So people think that international business travel is fun, exciting and a bit of jolly really. But it's not. Not any more. Sure, twenty years ago it was. With unlimited wine and open borders. I remember my first visit to the USA where airplane passengers were asked to ensure they had unloaded their pistols before boarding. You could have a gun, you could have bullets, just not together.
But now budgets have shrunk, airlines have worked out how to cram as many people into as small as space as possible and border controls are just one long line leading to another long line.
So you might not believe me when I say I'm in Boston, MA not Lincolnshire, for a conference on the Passive Approximation of Quasi-Finite Spectrums. Yeah, grates with me too. We invented the language and then you lot ruined it.
And whilst this trip does entail staying in one of the oldest hotels in Boston, and it is a city of immense history, it also involves sitting on a wobbly chair that's just a bit too low listening to folks that know their stuff just not their presentation skills in room that is a bit stuffy after just four hours sleep. Oh, and for eight hours. And whilst you might think I've skipped sleep because of the good life, I haven't. The flight got in after 9:00pm, then there's those border lines and a taxi and a check in and an unpack and then, yes, just one beer. And then if your body doesn't go and think the best thing to do is stay on UK time and wake you up at 4:00am leaving you to alternately stare at the ceiling and the clock until it's time to get up.
Then there's the food at these things. An early breakfast - cooked; Break - cookies [don't]; Lunch - cooked, but admittedly looking like boiled frog and rice; Break - cake; Evening reception - finger food and beer.
So by the end of all this, what with the duff chair, the lack of sleep and all the eating; I really needed a bit of exercise. My US colleagues decided to keep on the roll of food and beer and I told them I would meet them in the bar in 90 minutes time. They know I like to be accurate, so they set a stop watch going.
I went back to my room, changed collected my phone for some music and went to find the exercise suite. Standing by the lift I realized that it is probably better to walk there so I decided to find the stairs.
And once through the door, I saw a sign saying "Gymnasium" and an arrow pointing along a corridor. Cute, I thought, old hotel still using traditional language.
So I followed the sign to some stairs where there was another gymnasium sign and an arrow pointing down. I went down two flights and then followed along a corridor as instructed. And here it goes a bit strange as there're some stairs and a sign saying Gymnasium only with the arrow pointing up. So I followed it, and then along another corridor to a sign on a door. Which I went through to discover another corridor. And at the end of this a staircase with a bloody sign inviting me to go down. I checked my phone to see if there was any signal, there wasn't and the GPS wasn't playing either, but I could swear that I had gone down two staircases, up one and there, back and there. Only what with the rickety stairs and the meandering corridors, I couldn't be certain where I was. And the signs only pointed to the Gym. Not back to the lobby, or rooms, or restaurant any anything vaguely un-Gym like.
So what do you do? You follow the sign.
And go down two more flights. And along another corridor. Which I think must go out of the hotel and under the street.
And there again is a flight of stairs, going up. Which I take. Only to find another corridor. So I think, bollocks to this and turn to take the stairs back and try and work my way back. Only now, the stairs are not down, but up. With a sign saying Gym. Just Gym, and in a scrawl that's almost hard to read it's so old. And now the corridor has gone and only the stairs up remain.
So I have no choice and I follow them. I'm running now, I clatter through doors, stride along corridors and scurry up stairs. Getting more and more worried that I'm never getting out.
And then suddenly I'm in the foyer. A bright modern foyer. With electric lights and windows and there at the desk is a smiling receptionist.
As I approach her, she does her best to maintain her smile; but I'm a sweaty, slightly overweight Brit that has panic on his face.
'How can I help you this evening, sir?' she asks, remembering her training.
'Where' <pant> 'Is' <pant> 'Your' <sniff> 'Gymnasium?' I manage to ask.
She looks at me with a pained look before saying, 'Our luxury and fully equipped fitness and health suite is currently undergoing an extensive refurbishment. Guests are invited to use the facilities of an exclusive sports club just a few short minutes from the hotel. The concierge will be pleased to offer you directions.'
'But, no gymnasium?'
'No sir. I'm not even sure if we use that word any more.'
'In the hotel industry?' I asked, a bit sharply perhaps.
'No sir. In America.'
I thank her and turn to look at where I had burst into the lobby. There's a flower arrangement on a table in front of a wall. And nothing else.
'Dude!' came a call from behind. 'Good workout? Your dripping! Twenty minutes, beer!'
'Dude', I replied. 'Beer now.'
But now budgets have shrunk, airlines have worked out how to cram as many people into as small as space as possible and border controls are just one long line leading to another long line.
So you might not believe me when I say I'm in Boston, MA not Lincolnshire, for a conference on the Passive Approximation of Quasi-Finite Spectrums. Yeah, grates with me too. We invented the language and then you lot ruined it.
And whilst this trip does entail staying in one of the oldest hotels in Boston, and it is a city of immense history, it also involves sitting on a wobbly chair that's just a bit too low listening to folks that know their stuff just not their presentation skills in room that is a bit stuffy after just four hours sleep. Oh, and for eight hours. And whilst you might think I've skipped sleep because of the good life, I haven't. The flight got in after 9:00pm, then there's those border lines and a taxi and a check in and an unpack and then, yes, just one beer. And then if your body doesn't go and think the best thing to do is stay on UK time and wake you up at 4:00am leaving you to alternately stare at the ceiling and the clock until it's time to get up.
Then there's the food at these things. An early breakfast - cooked; Break - cookies [don't]; Lunch - cooked, but admittedly looking like boiled frog and rice; Break - cake; Evening reception - finger food and beer.
So by the end of all this, what with the duff chair, the lack of sleep and all the eating; I really needed a bit of exercise. My US colleagues decided to keep on the roll of food and beer and I told them I would meet them in the bar in 90 minutes time. They know I like to be accurate, so they set a stop watch going.
I went back to my room, changed collected my phone for some music and went to find the exercise suite. Standing by the lift I realized that it is probably better to walk there so I decided to find the stairs.
And once through the door, I saw a sign saying "Gymnasium" and an arrow pointing along a corridor. Cute, I thought, old hotel still using traditional language.
So I followed the sign to some stairs where there was another gymnasium sign and an arrow pointing down. I went down two flights and then followed along a corridor as instructed. And here it goes a bit strange as there're some stairs and a sign saying Gymnasium only with the arrow pointing up. So I followed it, and then along another corridor to a sign on a door. Which I went through to discover another corridor. And at the end of this a staircase with a bloody sign inviting me to go down. I checked my phone to see if there was any signal, there wasn't and the GPS wasn't playing either, but I could swear that I had gone down two staircases, up one and there, back and there. Only what with the rickety stairs and the meandering corridors, I couldn't be certain where I was. And the signs only pointed to the Gym. Not back to the lobby, or rooms, or restaurant any anything vaguely un-Gym like.
So what do you do? You follow the sign.
And go down two more flights. And along another corridor. Which I think must go out of the hotel and under the street.
And there again is a flight of stairs, going up. Which I take. Only to find another corridor. So I think, bollocks to this and turn to take the stairs back and try and work my way back. Only now, the stairs are not down, but up. With a sign saying Gym. Just Gym, and in a scrawl that's almost hard to read it's so old. And now the corridor has gone and only the stairs up remain.
So I have no choice and I follow them. I'm running now, I clatter through doors, stride along corridors and scurry up stairs. Getting more and more worried that I'm never getting out.
And then suddenly I'm in the foyer. A bright modern foyer. With electric lights and windows and there at the desk is a smiling receptionist.
As I approach her, she does her best to maintain her smile; but I'm a sweaty, slightly overweight Brit that has panic on his face.
'How can I help you this evening, sir?' she asks, remembering her training.
'Where' <pant> 'Is' <pant> 'Your' <sniff> 'Gymnasium?' I manage to ask.
She looks at me with a pained look before saying, 'Our luxury and fully equipped fitness and health suite is currently undergoing an extensive refurbishment. Guests are invited to use the facilities of an exclusive sports club just a few short minutes from the hotel. The concierge will be pleased to offer you directions.'
'But, no gymnasium?'
'No sir. I'm not even sure if we use that word any more.'
'In the hotel industry?' I asked, a bit sharply perhaps.
'No sir. In America.'
I thank her and turn to look at where I had burst into the lobby. There's a flower arrangement on a table in front of a wall. And nothing else.
'Dude!' came a call from behind. 'Good workout? Your dripping! Twenty minutes, beer!'
'Dude', I replied. 'Beer now.'
