An Open Letter to Volkswagen

Dear Mr. Volks Wagen

I am rather fond of things ‘German’, including Claudia Schiffer’s engaging personality, Hitler’s moustache and the violent pungency of sauerkraut, so please don’t think this letter is in any way a personal slight against the good folk of Deutschland.

I really love my 2007 Touareg too that was designed and constructed by your finest robotic humans and machines. It is incredibly reliable and even beeps affectionately and incessantly at me in such a cute way when I leave the indicator stalk in the up or down position when I take the keys out – I never knew a car could be so caring or considerate!

Can I just say though that I am just a little (no a lot) frustrated and annoyed with your ‘prodigy’ after the following events of yesterday….

On Friday afternoon, I travelled about 200km south to the charming town of Australind in my darling diesel with my two beautiful children and a happy, expectant grin on my face. We were looking forward to seeing our good friends and I even hoped to participate in a testimonial soccer match at my old club to honour a very sick club stalwart.

After arrival that fine evening though, an unfortunate twist of fate occurred. In the process of packing and unpacking my black beast to travel to the soccer match, the car keys were left in the car, the doors were shut and your loving creation decided to dead bolt lock its doors in a mere instant! If this car was human, I think Sigmund Freud would diagnose some form of ‘Paranoid Security Complex’ given its incredibly rapid and disproportionate response to such non-threatening stimuli…I was clearly learning more about my car – I didn’t think it was so introverted and would reject me in such an outright manner!

So how could this happen, Mr. Volkswagen? It doesn’t seem possible that one of your finest ‘autos’ could perform such an irrational act. I understand the need for security in this dangerous world of ours, but what if a baby was inside the car when it decided to turn itself into an impregnable fortress?

So after some frantic arm-waving and cursing, I did something far more constructive and phoned ‘Volkswagen Assist’. Surely the good folk at your highly regarded ‘help line’ could give me a sure and fast solution to this predicament! The person I spoke to was polite and friendly but didn’t exactly inspire confidence…”locked your keys in the car, sir? Mmmmm, have to get back to you on that one…” 5 minutes later, “Sir, we have arranged the local towing company to attend; they will call you soon.”

So the intrepid guy from the towing company turns up, takes one look at the car and quickly waves the metaphoric white flag when he is sees the forlorn Touareg. “Not touching this one mate…can’t help you I’m afraid.” Maybe he had a case of Vee-dub-a-phobia or your company’s formidable reputation for security scared him away?

Clearly things weren’t looking ‘up’! It was quite late on the Friday now, so we decided to suspend any attempts to solve the mess until the morning. Maybe a glass of red (or ten) and a fitful slumber would provide inspiration?

Saturday morning arrived full of hope – I’ll call the local VW dealer and if that doesn’t help, the miracle men from RAC would definitely find a way!

Mr. VW Bunbury esq. was equally courteous but similarly bereft of non-destructive solutions. “Yes, what you are telling me could definitely happen…need to find the spare key pal…if you don’t have the key, you would need to smash a window and get the keys from inside.” A brick?!! So I ask him which window he has in stock so I know which one to smash. “Hang on a minute…go for the right rear window; we have one in stock in Sydney.” So let me get this straight, if I want to smash a window (other than the windscreen of course), and a replacement would be a ‘reassuring’ 4,000km away? I could now feel that my normally low blood pressure was rapidly on the rise and the Sicilian in me was fast awakening…

RAC guy arrives – I silently pray that his yellow van will contain a magical Touareg code-breaker (or perhaps Robert Langdon from ‘The Da Vinci Code’) or some cunning uber-device that would end this nightmare. Unkempt, unshaken but undeterred, RAC hero reveals an air bag thing to pries open the door and a long thin metal rod to attempt to flick the door open switch near the passenger door lever. With a steady hand and car alarm blaring, he makes a valiant attempt but still no cigar. Doors a dead bolted and the 4×4 lump remains impassively and steadfastly locked.

Although my friend and I have had past dealings with explosives, we quickly dismiss that notion and focus on ‘Mission Spare Key’. Thankfully, spare key is located some 200km away and plans are hatched for its immediate pick-up and transfer.

Plan 1 – courier pick-up (“You want to do what? Sorry mate, you are not a customer and unless you turn up at our Perth office so we can sight your credit card, we are not able to do this. By the way, it would have cost you $500”) I know our humble Australian currency pales against the mighty Deutschemark Mr. Volks Wagen, but that is a *&@# of a lot of coin!

Plan 2 – local towing company. Nice man from towing mob calls back and says he has a ‘guy’ to do the job and that key can be down by 1.00pm. Sounds great I say – lets do that! Given that I have to be back in Perth at 6.30pm for my dad’s 70th birthday party, I should have plenty of time to be showered and shaved for the big event after the two hour expedition back.

1.00pm comes and goes……2.00pm…….3.00pm……no guy and no key! Arrrrrrhhhh! Soon after he is contacted and laconically answers the phone with “yeah, leaving Perth soon mate…got the key, but be down there in a few hours” Haven’t left Perth yet…are you kidding me?

‘Mission Spare Key’ now enters into a stunning and desperate new phase as fury and adrenalin take over. I tell the mystery courier that “we are on our way up and we will meet you somewhere on the freeway between here and Perth”

The mercy dash begins and after an hour, the rendeavous point for the ‘pick-up’ is established beside the Kwinana freeway on the Anketell Road off-ramp. Like two desparate prison escapees awaiting a car transfer or a pair of bug-eyed coke-heads awaiting their next hit, we wait on the side of the road for the precious cargo to arrive. The very dodgy courier soon arrives with his mate in their souped-up Holden Statesman and the transaction is completed…the local cops would have no doubt taken keen interest in the proceedings if they had driven by at the wrong moment!

With key secured, we make our way back south and finally arrive back in Australind. The big moment arrives and with a familiar thud, doors are unlocked and original key is retrieved from the rear seat. (Cue scenes of utter joy, relief and elation…)

We drive off north into the darkening sky and all is calm again….

Again I ask myself and indeed you in this moment of reflection…..How could this happen, Mr. Volkswagen?

I now humbly await your considered response whilst I seek psychiatric help to overcome this unfortunate episode. Do you know someone good for both myself and the car?

Yours Sincerely

 

Tale of the Leech

Tale of the leech

Act 1 – calm
One of the numerous stops during our journey to the southern New South Wales coast was made on the outskirts of Sydney within the Royal National Park, the oldest of its type in Australia. We make a roadside stop next to a part of the tall, ancient forest with its lush undergrowth fringing the bitumen like a soft green carpet. It made an inviting scene which was complimented by the rhythmic bird calls from deep within which beckoned us to enter and explore. Sweet, fresh air filled our lungs which made a welcome change to the more toxic scents of the highway stations. Quite an idyllic short interlude and I think we all felt a collective sense of calm and serenity after the frenetic pace of traveling through the city. ‘Would it last?’ I asked myself

Act 2 – blood and panic
Fast forward and we all jump back in the car which quickly sprints off in search of the next diversion. Almost as a soon as we hit top gear though, pandemonium suddenly rocks the inside of the green Barina. Alana notices a dark mass in between her two smallest toes and declares it as chocolate, but Thomas senses the merest of movements from the object which is incongruent with our dear six-year old’s assessment. It’s wiggling motions dispel any lingering doubts if the resulting panic stricken shrieks are anything to go by…..Alana screams, Thomas screams louder and the car is rapidly bought to a screaming halt by Dom. Their reaction clearly suggests that the alien is ‘alive and dangerous’ and about to strike again with extreme prejudice. I leap out to examine the back seat mayhem and the offending object is in fact a fairly underwhelming leech that has dislodged itself from Alana’s skin but is sitting comfortably in the cradle formed by Alana’s two smallest pinkies. Blood leaks from the wound and this image creates further disturbing and desperate cries that would suggest that loss of limb is the next likely outcome… The leech is summarily dispatched and after suppressing the urge to break out in uncontrollable laughter, I hunt for a suitable wound dressing in the boot as the concerned whimpers continue from the back seat. Now where does Dom keep his leech survival kit??

Act 3 – tragedy averted
Along with portable DVD players and reversible car seats, baby wipes must rank as one of the most useful and versatile products for the modern parent. These moistened white towelettes (contained in a clever resealable and very portable plastic pack) can absorb the stickiest gelato spills and remove the most stubborn food splotches from the vicinity of a child’s mouth. And now as I discovered, they can be torn to form a pretty fine makeshift bandage in order to prevent the leech encounter from turning into an epic tragedy. With bandage convincingly and securely fastened over the wound, the cries begin to subside and the world is good again. Alana is feeling particularly brave for surviving her intense ordeal with the vicious vampire of the forest, Thomas is relieved to no longer see his sister’s blood, Dom remains composed (and somewhat bemused by the extent of the drama) and I just wonder what the next hellish drama will be… We now all look forward to getting back to the highway strangely enough!

Act 4 – the legend grows
By journey’s end, the following is evident when the tale is recounted: the leech’s size has grown to almost mythical proportions. It (or the leech’s agent) is likely to be approached by Hollywood to appear in a new reality TV show called ‘Kiddie Survivor’ where 10-year old brats have 3 days to outrun the voracious predator or slay it with sharpened sticks the amount of blood lost would be the equivalent of what an adult donates to the blood bank in a single sitting the heroics of the emergency team were such that an award from the Queen is now imminent A six-part book deal is sure to follow any moment now….

China continued ..

A $5 billion dollar embarrassment

Approaching the yet to be completed CCTV building in western Beijing still strikes a sense of awe and wonder. This unique architectural marvel resembles something from an MC Escher drawing – its form is such that the eyes have to look several times to allow the brain to process that it is not an optical illusion. Its seemingly contorted shape is actually deceptively simple in form and is like 2 upside down versions of the ‘letter L’ joined at the top. When finished, I understand that 40,000 people will occupy its inner space – one wonders what internal innovations it will have to match its remarkable exterior.Its immediate neighbour is a different proportion and from a distance, difficult to first ascertain what is wrong with it. The telltale signs of scorch marks and other scars are soon apparent though and it is clear that the 50 storey building has experienced incredible trauma. In January this year, this more modest structure fell the victim of a careless and clearly rampant fireworks display that was held immediately adjacent. Apparently, the fireworks penetrated the buildings walls and initiated an enormous bonfire that has gutted and destroyed it within an inch of collapse. Clearly no fire protection systems installed prior to its completion and the loss has been estimated at 20 million RMB or around $5 million. The embarrassment though is probably on an equivalent magnitude given the Chinese fear of ‘losing face’ Best thing was that no-one was lost in the inferno that I am sure would have been visible through the thickest Beijing haze.

 

CCTV building on the right next to burnt out husk on the left

Public expulsions

Picture this (but not too vividly I hope!) – five people including the driver cramped into a taxi on their way to their destination on a crowded Beijing street. Without any hint of furtive disguise, driver cocks his leg and ‘lets rip’ with a marvelous deep note from below. Two of us in the back look at each other in amazement and confirm what we just witnessed. Better out than in I guess!

The acts of public spitting, burping and farting are obviously frowned upon in most other societies and so it is pretty surprising to see these activities occur without care, abandon or humiliation in everyday China. The organizers of the Beijing Olympics used various forms of influence and education to try to suggest to the locals that this behaviour is anti-social and unbecoming of the modern China. Clearly, there is still a way to go for some!

In search of duck

Succulent Peking Duck is worth traveling long distances for and Li Qun restaurant in Beijing has attained a reputation as being deserved of a hungry trek across town. I convinced Steve to accompany me and asserted that 4pm is a reasonable time to begin the dinner ritual.

This establishment is located in one of the back alleys of old Beijing and proved to be a significant challenge to reach. The directions given by the hotel were vague and in fact 2 taxi drivers refused the job initially – both gave me a look that clearly said ‘stupid, crazy foreigner!’ The third guy was obviously ‘job starved’ or was a thrill seeker and agreed to take up the challenge. After traveling an obviously circuitous route, two phone calls to the restaurant and some clear cussing and cursing from the driver, he got us there and we gave him a well earned tip.

the grand entrance to duck heaven

We went down the hutong and passed the picture of the duck on the wall outside – had to be it! The entrance was modest at best and Steve gave me that dubious look that said ‘what have you got me into?!’ The inner sanctum was equally lacking any modern flourishes and consisted of numerous small rooms housing dilapidated wooden furniture lit by dim lights. We sat and were yet to experience the magic as we ordered some beers to consider the next step.

I thought of the obvious thing and asked where the ducks were…the waitress looked at me quizzically, but led me to a tiny back room with a roaring wood fire oven blazing and ducks hanging everywhere – some cooked and showing the most amazing deep golden skin and others pale and awaiting the searing heat.

Duck production line

Licking my lips, I went to another room, its walls covered with photos of visiting dignitaries who had stepped the same steps and tasted the delicious duck at some point in the past. They were all there – ambassadors, kings, wannabes and movie stars. Yep, Al Gore was front and centre with his perfect hair and unmistakable, inconvenient grin. Now more than convinced, I went back and ordered with great enthusiasm!

The wait was worth it – succulent flesh and crispy skin sliced in our dining room and presented in the traditional way with pancakes, spring onion, cucumber and plum sauce.

Not much more to say as we stuffed ourselves – all I can say is get yourself there if you are in Beijing but just don’t ask me for directions!

succulent duck sliced perfectly

Tales from China

Hong Kong

No city should under-estimate the importance of having an efficient airport to make an immediate positive impression in a visitor’s mind. Hong Kong has certainly not overlooked this notion! Upon arrival, I experienced the elation of emerging from immigration and seeing my suitcase already doing laps on the baggage carousel; contrast that to the typical experience at Perth ‘international’ where by the time you have collected your belongings, you have shared half of your life story with the person next to you and are planning an emotional reunion with them after the next trip! 

Inevitably, after you arrive in Hong Kong, your host or friend will quickly focus you on eating after the frenetic trip from the airport. Dining in this bustling city is always a treat that I relish, given the passion and skill that Hong Kong chefs apply when preparing their amazing cuisine. My business friends are always very gracious and often take me to my favourite Shanghai establishment in Wanchai on Hong Kong Island. They serve the most delectable pork soup dumplings that are steamed to perfection. There is an art to eating these tasty morsels to ensure nothing is wasted…you make a small incision in the skin of the package at first with your teeth and then suck the soup out with an extravagant and noisy slurp! The remaining pork ball inside along with its pouch is then consumed in rapid succession. Teamed with steamed greens, fragrant rice and great company, this would have to be a lunch experience equivalent to any other.The full feeling after lunch usually invites the need to venture out into the city for a walk. At street level, Hong Kong assaults your senses with a dizzying array of movement, sound and smell. Cars flash by at alarming speed, people jostle frantically for position at street corners, construction saws whine, jack hammers pound the tarmac and the pong of fish and poultry fills your nostrils. I liken the experience to listening to a thumping track from ‘The Prodigy’ with a hangover; it literally pounds you with its relentless beat and rapidly makes you dazed and disoriented!Of course, that is my impression. Looking at the faces of many of the locals though, they seem oblivious to all this action and mayhem and seemingly go about their business with little emotion and just a quiet determination.

I do find though that when I retreat to the relative quiet and sterility of the hotel room, I soon long to go out there amongst the throng again! For me, Hong Kong will always be a highly stimulating, exhausting but ultimately addictive experience.

Beijing

Just as we are about to descend into Beijing aboard Dragon Air flight KA902, the Kiwi first officer named Campbell announces in his distinctive tones (with obvious sarcastic notes), ‘we’ve been told by air traffic control that the skies are ‘clear’ over Beijing, but from we are sitting it is looking pre-tty hazy.’ To me, the comment from the air traffic controller, perfectly captures the attitude of ‘Beijingers’ – they want you to look past the smog and haze and see through to the true wonders of their city. (Or maybe it is just that the definition of clear that is not quite clear?) They remain so keen to make a good impression and almost implore visitors to love their home.

Not to dwell too much on yet another airport, but Beijing Capitol does stagger you with its cavernous interior and sheer enormity. Inside, it looks like a futuristic space port that ‘Star Trek’ fans would appreciate – sleek lines, suspended platforms, metallic finishes and minimalist theme. Very functional though and only took 5 years to design, construct and commission (Heathrow Terminal 5 took 13 years to do the same and apparently you can fit all five of the their terminals into Beijing Capital…how are the poms going to manage the London Olympics compared to Beijing one might ask!)

Discovering the hidden treasures and relics behind Beijing’s modern, concrete façade is one of the most satisfying experiences of a visit to this city of 20 million. The ‘hutongs’ or back alleys still survive in parts and provide a connection back to Beijing’s rich past. One of my favourite back streets is Nan Luo Gu Xiang not far from the city’s heart of Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City. 700 years old and a great juxtaposition of the old (ornate buildings, push bikes, open drains, crumbling roads) and the modern (funky shops, backpackers retreats, hip restaurants). Very much a welcome alternative to the crass and overcrowded Silk Market selling every imaginable imitation and the high end designer stores of Wangfujing which can be seen the world over. The street vendor selling roasted sweet potato atop a beaten up 44 gallon drum typified the essence of Nan Luo Gu Xiang – honest and unpretentious. There is every chance his ancestors were doing the same thing in the same spot 700 years ago and long may the tradition survive!

A typical scene in Nan Luo Gu Xiang

Speaking of Wangfujing, it is now commonplace to see a procession of tour groups marching through its wide malls and boulevards. Typically, these tour groups comprise bewildered locals on the wrong side of 60 who have been lured there to witness the ‘new China’ and its modern ways. I saw members of one group shuffle past a Nike store with eyes popping as their vision became filled with the dizzying array of fluorescent pink and green joggers. I thought to myself that they must be thinking ‘what the hell would Mao say if he saw all this capitalist crap!’ To me, it is a simple reminder of a country in rapid transition; ushering in the new wave of consumerism to overtake the comparative austerity of the past.

A football tale

The five of us stood huddled outside the Beijing Workers Stadium, ten hands stuffed in pockets as the chill of the air slowly gripped us. We were amongst the growing throng outside the ground as Beijing Guoan’s season-opening football match approached in just under a half an hour. Our foreign faces, loud Aussie banter and the fact that one of us was wearing green, illuminated devil’s horns was the source of much amusement for the locals!

Soon after, we ventured to one of the many spartan, makeshift food stalls for a quick bite before kick-off and then all paused warily before the fried bit of animal on a bamboo stick that was being extravagantly dipped in some form of local fire spice. Stupidity and male bravado won the day and we all had one stick each, all praying inwardly that this foreign morsel would not see us doubled-up in the hotel room at 3am the following morning. (the reality was that it was pretty damn tasty and no ‘near-death’ experiences were subsequently reported)

Beijing play in the most hideous, leprechaun green colour but the fans certainly embrace it with great fervor and their flags, banners and scarves enliven the relative starkness of the stadium’s interior. I find the Chinese demenour to be generally quite dour and reserved on the streets and so their outward passion for their team during the match was a joy and a surprise to watch. Our singing and support for the local team quickly endeared us and we were inducted almost immediately as honorary fans through a ceremony consisting of hearty back slapping. It is what I love about football and sport generally; it transcends language barriers and bonds can be formed through actions and gestures alone.

Beijing won the game 3-1 with the two Aussie Griffiths brothers prominent, but I will remember the night more for being part of a special green army for 90 minutes. As we drifted out of the stadium after the match, our dreadful, off-key singing continued and more smiles surrounded us which only gave us more encouragement. A memorable evening that didn’t end there…but that’s another story!

A uniformed onlooker at the football keeping a close watch

3 days in Dubai

3 days in a new foreign city is not normally enough time to understand it, comment on or embrace it. Typically, it is only sufficient time to understand the exchange rate, find out what channel CNN is on and fumble with the map on the street. Fortunately, Dubai is a relatively compact place and we managed to squeeze and see a bit more in the limited time we had around the heavy daily schedule…

The ambition of the place is staggering…billions have poured in to create an oasis of luxury in the desert. Only 1.3 million people…but a field of billion dollar dreams. Transforming and creating coast line literally from the ocean floor (an extra 300km in fact offshore with their clever developments) and building skyscrapers that soar majestically. The highest is 168 stories and 850m tall (tallest in the world), but profoundly, construction is not complete and stopped 18 months ago. It is clear that the city has been hit hard by the global economic meltdown and the property market is now nearing collapse. Even after visiting China recently, never have I seen so many idle cranes, half-finished buildings and probably shattered hopes for some. The place looks like a half-built ‘meccano’ set.

Idle crane in front of the unfinished tallest building in the world - does that count if its not finished?

Reminiscent of an eastern version of Las Vegas with its incongruent attractions (indoor snow ski centre, huge Burj hotel resembling a yacht with spinnaker billowing), and Singapore with tightly manicured hedges and streetscapes, Dubai still seems like a pubescent teenager seeking to find its own unique identity.

They say it has the highest carbon footprint of any city in the world – with the huge desalination plants creating fresh water from the sea and the air-conditioners working overtime, it is probably no surprise!

Still the suits from the west seem to be filling the 7-star hotels and the local replica souks (markets) are still filled with tacky souvenirs and eager buyers.

I hear the social cost of the downturn has been marked. Many people are imported from India, Indonesia, Philippines and other Asian/African countries in the service and construction industries and many of them now do not have work or means to leave Dubai. I hope the stimulus package that people talk about touches this place quickly!

Despite the difficult times, I found the people we met to be gracious, friendly and warm. The Arabic culture is centuries old and I guess it and its people have developed a strong resilience over time to face adversity in many forms.

It is a place filled with people from practically every nation of the world and so from that perspective, presents an amazing opportunity to study the interaction of cultures. I had a good chat with our doorman who was from Kenya and spoke in Indonesian to our waitress in the Italian restaurant who was from Surabaya.

Far from wanting to judge or over simplify Dubai, I want to thank it for letting me at least hear its heart beat for a short time.

I hope there will be a chance to return and explore this fascinating place, as well as its brother cities in the emirates and even beyond into deeper Arabia.