Flying back from Europe for the second time in two weeks, I am sick of airline food.
But consider this: since 1 March I have seen up close or traveled to the shores of or flown directly over the Pacific, Atlantic, North, Med, Red, Persian, Arabian and Indian oceans/seas. I think that comes close to covering all the biggies, maritime-wise.
After my long Africa trip, I was home for Saturday night (one son’s b-day), all day Sunday (another son’s b-day party), and then Monday morning (bunch of errands to run).
Then I flew Monday afternoon to San Diego via Phoenix (writing my “two wives” column on the way), ending up right on the Pacific Ocean for a Tuesday morning session (the longest brief I do in one sitting) with the boss of the U.S. Navy’s air community (VADM Zortman, a very cool guy very much in my thinking mode, so naturally I like him) and all his senior officers, plus many of their spouses (this was a three-day professional development effort and my talk was the one also offered to spouses). That was a great but exhausting brief, with good Q&A. Total elapsed was about 3.5 hours.
After that I go first class (joy) to Dallas, hang in the cool cat lounge, and then go overnight to London Gatwick on a nice American Airlines plane where the biz class had this near-flat lie-down seat which worked just fine for me (after a nice dinner, the movie “Déjà vu,” an Ambien, and then the movie again--if I’m not mistaken).
Then spent better part of a day in Gatwick having a nice meal in a pub (good beer) and writing a slew of posts.
Then a late afternoon flight on Wednesday to Naples (first time to Italy), crossing the Swiss Alps in the process (very cool to observe from above). I head there upon invitation by the Commander of U.S. Naval Forces Europe/NATO Naval Forces to brief both his rank and file staff in a straight lecture and his senior leadership in a strategic review exercise at a retreat (Crete). As soon as I’m off the plane and through customs I’m greeted by the PAO and protocol officer and sent with a driver to the big man’s own house, where I spend the night with my old friend, Admiral Harry Ulrich (who really could and should play himself in the movie).
His house, built by the Italian government for NATO’s naval boss decades ago, is an Italian villa of the coolest, most marble-filled sort. The back terrace is a stunner, overlooking both the bay and the famous volcano (Vesuvius) in the distance. I get the main guest suite to myself, and it’s big enough to get lost in.
We have a nice dinner: me, Ulrich, his Naples-born wife of 32 years Mary (whose mom still lives within two blocks; Mary often gazed at this villa as a kid wondering who lived in such a palace and now she does!), VADM “Boomer” Stufflebeam and his spouse Nancy. It was a great meal with great conversation. Stufflebeam, you might remember, was the voice of the Pentagon during OEF. Far cooler to me? He’s played on Lambeau’s hallowed turf as punter for the Detroit Lions (1975-79). If you can believe it, he actually moonlighted from the Navy. His nickname goes without saying.
The even cooler story to most people? Mary’s older sister won the Oscar for best supporting actress in the Italian film “Two Women,” the one in which Sophia Loren won best actress. Loren is a local legend in Naples as the hometown girl who made it big.
Very nice to see Harry again. Harry’s done some amazing things with the command, giving me tons to think about in Vol. III.
Maintaining these sorts of relationships over the long haul (Harry was my immediate boss at CNA in the early nineties when he was a commander) is something I want to explore in Vol. III. The visionary’s networking is almost as important as his content. As I wrote in PNM, there’s having the answer and then there’s having the answer at the right time with the right audience. Harry is a serious visionary, and a management change guru in his own right. He is a product of three great guys: Owens, Cebrowski and Clark.
How Harry ever became a four-star is a story in itself. The man couldn’t pull a punch if he tried, and yet it was fascinating to watch him over the next few days, playing motivational leader one minute and suave diplomat the next.
Thursday, I get up and have breakfast with Harry and then we careen through Naples rush-hour traffic in his government car with blue-light flashing. “Grand Theft Auto” has nothing on his driver, who moves aggressively through traffic like a motorcycle ambulance. I simply concentrated on my discussion with Harry, who clearly grew oblivious to this a long time ago (been there three years).
We whisk to the base and they walk me into a movie theater, where I do a 75-minute brief on stage to a full house. Great questions after, as Harry promises Sunday afternoon off to whoever offers the toughest question. It was the last one, BTW.
Then we’re whisked out to an airfield and jump aboard his command aircraft, a nifty C-26 (if I remember the designation correctly, it’s very much like a Gulfstream), and take off for Crete (a very cool view of Mediterranean islands along the way).
We sit opposite each other up front, with the PAO observing, and I tape a two-hour interview with him, as he runs me through his stuff. I am stunned, frankly, by the breadth and depth of his innovation. I’ve gone around for years saying we should do this or that, and Harry’s actually pulled off several of my dreams. He’s kind enough to say he’s read my book, but that’s not the causal link. Harry would have done these things anyway. I will claim only that great minds think alike.
Nice lunch aboard the jet, and by the time I get off, I know the trip was completely worthwhile in terms of data gathering. That two-hour interview alone did it all.
We land in Crete at the naval air station, meet all the base leadership, and then walk directly to an all-hands meetings that Harry leads without any notes. Imagine Clint Eastwood channeling Phil Donahue channeling Peter Drucker, and you get the picture. It was fascinating to watch.
Then we’re driven to an allied WWII cemetery (the Germans invaded and occupied Crete in 1941), where the two of us wander around for a while, chatting about our careers and just catching up further (Harry has had a truly interesting run, working for all sorts of historical figures). I discover a “D. Barnett” buried there among the Scots. There are also Australians and New Zealanders among the many British names.
The rest of his senior officers and their wives then show up in a bus.
For the next run we ride in the bus with everyone else, listening to a local tour guide. I get the chance to talk a lot of inside-the-business history with Ulrich and his chief civilian analytic brain on loan from CNA, Jed Snyder, who is the guy who engineered my trip. Jed is a very cool guy who’s worked for a lot of legends in this business over the years, and it was very neat to finally cross paths with him.
The next trip of the day is to a German WWII cemetery. Believe it or not, but 1.7 million German soldiers from WWI and WWII are buried abroad in roughly 100 countries.
The final trip was to a former German concentration camp.
Then we bus to the seaside resort in Crete where the planning retreat will be held. I get in some email time thanks to Ulrich’s comm guys and then it’s dinner, where I sit at the head table with Ulrich and his spouse, the local base commander and his spouse, and the town’s mayor and his spouse. The mayor, a nephrologist, has had a long career in both national politics and Greece’s Olympic Committee (he was a famous long-jumper in his youth). The meal was great, especially the baklava.
Day ended late with a final drink with senior officers at the bar. As the guest brain of honor, you feel compelled to stay up until everyone who wants to approach you has had their chance to do so. I’m not getting any real money from the command for this trip, but it’s one of those gigs you’re more than willing to do if you take the grand strategist thing seriously.
Got to bed late, but up early--of course.
Over breakfast on Friday I chat up one of Harry’s reserve-component admirals who’s doing a lot of innovative stuff in Africa, barely noticing what I eat. That was a grave mistake, but I probably wouldn’t have been any more careful if I had paid attention. It was a buffet, and I tried a bit of everything. I’m eight of nine. It’s just my birth-order genetics.
Something I ate induced a severe allergic reaction. I got worse over the morning, looking stranger and stranger according to officers sitting around me. About 1130, even though I was scheduled to talk for two hours starting at 1215, I tell Ulrich I’m off to the head to throw up breakfast.
It was the most unusual and painful incident of vomiting I have ever experienced. It was like my face was throwing up instead of my stomach. When I came up and glanced in the mirror I was shocked: I had burst tiny blood vessels all over my face and a recently emerging bit of keratosis (hardening of the skin that I simply have frozen off with liquid nitrogen) near my right eye had turned blood red, giving me an immediate skin cancer spook. My face was swelling and looking like I had that roseacea (spell?) thing going on. Every muscle on the front of my head hurt. It was truly bizarre, like I had a face transplant or something and the graft wasn’t taking well. I felt like I had some strange mask on. It was really noticeable to everyone who encountered me the rest of the day. Good thing they turned the lights down low for my presentation.
I was somewhat wobbly afterwards but felt better after puking. Ulrich sends his doc out to check me and he tells me to take the stomach antibiotic I carry for just such occasions. Everyone’s asking if I can go on, since I’m the center of the day’s activities.
I drink a Coke and say, definitely. The showman in me is not to be deterred. Simply put, I’ve gone on sick before and I just hate traveling somewhere and then disappointing an audience (how in hell could I travel all the way to Crete and then take a powder?). I had heard from too many there that they were psyched for the talk, having heard how well it had gone for the staff the day before back in Naples. Simply put, my ego overcame my aching face, which really did feel like I’d run a marathon on it.
It was one of my best, most funny performances, reminding me of how I often played my best in high school sports when I was injured. I guess I just had to get myself inspired to pull it off, so it was an inspiring show. Still, I almost fell over a few times, I was that woozy.
Great discussion afterwards, one of the best I’ve enjoyed, but that’s just the quality of the staff and Harry’s leadership (everyone there said they loved working under such an innovative guy).
Afterwards I retreat to the comms room and gently surf the net, catching up on some email and filling up on liquids. By the time the conference ends (I sit in on the last couple of hours), I am feeling weak and wobbly but ambulatory.
We’re driven to the airport and I’m back on the admiral’s jet for the ride back. I have a glass of red wine and eat a plate of cheese and fruit and crackers. I’m almost feeling human again.
Once down in Naples I’m driven to a hotel near the airport but still on base. Once checked in, I’m back in another car for a drive to a famous local restaurant, the kind where they bring you plate after plate of whatever they’re cooking that night (no menu). It’s a big, grand meal with Harry, his spouse, and about six other command couples. I skip the shellfish and the owner is kind enough to bring me a steak instead of the main fish entree. It’s cooked on the seared-rare side, but it’s truly delicious, so I, in my new-found hunger, devour it.
Great conversations into the night. Lots of those sea stories officers love to swap. Harry’s a great storyteller, so we duel til about 2300.
Back to the hotel I’m lights out at 0030 and up at 0530 on Saturday to catch my Alitalia flight to Milan.
Once I get there, I get the bad news about the big winter storm on the east coast. My USAirways to Philly is canceled and all the future flights to the U.S. have been completely sold-out for Sunday and Monday and Tuesday. The last flights that day to the U.S. are leaving just as I realized how screwed I am. I’m feeling sick enough still that I have a hard time standing up for too long. No audience, no will power apparently.
Still, I wander around trying to figure out what to do. I end up credit-card calling Jenn a couple of times. She can’t do anything from the U.S. At one point she’s on hold with USAirways for three hours! Locally, USAirways offers me a flight Wednesday morning. That’s it. They’ll give me something four days from now and meanwhile I’m advised--at my own cost, of course--to find myself a place to stay in Milan for four nights!
I am stunned. But apparently this is the reality of being caught in Europe while trying to get home and a big storm hits in the eastern U.S. Planes don’t come over so none can go back. And if the subsequent flights are already full (as they were), they you get in line for remaining seats on the days ahead. Milan’s airport was crammed with Americans trying to figure out what to do. The luckiest ones, already in line before I landed, got flights on Tuesday. Some were settling for Thursday, five days ahead, by the time I figured out my escape plan.
The decision was easy enough for me when I got my head cleared enough to think it through: there was just no way I could hang out in a Milan hotel for four days, alone and sick. I already had an appointment with my doc back in Indy for Monday morning and by God, I was going to make it.
I heard one American woman (I was pulling aside anyone vaguely American-looking to hear what they had settled for) say there were supposedly still a couple of seats on a KLM flight out of Amsterdam late Saturday night. I had, by this time, already tried Delta. They too were offering Wednesday at the earliest. Forget about British Airways. They just waved me off, shaking their heads.
So I rushed to KLM and found the last seat out of Europe apparently until Thursday, by all accounts since. It was a business class on Sunday afternoon, which meant it ran 3,000 Euros (about $4,100). I didn’t care at that point. I felt pretty bad, awfully tired, and simply wanted to be moving in some direction that got me closer to home. So I bought it. I’ll let Jenn try to get it out of one of the several masters I served on this trip. That’s a great advantage of this sort of career: every trip is multi-purpose and multi-client, so you can spread the travel pain if necessary. Since I discounted the command about 95% on this trip, I’m hoping they’ll pick up the tab, but I have other options.
Still, even if I eat it for a tax deduction, it was worth it. I have dates scheduled that I simply cannot abandon, much less blowing off my family that long. Plus, in the end, four days and nights in Milan wouldn’t have been cheap. Indeed, I was already being warned by fellow travelers that only the most expensive hotels had any rooms left due to the crush of stranded Americans.
I guess that’s the harsh truth of the situation. I mean, it’s not like carriers are going to send an extra plane all the way across the Atlantic to get you. You’re just shit out of luck.
I hop the first Alitalia flight (partner with KLM) to Amsterdam, getting in around 5pm. I grab my luggage and find a close hotel for only 59 Euros. I ride the bus there, checking out the countryside near Amsterdam. Already I feel a bit safer. The Netherlands looks a lot like parts of Wisconsin, as do the people--naturally. Italy seemed crowded and weird in comparison. But this? This felt instinctively like home.
I collapse in my room and sleep for about 15 hours. It improves me quite a bit. My face is starting to look normal, although it still hurts in this weird way. Now it just looks like a weird sunburn.
After conferring with Jenn and Vonne by email, I decide to make the planned flight to Minneapolis Sunday (over nine hours) and then stay at my sister Cathie’s home for the night. I change what was my connecting to Detroit Sunday night (I had a fantasy of getting in at midnight and driving til dawn to Indy in a rental, but Vonne and Jenn talk me out of that; I’m just feeling very guilty because I miss hosting my younger son’s birthday party outing with his best friends on Sunday) when I get to the Amsterdam airport late Sunday morning to an early Monday Minneapolis-to-Indy direct flight.
The Amsterdam airport is one of the coolest I’ve ever been to: super neat and modern and efficient and . . . just so niftily Nederlander. I retreat to the KLM elite lounge and write my column for next weekend, eating the offered fare a bit and drinking lotsa juice and good coffee. I celebrate the first draft with a draft Heineken. I am almost feeling normal at this point, like I’ve been through a bad flu that swept through my system, leaving all of the damage on my face.
The flight to Minneapolis was nice enough. Surprisingly smooth given all the turbulence of westward flights this month (this is my--if you can believe it!--18th flight of March! I will likely make it over 30 for the entire month, when all is said and done, and that’s definitely a record for me). I have an interesting seat partner in a 65-year-old engineering professor from U Minn. He’s just coming back from the UAE.
After the nice sojourn at my sister’s place, I get back to Indy just before 10am on my early flight. I get to the doctor appointment late, but get a good going-over from my physician. We talk through the whole episode and my man says it was probably an MSG-triggered allergic shock, which tends to be face oriented.
Whatever.
I am home. Eight nations and six states in the first 19 days of the month. Another six states and 12 flights to go.