Pauillac

It took us a little longer than anticipated to make our way into Bordeaux this morning, but that was OK since Chateau Ducru-Beaucaillou (in St. Julien), where we had our first appointment, had decided to cancel all of its tastings this week. This left us with plenty of time to meander around Pauillac and have a leisurely lunch on the banks of the river Gironde before our afternoon appointment at Chateau Lynch-Bages.

The Lynch-Bages tour was very nice; it was just for us and the guide was very knowledgeable. The estate has saved its original winemaking equipment in a sort of museum, which made comparisons with its modern equipment very easy. Lynch-Bages produces 500k bottles each year–I had no idea they were that large–and we tasted the 2004 vintage of its first (rated 89 by the Wine Spectator) and second (unrated) labels.

Dinner was lovely. John and Natalye had us over to their house, also in St. Sauvent, and cooked us some fresh, local fare. They bought an old farmhouse 20 years ago and restored it to habitability. As with the hotel, I really love the juxtaposition of antiquity and modernity. I’ll have to keep these ideas in mind for when I have my castle some day! Good food, good wine, and good company in the French countryside–this was exactly the kind of vacation I needed!

Arrival in Cognac

Today was mostly spent traveling. We had an EARLY train (4:30 AM) to the Geneva airport, a flight to Bordeaux, a bus to the Bordeaux train station, a train to Saintes, and a taxi to St. Sauvent, just outside of Cognac. Saintes was really charming and sleepy, so sleepy that the taxi stand at the train station didn’t have any taxis, just a list of the cell phone numbers of the five taxi drivers in town.

We didn’t really know what to expect at our hotel as we had never seen it before, but we were very pleased upon arrival. The hotel is called the Design Hotel Francs-Garcons and is a very cool juxtaposition of modernity and history. A local architect and his restauranteur wife restored a crumbling, decrepit building and transformed it into a luxurious boutique hotel. They enlisted the numerous ex-pat architects who have houses in the area to help. Each architect took ownership of a room (There are only seven.) and lent it his/her particular style. Our friends from Rice, John Casbarian (Class of ’69 and Associate Dean of Architecture) and Natalye Appel (Class of ’80), former masters of Lovett College, recommended the hotel to us and were two of the architects who participated. Natalye designed the bar and John did one of the rooms–the very room where we stayed. Suffice to say that the hotel was beautiful and I would enthusiastically recommend it to anyone looking for a few days of getaway in the French countryside.

We asked Florence, the proprietor, for a lunch recommendation. Given how many restaurants were closed for Bastille Day, we were told we would have to head back into Saintes if we wanted any “chic” cuisine. However, there was a restaurant down the road with “simple” food, which sounded A-OK to us. We wandered down the farm roads in the beautiful weather and popped into the restaurant, where the cuisine was anything but simple! It was fresh, delicious, and innovative–I can’t wait to see what constitutes “chic” cuisine!

After our late lunch, our travel companions, Ron and Kathleen Moore, arrived. I know Ron through the Wine Committee of the Petroleum Club of Houston and we were excited to share this trip with them. We walked around the 12th-century church just outside our hotel window, wandered around farms and vineyards, and finally returned to the hotel for dinner. Florence offered to prepare dinner for us as well as for John, Natalye, Claudia (elder daughter), Dana (elder daughter’s friend), and Julia (younger daughter) since everything was closed for Bastille Day. That turned out to be fortunate for us because Florence’s cooking was incredible. Muscles, oysters, fresh tomatoes, fish, pizzas, beef, homemade ice cream, great local wines . . . not a bad opening dinner!

The best part was catching up with the John and Natalye family. Claudia, who was 10 when she moved into Lovett (my senior year), is now headed to Rice herself. Julia, who was only 2, is now a young lady. Time flies!

At Rice the master of each college announces the names of graduating seniors at Commencement. At Lovett we traditionally announce the college president’s name first and then the rest of the seniors in alphabetical order. As I had been the previous year’s president at Lovett, my name was to be announced first in 2001. As John had never been a college master before, these were to be the first graduating names he had ever announced. Hence, I was to be the first name he ever announced at Commencement. He took this task seriously and consulted with me about the exact pronunciation of my name, rehearsing for a full week before the ceremony. When the time finally came, “Bryan. Guido. Hassin. President of Lovett College,” came off his tongue as if he had known me for years. He showed all of the other graduates the same courtesy. As I had most of my family in town, I really appreciated that. When I finished my master’s degree, the woman announcing graduates butchered my name horribly–just not quite the same!

So it was wonderful catching up with Ron and Kathleen and the John/Natalye clan. As we’re so close to Cognac, we finished the evening with some fine XO while the Bastille Day fireworks were going off. Now that it is finally dark (which only happened about 11 PM), we are turning in to rest up before a big day of wine tasting!

Living in Lausanne

I haven’t posted in awhile. This is not because I have been under major deadline pressure, my traditional reason for latent posts. Rather it is because I spent the last week just living a normal life in Lausanne. There hasn’t been anything too extraordinary to report, the weather has been beautiful, and just poking around Lausanne has been blissful. This is really a nice place to live–even if it took me six months to discover it!

Although I’ve been meeting friends/classmates for drinks in the evenings (How novel!) I have been working throughout the days on my career strategy. With the academic portion of IMD behind us, it is now time to turn our attentions toward life after IMD. As we approach such weighty decisions, we are encouraged to call upon the skills we have developed in the business world. This means viewing ourselves as products and each conducting a thorough product specification, market analysis, and targeted market campaign.

I am taking it a step further and running my search like a business. I am the CEO of the business and thus I call upon a board of directors for help. My board consists of one VC, one pilot, two consultants, two entrepreneurs, three CXOs, a banker, a doctor, and a lawyer spread around the US and Australia. The role of this board is to help me bounce around career ideas, audit my strategy, and hold me accountable to my objectives and process. I will keep my readers updated on my career strategy as it develops and will hope to have good news to report by the end of the year!

2000

My musical odyssey has now entered the new millenium as I just wrapped up 2000. The late 90’s didn’t have much to recommend them. Good thing they’re mostly a blur of engineering problem sets and sleepless nights anyway; I’d hate to think I had missed something!

The power of musical association remains strong. Listening to the top songs of 2000 was like heading back in time to the summer of my first entreprenerial endeavor: cofounding a software company with two other Rice computer science majors. The decision to leave my comfort zone at UUNET, where I had worked since my junior year in high school, was difficult. The decision to turn down job offers from the likes of Microsoft to start up a company with no certainty was even harder.

What an experience, though! That summer in Austin was amazing, living with my best friend in a new city and learning about entrepreneurship the hard way by starting up a tech company in the middle of the tech crash! I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world and that decision is largely responsible for where I am now.

I also lived in Florence for half of 2000. As such I was pretty removed from the American pop charts. While I was there, though, I did discover the British trip hop group, Morcheeba, which I still adore. They’ve never made it onto the American charts so that just goes to show how narrow and incomplete this musical journey is.

On the subject of music, though, Buddy Guy and Robert Cray, two of my favorite blues artists (again, neither of whom have made the American pop charts), are playing just down the way at the Montreux Jazz Festival. Anyone want to go? I also have two tickets to Jimmy Buffett‘s September 19th show in Paris–who wants to join me? I don’t know if the Parisians know how to tailgate for Buffett but, if not, I’m going to teach them!

Proud To Be An American

I think this was my first Independence Day away from the US. There were no fireworks, grilling out, or singing; I guess the French just aren’t quite as excited about it as I am! I am in Marseille with my buddy Mike from Houston. We spent the day driving around Châteauneuf-du-Pape, touring wineries (Château de Beaucastel and Domaine de la Mordoree), and tasting tens of grenache-, syrah-, and mourvedre-based wines.

We then made our way to the beach (the reason we are staying in Marseille instead of in wine country) and played volleyball until way after sunset–which occurs around 10 PM here. They play really weird volleyball here; the main game is 3-on-3 (on a doubles court) and most of the points are scored not on spikes but instead on cheesy, intentional oversets and open-handed dinks. It’s not as fun for me (or for Mike, I think), but hey, when in Rome. Or when in Rhône, as it were!

It was great fun to play with Mike, who has been my volleyball partner in Houston for the past couple of years. He’s been taking some time off due to an ankle injury but he is still able to smack the ball down with the best of them–and despite my bad sets! We met a cool Brazilian named Rosh who promised to help us find some doubles games tomorrow–can’t wait!

After we made our way back to the hotel and cleaned up, it was midnight and we were just a little late for our 10 PM dinner reservation! We were still able to find some food, though, and now, full and exhausted, I think we’re going to sleep for a long, long time.

Happy Independence Day to all of you Americans out there. For all of her faults, the US is still the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Back in the Developed World

Wow. I’m back. I am most definitely in a different world. We arrived this morning to shining sun and the smells of wonderful cuisine emanating from the outdoor cafes by the train station. Never before has Lausanne felt so European to me. This is how I remember my time in bella Firenze.

Several of us seized the opportunity to head to Plage de Bellerive, the lake beach across the street from IMD, for swimming and beach volleyball. School must be out for the summer because there were myriad white teens around lying out in the sun and gabbing on cell phones—I can’t think of a starker contrast with where I was two days ago.

I’m so glad to be back. My shower is hot and has great water pressure. My tap water is clean. My toilet paper has aloe in it. I feel so safe and comfortable. But I’m not sure I can ever feel as comfortable as I did before our trip to Kenya. I have known that there are great challenges facing us as a society; increasing my ability to help address those challenges was a major reason I chose to attend IMD. Now I have seen some of those challenges first-hand and assigned faces to them, something I don’t think I will ever forget.

I don’t expect this to change my lifestyle dramatically. I will still work out, still eat a lot, still enjoy fine wines and arts. But whenever I search for meaning in what I do or wonder if I can really make a difference, I will forever have in my memory faces that tell me I have no choice but to give it all I’ve got.

The Poorest of the Poor

Wow, today was intense. We began with a trip into the heart of Korogocha, one of Africa’s largest (~400k people, but no one really knows how many) slums. As we bussed in, many had to close their windows as the stench was revolting. We caused quite a spectacle traveling along the narrow, make-shift streets as we passed shanty after shanty. Many kids climbed onto the back of the bus and hitched a ride. Outsiders don’t often visit the slums, where crime and disease are rampant.

Korogocha is located next to Nairobi’s only landfill. A major industry within the slum is for kids to rifle through dumped trash, finding used goods than can be sold for a few shillings on the “street.” We passed such a “market” and it was amazing how many odds and ends had been collected and categorized: combs, mirrors (broken), sunglasses, toothbrushes . . . I suddenly felt extremely guilty for everything I had ever thrown away. Much of the trash in the landfill is burned, emitting fumes that penetrate Korogocha and cause respiratory illness in its inhabitants.

We finally arrived at our destination: St. Peter’s Catholic Church, a heavily fortified compound in the middle of the slum. The moment we stepped down from the bus, all of the churchgoing children came to greet us; we were instant celebrities. I think Roberto (Mexican) and Steffen (Danish) were the most popular. While the rest of us were listening to Father Daniel tell us about the history of the mission, they were chasing the kids around, instigating giggles and squeals of glee. At one point Roberto practically incited a riot; he had all the kids shouting in unison, “MEX-I-CO! MEX-I-CO!”

Church service began at 10:30 AM. We spread out and sat with local churchgoers. As is my way, I made my way to the front and center. After a few minutes, others arrived and informed me that this was the choir’s section. They invited me to stay but I assured them that they did NOT want that! I made my way back a few rows and sat between two nice men who helped me adhere to the local customs throughout the service.

The “church” was an amphitheater with cement stadium-style seating plus a few benches in the middle. The service was in Swahili but the men around me translated some of the important parts for me. It was the day of saints Peter and Paul, so the homily was about Peter and the rock and was pretty easily understood regardless of the language. At one point my classmate, Martin (Czech), was invited up to lift a heavy rock as part of an interactive demonstration. He elicited wild applause from the audience.

The service was something akin to the Pentecostal service I attended once in Washington DC. There was lots of singing, clapping, dancing/swaying, handholding, smiling, and laughing. At one point we all held hands and cast the darkness out of our lives with emphatic chanting, gesturing, and dancing. Each time I thought I had the hang of it, the steps changed. Fortunately the men on either side of me where gracious and patient and helped me figure it out.

At one point I was about to sit back down when the man to my left pointed out that a boy behind me had urinated on the ground and I was about to sit in it—thanks for the heads-up! And toward the end of the service the wind changed such that the smell of the fetid, baking landfill next door came over; it was nauseating. But the smiles continued and spirits were high; it was inspiring.

The service ended at 12:30 and we had a few minutes to explore the church compound on our own. I had heard about their sports programs so I went immediately to their gym. It could hardly be called a gym; it was a shack with a bunch of broken down equipment haphazardly scattered around. Those who used it had no instruction and just kind of did what others, who had in turn learned from others before them, did. It was almost definitely suboptimal and probably unsafe, but the dedication was inspiring. Here were people living on less than $1 per day and they were still making time to lift weights and train for sport. Rocky would have been so proud. I wish we had stayed longer; I gladly would have organized a training session.

Our lunch was set up intentionally to show the stark contrast within the city. We dined at the Safari Club, a country club just a few minutes drive away from the slum. It had a swimming pool with waterfalls and slide, elegant cuisine, and a fitness center that was everything St. Peter’s gym wasn’t: pristine equipment, LCD TVs, clean water . . . Lunch was pretty quiet. Even the singing of “Happy Birthday” to Sidney (French) was barely audible.

After lunch we returned to Korogocha, this time heading to another fortified compound: the orphanage of Mother Theresa’s Missionaries of Charity. No one knew quite what to expect here; I, for one, didn’t even know what the order did. Its mission is to reach out to “the poorest of the poor,” and that is exactly what these sisters did. They had four main charges there: rescue orphaned babies and give them a place to live, take care of mentally and physically disabled children who are unwanted by their families, take care of mentally and physically disabled adults who are unwanted by their families, and take care of HIV-positive children/adults.

This appointment wasn’t like any other. We didn’t meet with any administrators or attend any presentation. We just split up, walked around, and met with the occupants. My group’s first visit was to the disabled children. Some of them stared listlessly at an unseen horizon; some spoke unintelligibly; some showed off by playing with toys . Most of them wanted to hold hands, share their stuffed animals, or just chit chat and laugh and squeal. The listless children had flies crawling all over them. No matter how feverishly the flies were shooed away, they invariably came right back. It was heart breaking.

When it was time for us to move on, the children didn’t want to let go. Our next stop was with the disabled adults. They were sitting around the perimeter of a room finishing lunch. We walked around the circle and introduced ourselves to each. One spoke really excellent English. I remarked to her that she spoke much better English than Elvis (Chinese), who was just to my left. This invoked raucous laughter from many others and one woman almost choked on her food.

Our final visit was with the orphaned babies and children. The children were ecstatic to see us. Each and every one of them wanted to be picked up and held. This posed a problem since they outnumbered us 2-to-1! But it was a lot of fun throwing one kid up into the air, putting him down and grabbing another, chasing one around the room, lending sunglasses to kids who heads were way too small for them, and just generally playing with and holding them.

On the ride back to the hotel it was hard to get charged up for our closing dinner. After a full day with the poorest of the poor it was time for reflection, not celebration. These people were amazing. Despite everything they had going against them there was no shortage of will for and celebration of life. They understood the hand they had been dealt, accepted it, and made the best of it. They smiled and laughed and hoped for something better. May God bless them, Father Daniel, and the good sisters.

Closing dinner was nice, at a churrascaria called Carnivore. I vowed to eat exclusively crocodile and ostrich and, for the most part, I kept my promise. I didn’t have much of an appetite, though. We watched part of the EuroCup finals between Germany and Spain, but I caught the first bus back to the hotel and called it an early night.

The dichotomy of Kenya is strong. We have met with wildly successful entrepreneurs and we have played with those rejected and forgotten by even the poorest of society. Perhaps I am naïve in thinking Kenya is exceptional; perhaps such disparity exists everywhere. Regardless, this trip has opened my eyes very pointedly to the fact that it exists and strengthened my commitment to responsibility in leadership. Perhaps I alone can’t save the environment, the endangered animals, and the poor everywhere around the world. But I suspect that if we ALL accept the mantle of responsibility in our professional lives, we can make great strides to those ends. Sorry I don’t have anything eloquent or rousing to say tonight, but I am drained. Good night.

Project Day

Today was a lot of fun. We had the day to ourselves, ostensibly to work on our projects. However, many of us also took the opportunity to explore Kenya on our own a little. Some went on safari, some went shopping, and some (as I did) went to the Nairobi National Museum. Because my mother is a curator at the Smithsonian’s National Air & Space Museum, I grew up in museums and it is always a pleasure to explore another one. This museum wasn’t terribly Nairobi-specific; it was more focused on generic natural history. However, it did have two great exhibits I wouldn’t have seen elsewhere: one on traditional tribal life and one on cave/rock art in Africa.

Before my museum trip I went for a run. This was my first time running in the middle of the day instead of early in the morning or late at night. There were many more cars on the road and the air was harder to breathe. When I returned to the hotel I blew my nose and what came out was black. Boo, pollution!

After the museum I spent time interviewing local entrepreneurs about the challenges they faced and lessons learned when starting up businesses in Kenya. I also interviewed many would-be entrepreneurs, who provided valuable insights into what they perceive as barriers to entrepreneurship. The principal obstacles seem to be access to capital (Very few banks are willing to lend to unproven entrepreneurs and the rates from those that do are daunting. There is also no network of Angels or VCs.), family culture (Those who acquire money are expected to share it with their extended families, not invest it in starting businesses.), and gender environment (Much of Kenya’s diaspora returns to start up businesses, but not women. Kenyan women who leave the country and work in more gender-neutral places tend not to return.). The biggest obstacle by far, though, seems to be lack of business knowledge. When would-be entrepreneurs talk about wanting partners, they are more interested in someone who can start/run a business than someone who has capital to provide.

I finished the day by hosting a dinner for Nairobi-based Rice alumni. We had eight people altogether with professional backgrounds as diverse as hotel management, tea exporting, and dentistry. This is what I love about the Rice network; I can drop into a random place on another continent and still find several nice, intelligent, interesting, accomplished people with whom to share stories, ideas, discussions, and drinks. Before I knew it, our dinner had passed the five-hour mark and it was time for those with children to head home. Thank you to all my new Kenyan Rice friends; it was an exceptional—and welcome—diversion from my IMD program!

Wildlife Day

Today was awesome. We left the camp early in the morning and trekked back to Nairobi for meetings at the “offices” (which are more like a zoo) of the Kenya Wildlife Service. We met with the KWS director, the head of KWS’s Rangers (which are paramilitary poacher fighters), and the founder of the Save the Elephants NGO, all fascinating.

We then visited the on-site orphanage for abandoned animals: lions, hyenas, leopards, and all kinds of birds. The ostrich reached over its fence and stole the book of a hapless child. As it tried to eat the book, one of the keepers ran in to take it away from him. The ostrich did NOT like this and attacked the keeper, who had to flee the pen. He then ran around the outside of the pen. As the ostrich followed him, still trying to peck at him, another keeper snuck in and removed the book. That’s teamwork!

This was the second ostrich incident we witnessed. While visiting geothermal energy plants on Thursday we saw an ostrich in a field next to the road. He was standing by himself and kind of “dancing.” We pulled forward and then it became clear why he was dancing: there was a female ostrich about 100 meters away. As we watched, he then ran to her and, voila’, we witnessed ostrich sex. Even though it lasted less than two minutes, most of us were inspired by the wacky moves and “doing the ostrich” is sure to happen the next time we are on the dance floor.

The best part of the orphanage was the cheetah pen. The keepers let us in to play with the big cats and they were so fun—just like housecats, except that they can run 70 mph and rip your head off. They were very sweet, though, and purred loudly while we scratched under their chins. I completely forgot that I am allergic to cats until I started sneezing while baiting one cheetah with her chew toy.

The afternoon featured a visit to the David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust, an orphanage for baby elephants and rhinos. We met with Dame Daphne Sheldrick about the work they do, and then played with the elephants themselves. I almost fell over during my first elephant contact. I reached out to say hello to a baby (~600 lbs), who responded by reaching out a muddy, funky-feeling trunk to probe my neck. While there was nothing threatening about it, it was a very unfamiliar feeling that caused me to take a step back—on uneven, rocky terrain. Once I regained my composure, I greeted the elephant as we had been instructed to do, by blowing into its trunk. At that point it lost interest in me—was it my breath?

My favorite part of the trip so far, though, occurred before we even met the elephants, just as we were entering the orphanage. There was a rhino scratching her neck on a stone by the entrance. This was my first time so close to a rhino–maybe 15 feet away. I was struck by how dinosaur-like she was, like a creature from another time.

Assuming she was “part of the show” we stopped to take pictures. She noticed us, stopped scratching and began trotting over toward us, at which point the elephant keepers yelled at us to run. WHOA! Wild rhino charging after us!!!! It was like the running of the bulls but without a fence to climb over for safety!

She didn’t seem malicious; I think she just wanted to say hi or to play so I was torn between going with the class and holding my ground to say hi. Still, a wild rhino could kill a human pretty easily by playing so I listened to the keepers and followed the rest of the class. The keepers corralled the rhino, who it turns out visits daily to pay her respects to a rhino orphan who resides there. Being “chased” by a rhino was a real rush, though. She was so huge and powerful—what a great fullback she would have made!