drip all over the form when you try to sign it) and went up to the room to dry off. A few minutes later, I felt far better, and the rain had stopped, so I went out to look around and have a bite of lunch (the sandwich on the plane wasn’t very filling, but it was better than peanuts). I also splurged and spent 35 francs ($5) on an umbrella, since the day was rather gloomy.

It was late enough in the day by this point that I didn’t think it was worth going to any museums, but I definitely wanted to be out rather than spending the afternoon in my hotel room, so I decided to do a favor for a friend and take a picture of the hotel he’ll be staying at in June, the Hotel de Trois Colleges near the Pantheon. Actually, I took six pictures, but I won’t post any of them here — but I did take a picture of the Pantheon as long as I was in the neighborhood.


Ever since my first trip to Paris, a few years ago, I’ve liked wandering around the city — it’s just a wonderful city to walk through. Everywhere you turn, there’s another typically Parisian scene, like this one on the Rue Lagrange (in the 6th, just a few blocks from Notre Dame).

rue lagrange:

By this time, it was drizzling again — which seems to have been very typical this year. The Seine is very wide and high (not to mention brown and fast-flowing); it’s so full, in fact, that there’s no sidewalk by the sightseeing boats.

sunken sidewalk:

And at other places, you can see that the river has taken out the paths which are normally a pleasant place to walk.

flooded seine:

Buildings near the river’s edge are in trouble, too.

flooded seine 2:

I wanted to visit the Musee de la Deportation, which commemorates the Jews (and others) who were sent from France to concentration camps, mostly to be killed by the Nazis. The museum is just across the street from Notre Dame, descending from street level down to river level, but the flooding meant that it was off limits.

musee de la deportation:

By this time, I was just across from Ile St. Louis, which houses one of the best ice cream makers in the world, Bertillion; I wanted to eat before having my ice cream, so I set off in search of a restaurant (not a difficult task in Paris!). I intended to follow Tim Bray’s rule — find a busy restaurant on a busy corner and the odds are with you — but I didn’t see anything I wanted to eat at the first few places, so I kept walking. And then the rain started. My umbrella kept me dry, or so I thought — but then the wind blew my pants up against my legs and I realized that I was soaked from the knees down. So I dashed into the next restaurant I saw and got the last table in the place.

The food was good, and they happened to sell Bertillion ice cream and sorbet, so I was happy and well-filled by the time the rain diminished enough to leave. I walked to the nearest Metro station and hopped a train towards my hotel. But I got off a stop too early and wandered around some more, first through Galleries Lafayette (entering that store 15 minutes before closing is a frustrating experience, but I guess it saved me money!), and then somewhat randomly around the area. In the process, I found an area with many kosher restaurants, but, of course, they were closed because it was still Shabbat. After a while, though, I decided I was ready to go back to the hotel and take off my wet clothes, so I took out my GPS and discovered that it’s very hard to see view of enough of the sky in Paris to get a position — but eventually, I figured out what direction I had to go in to find my hotel, and here I am.

I haven’t had the courage to check the weather forecast for tomorrow. Whatever it is, I’ll be out in it!


On Thursday, I wrote about how Israelis didn’t seem to be letting the “situation” affect their lives too much and wondered how that reaction compared to what foot-and-mouth was doing to the English. I’d have to say that foot-and-mouth is having a much more significant effect — for example, the road into IBM had straw on it — straw with antibiotics, to kill any germs that might be on tires on cars driving in and out of the property (IBM Hursley is in a rural area). And there was a scare a week ago, where it looked as though foot-and-mouth had been detected nearby; if that had happened, no one would have been allowed in or out of the area, and IBM Hursley might have had to close down for a while.

There were also ads in the newspaper and on the radio telling people that the countryside was not completely closed for visiting, and giving a phone number to call for details — but many activities have been cancelled.

At the airport, every shop selling food had a sign informing customers that it was now illegal to take milk, meat, milk products, or meat products out of the country (even to eat on one’s flight), and that some countries (including the US) were banning the import of British milk chocolate.

In France, there were a few signs asking people who’d been on a farm to report to Customs to have their shoes disinfected and to stay off of farms in France, but there wasn’t any strong effort made to check, or even to make sure that incoming passengers read the signs — certainly, the person who glanced at my passport didn’t say anything to me (literally! Nor did he stamp my passport, but that’s fine; I already have a French stamp and I’m running out of room anyway), and I doubt I was alone in being ignored.

But when I looked at the 8pm French news, I could tell that foot-and-mouth was the lead story here, too. I just couldn’t tell if they were talking about the outbreak in England or cases on the Continent.

[23 March] 2001: A Motorway Odyssey

Today, I had to visit IBM Hursley to meet the conference director and my co-chair for the 2001 WebAhead conference (8-12 October in Hursley — IBMers only, sorry) and do some serious preliminary planning; phone calls and e-mail are wonderful tools, but somnetimes there’s no substitute for being in the same room, looking at the same whiteboard, and being able to interrupt in real time.

Chris and Simon had Real Work to do in the morning (or at least other meetings to attend), and I could be productive using the high-speed connection at the hotel, so we agreed that I’d plan to arrive in Hursley about noon, just in time for lunch. I left just before 11, and if I hadn’t turned the wrong way when I left the motorway, I would have been early — as it was, I could still claim to be “on time” by airline reporting standards.

The Hursley cafeteria is not terribly outstanding, so we gave it a miss and had lunch at a local pub (The Kings Head, which the 2001 Good Pub Guide rates as a “Lucky Dip”). Since I’m an American, I contented myself with a half-pint to accompany my food; Chris and Simon upheld the national honour with a pint each.

Then we went back to the lab, had a quick meeting with the Assistant Lab Director and an even quicker one with the new Lab Director, and spent a long afternoon making plans and drawing up schedules and rough agendas. At the end of the day, we had made great progress; I guess having done this conference three times already helps.

Then I got back onto the motorway to go back to the hotel, zipping right along. Until I got just past Junction 4, where traffic stopped. Completely. With no hope of escape. Every so often, I’d be able to creep ahead a few feet — and since I was driving a stick, that meant having to clutch and shift, then go back to neutral to wait again. And the car had a stiff clutch, too.

Radio traffic reports said that things weren’t going to get any better in the six or so miles before I reached the M25. Luckily, just before I left the hotel, I remembered I had brought a UK Road Atlas with me, and I went back to the room to get it, “just in case.” So I figured out an alternate route, eased over to the left lane (British drivers are far more cooperative than Israelis!), and, a mere twenty minutes and one mile later, I was off the motorway.

From there, it was relatively clear sailing, and I pulled in to the Hertz lot only an hour-and-a-half later than I should have (not so good for a one hour trip). In theory, I should have taken the Hertz bus to the terminal and then caught a Hotel Hoppa back to my hotel, but I was in a hurry, so I persuaded the Hertz driver to drop me at the exit from Heathrow to the A4 (Bath Road) and I walked the 0.8 miles back to the hotel.

Boy, is this place expensive!

The Marriott is a nice enough hotel, and their base rate isn’t insane (at least not at the IBM rate), but the incidentals here can kill you. My rate doesn’t include breakfast, but the hotel’s happy to supply the continental breakfast buffet for 12 pounds (plus tax and tip). Internet access is 12 pounds a night (again, plus tax) — that’s about double the going rate in the US (or Israel, for that matter), but it’s far cheaper than trying to connect by phone (about a buck a minute!). And laundry is obscenely expensive — it shouldn’t cost more to wash something than it cost to buy it!

Passing bad currency

The UK has this nasty habit of taking coins and bills out of circulation from time to time. When they do this, you have to bring your old money to a bank to exchange it for the new model — and that can be a real pain for an occasional visitor like me.

And apparently they’ve just taken some old 20-pound notes out of circulation — including the one I still had from last October. I tried to visit the bank branch at IBM to exchange it, but I was too late; fortunately, the cashier at Tesco’s was either nice or not too observant and accepted my bill. I’m sure Tesco’s will be able to exchange it for new money with no problem, too.

Tomorrow, it’s off to Paris. I intend to be sure not to bring any francs home with me, because I know they’ll be no good before my next trip!


Last night, I was up fairly late doing work (I wanted to take advantage of the overlap with the US business day), but finally was ready to go to bed just after midnight. I had had the TV on for background noise, and was flipping through the channels aimlessly before turning it off, but the program on Channel One caught my eye and I took my finger off the remote control.

What they were showing on screen was a passage from the Torah (probably from this week’s parasha, though I couldn’t tell), with a yod pointing to the words as they were being read, almost as if it were being done during services (almost — there were illustrations on the scroll, which is not the case with a real Torah).

After that, they went to a still shot of the words (in Hebrew, of course) “Lilah Tov m’Yerushaleim” (Good Night from Jerusalem), and I realized that they were about to sign off for the night. I was ready to turn off the set, but before I could, the screen changed again, showing an Israeli flag waving, with the Israeli National Anthem, Hatikvah, playing, and the words scrolling up the screen.

Much to my surprise, I found myself singing along, with tears forming in my eyes — and that’s something that never happens when I hear The Star-Spangled Banner.

I’d had much the same reaction two years ago when our tour group stopped at Herzl’s grave and we sang Hatikvah together (it was the first time I’d sung it since finishing Hebrew school, many years ago — they made us sing it there during every class, and once I learned to sing it well enough to get by, it bored me). I thought it was largely due to the intense environment — we’d just come from Yad Vashem (the Holocaust Museum), and we’d spent a couple of weeks touring Israel in a very Jewish environment, so I was clearly primed to react, and I thought no more about it.

But this time, it was just me, alone in my room on a business trip — hell, I’d just turned off my laptop after dealing with a day’s worth of e-mail, so I definitely shouldn’t have been affected.

But I was. Somehow, without noticing it, I’d turned into an ardent Zionist, and I felt truly at home, involved, and committed. Not committed to the extent that I have any plans to make aliyah (Diane will probably be relieved to know that!), but I certainly feel more than casually invested in what goes on in Israel, and I’m very interested in spending more time in Israel and visiting more frequently than I’ve done in the past — and that doesn’t just mean arranging more short business trips like this one (though I do think IBM has gotten significant value on my trips so far).

Watching TV can be dangerous.

Thinking about safety

When I originally planned this trip, it had three purposes. First, I was going to speak at the official opening of the Israel Office of the World-Wide Web Consortium. Second, I needed to meet with the team in Hursley, England, who will be hosting our internal WebAhead conference this fall (I’m the co-founder and permanent co-chair, but all the hard work gets done by the folks in Hursley — I just fly in, talk a lot, and visit pubs in the evening (that’s why we picked England for the conference in the first place: the beer is better there than at home)). And the third reason was to attend an internal meeting in Paris, where the people in the CIO’s office will be planning how IBM’s computing environment will evolve over the next year or so (my role there is simple; I’m a spy). Because the dates of the events in Paris and Israel were set by others, I found myself with a few spare days, and I decided to spend two of them at IBM Haifa and the weekend between events playing tourist in Paris.

Two weeks before I was to leave, terrorists set off a bomb in Netanya (between Haifa and Tel Aviv, on the coast, well inside the original boundaries of the State of Israel). And the W3C folks thought it might be better to postpone the grand opening for a few months. And I nearly cancelled my trip — or at least the Israel part of it — but after talking with my hosts in Haifa, I decided that they’d put together an interesting agenda, and that I wanted to come if it was at all possible.

So I kept a close eye on the news (mostly the Jerusalem Post, but also other Israeli English-language Web pages and the BBC). And I kept talking with people who were well-connected to Israel, like the Rabbi and her husband (who’s a physicist and makes frequent visits to his colleagues in Israel). And made sure my manager was still willing to send me. And, of course, I stayed in touch with my hosts in Haifa — I was using instant messaging with them right up until the car service came to pick me up at home last Sunday. Everyone said that I should be OK, and Diane didn’t seem too worried, so off I went…nervously.

Then I landed at Ben-Gurion Airport, and I noticed that all of the Israelis I talked with were proceeding with life as usual. Sure, there were incidents reported in the paper and on the news — and the “situation” (as everyone calls it) was always the lead story — but for the most part, it seemed to have much less effect on the people I was with than the energy situation in California has had on my family (and so far, we haven’t been hit with a blackout). People were shopping, taking buses, going to work, planning vacations…business as usual. And pretty soon, the situation receeded in my mind, too.

I don’t want to make light of the danger — it’s quite real, and eventually, the Israelis and Palestinians have to figure out how to live in close proximity. They may never be friends, but they either have to figure out how to live together or plan to continue dying together.

But while I was there, I didn’t feel that terrorists were a significant danger. Israeli drivers, on the other hand, scared me every time I went outside — and especially when I was on the road (this trip, I chose not to rent a car, so I didn’t even have the illusion of control). The most popular bumper sticker in Israel isn’t political — it’s a small sticker on the back of about half the cars which reads “Sh’mor Mirchak” (keep your distance). It doesn’t work, of course — and there are far more deaths in Israel from traffic accidents than from terrorism.

At the airport today, I had to go through Israeli security. I arrived in plenty of time, and even had a letter from IBM Haifa confirming that I’d been specifically invited to meet visit them so that I could show it to the agent. Clearing security only took about five minutes, including opening my bags to verify that everything in there was mine (I had left them in a semi-public area today, so I couldn’t say that they’d been under my control the whole time), and I didn’t even have to use my letter. I suspect having other Israeli stamps in my passport helps; flying Business Class probably didn’t make the quiz any less thorough (I wish I knew why they asked whether I have any family in Israel), but it did mean I didn’t have to wait in a very long line for my turn.

And now I’m on my way to England, where foot-and-mouth disease is the big story, and supposedly the entire country is depressed by it. I wonder if that’s exaggerated, too.

Five minutes to play tourist

One advantage of clearing security so quickly was not having to rush to make the plane; instead, I walked back outside to enjoy the good weather for a few minutes. I even had time enough to cross the street and look at the Dali Menorah outside Arrivals:

Dali Menorah

While I was taking my pictures, some other Americans walked up, and we started talking — they were just arriving to start a ten-day tour (since they were planning to spend time in Tiberias and mentioned the Sea of Galilee as a special place, I doubt they were with their synagogue) and were worried about terrorism. I told them that I’d felt safe on that score while I was there — but to watch out for the drivers. Perhaps I would have been more effective at setting their minds at ease without making that last remark!

And here I am at the lovely Heathrow Marriott

I upheld my tradition of getting lost on my way here, but this time I recovered within only a couple of minutes (I think the Hertz person gave me bad directions) and had hardly any trouble thereafter. I may have to switch to automatic cars, though; I’m way out of practice on shifting and clutching.

Tomorrow, it’s off to Hursley. But for now, time to face a day’s worth of e-mail. Oh, boy!

Haifa Sights

I still haven’t had any time to do any real sight-seeing (and probably won’t; I thought tomorrow would be more or less free, but I now have meetings until the time I have to leave for the airport. sigh), but I did manage to take a couple of pictures.

The area I’m in is fairly near the harbor, and there are quite a few bars around — some of them have signs saying “US Navy Pub”, and my colleagues here advised avoiding them! I don’t actually have any problems avoiding bars in general (British pubs are an exception), so that was no hardship, but I did find the name of one bar here slightly interesting:

Bear Pub: For Cokie

Other than the businesses which cater to sailors (there’s even a USO here), this is not a particularly touristy area; most of the shops have signs in Hebrew only. Last night, I had dinner at a Chinese restaurant — unfortunately, it wasn’t a Kosher Chinese restaurant (I know they exist, but I haven’t found one yet). But the chicken was just fine anyway.

The view from my room is very nice, including the Bahai headquarters:

Bahai complex from my room:

I’ve just been told that they will be having a grand opening on May 22nd to show off the gardens, but I think I’ll have to miss it.

Last night was not a good one from the jet lag standpoint; I woke up at 4:15am and couldn’t get back to sleep. So if my writing appears incoherent, there’s a good reason! More later, perhaps….

Mongolian Barbecue is Different Here

After a very full day at IBM, two of my colleagues and I went to dinner at the Mongolia restaurant, about five minutes from my hotel. At home, Diane Reese introduced us to Su’s Mongolian BBQ, and now we go there several times a month. We like it because it’s fresh, fast, fun, and cheap — although the choices are somewhat limited (four meats, six vegetables, and a dozen sauces), that still gives more combinations than I’ll ever have a chance to try. And so, I had a mental model of what to expect at a Mongolian Barbecue place.

My model got jolted as soon as I saw the interior of the restaurant. Su’s is very plain — they’ve taken a huge step lately by putting up a few science-fictiony paintings; before that, the most interesting thing on their walls was the poster with the minimum wage notice. Mongolia is definitely not plain — it looked like a typical “yuppie” restaurant, with nice wrought iron on the walls, nice chairs, and lots of wood.

We sat down, and I got my next surprise — like Su’s, you pay one price for all you can eat, but unlike Su’s, it’s not all self-service. First, they brought out an assortment of fancy appetizers including ostrich liver and chicken sate, and even more surprisingly, bread (something I don’t think I’ve ever seen in a Chinese restaurant in the US). Everything was tasty (though I chose to skip the ostrich liver — I’ve never met a liver I liked yet), and then we were ready to go cook.

Again, Mongolia far outdid Su’s — instead of four meats and six vegetables, there were a dozen of each, and many, many sauces (plus fresh herbs). Fortunately, everything was labelled in English as well as in Hebrew, but there were still things I couldn’t recognize (what kind of herb is “aspodhel”?). But I didn’t need to try everything — nor did I want to — I just wanted a tasty meal, and I was pretty sure I could manage to create one.

At a Mongolian barbecue, you control what goes into your food (though trained professionals actually cook it), and so selection is critical. Just like Su’s, Mongolia provided some suggested recipes; unlike Su’s, they were printed in Hebrew. And the font was quite different — at home, I often see posters in English printed in a Hebrew-looking font; here, they printed Hebrew in a Chinese-looking font (I wish I had brought my camera!), not exactly designed for the non-native.

I could have asked my colleagues to help me follow the printed suggestions (in fact, they offered to do so), but what fun would that have been?

Instead, I decided to adlib. I stuck with what I knew for the first bowl (chicken as the meat, and spices and sauces which seemed familiar), and I quite enjoyed it (though I probably went a little heavy on the peanut sauce). I experimented more on the second bowl (turkey as the meat), and it wasn’t as successful — the sauce I concocted went better with the vegetables than with the meat, so I was a good boy and just ate my vegetables.

And then it was time to pay the bill, and I discovered the last big difference between Mongolia and Su’s. Su’s is inexpensive: $8 for all you can stand (if you’re a big eater, it can be quite a bargain). But in Israel, Chinese food is one of the fancier options, and Mongolia was no exception; my share of the bill came to a bit over 100 shekels (about $25), the most expensive meal I’d had in Haifa. But it was a nice change of pace, and I enjoyed the company at dinner (and I think they liked the food, too, though they did stick pretty closely to the suggestions).

I wonder if I can find a decent Mongolian barbecue restaurant in Paris this weekend?

Three movies later….

Shalom from Haifa!

I’ve had a full day at IBM, and a friend is about to arrive to take me back to the hotel, so I won’t have time to write much — and connecting up from the hotel has been problematical so far, so I make no promises about later on.

Besides, if you want to know the truth, I’d rather be out in the city than sitting in my hotel room writing about it.

By the way, the three movies I watched on the flight from New York to Tel Aviv were Best in Show, which I really enjoyed and wouldn’t mind seeing again; Charlie’s Angels, which was better than I expected, but rather mindless (actually, that’s a good combination for a movie one’s going to watch on a long transatlantic flight!); and Almost Famous, which I’m afraid I had a hard time concentrating on, since I was watching it during the last two hours before arrival, and I’m sure that most of my brain cells weren’t active by then. I’d like to see it while I’m awake sometime.

Waiting for my ride to the airport

While I’m waiting for the car service to show up to take me to SFO so I can fly to Haifa (and then on to Hursley and Paris), a few timely or amusing links:

More later from some airport, perhaps….

A preview of the next recession

Much to my surprise, checking in for the flight to Tel Aviv was as quick as checking in for any other international flight — the other times I’ve flown to Israel, I’ve had to hand-carry our checked luggage to the super X-Ray machine before they’d take it — but in both cases, I was changing airlines in London from American to British. This time, the trip is all on TWA, and I guess they handle Tel Aviv luggage often enough that they know how to do it without making me do the schlepping.

Since I had plenty of time to kill before my flight, I decided to circumnavigate the airport and look at the art exhibits. SFO runs a very active museum program, and the exhibits are often very interesting; today, I enjoyed the exhibit of police headgear through the years and around the world and the exhibit of strange collectibles (swizzle sticks, Elvis memorabilia, anything with “Bluebird” on it, to name but three) and interviews with the collectors. Unfortunately, they were in the process of changing over a couple of the exhibits, but it was definitely better than sitting around for an extra hour.

My route took me through the Central Terminal, which was the International Terminal until late last year. Now, it looks like this:

Is this what a recession looks like?: (Actually, it's the old SFO International Terminal, now deserted in favor of the new SFO International Terminal)

I hope it’s not a preview of things to come if we slip into recession — my driver was telling me that the car service’s business has definitely fallen off in the past few months.

Now, onward to JFK and TLV!