The Business Negotation

I was in London to negotiate (with my company) to get the best price for my customer. (The likelihood of two different customers paying the same price for the same thing is essentially nil.) I had also resolved to process the enormous backlog of internally-generated requests for information. A representative sample:

* Provide the number of your customer’s employees in Latvia.
* How many computers will your customer purchase in each of the following (193)
countries?Note: Use a separate form for each country. Make sure to indicate the month of
each purchase as well as the computer model, fulfilment methodology, the registered name of the affiliate
that will make the purchase (if multiple affiliates exist, complete the form for each one separately)….
* How much money did your customer spend in 2008 with each of the following:
IBM, Sun, EMC, HDS, HCL, Tata, Accenture, Lenovo, Dell, Siemens, Getronics…

I knew where Latvia was located, and could name the 12 months of the year, but..

“Shall I make up numbers?” I thought. “Or should I redirect the query to some other part of the organization?” I composed a response.

To: Clerical Administration
From: Dan Martin
Subject: Latvia

I believe that the Latvian Marketing department, a functional unit of our GWE Regional Management Organization, is best placed to provide accurate information about employment statistics in Balkans. Alternatively, you can access the EU reference documentation and statistically model banking employment.

I appreciate these requests for information. As the request rate accelerates, I will have no time available to actually visit my customer.

Please provide the following information to me:

• Who requested this information?
• What are they going to do with it? (If you’re not sure, I have a suggestion.)

Warm regards,

Dan

I knew, by the way, that Latvia was Baltic, not the Balkan. I wondered, however, if the corporate administrators knew.

Snow in Zurich/Flight to London

In spite of HP’s extremely stringent controls on the travel budget, I managed to visit London just before the holiday. It was snowing, so I was astonished to see “On-Time” displayed in the departure screen. I was dumbfounded when Swiss actually finished boarding On-Time. Amazement drained away as I waited (and waited and waited) at the gate – in silence. Eventually, the pilot made an announcement. He started in German:

“Wir sind gescrewed. Der dummkoft von Flughaven hat die de-icing machine gebroken. Nur ein von die drei machinen bin gewerked.”

He repeated or, more accurately, made a different, announcement in English.

“Because of the heavy snow, there is a backlog at the de-icing stand. We should be able to push back in about 90 minutes.”

There are almost three de-icing stations at the Zürich airport. (I say "almost" because one of the three is very remotely located - in the suburbs of Bucharest.) Two of the 'three' were broken. In the end, we spent 3 hours in a cramped commuter airplane, waiting to take-off for a 75 minute flight. And it happened because the airport authorities in Zürich, SWITZERLAND were surprised (!) by snow(!) in December!

The Martin Family Christmas Tree

The Christmas Market is a family tradition, but The Martin Family Christmas Tree is a major tradition. Traditionally, for example, in spite of clear and precise demands, eh, helpful instructions [“No, no, no. The other way. You’re knocking needles onto the carpet. It’s not straight. Can’t you just…"] from my spouse, the first several attempts with the Christmas Tree stand end in wretched, abject failure. In these cases, the tree is never perpendicular to the floor. And, when I am finally able to achieve an orthogonal arrangement, Nazy invariably observes that the floor is not parallel to the horizon.

Thus, when it comes time to select a tree, thoughts of Christmas past flow through my mind:

“You chose this, eh,”

“.. Christmas Tree, Nazy..”

“…thing, Dan? Couldn’t you find one that was bushy and tall?”

Or..

“But, Nazy,” I whined. “It had needles on it when I picked it out.”

“It was chopped down in the Yukon during the July thaw, Dan.”

Or..

“It’s not straight, Dan.”

“That’s because the trunk of the tree that you selected, is not…”

“If you knew how to use a Christmas Tree stand…”

Or..

“It’s going to fall, Dan. It’s not straight.”

“It is perfect… oops.”

This year, Nazy’s friend Erica took us to a nearby farm. We selected a large tree (we have a high ceiling in Casa Carmen). The farmer utilized his chainsaw to trim about a meter from the bottom of the tree. (The sky is even higher than our ceiling.) He delivered – and installed the tree:

“Perfect, Dan.” Nazy intoned. “And on the first try. Give him a nice tip.”

Because I agreed that it was perfect (and because I didn't have to install it), I naturally complied. Nazy and I considered the situation after the farmer left.

“The step ladder has a few steps too few,” I noted as I gazed upward. “I think the top is covered in clouds.”

“You’re exaggerating, Dan,” Nazy replied. “I think that I can use the hook to string the lights.”

“What hook?”

“The one we use to open the skylight.”

“A skyhook, eh? That sounds appropriate.”

Official Family Archive Notification

Several ornaments were destroyed during the operation. Dan was not responsible for any of these miscues.

Christmas Market

December in Europe brings Christmas markets (Weinachtsmarkt), and Weinachtsmarkt brings Glühwein. Nazy likes Glühwein: a mulled wine which is warm and spicy. (December temperatures are cold in the outdoor markets.) I have researched the Internet to get a more complete understanding of Glühwein, the iconic drink. The tradition began in the Middle Ages (the first documented Glühwein appeared in Germany in 1420) as a way to make bad wine, or wine that had gone bad, drinkable. Note: Drinkable does not mean ‘tastes good’.

[I am not making this up. All of recipes that I’ve seen have “cheap wine” as the first ingredient.]

Recipe: Add sugar (the cheaper the wine, the more sugar), cinnamon, cloves, cardamom, and lemon and heat. Enjoy! There is a similar drink in the Nordic countries called Glögg. (They add raisins and almonds instead of cinnamon and cloves.) The drink is called boiled wine in Romania and glowing wine (Греяно вино) in Bulgaria,

The Christmas market in Zürich is not as festive as the ones we’ve been to in Germany, Perhaps it’s the venue: the main train station (Hauptbahnhof) doesn’t exude the historical ambiance of an ancient city. In addition, the Bahnhofstrasse decorations consist of a sophisticated, computerized, giant timepiece constructed from florescent tubes (December in Europe brings Christmas markets (Weinachtsmarkt), and Weinachtsmarkt brings Glühwein,
Nazy likes Glühwein: a mulled wine which is warm and spicy. (December temperatures are cold in the outdoor markets.) I have researched the Internet to get a more complete understanding of Glühwein, the iconic drink. The tradition began in the Middle Ages (the first documented Glühwein appeared in Germany in 1420) as a way to make bad wine (or wine that had gone bad) drinkable. (Drinkable does not mean ‘tastes good’.)

[I am not making this up. All of recipes that I’ve seen have “cheap wine” as the first ingredient.]

Recipe: Add sugar (the cheaper the wine, the more sugar), cinnamon, cloves, cardamom, and lemon and heat. Enjoy! There is a similar drink in the Nordic countries called Glögg. (They add raisins and almonds instead of cinnamon and cloves.) The drink is called boiled wine in Romania and glowing wine (Греяно вино) in Bulgaria,

The Christmas market in Zürich is not as festive as the ones we’ve been to in Germany, Perhaps it’s the venue: the main train station (Hauptbahnhof) doesn’t exude the historical ambiance of an ancient city. In addition, the Bahnhofstrasse decorations consist of a sophisticated, computerized, giant timepiece constructed from florescent tubes (just like the lighting fixtures found in a cold, harsh and dreay maximum security penal institution). In short, the decorated market reminds most observers of an industrial zone, The Glühwein and the crowds serve to ameliorate the situation.

The markets offer traditional holiday handicrafts – alpaca sweaters from Peru, silk scarves from Laos, bronze Buddha sculptures from Tibet, stacking dolls from Яussia, worthless currency from Zimbabwe, (and Iceland) , “real” Pashmina from India, hippopotamus carved from African ironwood and pistachios from Iran. They even have some stuff from Germany and (gasp!) Switzerland.

The missing key

A few weeks ago I arrived – keyless – at the apartment after lunch in downtown Zürich. Since I had locked the door when I left, it was clear that I had lost my house key. After consultation with Nazy, I decided to wait a few days before calling the “Fond Bureau”. (In Switzerland, locals actually deliver items that they find on the street to the Fond Bureau.)

I was very busy the next few days and didn’t get around to making the call. There was no rush; I had a spare key. More to the point, I live in Switzerland. In a few days I received a letter from my landlord – a key had been found. Naturally, Nazy subjected me to some good-natured ribbing:

“You lost it before you even left the building, Dan.”

However – it turned out that the key was not found in the apartment building. It was found on Bahnhofstrasse by a random citizen who delivered it to the “Fond Bureau” from where the staff called our landlord. It is instructive to note that that neither name nor address was on the key or in the key case. How did they find me? Nazy, who asked the landlord, explained the situation to me.

“There is a number engraved on the apartment key.”

“I know.”

“The police have a database which matches key ID numbers with buildings. When they found that our key was for Carmenstrasse, 48, they simply called the landlord.”

“Hmm, I’m happy to get my key..” I thought. “But, this means that Zürich Cantonal Police have the ability to create a key for any apartment in the city. That’s spooky.”

Note: If we hadn’t found the key, we would have been required to change (at great cost) the master cylinder in the building.

The Bern Onion Market

With this post, I'd like to convey the complexity of the Swiss federation. And, in order to plumb the depths of the iconic democracy, Nazy I joined the AWCZ on an excursion to Bern, the capital. Naturally, I was excited.

“Are we going to see the Parliament building?” I asked. “I’ve heard that it has just been restored.”

“No, that was last month’s trip. You were in America. Besides, I think they’ve closed the building to repair the restoration.”

“Maybe they’re scrapping the gold off of the dome to finance the UBS bailout.” I replied. “So, what are we going to see?”

“We are going, Dan,” Nazy enthused, “to the Bern Zibelemärit.”

“Zibelemärit? Doesn’t’ ‘zibel’ have something to do with onions?”

“That’s right. We are going to the world-famous Bern International Onion Festival.”

“Is it too late to get off of the train?”

“People come by the thousands. This festival is unique…”

“I’m not surprised.”

“… in the entire world. Farmers bring onions and garlic to the town square.”

“My nerve endings are beginning to tingle, Nazy.”

“The onions, more than 50 tons, are displayed in artistically woven plaits.”

“Will I be able to handle the excitement?”

“They sell onion tarts, onion soup, onion…”

“ Rings?”

“… and even onion wine.”

“Yuck!”

“Local artisans decorate the onions to produce colourful…”

“Stuff?”

“Precisely. And the crowds joyously throw confetti and hit each other on the head with hammers.”

“Are you making this up, Nazy?”

“No, I’m reading the guide.”

“And it says: ‘hit each other on the head with hammers’? Really?”

“That’s the old tradition. Now they sell plastic hammers that ‘beep’ when you smack someone.”

And so it goes. I know that any description of such festivities is, at best, woefully inadequate. I am helplessly unable to articulate the clear difference between the Onion Extravaganza and other Swiss activities: the world-renowned Richterswil Turnip Spectacle, the Swiss-European Pumpkin Carnival, the Zürich Street Parade or the annual Sechsleuten Celebration. These traditions, with roots in the Middle Ages..

“Actually, Dan,” Nazy interrupts. “The Onion Festival began in the 20th century.”

As I was saying, eh, writing: We live in a country that has a wonderful mix old and new traditions.

Negotiations

I was wrapping up discussion with my customer, a large bank:

“It sounds to me like you want us to pass along lower prices, but you also want us to eat all cost increases.”

“Precisely.”

“That sounds like the ‘have your cake and eat it too’ clause.” I thought.

“Can we assume that you agree?” The procurement executive smiled.

“We live in troubled times.” I replied. “For example, I have challenges with my mortgage. I’d like The Bank to provide an adjustable rate mortgage that adjusts downward when interest rates decrease, but never moves upwards.”

“But..”

“And, with falling prices, I need to keep my equity intact. So – I require that the principal of my mortgage to be adjusted (annually) so that the total I owe is never more than 80% of the market value of my house. Naturally, I want this “principle adjustment clause” to apply only when prices fall.”

“We’d lose money under that arrangement.”

“But losing money on mortgages is your core (in)competency.” “I thought.

“You can’t expect us to underwrite such risky mortgages.”

I looked at them. (sub-primely)

The Meltdown - reprise

I continue to look with amazement at wreckage of the global economy. A friend said that he had attended a private governmental briefing..

“… and it is much worse than you think.” Rob said.

“That’s impossible,” I thought.

“Governments have already spent $7.8 trillion ($7,800,000,000,000.00) and it’s not going to be enough. It’s just going to get worse.”

“So,” I replied. “We’re not close to the end.”

“He said that we were getting close to the end of the beginning. The banks acted just liked people. It’s like using a credit card to buy a Ferrari even though you have no money. Now the banks have to work themselves out of the hole.”

“I can recommend someone with expertise in this area,” I thought.

“The bankers actually believed that they were brilliant. Dick Fuld, former CEO of Lehman’s, gave a talk at Swiss Re a year ago. He said he was successful because everyone worked together and agreed on a course of action. He said ‘I pay Simon $100M/year and he agrees with me. I pay Marcus $75M/year and he agrees with me..”

“I’d agree with him for a lot less,” I interrupted. “Perhaps,” I thought, “I understand why I don’t always agree with Nicola.”

“The Swiss government tried to recover the bonus that UBS paid to their former CEO, but he wouldn’t return it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He said he had earned it.”

“Didn’t UBS take a $70B writedown?” I replied. “Aren’t they being bailed out by the taxpayers?”

“Precisely.”

A Famous Nose

Nazy was in charge of the social diary for every day of the week. [Thus: “It was a day like any other day – filled with those events that alter and illuminate our time.”] On Tuesday we went to the Osswald Parfumerie Boutique. Naturally, I was thrilled.

“Wow.” I said (somewhat) excitedly.

“For your information, Dan, Mark Buxton, one of the world’s most famous noses, will be there.” Nazy was considerably more excited.

“A famous nose?” I asked – just before sneezing. “Do you have a Kleenex?”

“You are hopeless, Dan. Mark’s credo is ‘simplicity is the ultimate degree of luxury’. What do you think about that?”

“Is perfume an ultimate simplicity?”

Nazy was undeterred. “Look at his newest creation: Nameless. Take a sniff. Now, Dan, what do you think about ‘Nameless’?”

“I’m clueless,” I thought. “Priceless,” I replied after scanning the bottom of the bottle.

“Nameless – sitting on a terrace at Lake Como,” Nazy was reading the marketing blurb.

“I like Lake Como.” A pointless thought had sprung into mind.

“… With notes of mandarin, cardamom, orange flower, lavender, cinnamon, coffee, clove, jasmine, amber, ciste, wood, guaia, patchouli, cedarwood and benzoin.” Nazy continued.

“What about chocolate?” I asked.

“What?”

“And, eh, lamb chops, barbequed ribs…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Would you like to go to dinner?”

The Symphony

I’m back in Zürich after a short trip to New York City. The flight was astonishingly uncharacteristic. It left on time. It arrived on time. And even though I was following the company policy of CPF [Cheapest Possible Fare], I was nevertheless placed, all by myself, in a row of three seats. Afraid that a disgruntled fellow traveller might covet one of “my” three seats, I moved into lateral class as soon as the airplane left the ground. My good luck continued when I fell asleep and missed the (gasp!) economy class dinner.

When I got to Casa Carmen, I took a short nap. (Nazy was at her art class.) That evening, courtesy of our Credit Suisse banker (Martina), we were…

“Going to the Tonhalle, Dan,” Nazy said.

“The Tonhalle?” I asked.

“Yes. It’s next to the Congresshaus. We’re going to see a symphony.”

“A symphony?”

“Yes, Dan.” Nazy glared. “Classical Music with..”

“Traditional instruments like violins?” I asked.

“Are you trying to be difficult?” Nazy replied.

“I don’t have to try, my dear.”

The orchestra featured a visiting pianist named Radu Lupu.

“He looks like Radovan Karadzic,” I whispered.

“What?”

“Before he grew the beard, of course.”

In fact, Lupu is well-known to piano connoisseurs because he is one of the best pianists in the world. According to Wikapedia:

His rigorous stage persona became part of his allure: he never chats with the audience, or even smiles;
instead he appears intensely focused, and even refuses the comfort of a padded piano bench--
preferring instead a standard office chair. His sole interaction with the audience is a glare when he wishes
it to be silent.

Lupu is good. Moreover, there is nothing quite like a full symphony orchestra playing in a grand venue. On the other hand, it was the end of a very long day and..

“You were sleeping!” Nazy wasn’t impressed.

“My eyes may have been closed, my dear,” I replied. “But, I always listen to beautiful music with my eyes closed.”

“Do you drool when you’re listening to music?”

Note to reader: I was not drooling. (Really!)

A New Boss?

Following habit, I checked my eMail when I returned to the hotel. I just had time to dial-in to a “very important” con-call.

“I bet they’re going to remind me that the end of quarter is nigh,” I thought.

I was wrong.

It quickly became apparent that the purpose of the call was to announce the departure of my boss, Nicola. I can’t say that this was a surprising development. Nicola’s (old) job has historically been, eh, a road that leads directly out of HP.

Four people have held this job in the last four years; all have left. The profiles of the unfortunate managers are varied because the company has no clue about what they want from the person holding the job. Alberto was highly detailed oriented – managing with a 2000 row, 300 column spreadsheet. Andrew was clueless and disconnected; he saw customers only when the location and time coincided with an international Rugby match. Jose understood the financial markets and was brilliant but completely unfocused. Nicola had no background in Financial Services, but he was well-connected with EMEA management.

The job, Vice President of Financial Services Industries in EMEA, has neither budget nor staff – just responsibility. The incumbent has to manage, by influence, several very senior people – like me. It’s just like my job except that I don’t have to influence anyone as troublesome as me.

Pesky business meetings interfered with the major purpose of the trip – Nazy’s shopping list. I finally located the Kenobo Emulsifier, Comet Scouring Powder (which is illegal in Switzerland), a Queen-sized Mattress Pad and some fake sugar (i.e. Splenda™).

Breathless with excitement (and anxious to take credit), I called Nazy in Zürich. She was overjoyed to hear of my superior shopping success.

“I asked for Bon Ami, Dan. Not Comet. And the Splenda is for you.”

“But the Kenobo…”

“… Emulsifier II?”

“… naturally, my dear.” (II made a mental note to confirm.)

“Well. It’s snowing in Zürich. See you soon.”

In case you're wondering... the picture has nothing whatsoever to do with the content.

The Travel Division

The Travel Division carefully selected the ¢heapest ticket - thereby rendering my Continental Airlines Platinum Elite status as useful as a goat in an aquarium. Departure occurred on the Sunday that marked the end of Daylight Savings Time. But I still had to forgo the extra hour of sleep because the Continental simply moved departure time one hour earlier.

The flight was smooth, if somewhat cramped. I immediately noticed the gargantuan gravitational field generated by the sheer mass of my seatmate. (He had collapsed into a sphere.) Fortunately, he was two seats away and there was an ostensibly empty seat between us. For safety reasons, I believe the airline placed him in the middle column of seats in the (suitably named) wide-body aircraft.

Flashing my Diamond status at the Hilton Times Square, I was met with…

“I am very sorry, sir,” the clerk said. “Your American Express card has been rejected.”

“It is a company card,” I replied. “It cannot be rejected,” I thought - inaccurately.

Settling into my room after paying with my personal card, I telephoned American Express.

“We have an eMail from your company asking us to cancel the card.”

“Really?” I replied. “Who sent the eMail?”

“There is no name on the message…”

“… you cancelled my card because of an unsigned eMail?”

“There is a telephone number.”

“A telephone number that sends me directly into voicemail,” I thought – accurately.

A “discussion” with European Human Resources followed. It appears that my American Express profile allows collection of Frequent Flyer points when used to pay for a hotel. This faux pas is in direct violation of the (new) corporate policy. The new approach touts “Operational Efficiency” i.e. doing everything the cheapest possible way. It seems like we get a price break if we don’t collect frequent flyer miles. Accordingly, for hotels, I will move from Diamond to sedimentary rock status and for airlines from Platinum Elite to Tinfoil Sub-Normal

Wall Street Tie

I was visiting New York for a series of meetings with Deutsche Bank. The meetings took place in the Deutsche Bank offices on Wall Street. I took the subway to the Chambers Street exit and decided (with some trepidation) to walk the last few blocks to Wall Street.

“I wonder if I’ll have to step over any bodies,” I thought.

“That’s a great tie.” I heard a voice to my left.

“Really?” I replied both flabbergasted and succinctly. I was speaking to a ABC news reporter.

“I like the colors.”

“Purple, Red, Yellow, Pink, Green…” I thought.

“It’s not traditional and it’s certainly not boring,” Joe Torres, Eyewitness News Anchor Reporter observed.

“If you really like it..”

“I do..”

“… and you’re not just joking with me, would you be willing to write a note to my wife?”

“Here’s my card. Have her drop me an eMail.”

The following eMail has arrived in Nazy’s mailbox:


Dear Mrs. Martin,

It appears there’s a hint of suspicion in your husband’s “news reporter liked my tie” story. Well, I’m here to corroborate his claims. I noticed his tie. I liked his tie. And I told him so. If there was a wager between you and Mr. Martin, regretfully, you’ll have to pay up. Did it go well with the rest of his outfit…ah…sure. It was a bit bold for Wall Street standards, but who looks at business executives for fashion cues? Navy suit, white shirt, red tie…how ordinary.

Now, in the realm of full disclosure, you should know this: I’m no style guru. In fact, like you, my wife chooses my workday outfit. The first step in overcoming a problem is admitting you have one. In the world of the fashion challenged, Dan and I are in the same boat.

Sincerely,

Joe Torres

Ah ha!

Debris and Wreckage

Debris and wreckage from the on-going chaos in the financial markets continues to accumulate. The Switzerland government has arranged a CHF 70,000,000,000.00 bailout, eh, rescue fund for UBS. This is equivalent to every person (man, women and child) in Switzerland making a contribution of CHF 9,300. Per capita, this dwarfs the American bailout. The collapse of swissair was traumatic for the local citizens, but a banking failure would be unbearable. Some people are blaming me.

“Everything was fine until you began working in Financial Services,” Peter said.

“I don’t think..”

“I bet you even flew on Swissair.”

“Well..”

“And you told your own son that he should work in Iceland,” Bert commented.

“The alternative was Pakistan,” I replied.

“Actually, Dan,” Nazy interrupted. “The alternative was California.”

“Same difference,” I thought.

“Didn’t you also destroy ContiCommodity and COMPAQ?” Larry asked.

“They didn’t need my help.” I replied.

“You used to work with ING – and now they need government support.” Jim noted.

“ING said that they didn’t need money,” I said. “Everybody needs money,” I thought.

“So what are you going to do,” Jim, Larry, Bert, Nazy and Peter asked.

In times like this, it is important to be positive. If you’re mired in muck, open a mud-wrestling emporium. (On the other hand, I felt like a guy trying to sell water conversation technology in the middle of a flood.) Then inspiration:

“I am going to improve the human situation on the planet,” I exclaimed. “I will ask HP to transfer me to the Defense Industry sector. In a few years, no weapon will work. Discourse and negotiation will replace conflict and warfare.”

“You’ll get the Nobel Peace Prize, Dan.”

“I love the support I get from my spouse,” I thought as I opened an official-looking envelope that had arrived in the mail. The government, asking me to stay away from cheese and chocolate, reminded me that my broken Coo-coo Clock was made in Germany.

The AlpTransit Tunnel

After visiting the castles in Bellinzona, we went to see the Alptransit Museum and to view ongoing work on the longest railway tunnel (57 kilometres) in the world.

Apparently, there is a longer automobile tunnel somewhere in Scandinavia. Moreover, the one in Scandinavia is actually finished. Initial plans for the Gotthard Base Tunnel were put forward in 1947. (I am not making this up.) Work began in 1962 and in 1992, the New Railway link was authorized. In 1998, work actually began. It is scheduled to be completed in 2015.

“Why the rush?” I asked the guide.

“It is a very important project,” he replied. “All heavy trucks will be loaded onto the trains going through the new tunnel. Pollution in the Alps will decrease and transit times will be far shorter. It will cut at least 90 minutes of transit time between northern and southern Europe.”

Unlike the bronze statues, I understood the engineering task involved. At some points the tunnel is 800 meters below the mountain top. There are several Tunnel Boring Machines (TBMs) at work. In the tunnel we visited, 10,000 tons of rocks are displaced every day. The fragments are put on a 3.2 kilometer conveyer belt running at 25 kph. Work proceeds 24 hours a day but amazingly, only about 35 people work inside the tunnel. (The TBM is the size of a small city.)

When we finished the tour, it occurred to Nazy that:

“We are very close to Mendrico, Dan.”

“Mendrico?”

“The designer shopping mall. I’m sure you remember.”

“Now I understand why you were so anxious to make this trip, my dear.” I replied as I turned the car south.

“I’ve already programmed Cleo, the on-board navigation computer, for directions.”

“Put it on quick key.”

While Nazy went shopping, I dialled into a work conference call. The weather cleared while we were in Mendrico because, as Nazy says: “It is always sunny in Ticino.”

The route back took us through the existing St. Gotthard automobile tunnel, a short 18 kilometer tube under the Alps. It was raining on the German side.

The photo at the top of this posting indicates that my wife read the previous post.

My wife does not approve

Nazy is aware that I am working in the Financial Sector, and hence have a lot of spare time. (“If your customer has no money, Dan, then you have a problem.”) She talked me into joining the American Women’s Club on an outing to Bellinzona.

Bellinzona is located in the Ticino (Italian) part of Switzerland. We left Zürich in the morning (on a clear day) and drove toward the St. Gotthard tunnel. Amazingly, it was raining on the Italian (normally sunny) side of the tunnel. Strategically located between German and Italian communities, Bellinzona is the site of several medieval castles. We chose to see….

“Castelo Grande, Dan.” Nazy explained. “There is a special exhibition of sculpture by Nag Arnoldi.”

“Nag?”

“Bronze sculptures, Dan. They are on display all over the castle grounds.”

The castle, it turned out, was really a fortress. According to the guide, it was built to keep the “Germans” (from the north) out of Italian-controlled areas. The Duke of Milan constructed the fortifications in the 12th and 13th century. The plan worked very well because:

“Although the Germans attacked many times,” the guide explained. “They were always repelled.”

“Really?” I asked. “Every time?”

“Every time for hundreds of years. The German army was not very organized.”

“Obviously this warfare took place a long time ago,” I thought.

Note: Nazy believes that the photograph my limitations as an artist. In particular, she has complained about the “unfortunate composition”. I am, of course, an engineer and, therefore, do not understand her point. (Besides, she is not named “Nag”.)

I have, nevertheless, included the photograph just to see if she is checking the blog.

The daily stroll

As if that wasn’t enough of British silliness, the sculptor selected to design a monument in the new St. Pancreas International Train Station, has created a work featuring a hapless commuter being pushed on the tracks in front a a train driven by the grim reaper. (I am not making this up.) The statue is going to be replaced because of protests from the train engineers: the grim reaper is not a union member. (I did make that up, but I think it's true.)

My reaction to these two, eh, artsy efforts make it clear that my engineering education did not cultivate the artistic, imaginative side of my being. Quite simply: “I don’t get it!”

Taxes, collages and sculptures aside, it has been a really beautiful autumn here in Zürich. Nazy, who has been taking a “daily stroll” through the city and surrounding forests for the last several months, convinced me to join her. We began…

“Nazy”!” I said looking ahead, eh, up. “This isn’t a stroll; this is a mountain-climbing expedition.”

“Those are stairs, Dan. Mountains do not have stairs.”

“Yeah, but there are a zillion stairs.” I shouted. (Nazy had sprinted ahead.)

“Enjoy the view,” Nazy shouted back.

“This reminds me of the Great Wall of China,” I thought as I trudged upward, ever upward.

“When it flattens out…” Nazy began.

“Oh, Thank God!” I thought.

“We can run.”

“You are already running.” I replied.

Financial Hubris

While we’re on the subject of finance, some claim that the bankers in “The City” (London’s Wall Street) created the meltdown because of hubris and greed. I usually reject ideas like these because I prefer a simpler explanation – stupidity. (In this case: awe-inspiring, colossal, impregnable and incomprehensible stupidity.) However, an article in the Sunday Times has necessitated reassessment. I quote from the first paragraph: “Vanity is not dead in The City. Financers are commissioning nude portraits of their wives made from collages of newspaper clippings telling the story of their own financial conquests.” And, in case you still don’t believe it, see the clipping above. (The "FT" is the Financial Times, the UK's Wall Street Journal)

To clinch the case: “In one commission, Darrit Moussaieff, the wife of the President of Iceland, was seated naked apart from a pair of gloves and a hat created from cuttings of bank notes.” Darius informs me that there are lots of useless banknotes in Iceland.

Nazy, reading the draft, observed that my financial conquests are insufficient to warrant a family commission.

“Were you considering….” I began.

“No!” Nazy ended.... "But, as former President of the American Women's Club, I have been in the news lately. Would you.."

"No."

Tax Time

Here in Zurich, autumn has arrived – and with it a very thick letter from our tax accountant.

“Tax time?” Nazy asked.

“Tax time!” I rasped – aghast.

American readers, aware that “tax day” is April 15, probably assume that I’m referring to Swiss taxes. That assumption would be wrong. According to PricewaterhouseCoopers (PwC), I have “very complicated” taxes. Therefore they always file for extensions. Nazy watched as a I perused the documents.

“My back’s to the wall. I may die.” I exclaimed – fear unmasked.

“I'll skip the mall. Please don’t cry.” Nazy complained – much too fast.

The American portion of our (astronomical) tax bill has increased by 600% in the past two years. Now it accounts for almost 40% of our total taxes. We are taxed twice! The only other country that treats its citizens this disgustingly is the Central African Republic.

PwC claims that anything I do to reduce my Swiss taxes will increaSe my American taxes. PwC is also risk averse – they actually filled out New York tax forms so that I could pay taxes for the time I spent in NYC business trips in 2007. Although I know they have a tough job – the strength of the Swiss Franc (or the weakness of the US$) not only makes it look like my salary has jumped(a constant salary in Francs would appear to increase by 65% in dollars from 2002 to 2007) it has also reduced the value of the foreign income exclusion. Naturally I complained:

“I have a huge amount of unusable tax credits.”

“Yes, but when you sell that house, you can apply the credit…”

“..which will increase my Swiss Taxes…”

“… provided the Alternative Minimum Income Tax doesn’t kick-in..”

“… as it always does. What can I proactively do to reduce my overall tax bill?”

“Many Americans are renouncing their citizenship.”

“Oh that’s a great idea. My family is in the USA and..”

“But, of course, you’d have to pay American taxes for 10 years after you gave up your citizenship.”

The Pumpkin Festival

It had been an exciting time, but that wasn't enough for us. It is Pumpkin Season in Switzerland. Moreover, Sunday was uncharacteristically warm and sunny. Accordingly, we drove to the annual Pumpkin festival in Seegraben. I used the heads-up navigation display in the new BMW. It projects information onto the windscreen so the driver doesn’t have to look down to navigate. Unfortunately, my Maui Jim (double polarized) sunglasses filter out the projection.


We have been to the festival many times, but the day was so spectacular that we could see the Alps and the foliage was beautiful. (Not quite as beautiful as New England, but really pretty.)

We had pumpkin soup and pumpkin cake. Nazy bought a pumpkin, several different kinds of squash, a few kilos of apples, pears and plums, some napkins, and a selection of flowers. (I think she was disappointed to discover that they didn’t have any underwear.)

Secrets

“When everything is collapsing, there’s only one thing to do," my wife, Nazy said.

“Panic?” I replied.

“No, no, no. Let’s drive to the museum in St. Gallen.”

“The museum?”

“That’s right. The textile museum is having a special show on lace.”

In truth, the special show, entitled “Secret: The Lure of Lingerie” was all about....

“Underwear, Nazy?” I asked. “We came for a show about underwear?”

“Lacy Lingerie, Dan. Lingerie through the ages. They have examples from 1890 until 2008.”

“Well, I said. “It is certainly a revealing exhibition.”

“St. Gallen is the home of Swiss lace, Dan.”

“Somehow, my dear, I don’t associate lacy lingerie with Switzerland.”

After the exhibit, eh, show, we strolled through the city and, somehow, ended up at the local Wofford shopping, eh, "stocking" emporium.

Banking in Iceland

The “economic climate” referred to by my dentist is undoubtedly stressed – economic assets are vanishing faster than the ice shelf in Antarctica. Naturally, I turned to Darius my son and the family expert on economics.

“You’re asking me, Dad?”

“You are the economist. You should know what to do in these troubled times.”

“My US bank account was with Washington Mutual.”

“Didn’t they go broke?”

“My Iceland bank account was with Glitnir.”

“Weren’t they taken over by the Icelandic government?”

“My salary is “paid” in Icelandic Kronur.”

“… and those are…”

“… worthless! The Kronur dropped 50% last week. The country is asking the IMF for assistance.”

“The IMF? I thought banana republics…”

“At least it’s better than Zimbabwe dollars.”

“Not much.” I replied.

“And it’s dark in Bifröst where I work – two hours North of Reykjavik.”

“I didn’t know anything was North of Reykjavik.”

It’s snowing…”

“Already?”

“Only when it’s not sleeting. The government warned people not to hoard. What do you think I should do, Dad?”

“Nice talking with you, Dar. Go to the grocery store. Stock up on necessities before the dastardly hoarders get everything.”

The Dentist

The Dentist

I spent all of last week at the dentist. (At least it seemed like all of last week.) My dental hygienist likes to talk while she’s grinding and scraping:

“I’m going to buy a helicopter, Dan. Do you know the best place to get helicopter lessons?”

“Hrumph!” I replied. “Probably Houston,” I thought.

“I think Los Angeles is best. Did you know that a helicopter is not much more expensive than a Ferrari?” Zarah reached for a nearby jack hammer.

“Arghh!” I replied. “A Ferrari?” I thought.

“By the way, did you eat before you came? You won’t be able to eat or drink for several hours after this is done.”

“What are you going to do if I say ‘no’?” I thought. “Is that a rip saw?”

“Do you know anyone who wants to buy a castle?”

“A castle?”

“Only 13,000,000 Francs.”

“If only I’d known. I bought one yesterday. What are doing with that chisel?”

“You can rinse out now.”

“No I can’t,” I thought. “My mouth is numb. The rinse dribbles out.”

“Do you think it makes sense to invest in thoroughbred race horses in this economic climate?”

“I wonder how much this treatment is going to cost.”

Who is Dan Martin

Dan Martin

A traditionalist, Dan Martin entered the world by birth. Following an eventful but not particularly exceptional childhood, he entered Georgia Tech with the objective of becoming a permanent student. He was on course as the longest serving graduate teaching assistant when he met his future wife. Attention focused, he convinced Georgia Tech to award him a Ph.D. and fulfilled a life-long dream by becoming a college professor. He had begun to assemble a suitable collection of grad students when economic reality in the form of a baby girl, caused him to abandon his “calling”. Brownian motion is the best descriptor for this subsequent career path.

Turning down a position at Federal Express (“no one will ever pay $6.95 to deliver a letter overnight.”), he managed a Research Center in Memphis for the Continental Grain Company and was surprised to discover that “you can’t make bread out of research”. The Grain Company shed non-core assets: Dan talked his wife and now larger family into relocating to Vancouver. Unfortunately, the RCMP was very interested in the new owners of “Dan’s” Research Center. Another move was mandated. Dan chose Houston just as world oil prices crashed. (“Ah, those were the days.”) Nimbly adjusting course (think pinball), he located a job in idyllic Hanover, New Hampshire.

However experiences in the Oil Business activated a latent “international” gene. After a short time, Dan located a position in The Netherlands. More impressively, he convinced his family to relocate: “just one more time”. While the family used the opportunity to see Europe and become comfortable expatriates, Dan buckled his swash with business trips through Asia, Australia, Latin America and Africa. Eventually America called. (The signal was amplified by the Dutch tax authorities.)

The family moved back to New England. The “baby girl” (and her siblings) entered colleges in Princeton, Syracuse and Santa Barbara. Dan, cured of any desire for instability, began working with the Digital Equipment Corporate – a respected fixture along Route 128. The fixture floundered when Compaq decided to purchase DEC. Dan quickly decided that a corporate (e.g. “overhead”) position was untenable. Prudence, and the fact that college tuition expenses were growing even faster than the dotcom bubble, dictated a move to the revenue-producing portion of the business.

Having constructed his career on the equivalent of the San Andreas Fault, Dan now knew that job stability was unlikely. He negotiated a return to Europe and convinced his wife that Zürich would be great. They arrived just as Hewlett-Packard acquired Compaq.

While his wife threw herself into the expatriate community, Dan was living in Zürich but working in Amsterdam, London, New York, Hong Kong, Mexico City and Frankfurt. HP didn’t like moving people, so Dan chose to “follow the money” by working with customers in the Financial Services Industry. He can categorically state that he had nothing whatsoever to do with the subprime debacle or the world economic meltdown.