Having made the flight from Seattle to Atlanta I had less than 72 hours to visit Bogota. The classic in and out so not a lot to report. I was here to work to evangelise and explain a new global social media recruitment strategy that the team I work for is deploying around the world. I was also here to talk about some direct sourcing techniques using Boolean logic to pin point information using search engines and databases. A training that helps our recruiters around the world source more passive candidates on the internet. I stayed in a boutique hotel called Hotel Casa Medina, which was very comfortable and very close to the office. I’d highly recommend it if you come here.
What strikes you straight away when you arrive is the security protocols. Fingers prints needed to change money. Finger prints needed to enter the office. Guards and sniffer dogs checking our cars as we enter into shopping malls. Like a lot of south American countries you have to pay attention to where you are going, when, what you wear, etc. One of the girls in the office kindly brought me and one of my other colleagues from the US to the famous T junction one of the nights which is a big shopping mall beside a T street full of modern western mostly restaurants. While there we stopped off at the local Irish bar where on a Wednesday night I got the chance to watch a packed pub of Colombian’s sit back and have a few beers after work. While there Claudia our host from the office told me a little about the FARC guerillas and how they are almost completely wiped out by the present government even though they still manage to detonate occasional bombs with devastating effect in the country. We also heard about stories about how beautiful Cartagena on the coast and the capital of flowers Meddelin. While, only paying a quick visit to Colombia I’d definitely like to come back. While the traffic was bad in the city and the security is high, I felt safe, the people we met were very nice and the government seems to be stable and moving its economy in the right direction.
About a 5 hour flight from the east of South Africa is an island nation off the coast of the African continent in the southwest Indian Ocean, about 500 miles east of Madagascar. In addition to the island of Mauritius, the Republic includes the islands of Cargados Carajos, Rodrigues and the Agalega Islands.
The island is most famous for an extinct bird: the dodo. Uninhabited until the 17th century, the island was ruled first by the Dutch and then the French after the Dutch had abandoned it. The British took control during the Napoleonic Wars and Mauritius became independent from the UK in 1968. Now the country is a very proud republic full of sugar cane and tea plantations with the symbol of the mythical bird everywhere you look. The people are kind and generous and look more Indian than African. Similarly the culture is closely pegged to the Indian markets and Hindu temples are everywhere.
Nowadays the island is also well know for the speed and ingenuity by which it has tapped into the world tourism market. It was for its proximity to South Africa and the lure of a relaxing week on the beach and in a nice hotel is what would we were looking for. It was what we got.
The Heritage Golf Spa is on the south side of the island and one of the new breed of hotels. They care for your total needs while there and at 300 euros a night is a little pricey but worth it all. Events like water skiing, kayaking, cloud surfing, archery, giant chess, bikes, hills walks, tennis, massage, aquarobic sessions, and much much more are often. For us we went for a treatment a day of massages and then we both took a water skiing lesson a day. The entire experience was completely relaxing and exactly what we wanted and needed after 4 weeks on the road and the especially in the knowledge that "back to work" was looming.
One of the best experiences we had was a stroke of luck. The day we were due to leave to go home ir flight got delayed. It was 8am when we were in the airport and we learned that we wouldn't be leaving until 8pm that night. Something that made our heads hang for 30 minutes as we were trying to learn about when and how they were going to get us home our heads dropped a little. They then said they'd be sending us to a nearby 5 star hotel, we could have free golf, as much free food as we wanted, free internet and go snorkeling if we wanted. Now that's what I call looking after your displaced customers. I got 18 holes in and Camila relaxed on the beach getting some sun rays. We then went on the most amazing hour of snorkeling I have ever been on. What was happening under the water blew us away. School of fish everywhere racing around the famous Azul Blu lagoon, with hundreds of them surrounding us with some cheeky ones even kissing us! There was animals under it that I never knew existed. Hand in hand we snorkeled together for 30 minutes in about 3 meters of water with about 15 other people in a huge lagoon and then we went exploring a bit. It was brilliant - I really really loved that snorkel - the very best I have ever done. The 12 hour flight home after that was a breeze.
We decided to try out look seeing them in Shamwari Game reserve in Port Elizabeth a two hour flight from Cape Town.
The big 5 was coined by big-game hunters and refers to the five most difficult animals in Africa to hunt on foot: the lion, the African elephant, the Cape Buffalo, the leopard and the rhinoceros, either the black rhinoceros or the white rhinoceros.
Unfortunately, the big five are among the most dangerous animals on the planet so as such they have been hunted aggressively with huge reductions in their numbers of late.
For those of you that don't know alot about them as I didn't before the trip here's a small animal lesson on each:
The Lion (Panthera leo) is a large carnivorous feline of Africa and northwest India, having a short tawny coat, a tufted tail, and, in the male, a heavy mane around the neck and shoulders.
The African elephant (Loxodonta Africana) is a very large herbivore having thick, almost hairless skin, a long, flexible, prehensile trunk, upper incisors forming long curved tusks of ivory, and large, fan-shaped ears. There are two distinct species of African elephant: African Forest Elephant (Loxodonta cyclotis) and the African Bush Elephant (Loxodonta africana).
The African Buffalo or Cape Buffalo (Syncerus caffer) is a large horned bovid. It is the most dangerous of the Big Five, reportedly causing the most hunter deaths.
The Leopard (Panthera pardus) is a large, carnivorous feline having either tawny fur with dark rosette-like markings or black fur. Leopards are the most difficult to acquire hunting licenses for and are often difficult to hunt due to their behavior and their nocturnal feeding habits. Leopard hunting usually overlaps several weeks of baiting.
The Rhinoceros is a large, thick-skinned herbivore having one or two upright horns on the snout. In Africa, there are two distinct species of rhinoceros; the Black Rhinoceros (Diceros bicornis) and the White Rhinoceros (Ceratotherium simum). Both of these species have two upright horns on the snout.
This was the first time we had gone game driving at it certainly is exciting the first time you start to head out into the bush in a small jeep with a fully loaded gun on the bonnet of the car just in case you have any difficulties. Our first ride started at 4.30pm just after we arrived from an hour's taxi from the local airport. It was lashing out of the heavens but we were determined to see what we could find...
I’ve always wanted to visit and always knew I would. Landing in Cape Town was with mixed emotions. I could feel the sense of history around. If ever a fascinating country be, this I knew from my pre-study was one of the best from which I could further my education.
It was the land of two oceans: Atlantic and Indian. It was at the very southern tip of the massive continent with neighbours such as Namibia and its famous jagged dunes, Bostwana with the incredible rich diversity of the world famous Okavango Delta. . Zimbabwe and a batter and bruised people with one of the world’s longest reigning despots, to the east Mozambique and its beautiful coastline and last but not least tribalism personified in the mountain men of Lesotho with their incredible Drakensberg Range and the brave Zulu tribes of Swaziland. It was the land where the Dutch and Portuguese set up early colonies. With the Dutch deciding that the Cape should be set up as a farm for its Dutch East India Company exploits to offer its sailors a resting point and an opportunity to search for hidden gold and diamonds. Then in 1806 the British had their time as overlords and encourages its expansion by soliciting the Boers (Dutch, Flemish, German and French settlers) to take plots of lands and build a thriving communities. Conflicts as we know ensued and with despicable Berlin conference of 1848 the crude lines that divide many tribes unfairly across the continent and which lead to the current map we have of Africa was unfairly drawn.
Going from the airport to the Cape was a sad moment. The famous “Cape Flats”shanty towns where tens of thousands of disadvantages black south African’s were hoarded into stuck out like a sore thumb on the horizon. They gnawed at me and insulted everything good in the world. As our taxi speeded by they reminded me of the other such camps of deprivation I had seen before: the slums of Rio and the horrible disease ridden sardine like shacks of Mumbai. This time a different country, but the same old story. I had seen it before and knew it well: inequality, rapaciousness and apathy of the grossest form. All 7 deadly sins were visceral and very much alive. However, as a i studied an old women holding a small dusty dog beside her shack I reminded myself tha this was not the time for introspection. I was conscious while acknowledging the indigenous peoples’ plight and the tremendous social, economical and racially fueled fight they still had on their hands and the false dawns once promised after Mandel’s reign, I was on my honeymoon. There would be another time to think of such issues and I would have time to see my own interpretation of the balance truth of how things for the different demographics in this complex society actually was.
As we passed the towns, and I started to stare at the beautiful Table Mountain one last thought entered my minds as we left the poor behind so quickly. It was that of one of my hero’s ( Professor Muhammad Yunus) dreams - that maybe some day my childrens children’s children would only have to see such poverty in a museum - museum’s of poverty. No longer real in the world. Just relics of a past brutal immature time when man had shrieked some of its essential responsibilities to look after the planet and each other. No more slums, shanty towns or favellas. World Peace. The eradication of poverty as we know it on the earth. (You can learn more about Professor Yunus, his pioneering work on micro-banks and why this eminent Bangledeshi received his Nobel prize, here). As I stared at the unusually beautiful chunk of rock that gives Cape Town such a dramatic setting I quietly smiled to myself, and was content, that with men like Muhammed Yunus and the mighty Mandela, life was beautiful, and I thanked God I was now about to explore one of the world's most beautiful cities with my equally beautiful new wife!
It's kind of hard to describe the happiest day of your life so far.I'm not even going to try. I hope this video here and these small section of photos give you a feel for what it was all about.
As we sat in the Jury’s hotel reception room 5 minutes away from Dublin airport munching on some chips, crisps and chicken sandwiches the night before the 9.20am flight the next day to London and onto Paraty, Rio the scene was set and the protagonists with varying degrees of travel experience insitu in high spirits. I love that feeling just before you are about to go travelling. It was here again. After receiving a warm heartfelt best wishes phone call from my godmother who finished with a “look after your mother” I sat back and took a moment to ponder on the momentous journey that was about to unfold and the loved ones who were coming along for the ride. For me the journey would consist of: Dublin-London-Rio-Paraty-Ilha Grande-Rio-Buenos Aires-Cape Town-Port Elizabeth-Johannesburg-Port Louis- Paris-Dublin. A generous 5 weeks off work and 6 countries to traverse. For the others 1 week which would consist of Waterford-Dublin-London-Rio-Paraty-Rio-London-Dublin and the final leg back down the road to Waterford.
Munching into a well cooked chicken breast with some chips was my beautiful mother. Omnipresent in my life and forever with me where ever I go. This time she was coming with me. With two flights in her life, on both occasions to England ( to visit her sister and her sister’s family) this was the biggest trip of her life, bar none, and probably always would be. She was nervous but excited. My father had never flown before. Eventhough he would argue that he flies in the cold waters of Tramore everyday of the week as he dives, floats and breast strokes in the cold south eastery waters of Ireland. A great man about to go on (at least physically) a great journey: an turas fada. Calm, collected but also excited I enjoyed knowing that he was about to experience a wonderful trip that I hoped would give him many new colours to dip into when painting pictures of the soul. Normally one to travel inside. He was about to go outside. I knew, more than anyone else, he would probably be the main benefactor from the experience. Having got lost already using the lift in Jury’s to find his room I smiled to myself knowing that this was going to be unforgettable for my Dad and for all of us.
My brother Joseph, his wife Eleanor and their beautiful all singing all dancing daughter Ellen were next. All experienced veteran’s of the air with countless miles racked up after numerous trips to the US and Europe. However, this trip would be completely different to any they had been on before. It would be late 30’s in temperature. They would have to manage a country where not a lot of English was in use and also the food would be a lot more different than probably anything they had experienced before. Whether they would enjoy it or not I wasn’t full sure.
Then to make up the final elements of the travelling party was my childhood friend Bryan Walsh and his lovely wife Gillian. Both had been to Brazil with me before for the carnival and both where making a big sacrifice of leaving their two children for a week to come and be present at my wedding. Something I will always be grateful to them for. The Walsh’s a bit like Joseph come from the modern Irish travelling generation, as I did, that had been blessed to see the world. This trip for both of them would be a walk in the park. With a couple of books and a glass of wine once we left London they’d drift off to sleep on the plane as if they had caught the train from Plunket station in Waterford to Heuston station in Dublin.
At the table with the usual sounds of a busy hotel in the air I took a moment to think to myself as myriad images came to the fore. I grabbed at them and help to one. It was gratitude. Gratitude for getting to this stage in my life with so many loved ones beside me. Gratitude for being lucky enough to be marrying such a wonderful women: Camila Montilha de Morales, soon to be Fitzgerald. Gratitude to be so privileged in life to be able to do the things I was about to do while Hait’s castrophe still roared and the plights of so many people’s silent and unheard cries rose to the heavens with no one to hear with no one to hear nor defenders in sight. Here I was muching chips, crips and chicken with the most important people in my life getting ready to go to Rio. I felt extreme contentment and happiness.
Approximately 24 hours later we were outside our hotel the Rio Othan, on Copacobana, listening to the waves, sipping on some agua de coco and caipirinha’s and saying hello to my good friend Robbie Griffin who had made his way down alone the day before from Dublin. To my surprise, everything had gone smoothly and there was no issues. My mother’s asthma had not played up and neither was the heat causing her any problems. My dad had enjoyed the trip and was enjoying the foreign surroundings of the beach and all the little peculiarities that the new local had to offer.
Like an expedition to the Himalayas Mam and Eleanor had planned well. At least a years planning went into their bags. And I’m sure my mother had gone on many trip to Clonmel and Kilkenny with my wonderful Aunt Una (who I’m sure had her part to play in making all plans were double checked). My brother had walkie talkies ready for all to use. My father bought his first pair of prescription shades and half a pharmacy and half a swimming pool was with us. Thankfully, the flights went well, and we all got to the beautiful Atlantico Avenue, Copacobana, and our lovely hotel the Rio Othan, with enough time to spare to have some tasty steak and onions washed down by a coconut water. We all sat there taking in the beautiful beach and happy that we had arrived. There was a lot to do the following day and Rio as all who have been there know has much to offer.
Christ the Redeember or as the locals call it O Cristo Redentoris the iconic statue of Christ that towers over the city. It stands 39.6 metres (130 ft) tall and 30 metres (98 ft) wide. It weighs 635 tons , and is located at the peak of the 700 metres (2,300 ft) Corcovado mountain in the Tijuca Forest National Park overlooking the city. It is one of the tallest of its kind in the world and the Fitzgerald family was very impressed when we paid it a visit.
Besides the beauty of the vista from the top, which is one of the best I have ever sceen we also got a chance to visit the tiny tiny church at the heel of the statue. Most visitors don't even know it is there. I pointed it out to my father who promintly gathered the trops in probably the smallest church any of us had been in to say a decade of the rosary in Irish. I’m pretty certain it was probably the only decade of the rosary ever said there in Irish. It was a forever moment to remember. Afterwards we gently descended down the newly created escalators and then made our way to do some shopping and try find my Dad a pair of sandels.
That night we all went to a churrascariaor Braziliansteakhouse. Churrasco is the cooking style, which translates roughly from the Portuguese for 'barbecue'.Camila and I had planned carefully and we were all booked into the best one in Rio: Porcao, or the big pig! The word barbeque for Irish people conjurs up an image of back gardens, spits, charcoal, burgers, sausages and chicken wings. For the more adventurous it might mean marinated chicken breasts, scallops, monk fish, squid and some quickly flipped mackerel. For the Brazilian’s it’s very very different. Picture a huge salad and sushi table 4/5 meters in circumference with lots of exotic cheeses, pastas and vegetables with a generous offering of Japanese style foods and cheese breads. This is the starters offered with local Gurana drink, coconut juice, soft drinks and wines. Next you get a picture of a cow divided into over 13 cuts. You also get 2/3 waiters, per person! On your table, like a beer matt, you have a green piece of cardboard on the front and red on the back. When you flip it to green, you are giving a signal to the waiters to come at you as quick as possible with as many meets as possible for you to eat. When the signal in red, it mean’s leave us alone, to try digest what we had eaten. And so on and on it goes. Plate after plate. Dish after dish. Drink after drink. But the cow is only half the story! Then comes the chicken, all sorts of fishes and they don’t call it the Big Pig for nothing. Lot’s of bacon on offer and lot’s of fillers like melted mozarella cheese, empanadas, onion rings, fried banana fritters and chips all a mere nod and a wink to a waiter away. Churrascaria’s are built for international rugby teams that haven’t ate for days. They are built for gormandisers of meat who delight on salty, perfectly cooked, slivers of tender rump or picanaha steak that’s juices are just as nice as the meet itself. They are unforgettable food and drink marathons. If ever I was on death row and a I was asked what would be my last meal. A churrascaria standard all inclusive menu in the Big Pig, Rio, would be my unanimous choice.
It was a food education the Fitzgerald family won't forget and for and all in 50 euros for 2 hours and and as much food as you could eat great value. I can’t wait to go back… From Porcao it was a taxi back to the Othan Palace, early to bed, to get ready to catch the bus the next day for the beautiful sleepy town of Paraty!
While going back through some of my old posts I found a draft I had half written on Las Rambles when I lived in Barcelona. Here is is with a few snaps.
Las Rambles is by far Barcelona's most famous street. It's a bit like Grafton street come Moore street on speed. Imagine a road twice as long and twice as wide as Dublin's premier shopping street with the local fervor and edge of Moore street. Think of the countless processions of people along Istanbul's Istiklal Caddesi and all the colour and life of Copenhagen's Strøget. Colour abides, noise envelops and movement is as constant as the waves that hit Tramore bay in my home town on a cold blustery day in December.
There are two ways to access this street. One is from the impressively rejuvenated port area to the south of the city and the other is to the north off Praca Catalunya. I study in a school close to Passeig De Gracia, just off Catalyuna and often find myseld walkng down the street that way before I get the turn off for Barrio Gothica, El Borne, and home in Vila Olmpica beside the fantastic Arc De Triomf and Parc Ciuadella Vila.
The moment you stand outside Cafe Zurich, the eponymous Swiss drinking hole that faces Ramblas you can feel you are about to enter a living breathing pulsating capital thorough fair. At the top of the street is a metro stop and lots of youth loitering around the entrance waiting for friends or loved ones, or selling cheap cans of Estrella beer for 2 euros a can if they can get it or more than often 1 euro if you laugh at their original overture. Once you get past the first few meters the fun begins. On any given days as you walk down the 3km you get to see local tourism paraphernalia sellers a bit like Connolly's back home. You then get a large number of "Hola" magazine and book sellers and more than a fair share of small restaurants and beer sellers.
Fun to walk down but BEWARE it is infamous for pick pockets and DANGEROUS at night.
There is nothing quite like having a nice meal, in a really hip restaurant, on the 13th floor of a hotel looking down on the busy Bosperous as you watch boats of all shapes and sizes, their lights, like reflecting pin pricks in the river, dancing in competition with the pall of stars over a jet black Turkish sky. Especially, if the restaurant is as cool as, Vogue.
What I like about the Bosperous at night is the sheer business of the river. There seems like a constant parade of ships up down and across. Then you have the beautiful minarets on the horizon announcing Islams presence all around and then you have the thousands of local fishermen on bridges and on the river's side chatting to each other and swishing their hooks overhead.
Last night I met a very nice gentleman called John who works for Microsoft for the Middle East and African region (MEA). He told me a little about his fascinating life and what it's like to live in Istanbul for 3 years. John, has 5 children, 2 from a previous relationship from his ex-wife, two that his current Turkish wife had from a previous relationship and one that they had together, a 3 year old girl.
John told us all about the kamikaze culture of the car drivers here; the calmness and tranquility that the Bosperous gives to so many locals at night, the fear that the country is going to experience another earthquake soon, the fact that there is little or no Irish community in Istanbul for him to hang out with, the huge appetite that Turkey has at a grass roots level to join Europe, while the current political leadership seems to be slowly steering itself to the Arab world.
When asked about Ireland. He dreams of living in West Cork, Baltimore but feels that the economic recovery in the country will probably take a decade if not longer to reaslise itself. John, was a colourful character full of interesting facts and stories. He kindly brought Camila and I to the water's front after our meal where we walked at midnight along the coast as we visited smoking tea shops, bought popcorn and candy floss, and tried our best to converse with the locals. We watched the fishermen laughing and chatting incessantly as the water bounce and flicker as the moon sent it's beams crashing off the top of a giant mosque beside. Young adolescents dotted on the grass in the local park, playing guitars, dancing and kissing. It was easy to see why John loves Istanbuls so much and why he is proud to now call it his "home".
