Thinking Moto

I’ve long appreciated the value of thinking, even in the most bizarre of places i.e. anywhere where you can’t get, or are not allowed, to access the internet. I read the following article in the Economist recently and I have to say that I agree wholeheartedly with what it says. I was reminded of it as I flew into Paris this morning from Zurich. As I climbed onto the back of my motorbike taxi I quickly drifted into the wonderful land of thought. It was bliss. Emails or corridor conversations couldn’t distract me, and I finally managed to think my way through the next big piece of work I need to complete sooner rather than later (how to increase a company’s sales by weaving analytics into marketing, sales and operations departments of a company simultaneously). Whilst I personally was physically motionless as the motorbike weaved its way from the airport to the police station (to pick up my estranged wallet that had been found 3 months after an unplanned parting of ways), on arrival I was struck by how much I’d actually managed to do. The even better news is that I’m now on the flight (the fourth in three days) that will take me home for the next 10 days – that block of time should allow me to put down on paper some of the thinking I managed to do this morning.

Zero Dark Thirty Six

Home. Everyone in bed. Car unpacked. Time for bed....

3 hours 4 minutes

Stop-over in Zaragoza complete with ice-cream for everyone done. Kids all wrapped up in their makeshift car-beds. Final leg of the journey started. Mental note: must come back here, preferably for a romantic weekend for two rather than with the full tribe. It really does look to be a super place even if the choc-mint ice cream was a disappointment. Off to sleep now before my turn to drive.

4 hours 22 minutes

Did you know that plastic sharks only come out of hiding to nibble the toes of small children when there is no noise in the car? I only found that out tonight but I was very happy to have discovered this critical piece of information…

4 hours 43 minutes

In an effort to help pass the time during the car journey home, we decided to create a list of things that we’d like for our next family holiday…

• A Pool with a big slide (Maxime)
• Five slides (Maxime)
• A Pool with waterpark (Sandie)…(bit of a theme here)
• Errrrrmmmmmmm (Gaston)
•  Little friends that don’t cry (Maxime)
• A reliable internet connection (Papa)
• Flexible dates – doesn’t have to be Saturday to Saturday (Sandie)
• A duration of about 8-9 days (Sandie)
• A kids mini club where we can leave the kids for a few hours (Sandie)
• A slight preference to be able to go in our car (Sandie)
• An ability to do sport (running, cycling, swimming) (Papa)
• Parky (Capucine)
• Parky (Capucine)Parky (Capcuine)
• Bah, Parky (Capcuine)
• Toan Faumont (Capucine)
• Parky (Capcuine) I gave up with her at this point...
• Trees and a forest (Maxime)...Because he wants to see leaves and animals apparently
• A playground (Sandie)
• Ice cream (Gaston)
• Good friends (Papa)
• An apartment is good (Sandie)
• Errrrrmmmmmmm (Gaston)
• Numerous "Little Swimmers" nappies (Papa)…to avoid awkward situations in swimming pools
• A pushchair (Sandie)…for when little munchkins are a little tired
• A location that has interesting places to visit nearby (Papa)
• Logistics that include leaving very early in the morning and departing late at night (Papa)

5 hours 6 minutes

We’re in the car on the way home from Catalonia. The GPS tells us there is another 5 hours and 6 minutes to go. A planned stop in Zaragoza (and no doubt a handful of other unplanned stops) will mean that we should be home in Biarritz around midnight. The good news is that Gaston has overcome his shoe fetish and is thankfully wearing his own shoes today (we lost count of the number of times we caught him poolside wearing the flip flops of complete strangers); Maxime is feeling fairly philosophical about the loss of one of the five sharks (he suggested that he could go and look for it if we ever go back); and Capucine has her new soft toy with her – a white hand shaped figure called “Parky”. The only worrying thing is that after having stayed in the “Cambrils Park Resort” for the last 9 days, Sandie has only just realized why the site’s mascot is called “Parky”…. Overall the holiday was a success, and the weather was excellent apart from a few hours of rain and two half days of clouds. It was the first time we’ve holidayed with friends, and that worked out really well (thankfully they felt the same, or at least they were too polite to say otherwise). The resort’s pool replete with elephants and pirate boats featured heavily, as did the kids club and the “midday mini disco” which always had a special guest appearance from the famed Parky. We also found it extremely convenient to have our own car with us – this permitted us a certain degree of freedom in terms of exploring the surrounding towns. The food was pretty good but the quality of Spanish desserts only served to remind me and my sweet tooth at how spoiled we are living in France. The only thing that’s left now is to try and hammer the various photos and videos into a little YouTube video which will have the obvious advantage of giving the kids the opportunity to re-live Parky dancing like a drunken uncle every night before bed for the next 6 months…

Sharking Around

Using certain breeds of dog to control sheep is well known, as is using horses to herd cattle. However what I learned yesterday was that three euro packs of plastic sharks seem to have the same magic hold over four year old boys.

It was supposedly meant to rain all day yesterday so in the morning we went into the local tourist trap that is Cambrils. The previous late night’s revival of Cold War hostilities with the little Russian was taking its toll, and Maxime was particularly tired and cranky. Every toy he saw he wanted and no amount of impeccable logic of, “let’s look around before making any form of investment”, was met with anything other than cries of anguish and disgust. Just before we left he was told in no uncertain terms by his mother that his behavior did not warrant any toy of any sort. In the very same breath she thrust a five euro note into my hand and whispered to me to quietly peel off the back of the ground and go off and buy the pack of five sharks. The possibility of sharks in the future was essential to getting Maxime into bed for his afternoon siesta. However Clever Dick had realized that there were only two packs left in the shop, so reassuring him about this not being an issue required some deeper economic theory as I sought not to give the game away (supply and demand, purchasing decisions and economies of scale etc.). I think I succeeded into boring him to sleep.

Thankfully the siesta did the trick and he was back to his well-behaved self for the rest of the day and for our trip into the very interesting town of Tarragone. I was most taken by the town and although we were there for the Sant Magi festival, we failed to see the building of the famous human tower. Maxime was indeed on top form and the potential delivery of a family of plastic sharks if children were well behaved even enabled us to install him as “behavior policeman” for everyone in the car on the way back to the resort. Genius by anyone’s standards.

As we tucked Maxime up into bed that night I told him that we had been very happy with the improvement in his behavior over the course of the day. He stated that the only reason he was cranky in the morning was that we had prevented him from having a lie in till midday. Clearly a son of his mother. I then asked him what he would choose as a reward for his improved behavior. Thankfully he answered “the sharks”, and his eyes lit up when I pulled out the packet of aquatic predators, although it did take him a full 15 seconds to realize they were only five centimeters away from his head – in the intervening moments he had been distracted by the sultry Spanish girl doing the weather forecast on the TV in the background. Clearly a son of his father. The “Thank you Dad” would have melted even the hardest of Soviet hearts, and who knows, maybe 36 hours later he’ll even be brave enough to open the pack and release the poor beasts…

Shooting in the rain

Things continue to go well on holiday and even the misplaced shoe and cap turned up. It was another hot day filled with pirate ships and ice cream. We had an enjoyable dinner at our friends house before a wise old godfather decided to give the kids a few small presents which included a couple of water pistols. Apart from the irony of only British people thinking it a good idea to give kids water pistols just as it started to rain, it was clear that this handing out of arms signaled the end of what had been a calm and civilized evening. Mad Max and Two-Gun Tommy proceeded to cause havoc in the children’s play area and many a young girl was held hostage. Their behaviour also led to a potential deterioration in East West relations. As we were playing an unarmed little Russian boy came over. The lack of any water pistol for him didn’t prevent him from having an evil look of death in his eyes. And he was clearly quite prepared to enter into hand to hand combat, which included a nasty little rabbit punch to my broken ribs. Thankfully I felt that the bonhomie was somewhat restored as he writhed about on the ground after a bout of intense tickling. However at one stage, and completely unannounced, the baby faced assassin and his father disappeared. I was somewhat relieved if the truth be told. However my heart sank when I saw them both return, the young boy holding the water pistol equivalent of an AK47 rifle... I proceeded to run for my life while father and son both laughed. Only when I was soaked through did Maxime think it was a good idea to start protecting me, and that was only after the Russian duo had slunk off home, no doubt to piece together some sort of water bomb land mine for me tomorrow...

Le Bon Plan – The Children of Others

We’re just starting our second full day of holiday here in Catalonia in Spain. The car journey passed off without incident and we’ve all been pleasantly surprised by the clean, well-organized and brand new resort. Yesterday all of our friends and their children arrived as well. Our kids have been very well behaved and have slept well in the evenings. Maxime even thinks that unloading the clean dishwasher is a treat. With one shoe and a cap already missing I wouldn’t say that we’ve got this kids holiday thing licked, and I’m pretty sure that at some stage they’ll have to get bored with the elephant slide pool, but so far so good.

On reflection I think the art of surprise is playing a critical role in our initial success. It was a happy surprise for the kids to have their favourite baby-sitter with us on holiday. 15 year old Abby from the riding stables is a guaranteed hit both with the kids and the parents. So when she agreed to take advantage of the spare place in the car which would also give her a week in the sun, there was a smile on everyone’s face. If our toddlers turn into teenagers like her, then we’ll definitely have done something right. Similarly the arrival of new adults and children yesterday also served to put the kids on best behavior, although it only took 2 year old Capucine one look at blonde haired and blue eyed Tom before she forcefully invited him to visit her room. (I personally was fine with this so long as they kept the door open). More generally it does seem to be the case that kids are always better behaved with adults other than their own parents. It almost made me think it’s worth starting a business where during those difficult toddler and teenage years, you can go on holiday with someone else’s children. However even the most cursory of research on the subject threw up quite a few legal and ethical challenges… So for the minute, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the elephants work their magic for another 8 days. 

Real and Efficient Holidays

We are setting off for our summer holiday in Spain tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn. When I asked Sandie this evening if she’d had a good day, she said it had been a “liaison day” between two different parts of the holiday. I thought that this did it a serious disservice… I don’t think I’ve ever had a more efficient holiday ever – gardener at 8AM, carpenter at 9AM, sound system installer at 10AM, electrician at 11AM, and then lunch at the parents-in-law at 12.30PM before another set of workmen arrived at 4.30PM (no small feat given that this is France and the height of summer!). I even managed to get a bike ride and a bit of Karchering of a patio in. Is it wrong to organize one’s holiday like this? The good news is that if yes, then tomorrow signals the start of a more traditional “real” summer holiday. We’re off to some sort of resort just south of Barcelona for a water-filled and culture-free child fest. Thankfully we’re going to be there with a number of good friends so we might even be able to get a sensible conversation or two in over the course of the 10 days we’re there.

Genius and Technical Wizardry

My brothers were recently in Biarritz – the first time we were all together since 2009. I very much look forward to seeing them for obvious reasons. There is one less obvious reason why their presence is more than welcome – they are both Gods of Gadgets and all things electrical. I have a rather pronounced deficiency in this field and I regularly find myself saying, “it’s OK, the boys will be here in 8, 12, ‘n’ months, I can live with not being able to use gadget X or remote control Y until they come”. This time my main focus was my new sound system in the house which spans the living room, bathroom, patio and bedroom. Shortly after arrival, I whisked them up to house to explain my three problems. Kieran kindly explained to me in a way that I think even Gaston might have understood, that one of the problems really was an end user issue. However the other two stumbling blocks seemed to perplex them somewhat – it just didn’t make sense, and unfortunately I couldn’t enlighten them with an electrics plan. I was sort of surprised, disappointed and bizarrely even a little bit proud that I’d managed to find a gadget related problem they couldn’t solve within a few minutes. We trundled back to Mum and Dad’s with Kieran saying the whole thing didn’t make sense and pondering over the fact that there was an odd wire poking out from my brand new installation. With my sound system still not working in two of the four locations I resolved to ring the shop and ask them to come when Kieran and Christian were still on holiday. As soon as I rang the shop and introduced myself, my friendly Gallic sound system salesman Jean-Claude said breezily, “I was wondering when you were going to call, we’ve got your additional amplifiers in the shop, when do you want us to come and install them...”. I won’t write exactly what the gadget brothers said to me, but safe to say that this all happened just before I decided to “take an alternative route by the sea” on a recent cycling trip on the way back from San Sebastian…

Life in the old dog yet

Two broken ribs have prevented me from riding horses but not the bike. This has given this year’s summer holiday something of a different complexion compared to the recent past. Not only have I had the time to sort out paintings, light fittings and other accessories for the patio at home, I’ve also been out on my bike almost every day over the course of the last week. As well as losing a few extra pounds, this has also meant that I’m completely up to date with the audio editions of the Economist and various podcasts. More revealing however is what happened on Thursday when I stumbled across a young cyclist who overtook me. I had previously thought I was quietly sliding into middle age quite nicely (save the odd broken bone). But as this young whippersnapper passed me, some remnants of my youthful competitiveness came to the fore, and I decided that I wasn’t going to be shown a clean pair of heels by the little upstart. I jumped up out of the saddle, gritted my teeth with the pain of the ribs, and went off to hunt him down. As I caught up I was questioning the wisdom of having every Garmin gadget under the sun because I could now clearly see that my heart rate was about 627% of its maximum for a man of my distinguished age. Thankfully after a few minutes things settled down, my lungs filled with oxygen, and we (he) got talking. He was 17 and from Paris and he was in Biarritz on holiday. He trained about four times a week including a race on Sundays. Given all of that I was very pleased to have been able to stay with him for the last half an hour of the ride or so as we flew along at almost 40 km per hour – there’s life in the old dog yet it seems.

Yesterday’s ride however was quite different and arguably even more fun. I had masterfully managed to convince everyone to combine a day trip with the wives and kids in San Sebastian with an opportunity to ride with my brother. The plan was simple – we’d set off late morning on the bikes, and the fairer members of our respective families would leave slightly later in the car, and we’d all meet on the beach front in San Sebastian for a tapas lunch before riding/driving back. What could possibly go wrong? 

Er quite a lot it seems, although I think our downfall was assured early on when I only thought about route planning as an afterthought, roughly ten minutes before rolling out. When I did finally decide to shove an automobile map into my back pocket, it didn’t take me long to realize that this type of map was of limited use. It wasn’t just that any of the cycle routes weren’t on the map, it was more a case of it being was abundantly clear to us both that we shouldn’t really be riding alongside 10 ton trucks on a motorway on the way into San Sebastian. Thankfully the Spanish are bike crazy so the drivers were, in the main, respectful of the unusual presence of two rare MAMILs (middle aged men in Lycra) who were clearly some distance from their natural habitats. When we finally did get into the city centre (Spanish motorway architects really weren’t life’s most lucid thinkers or best designers), things only got more complicated because there turned out to be three beaches not one, and Sandie also discovered that her phone didn’t work across the border in Spain. Thankfully she managed to use Gaston to convince unsuspecting strangers to let her use their telephone to ring me (blonde hair and blue eyes is a rarity in the Roma community), and we finally managed to find each other after an hour or so. Thankfully the tapas lunch was very enjoyable. Compared to what was about to happen, one could conclude, so far so good. Much of the lunch was spent discussing how to get back avoiding any stretches on the motorway. Sandie kindly said she’d use her car’s GPS to lead us out of the city and onto the country roads before she picked up the main road again. I wouldn’t like to speculate if it was the blonde or the car’s GPS that was faulty, but let’s just say things didn’t go to plan. When we finally agreed to part ways, Kieran, I and our automobile map just gritted out teeth and got on with it. By some strange twist of fate and despite my famed lack of ability to orientate myself, my limbic brain suddenly swung into action after 35 years, and I stumbled across what I felt had to be the right road even if it did look (and turn out to be) a very large hill. Half way up I decided to confirm my suspicions with a group of ten Spanish pensioners who were all delighted to contribute to the conversation (I believe they are still discussing it as I write this post), and with that, we were en route for home. The good news was that we had indeed managed to avoid the motorway. The bad news was that unbeknown to us both, we (I) had chosen a rather scenic coastal route that contained a 12 km category one climb up Mount Jaizkibel, which also turns out to be a regular feature of the professional San Sebastian Classic road race. The view was beautiful at the top, but at one stage and despite the consumption of a rather large number of “Power Bars”, Kieran did complain about the loss of any feeling in his hands and feet. This came just before he got off the bike stating that it would be quicker for him to walk (in cycling shoes) up the mountain rather than cycle. Thankfully after I had calculated the timing of the fast approaching nightfall, he graciously let himself be coaxed back onto the bike. As we whizzed/wobbled our way down the mountain, Kieran decided that he was a broken man and that the final 30 km to home (which did include one more gruesome climb) was quite simply impossible. So after few calls to our support teams, we’d managed to arrange babysitters and drivers, and Sandie set off to the Spanish French border to pick us and the bikes up. As we sat in a rather dubious bar in the rather unpleasant frontier town of Behobia (which is so bad it doesn’t even qualify for a Wikipedia entry), Kieran was less than impressed when the local aging, stubble faced and pot-bellied drunk regaled us of tales of how he used to be a professional cyclist, and how he’d once sped up the Jaizkibel climb in 26 minutes and 08 seconds with the Motorola team which at that time included a young Lance Armstrong. Things did however pick up after a recovery snooze in the car, the warm embrace of his better half, and a little sandwich and a glass of warm milk that had been lovingly prepared for him before an early bed. I’m looking forward to seeing him later today to help him reattach his legs to his body…

Learning from the Learned Ones

For the first time in a long time both my brothers and their families are in town. This means that we have a flock of small children of similar ages roaming around my parents’ house in Biarritz (Eliza 18 months, Gaston and Capcuine 2.5, Reuben 3 and Maxime 4.5). In much the same spirit as Oscar Wilde's famous quotation, "I am not young enough to know everything", I have to say that I am very impressed by their ability to instantly find common ground and genuinely enjoy each other’s company. And for things that really don’t matter very much e.g. the placement of different coloured skittles or the choice of a particular tree in the garden to represent the “prison” of the day, they also seem to be very adept at constantly building consensus and changing factions without any rancor, all in spite (or possibly because) of any linguistic differences. All of this made me think that I would like it if that at times work could be more like that... However on reflection I realized that I’m glad that I’m now actually potty trained, plus I don’t think I’d relish the idea of having to scream with delight and then chase a colleague round the office building each time I met someone new (as Reuben and Maxime did yesterday afternoon).

Flying Along

Over the last few months I’ve taken to jumping horses with an “air-jacket”. That decision was justified recently when I had a fall about three weeks ago during the jumping at Blaye. After making an unforced error on the eighth jump on the first day, I managed to fly over a jump, all by myself. The upshot was that I broke two ribs and spent the afternoon on morphine in the local country hospital. The pain has been most uncomfortable, but I continue to be amazed at the body’s ability to reinvent and repair itself. I am at that enjoyable phase of recovery where every day I see a noticeable improvement and I feel increasingly stronger – I’m losing the small amount of weight I put on through inactivity, I can ride my bike up the hills in the Basque country sunshine, and I can throw the kids around in the pool again (much to their delight). The day after the fall was one of the most painful I’d had in a long time. Sandie and I both commented how important good physical health is for so many things we do – indeed I even had to postpone a trip to San Francisco the following week because I couldn’t bear the prospect of 12 hours in a plane. However the current feeling of “re-discovering” my physical capabilities possibly makes it all worthwhile; I can’t help but think that in some way, so long as the damage is not irreversible, then the ups and downs of injuries and recoveries makes life’s rich tapestry all the richer. All that's left at the end is the frustration of having made a silly mistake...

Black Cat Flyer

Today has been the first day of this year's summer holiday. Things are going well so far. I should have guessed it was going to be good when a black cat crossed my path not once, but twice, as I left the car park at Pau airport on my return from Boston yesterday. When I got back home in Biarritz I was greeting by an immaculate house (courtesy of Sandie) and a letter saying my lost wallet had been found (courtesy of the Parisian police). I was delighted (on both counts), and definitely didn't raise a grumble that it had been almost two months since my wallet had gone missing. Over and above that, I've also made a good start on my customary list of things to do whilst on holiday (surely having a "holiday list" isn't a good thing).... including a resolution to get blogging again more frequently. Watch this space I suppose then.