Sylvia's Journal

There were more moments I came to regret not taking the plane from Penang to Bangkok – we left Georgetown at the end of the morning to get to the station in time for a 1h15 PM departure. This turned out to be 2PM. Our train to Bangkok was number 36 and looked more like a commuter train. It was a local (no facilities) to the border which was 3 hours away. We stopped at small stations and at places in between. The airco system chugged along with some effort and not very effectively.

There were more regrets when we got to the border. The border crossing was easy; no stern immigration and custom officers here. We were greated by a friendly overweight man in a uniform that didn’t close. There was some sort of a trajectory through immigration and customs but when you were done you where exactly where you started and everyone passed freely between the two countries. The numbere of passengers was small; everyone recognized everyone else quickly. If you didn’t need a stamp in your passport you could have slipped easily from Malaysia into Thailand or the other way around.

I had had some naïve idea that a spiffy night train with the sleepers we had ordered would be waiting for us at the border crossing. It was not to be and I realized that this is the difference between a middle income country (our train from KL to Butterworth was very spiffy with an electronic display of the speed at all times and Harry Potter playing on a screen next to it).

Here in borderland it was very hot and very humid, and when we realized our train was still making its way from Bangkok the heat and humidity increased significantly.  We killed the time eating in the upstairs eating establishment until we realized that heat rises.

We had obtained the tickets through a byzantine process that involved multiple emails, a middleman and a courier carrying our ticket from Bangkok to Butterworth (our starting point). It was a trust fall if ever there was one. The courier, carrying a green apron, delivered our tickets and presented us with dinner options: chicken, beef or vegetarian, tea or coffee and a sandwich for breakfast. We ordered four beers; all this for 20 dollars. (Later we learned alcohol was forbidden on the train and the breakfast sandwich never materialized).

When the train was delayed he brought us the 4 cold beers on the customs inspection tables which we briefly had to evacuate for the passengers coming from Bangkok. It was a good sign because it meant our train was there, it just needed to change track and move its locomotive to the front.

We found our places in car number 9 and discovered that there was not much room for luggage. With our two small pieces we managed but the family that came after us had a challenge with its 6 boxes, two giant suitcases, and countless assorted bags. There were other people with luggage like that.. The suitcases and boxes, not fitting anywhere else, were piled up in the narrow corridor between the seats. I thought of the flight attendants at the end of a flight warning us to keep blankets from blocking egress. Blankets now seemed harmless compared to these boxes upon boxes. A quick escape in case of an accident would be very challenging.

As we realized quickly the train was of a different type than the one in Malaysia. It reminded me of the sleeper trains I took in my youth on vacations to Switzerland and Austria, an old workhorse, well-worn, with little inkling about the coming electronic era, internet, and electronic gadgets that need constant charging.

As if the week wasn’t already full enough between two trips, I registered for a two day workshop offered to MSH staff, Fierce Conversations. It was a remarkable distillation of psychology and practical tips and techniques for holding team, coaching, delegation and confrontation conversations, expertly packaged and turned into an industry. It shows what ‘productizing’ can do.  I marvel at how critical pieces of my 250 hour coaching training were condensed into a two hour session. Now that is focus!

Participating in an 8:30 to 5 workshop every day, when my alarms goes off at 4:30AM, makes for very long days. The early morning hours were for finishing tasks that were due by Friday and for taking care of other business before I head out for an entire month on Sunday. Even though I am in an 8 hour workshop, the rest of my work life doesn’t stop – this is the early morning shift, a variation on the late night shift when I am 12 hours ahead on the other side of the world.

Still the workshop was worth ervy minute, very handy, not just for me but also for my teaching others. I got some good ideas and enjoyed the hours I spent with colleagues, mostly younger, who I didn’t know that well.  They are so lucky to have this opportunity – I wished I had known about these techniques when I started out. I learned things the hard way, as most others of my generation.

On Friday I ticked off nearly everything on my deadline list and closed my computer to go on a shopping spree with Axel – we are having our annual spring ritual, an Easter egg hunt that has roots deep in my childhood past. We haven’t missed a year, since we restarted the ritual in the US, in 1985.  But this year we are making one big change: the cheap Easter candies that we usually put in the bags to be hunted for across our property are replaced with seed packets. After my sugar conversion I couldn’t get myself to buy these candies for others. Some sugar is still in the bag, but of a slightly higher grade: a couple of mini stroopwafels, ginger cookies and dark chocolate almonds; the bags need some weight to stay put.

We cashed in on another Christmas present, this one from Tessa, and attended a concert of Chick Corea and Bela Fleck, two virtuoso musicians, one on the piano and the other on the banjo. They have been playing together for 10 years – though I only knew them as soloists. The concert was in Concord (NH) which required that I head up north with thousands of car commuters who work in Boston and live in New Hamsphire, exactly at 5 PM. First Axel got to commute at rush hour by public transport and now I got to check out the road system at the high point of rush hour.

Well prepared I had a good story on, the final moments of the threesome that gave us Wonder Woman, a wonderful book (The Secrete History of Wonder Woman) that brings three strands together: feminism, the birth control movement and the comic book industry. Enthralled by the story, the one hour and 45 minute commute to Tessa wasn’t so bad, though I wouldn’t want to do it daily.  I gather that would make one angry, as I watched driver behavior in stop-and-go traffic. I tried to keep a distance with the car in front and for that got the finger and much angry eye darts thrown at me, and a bit of road rage.

The concert hall in Concord is hidden behind a new and beautiful façade and entry way (pattern language at work!) but is itself old and funky. Decorated in faux Egyptian style (much teal, orange and ochre) is it enormous. Tessa brought down the average age by a tad, but I gather it was probably still around 60 – good whistlers and shouters (in a nice way) who know the repertoire of the two together and separate.

We were treated to a nice mix of old, new, classic and modern music, all complex as Bela reminded us. He didn’t need to. Unfortunately the front row seats Tessa got us where on the wrong side and we only got to see Bela’s back, and the back of the concert piano obscuring Chick. We didn’t get to see any of the fanciful finger work that both displayed – we could only hear it. Still, it was a phenomenal concert and I felt very lucky to have seen them live, playing together with so much joy.

The next morning I got up at 4:30, as I would have done in Manchester (MA) and throw myself into the morning commute from Concord to Boston. This time I was ahead of the rush and it took only one hour and 15 minutes. Bless my ordinary commute from Lobster Cove, a mere 40 minutes.

Yesterday was our 36^th wedding anniversary. We cashed in the Christmas present Sita and Jim had given us, a gift certificate to the restaurant Bergamot in Somerville. I don’t know how Sita picks these places, I guess Millenials are good at this as I know from my travels with Millenials, triangulating.

Sita’s pick is always exactly the right place for our wedding anniversary (no pressure) – a creative cook, a nice atmosphere and good libations.

To avoid having to drive home with two cars and one of this chauffeured by a very tired me, Axel came into town by train. He had to fight his way against the current of Boston commuters going home at 5 PM . Apparently swimming upstream is not for the faint of hearted, and especially when there is something wrong on the orange line. His description reminded me of the infamous pictures of the Tokyo metro system some decades ago with specially hired pushers to fill up every empty space.

We had cocktails to forget about this and later found out that these cocktails were offered on the house because the sommelier is the partner of the sister of a dear colleague of mine who left MSH just a few months ago to start a new life in Zimbabwe. The sister, who owns her own restaurant in Newton, recognized Axel from a dinner there, while I was in some faraway land, and came by to say hello. Two other colleagues (one current, one ex) were sitting a few tables over.

We feasted on skate wings,  pork belly, duck pate, sweet potato gnocchi, turnip cream eclairs and old ripe cheese; wonderful combinations both for the palate and the eye.

I nearly managed to fly around the world in business class on this last trip. Except for the legs Bangkok-Vientiane and back and Amsterdam Boston, I was able to get those coveted b-class seats through a variety of means: an e-certificate (Delta’s reward for being a frequent flyer), a successful bid on a b-class seat, and a purchase with miles. The only one missing was a complimentary upgrade – such things have become very rare now. Traveling in b-class is an entirely different experience, making air travel not only painless but quite enjoyable.

I have another mega trip of ahead of me (some 20.000 miles), starting on Sunday. It is not quite a trip around the world, though going halfway around and back. After I make it from Dares salaam to Malaysia, Axel will join me in Kuala Lumpur where I will, with two colleagues, contribute to advance the wheelchair agenda in Malaysia and hopefully get support for the newly trained wheelchair service providers.

After that we were slated to make our way to Bangkok for another week of work but that part of the trip has been canceled. Not wanting to change Axel’s ticket nor mine, we decided to embrace this forced vacation and are making plans to spend some time in Vietnam, a country on our bucket list.

Right now the sun shines red through the second flowering stem of the Amaryllis, blood red. We are told to brace for another snowstorm, after this raw and rainy week, but right now it feels like spring.

I have completed my morning ritual of nearly 18 different exercises to regain strength in my left shoulder. I have decided to bring along the right shoulder which has never quite recovered from having lost one tendon in our accident now nearly 10 years ago. I can lift two pound weights during most exercises without triggering a tendinitis. It is about time because the left shoulder surgery was a year ago. I can put away stemware and plates from the dishwasher on shelves over my head, with less and less recourse to my right arm as a support. I am gaining strength. Even the defective right shoulder is benefiting from the special attention, within the limits of its 3-tendon arrangement.

I finished reading Anita Diamant’s Boston Girl which made me think of my in-laws, both gone now, who grew up in more or less the same places (Boston, Cape Ann) in the same time period (early 1900s and through the depression, 2^nd world war). Such narratives are a reminder of the new immigrant struggles and how far their descendants have come.

For contrast, The dark side of Camelot (Hersh) keeps providing me with a stark counterpoint; a reality test of sorts (is this stuff really still going on?). Yes, says the Big Short movie we watched last night.

The 2^nd blood-red Amaryllis bloom exudes energy and possibility. The old stem with its faded flower and yellowing stem is gone; it gave up (or gave in, to entropy). Today is a flaming hot red day!