My co-worker and friend Marjo van Diem, 43, lives in Holland, and while on projects such as this, in England, he drives home on weekends, taking the ferry over the English Channel (his car is fueled by propane, so he's prohibited from taking the chunnel). This weekend he invited me to come with him, to see Holland, and of course I jumped at the chance.
So I saw the White Cliffs of Dover, and the beaches of Calais on the other side, and then rode with him through northern France and Belgium to his home in Zwijndrecht — arriving near midnight. His 37-year-old wife, Jerica, was up to greet us, and we talked for a while before going to bed. Jerica’s son was spending the weekend with her ex, so I slept in his room.
Friday, June 15, 2001
Saturday, June 9, 2001
London
Having a day off, I took the train to London, and had a wonderful time sightseeing. Took a bus tour that hit all the hot spots, with an extensive tour of the Tower of London. Dinner at an Indian restaurant, then back to Hatfield.
Monday, June 4, 2001
Hatfield, England
Start of the project at Tesco (a major supermarket chain). For this POC, we need to demo the CICS e*Way, and (doing development on-site) adapt my Cobol/IP Sockets API (originally written for CICS) to work in both IMS and batch. The SeeBeyond team met in the lobby in the AM, and had a planning session over breakfast; we were an international mix: Eric Williams (Welsh), Adam Turnbull (English), Marjo van Diem (Dutch), Stefan Franczuk (a Scot of Polish descent), and myself. The Tesco headquarters were in Welwyn Garden (what would be called an “industrial park” in the US), some twenty minutes from Hatfield.
Back at the Jarvis in the evening, we all had drinks and dinner, after which Marjo (pronounced mar-yo) and I staying up late, talking—forging a friendship that would last for years.
Back at the Jarvis in the evening, we all had drinks and dinner, after which Marjo (pronounced mar-yo) and I staying up late, talking—forging a friendship that would last for years.
Sunday, June 3, 2001
From Paris to Hatfield, England
Checked out of my hotel in the AM, took the Eurostar train to London — under the English Channel. From London, I took a cab, and then a train, to Hatfield (half an hour north), and checked into the Jarvis Hotel in time for dinner. In the States, we might have called the Jarvis a “motor inn” (it was low and sprawling), but with its brick exterior, 40s deco motif, bar, and dining room, it aspired to more than that. Little did I know that I’d be there for a month.
Saturday, June 2, 2001
Paris
Ate a bacon and egg sandwich at a place down the street from the hotel, then walked to the Seine, and checked into taking a river cruise at Pont Neuf. There was an hour and a half wait,so I walked around taking pictures, browsing the shops on the north side of the river, including a solid block of pet stores selling everything from chipmunks to roosters. By this time it had started to rain, so I gave up on the boat cruise, walked to the Louvre, and boarded a bus for a two-hour “city tour.” It hit all the highlights (Arc de Triumph, Eiffel Tower, Place de la Concorde, Ile de la City, Ile St. Louis, Notre Dame), and though it didn’t stop anywhere, it was a good way to get acquainted with the various neighborhoods. Afterwards, I took a taxi to the train station (Gare du Nord) to buy my ticket for Sunday’s trip to London, then had another taxi drop me off at Notre Dame, where I spent an hour or so. From there I took a leisurely walk back to my hotel, taking pictures, stopping for a drink on a riverboat bar, browsing the bookstores (I’ve never seen so many! They’re everywhere!), savoring the sights and sounds of the St. Germain des Pres neighborhood.
One bookstore was devoted to linguistics and language – dictionaries, study guides, tapes, etc. – and another contained nothing but photography and art books. The narrow winding streets were teeming with people, accordion players providing the classic ambiance (including incidental music from Charade!), and as I negotiated through the sidewalk cafes and creperies, I was overwhelmed by one delicious smell after another.
After a stop back at my room to call Tim Taylor in London (to let him know my arrival time), I went out looking for a place to eat dinner. Stopping first for a crepe au fromage at a sidewalk stand, I settled on a place called L’Atlas (Rue de Buci), and had a feast: Campari and soda for starters, then avocado salad, escargots, salmon over pasta, and Chablis; dessert was lemon sorbet in vodka.
It was nearly ten, and lightly raining, as I walked back to my hotel, and I made one more stop on the way – to sit and read over a Heineken, under a canopy at a café on Boulevard St. Germain.
One bookstore was devoted to linguistics and language – dictionaries, study guides, tapes, etc. – and another contained nothing but photography and art books. The narrow winding streets were teeming with people, accordion players providing the classic ambiance (including incidental music from Charade!), and as I negotiated through the sidewalk cafes and creperies, I was overwhelmed by one delicious smell after another.
After a stop back at my room to call Tim Taylor in London (to let him know my arrival time), I went out looking for a place to eat dinner. Stopping first for a crepe au fromage at a sidewalk stand, I settled on a place called L’Atlas (Rue de Buci), and had a feast: Campari and soda for starters, then avocado salad, escargots, salmon over pasta, and Chablis; dessert was lemon sorbet in vodka.
It was nearly ten, and lightly raining, as I walked back to my hotel, and I made one more stop on the way – to sit and read over a Heineken, under a canopy at a café on Boulevard St. Germain.
Friday, June 1, 2001
Paris
Last day at FNAC. They need to do some mainframe system upgrades (TCP/IP, CICS, and more) before they can successfully run our stuff. I might be returning.
Tonight the guy in charge of the FNAC project, Didier Houselle (SeeBeyond’s Professional Services Manager for Southern Europe), took me out to dinner. In his mid thirties (?), he showed up at my hotel looking the epitome of the dashing young Frenchman, in jeans and jacket, motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm. From the hotel, we walked to one of the many nearby open-air brasseries, and spent three hours over dinner.
When he suggested we start with foie gras, I cringed – I’ve had a lifelong disgust for liver in any form – and when he assured me that this was unlike any other liver in taste, I thought yeah, I’ve heard that before. But here I was, in a Paris café, and how could I not try such a famous delicacy? It looked a little like head cheese, served as a slab (not a pate) with toast and some sort of jelly-like substance that was there for texture—and as long as I didn’t look at it too closely, or think about it too much (the force-feeding scenes from Mondo Cane kept coming to mind), it was fairly edible, with only a hint of the dreaded liver taste (how’s that for a recommendation?).
For a main course, I had a lamb chop (excellent) and baked potato, followed by raspberry sorbet. But the best part of the meal was the bottle of wine—a 1997 red Bordeaux. Usually, I become too involved in conversation to give much thought to even a good wine after the first sip or two—but every sip of this wine was as special as the first, in the midst of great conversation.
We talked some about work, of course, but mostly of other things—our backgrounds, our families (he and his wife have four kids between them), and so on. He was full of ideas on what I should see tomorrow (Saturday), and said that when I come back from London, he’ll take me on a nighttime driving tour of the city. He also said that when Robin and and I make it to Europe together, we must stop in Paris for at least a night - and he has a good friend in Italy that can help us with plans there.
Tonight the guy in charge of the FNAC project, Didier Houselle (SeeBeyond’s Professional Services Manager for Southern Europe), took me out to dinner. In his mid thirties (?), he showed up at my hotel looking the epitome of the dashing young Frenchman, in jeans and jacket, motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm. From the hotel, we walked to one of the many nearby open-air brasseries, and spent three hours over dinner.
When he suggested we start with foie gras, I cringed – I’ve had a lifelong disgust for liver in any form – and when he assured me that this was unlike any other liver in taste, I thought yeah, I’ve heard that before. But here I was, in a Paris café, and how could I not try such a famous delicacy? It looked a little like head cheese, served as a slab (not a pate) with toast and some sort of jelly-like substance that was there for texture—and as long as I didn’t look at it too closely, or think about it too much (the force-feeding scenes from Mondo Cane kept coming to mind), it was fairly edible, with only a hint of the dreaded liver taste (how’s that for a recommendation?).
For a main course, I had a lamb chop (excellent) and baked potato, followed by raspberry sorbet. But the best part of the meal was the bottle of wine—a 1997 red Bordeaux. Usually, I become too involved in conversation to give much thought to even a good wine after the first sip or two—but every sip of this wine was as special as the first, in the midst of great conversation.
We talked some about work, of course, but mostly of other things—our backgrounds, our families (he and his wife have four kids between them), and so on. He was full of ideas on what I should see tomorrow (Saturday), and said that when I come back from London, he’ll take me on a nighttime driving tour of the city. He also said that when Robin and and I make it to Europe together, we must stop in Paris for at least a night - and he has a good friend in Italy that can help us with plans there.
