International Man of Mystery

It is ten pm and I'm in a bar, again.

Now I've been getting comments about the amount of time I spend on bars,
but when you consider that the alternative is to hide in your hotel room
watching CNN, getting out and being social is a much better option. Also,
if you look at the frequency of these posts, you'll realise that it isn't
really that often.

However, I digress. I was stuck in downtown Milwaukee and rapidly
discovering that it isn't the most happening place in the middle of
winter. Fortunately, just around the corner from the hotel was a watering
hole that purported to be the headquarters of the Press Club. Now I've
worked in newspapers for a few years and know that journalists have the
best stories, So I figured I had nothing to lose by hanging around for a
while.

I was wrong.

Instead of walking into a plush smoky den with old school wood furniture
and a Chesterfield in the corner, I found myself somewhere that was
decorated like a Mexican cantina, it was Karaoke Night, and they had
declared Open Season on classic R&B numbers.

While a pair of twenty-somethings gracelessly murdered a Wilson Pickett
number, I asked the waitress if there was 'somewhere quieter'. She told
me to head to the back and turn right.

Two turns later I was not only in a back room, but a real 'hidden back
room' that was much larger than the original pub and was one giant homage
to the world of 'spy-craft and Espionage'. Actually It was many rooms and
as I settled in I got the history from the bartender and a harsh dose of
reality. While he made me a drink he filled me on on when were the busy
times and what kind of people came here.

'We occasionally get real agent types here." He said "The secret service
were in here the other week for the President's visit, for some reason
they like the place. But mostly all we get here is tourists and guys on
business."

Unfortunately I knew what the next question would be. But I let him ask.

"So, what brings you here ?"

"Oh, I'm here on business." Damn.

So we talked some more, I checked a few emails, made a few calls and then
we got to the point when the bartender had to ask the next most
uncomfortable question of the evening. It's not that the answer is hard,
but if you aren't in my line of business the details are just too
difficult to explain in a short answer. Fortunately my phone rang at just
the right time and well, given where I was, I couldn't help myself.

"So, What do you do anyway ?"

"Um. well, I travel a lot, I guess I could say I'm a consultant. Excuse
me, that will me my agent on the phone confirming my flight to London next
week."

I resisted the temptation to order a vodka martini and made a mental map
of all the exits.

And, yes, it really was my travel Agent. Next week I'll be in the UK.


Tags travel,london,hotel,restaurant,milwaukeeairline

I'm not alone

It seems that I'm not the only one who has bad experiences in Chicago. Gridskipper reported this article from a columnist for the St Louis Post-Dispatch

I particularly liked this line :

"Airport bars are strange places. They're the only bars in the world where nobody has any fun. Drinking at an airport bar is like trying to start 'the wave' in a graveyard."

Night Of The Beautiful People

Sydney, Summer, Sunday, Sunset

Sooner or layer you will find yourself alone in a bar killing time. This
is a perfect opportunity to make the most of your environment and observe
your surroundings. Find a good seat, either at the bar or somewhere you
have a good view and settle in.

Then, get to know the bartender, he is the source to any number of
discounts and special favours. Better still, if it is a quality
establishment, get to know the waitress. She will ensure that you never
actually have to wait for a drink or risk losing your good seat by
stepping near the bar.

Sufficient bribery will also get you a reserved sign for your space. This
not only gives you freedom to roam occasionally, but also let's you be
selective about who sits next to you.

Now that you are settled in it is time to observe what people do, it is
very interesting. Australia is the land of the cafe society and the great
unwashed. And one thing we do (mostly) well is go out and have a drink.

The 'Friday afternoon booze-up', 'Beer O'Clock', 'Working Lunch', whatever
you want to call it, best example I've found is the 'Sunday Afternoon at
the Pub'. This is the magic hour of Australian society. It is something
you evolve into and never forget.

It probably started from a protestant work ethic that made sure you
'downed tools' on the seventh day. But then it was then mixed with the
general European migrant mentality that meant if it was too hot to do
anything else, you took a siesta or caught up with friends.

Either way, on Sunday afternoons, as the sun sets and the beaches start to
cool off we do the sensible thing and go out drinking and socialising. We
get out of the house, get some fresh air and down a few beers before the
work week kicks back in.

Unfortunately, we do it in surprisingly odd ways.

Sydney is a very insular society. Maybe it takes stepping away for a few
years to notice, but people live in very small worlds here.

Firstly, everyone is in a big group, four at a minimum. They go out, but
always with the same group of friends and their social universe never seem
to expand. They meet the same friends, they tell the same stories and,
well, don't get any variety.

Secondly, They also never make eye contact, with anyone.

Thirdly, they all dress alike. Exactly alike. It is as if they all share
the same brain.

The girls, the poor things, only seem to wear clothes that they saw on
famous people, regardless of how well it fits them ( Paris Hilton seems
to be to blame for todays melange ). And it all looks mostly the same. It
really must take incredible co-ordination to wear things that look so
alike, yet nothing is exactly identical.

It is, however, harshly sobering to then notice that the guys dress even
worse. They don't try to be different. I swear that they must all call
each other up to check on the dress code :

"Mate what are you wearing ?"

"Distressed jeans, deck shoes, and a dress shirt untucked, with the
collar turned up, saw Brad Pitt wearing it last year"

"Cool. I'll wear the same. Stripes or spots on the shirt ?"

"Spots"

The good thing is that it makes it easy to identify the groups, gangland
uniforms have more variety and colour.

It is like no one wants to trust their own judgment. They are one big
race of people blindly following whatever is in the lead.

Lastly, and here's where I get really bitter and twisted, everyone
smokes. They really still do. I have not seen a woman under twenty five
here who didn't, at some point, light up a cigarette. Again, I'm sure
peer group pressure is to blame.

Still, everyone is happy and the place of full of laughter. I guess folk
just like staying inside their boundaries.

Hasta luego