Sylvia's Journal

The economic turndown also showed itself on the plane leaving Amsterdam; it was only half full. Once again I had an entire row to myself after my neighbor moved to the row in front of us. That was a good thing because for the 30 minutes that he did sit next to me he imbued the entire row and especially his seat with the smell of Dutch groentesoep (vegetable soup). The pungent smell lingered for a long time after he moved. I have nothing against vegetable soup, I like it, but as a smell on humans it is not so great.

We left Holland a little later than planned because the plane could not disconnect itself from the jet way – as if some mechanical umbilical cord tried to keep us from leaving. It took two batches of mechanics jumping up and down something to shake us loose.

While flying over the Alp and the Mediterranean I watched Oliver Stone’s ‘W’ and was most intrigued by the senior leadership team scenes. I think it would make good discussion material for such teams about what it means to lead at the very top. As a psychologist I was also drawn into the parental dynamic and wondered how much of world affairs is influenced by powerful sons (or daughters – but there are less of those) who feel the need to prove themselves over and over again and show their dads, dead or alive, that they are worthy human beings, while breaking things along the way. The book I just finished (We Were the Mulvaneys by Carol Oates) is about the same topic. I think I have never quite disengaged from my original professional ambition to be a family therapist; a person who I believe does the world’s most important preventive work.

I have observed this dynamic up close and nearby but the harm that can be inflicted on others in the process is usually contained and mostly local, unless of course the family produces a future president of the most powerful nation in the world. In that light Obama’s story is just as interesting.

In Khartoum we refueled and I watched the day turn into night in no time; as a northerner this short twilight is always a surprise. I much prefer our drawn out process and the slow transition from light to dark and vice versa.

The last part of the trip gave me just enough time to scan the bulk of the background documents that I had been saving into one ‘to read’ file. I am lucky that Liz is already there and can brief me on the lay of the land and all the things she already found out after a week in Addis. She’s known as a super productive worker; I have already noticed that.

We landed in Ethiopia exactly at the appointed time and I was out before Kalid the driver, who was sent to pick me up, arrived. He intercepted me just as I was about to get into a taxi. I arrived at the hotel and was given what appears to be the imperial suite, a three-room affair with a huge terrace where you could hold a party for fifty people. It looks out over the red light district below and a good chunk of the city. It has several gurgling Italianate fountains with cast iron lovers and vines, a gas terrace heater like you find in cities that use terraces all year round even when cold. There’s more: a vending machine, a gas grill and about 5 outdoor furniture sets (large round tables and chairs) plus a swinging settee. I have a strong suspicion that it is not just for me. In fact, when we did a workshop in this hotel during my last visit this is where we had our coffee breaks. But now, late at night, all is quiet and I am here alone.

Inside there are two large flat screen TVs, one in my (king size) bedroom and the other in the living room with kitchenette with its well stocked refrigerator (drinks only), four burners, microwave, 8 kitchen cupboards with only the most essential china and silverware for two, and a granite counter top. There is also a fake fireplace with a plastic log, also of the Italianate style. These Italians surely left their marks here. And finally I have fairly good speed wireless. All this for 60 dollars less than the US-government allowed maximum rate so I am actually saving money for the American tax payer. A flyer on my desk of the hotel group that, I suppose owns this hotel invites me to ‘bring my exhausted sole & depart singing…’ So stay tuned.