Distractions, reflections

David Ing, at large … Sometimes, my mind wanders

Planes and trains and visiting Nottingham

I haven’t seen much of England, in my past travels. I’ve been through London a few times on business, and had a vacation with Diana where we saw Slough, Oxford and Greenwich. On way to visit at the University of Hull, I thought I’d meet up with Martin Gladwell, on his home territory of Nottingham. I’ve heard that Nottingham is a fun town.

The day didn’t begin well, starting out to the airport. Petri had called for a taxi to pick me up a 5 a.m. for an early flight.  After getting caught up on a bit of e-mail and packing, I went to bed about 10:30 at night, … and the next thing I knew, light was just breaking and Petri was waking me up to say that the taxi was waiting. I had set multiple alarms, but must have set them all wrong! (That’s a stress signal for me!) I took a few minutes to quickly finishing packing the last few items into my suitcases. I got in the taxi, and arrived well in time for the flight. (The waiting taxi charged me an extra 20 Euros). The flights, routing from Helsinki to Copenhagen to Manchester, were relatively uneventful.

When I arrived at the Manchester airport, the customs officials wanted to check my baggage. This wasn’t like American customs check — the British official was quite friendly and relaxed. Afterwards, I asked why he thought to check me. He said that from my baggage tags, he could see that I had arrived on the Copenhagen flight, but he couldn’t tell from where. The customs officials weren’t busy that morning, so I guess that they had the opportunity to indulge every curiosity.

While in Finland, I was able to receive a text message from Martin on my mobile phone service, but it doesn’t allow me to reply internationally. Martin was waiting for me right outside the arrival area doors in the Manchester airport terminal. He had arrived from an IBM meeting in Madrid the previous evening, and stayed overnight in a hotel. I trailed him down to the train station, and he helped me buy tickets for trip to Nottingham, as well as to York on the next day. I made jokes that I was getting used to having all the arrangements done for me, because in Finland, it seems that my hosts (Minna, Taina, Ritva, Annaleena) can always get simple things done faster in the native language.

20060506_Manchester_airport_train.jpg

We changed trains at Manchester Piccadilly1. When travelling from one country to another on a single trip, I feel slight cultural dissonances. Certainly, the architecture in British train stations feature Gothic or Roman touches, whereas Finnish buildings are either Scandinavian modern or rustic (as in the old houses in Porvoo). On the train platform, the crowded space, the casual style of dress, and multitude of ethnicities was a completely different feeling from being in Finland. We waited for the train beside two old Chinese ladies carrying plastic shopping bags — as they would in Hong Kong or in Toronto — chatting in the Hoisan dialect (that my parents speak) about the price of groceries. I assume that whatever immigration policies prevailed in Canada in the 1960s and 1970s also prevailed in the UK.

We got onto a crowded car on the train, and seats were full. In the entry passage, I sat on the jump seat, and Martin sat on his suitcase. Chats with other passengers suggested that this train to Sheffield and then Nottingham often runs to capacity. Most interesting to me was the large number of passengers on the train going to watch the football game. They were carrying around large cans of beer in plastic shopping bags, and casually consuming them. I told Martin that I was unsure whether this was legal or illegal in Ontario, because it just isn’t done2. The football fans weren’t threatening — some came as complete families — but Martin warned that they could get loud. They gave me a good sampling of football songs and cheers as a natural part of their trip.

At Nottingham, we took a taxi back to Martin’s flat. I was intrigued the by the design of British “black cabs”: there’s no trunk, but an entry into a massive passenger space with doors wide enough to bring in luggage. If more passengers come in, there are jump seats (facing backwards). These are so practical, I wondered if anyone has ever tried importing them or building something similar in North America3.

20060506_Nottingham_taxi.jpg

We took a few minutes to drop off baggage at Martin’s flat, and headed out to catch a double-decker bus into the city centre of Nottingham. While it might have been nice to see Old Market Square before the construction started, it’s currently under construction to become the winning vision of a new public space. On a Saturday afternoon, the Broad Marsh Shopping Centre and pedestrian shopping streets were bustling. Nottingham has a great energy about it. Unlike many other places I’ve visited, the people don’t seem stressed, and many have smiles on their faces. Martin says that Nottingham is a popular place for stag nights and hen parties, so it’s not unusally to see troupes of women cavorting together while dressed alike (e.g. as nuns).

We stopped for some tapas at La Tasca — a bit of calamari, some chorizo, some (non-salty) anchovies. We stopped into St. Mary’s Church — it dates back to construction in 1376 — and I was amazed by the dates and inscriptions on some of the crypts built into its walls.

20060506_StMarysChurch_crypts.jpg

As it started to rain, we retreated in the City of Caves for a tour of underground Nottingham (literally). Actors told history about the medieval tannery pits — the tanners never caught the plague because even the rats couldn’t stand the smell — as well as the caves used as shelters during the bombings in World War II. Martin and I then wandered over by Nottingham Castle, where we looked at the Robin Hood statue and plaques on the wall.

20060506_Nottingham_Robin_Hood_statue.jpg

I was intrigued by two uniformed officers taking digital photographs of a very nice sports car parked nearby — and Martin informed me that digital images are a method of presenting evidence on parking tickets in the UK.

For a late afternoon break, we stopped by Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem — which proclaims to be the oldest inn in England, back to 1189 A.D. Martin and I sat out in the courtyard, listening some boisterous drinkers in the main room singing pub songs (e.g. old Beatles sounds, Paul McCartney would be proud!) until the barman complained about the volume. I guess every bar has its limits. Martin had previously pointed out the Bell Inn, nearer to the center of town, that disputes the “oldest inn” claim. Dating “from timbers in the Bell Inn” reveals construction circa 1420, whereas Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem’s “building itself dates from the 16th or 17th century” — although its “caves may date to the 11th century”. More interesting for Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem is the Cursed Galleon in the Rock Lounge. It’s a model ship over the bar, and “last 3 people to clean it have all mysteriously died”.

We went back to Martin’s place so that he could have a quick nap, while I caught up on e-mail. For the evening, we decided on a Japanese restaurant for a quick dinner, and then on to a (relatively quiet and smoke free) pub. I might have been in the mood for some music — jazz or folk — but it seems that Nottingham gets so much business on weekends, that venues don’t need live music to attract customers. Music is something that happens on weekend nights. In any event, I got to meet Martin’s friend Roger, and we had an interesting conversation about rock musicians getting old. Roger’s band used to play progressive rock, so it’s a real challenge to remember guitar parts, not only because progressive rock can be intricate, but also because some pieces run 10 to 12 minutes in length!

By the end of the evening, I was pretty wiped out, so I was happy when Martin offered me his bed and he slept on the couch. It’s been a long time since I’ve stayed with a bachelor, so I’ve almost forgotten what living alone is like!

(See more of Nottingham on the snapshot server in our basement).


1I asked Martin about the etymology for piccadilly. He didn’t know. Geraldo Carneiro cites two alternative etymologies: “I’ve learned from Jorge Luís Borges a probably false, but delicious, etymology: “Piccadilly” was the place in which the Portuguese made his “pecadilhos” (little sins). Afterwards I learned from Anthony Burgess (funny as those two writers have the same name, signifying bourgeois) that the word “Piccadilly” came out of a family of fat people that created “pickardils”, that means healthy pigeons, if my precarious English does not fail (and it does!)”.  

2Now at home, I can see that the Alcohol and Gaming Commission of Ontario says that it’s illegal: “It is illegal to transport beverage alcohol in a motor vehicle, a motorized snow vehicle or a boat unless the beverage alcohol is in a container that is unopened and the seal unbroken, or unless the beverage alcohol is packaged in baggage that is fastened closed or is not otherwise readily available to anyone in the vehicle. In a boat, the beverage alcohol must be stored in a closed compartment.” 

3“Black cabs” appear to be all built by London Taxis International in Coventry. It turns out that there’s been a London Taxis of North America company out of Massachusetts since 2000, and they received a U.S. government approval for import as taxis in 2003.

Machine (man) down

After a week in Austria, but before my trip through the UK, my Thinkpad died in Finland!

Minna had picked me up from the airport on Thursday night (April 27), and I had a chance to plug in the Internet connection at her home to catch up. On Friday morning, I lectured at the class at Stadia and then went out for lunch and shopping in Hakaniemi with Ritva. I took the bus back to Minna’s house, plugged in my laptop … and the machine wouldn’t boot. My experience (as a former IBM systems engineer!) suggested that this was system board failure, and definitely a hardware problem. While I was puzzling through options, I made dinner.

After dinner, I got Minna’s permission to try an experiment. (This really made Petri uncomfortable, but I’ve done this dozens of times!) Since Nokia also uses Thinkpads, she happened to have the model similar to mine — a T41. I removed the hard drive from my Thinkpad, and put it into her machine. Success! Although her T41 came with a Finnish keyboard and better screen resolution, my hard drive started up as normal. I connected to the network, tunnelled into IBM, and started some Sametime chats with various internal support people. I finally connected by Mary Penner, in the IBM Canada CIO’s office. The solution was, it appears, to put the Thinkpad Emergency Replacement Program (TERP) into effect. This is a great program, designed a decade ago, when it was realized that IBM consultants can’t effectively do client work when they don’t have a working Thinkpad. The distribution centre maintains an inventory of identical model units, so that a replacement can be sent out, working parts (e.g. hard drives, memory) can be swapped as required, and the non-working machine is returned for repair. This works well in Canada, and the IBM consultant is back in business in about 24 hours. Maintenance facilities typically don’t keep system boards on hand, so getting local service isn’t an option.

Working abroad, however, is a bigger challenge. Since I was going to be in Finland for another week, Mary initiated a shipment for me — starting with ordering inventory pulled down in the distribution centre on Friday’s third shift — so that the appropriate customs paperwork could be done on Monday morning. On this schedule, the replacement Thinkpad was to arrive in Finland on Thursday.

I wrapped up as much work as I could on Friday night, and went to Porvoo on Saturday. The rest of the weekend — while Minna and Petri celebrated Vappu (May Eve and May Day) with friends, I worked on Minna’s Thinkpad, knowing that I’d have to return it when the work week began. I transferred some of the content to a memory stick, and stashed away various files on the Internet at daviding.com, because getting Internet access is easy.

Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, I was at Stadia and HUT, where Internet access on library computers worked well. I tracked the shipment of my replacement Thinkpad on the FedEx web site, and noted that it had arrived at the airport distribution centre on Thursday. On Friday morning, at IBM, Jyrgi Koskinen and Taina Gunay phoned FedEx for me. There was a bit of confusion about the customs status for the Thinkpad — it seemed like we were importing a computer from Canada — but they straightened that out. The computer was to arrive by lunchtime. I gave my scheduled presentations at IBM.

At lunchtime, Jyrgi phoned FedEx and they said that they would deliver by 2 p.m. We went down to the mailroom, and asked the clerks to watch for us. Around 2 p.m., Jyrgi phoned FedEx again, and they said that the shipment would definitely arrive by 4 p.m. The mailroom closes at 4 p.m., and this was a Friday afternoon! Coming up to 4 p.m., Jyrgi phoned FedEx again, and the dispatcher gave him the mobile phone number for the driver. The driver said that she was tangled in traffic, and would arrive soon. Jyrgi gave her directions to deliver to the front reception desk, so the mailroom employees could go home. I went downstairs to wait. An unmarked van pulled up around 4:30 p.m., and a woman rushed out with the package. Finally!

I took the Thinkpad upstairs, swapped the hard drives, and started up the computer. I was back in business. I found Mary Penner online in Toronto and thanked her, and asked about the return. She replied that she actually hadn’t initiated a formal TERP, but had assigned me a second Thinkpad. She said that the last time that she did a TERP to an IBMer in France, it took her six months to track the return through shipping and customs! I meant that I not only got to carry one Thinkpad in my hand luggage through the UK before coming home, but two! (More physical exercise than I really needed!).

Still, the process worked, and I would have a functional computer with me for my final week in the UK. That evening, it was a scramble between getting caught up on urgent e-mails, and packing up for a flight to Manchester in the morning ….

Entertaining at (someone else’s) home

In this stage of life where we all have full time jobs, families and community, entertaining friends at home is a small luxury. For me, entertaining in friends’ homes is a nice respite from jet age travel. It’s a great opportunity to share time, food and wine together.

Taina and Pekka hosted the dinner on this trip. Minna invited Tuula (since Petri and Tommi had prior commitments) and I invited Karlos. Annaleena had just returned from the U.S., but had picked up some stomach troubles on the trip, and thought it best to stay home. Taina chauffeured me over to the K Citymarket hypermarkets at Iso Omena — a reliable place to pick up Chinese-style tofu! — and I prepared about five dishes, as usual. Continue readingEntertaining at (someone else’s) home

A quiet afternoon strolling through Old Porvoo

In my travels, I’m usually happy to just get around the city that I’m visiting. There’s usually plenty to do around most urban areas — museums, markets, hangouts — and I get to know the local streets (on my folding bicycle) or local transportation. On my trip to Finland last November, I was feeling pretty burned out — even missing the outbound flight — and the dreary weather encouraged me to stay in the hotel and just work. (This was just before I figured out that I was having problems with my vision and would need a cataract surgery, so the whole situation may have foreshadowed that I was turning agoraphobic).

Usually, on one of the weekend days of my visits, Karlos and I usually take some time off, visiting Kiasma, or just having lunch and walking around the city — but we set a bad pattern on the last trip. In November, he first begged off going out because he was trying to meet a deadline in editing a book, and I then later begged off a dinner because I had to prepare for a lecture. Toward the end of that visit, we did get to meet for a nice dinner, but winter was setting in pretty early for other activities. I think that this trip is my eighth visit to Finland since 2003, but unusual in a strong probability for sunny weather and long days with light. I had suggested to Karlos that we might take the drive to Porvoo if the weather stood up. Continue readingA quiet afternoon strolling through Old Porvoo

Culinary diversity in Finland

When I visit at someone’s home for more than a day, I inevitability offer to cook at least a few meals. Since my family had a restaurant in Gravenhurst — I think that my grandfather and father sold the Queen’s Cafe circa 1966 — I’ve always cooked. When I was a student at Northwestern University in the early 1980s, I started cooking for myself pretty well every day. It was there that I hosted my first ten-course meal with my foster relatives. Even after getting married, I still do more than the average share of cooking, because I’m faster than Diana, and it’s more constructive for me to cook than criticize. Cooking while travelling has turned out to be more than a habit; it’s now a reputation. When I go to Finland, I’ve had a habit of packing more than a few distinct Chinese ingredients in my suitcase, because (a) I can only find brands that I prefer less in the K Citymarket or Prisma hypermarkets at the Iso Omena mall at much higher prices, or (b) I can’t find them all in Finland.

In addition, when I travel, people discover that I’m generally not into fine-dining establishments, with lavish service as would be expected in a hotel. I much prefer local food, or barring that, Asian cuisine over European cuisine. When in Finland, it’s so convenient to pick up a litre of blueberry soup in the dairy section (as I skip past the milk and yogurt packages!), and the local bread is great. While the local Chinese restaurants around Helsinki and Espoo are fine,I’m sure that I can prepare meals just as well.

After my lectures at Stadia, Ritva and I have a traditional of going out for lunch. If Ritva has tight schedule between classes, there’s enough variety near the Bulevardi area that we may go for Nepalese food or a nice cafeteria. This time, Ritva suggested that me might take walk to main subway station at Kamppi — it’s a minor thrill for me to use my mobile phone to buy a transit ticket! — to go over to Hakaniemi. This was definitely fun for me, because the area is outside of the usual tourist spots in Helsinki, and not a place that out-of-towners would be likely to go!

First, we went to Silvoplee, which is a well-known vegetarian restaurant owned and operated by two former Finnish actresses. There was a wonderful buffet there, with a touch of Indian and East Asian flavours, and fresh salad greens. It’s a casual cafe atmosphere, and, if I weren’t doing my own cooking, I could see it becoming a hangout for meals for me.

Walking down the street, after viewing a number of South Asian and African grocery stores, we happened into Vii Voan. This is a tidy, well-stocked Vietnamese grocery store. I was able to find not only Chinese soy sauce, but also more obscure items that I would purchase at home, e.g. Korean buckwheat noodles — at reasonable prices on a scale in line with Toronto. Unfortunately, the selection of greens was rather narrow, but I was able to get some Shanghai bok choy. I loaded up my knapsack with supplies to take back on the subway and bus.

Ritva also took me around the local market at Hakaniemi, near the subway station. This is a local version of the market hall that tourists see on the Helsinki harbour near the waterfront. Ritva pointed out that table at the upstairs cafe where the Finnish president, Tarja Halonen, has a reserved space. North American television watchers would be most familiar with Tarja Halonen as the elected candidate who Conan O’Brien endorsed as a look-alike twin.

I’m now confident that I can make trips to the Helsinki area without having to pack so many Chinese groceries with me. Although my folding bike has probably lost most of the smell from a broken soy sauce bottle on a trip to Finland in 2004, I think that the suitcase in which it was packed still has a distinct aroma ….

Airline bumping, Scandinavian style

Since I have the luxury of travelling to see many countries and different cultures, I often get amused by the small differences that reflect the alternative ways of seeing the world. This story is about a minor event in the Copenhagen airport.

I was flying from Munich to Helsinki via Copenhagen. The Copenhagen airport is attractive with lots of natural wood finishes. It seems quite compact between gates, and connections seem relatively well-organized. I noted a long line queuing up for the Helsinki to Copenhagen flight, and was relaxed to join the end of the line.

A man in an airline uniform was walking down the queue, and stopped by a young man — most probably a student, by his dress and demeanour. The airline attendant said that the flight was quite overbooked, and asked if the young man would be interested in waiting for a guaranteed seat on the next flight with a choice of 75 Euros cash or 200 Euros in flight coupons. The young man chose the former, and was then asked to step out of the line, and wait by the side. This conversation took just a minute, and queue moved on.

In comparison, how would this happen in most American airports? Typically, the airline attendant gets on the public address system and makes an announcement looking for volunteers for a similar offer. Responses by passengers go one of two ways: those who really want to stay on the flight get tense because they’ll want to make sure they have enough seat and baggage space, while those who might consider taking up the offer think about whether they should rush to the counter or not. In either case, although the American style might be judged as “fairer”, it probably introduces more stress to a larger number of travellers than is necessary.

Could airlines in the United States be convinced to change their style of behaviour? Maybe or maybe not. This could be one of those predispositions towards culture practices — like standing on the right side of an escalator to allow the hurried to pass on the left1 — that people don’t really think much about, until it gets mentioned to them.


1This example comes from Charles Spinosa, Fernando Flores and Hubert L. Dreyfus, Disclosing New Worlds, MIT Press, 1999. 

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