And sometimes you have no clue about what's coming at all...

The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel...

It's just a couple of hours after (almost) everybody went home. Time to call it a day.

Some fellow stragglers suggest to meet up downtown, near where one of them is staying, for some drinks and a bite to eat.

And this, right here, is about where things got... strange...

We decide to go by car. Once in the car, the nav-system decides to go on a vacation, leaving us with rather rudimentary means of orientation (my limited knowledge of the city, a tourist's map, my colleague's sense of direction and the stars which we can't see due to the citylights).

Not to be deterred by minor setbacks like not knowing where you're going, we head out with a general direction in mind.

While the road brings us, apparently, in the right direction, it also takes us by a LOT of traffic lights. And they all decide to turn red as we're approaching. Still, we're obviously heading towards downtown in a more or less straight line, which we decide to dub 'the route with least likelihood of complications'. And, besides that, our destination is near the Central Station.

Now, 'downtown' and 'central station' both are very basic, almost primal, landmarks in European cities. If there's anything marked on the road signs, it will be either downtown, central station, or both. And they are. Always. And in this case, at the latest possible time before any turn-off we need to take.

Not to be deterred by minor setbacks like being stuck in the rightmost lane at a left turn in a busy traffic area in a city riddled with one-way streets, I compensate in the most direct, astute and succinct manner I can think of.

So, [legal disclaimer]possibly[/legal disclaimer] having broken several (minor?) traffic regulations and causing a couple of frustrated fellow drivers later, we're on the right track again, rather than the right lane (and no, not the rail tracks, although the tramlines are running parallel to us).

The right track being the edge of the Japanese quarter. Which borders with the gay bars area. And the red-light zone. And is, in general, judging by the number of camera's in the street, considered somewhat shady. Right... No, damn straight! Oh bugger, I should just find a parking spot already.

... which aren't exactly up for grabs even at this hour. After a short ride around the block, I opt for simplicity over economy and decide to park in one of the larger and well-lit parking garages... that has a big sign, just after the barrier, suggesting that it will close in about an hour. Sure enough, we hardly chose a spot and the entrance we came in through was closed, only 50 minutes early. Not a problem, if that entrance wasn't also the most obvious exit...

Not to be deterred by minor setbacks like the prospect of being locked out of my car and stuck all night in a shady part of town, we decide not to worry about it now and try to find the pedestrian exit.

Having looked around for the stairway, the first option we try drops us near the, now closed, entrance door. Doubling back to look for alternatives, we spot another sign saying "Please use hotel exit". A quick glance around reveals another door with a billboard announcing "Hotel Nikko" above it. That would qualify as the hotel exit, we hazard. However, once through the door, we are faced with a smallish hallway, leading straight to a garishly purple door with silver stars and lettering announcing it as club "modern times" or something similarly subtly indicative of questionable repute.

Not to be deterred by minor setbacks like... No wait... Luckily, my colleague spotted the elevators off to the side, which brought us up to ground level, and the, unexpectedly classy, lobby of the hotel pictured at the top.

As for the dinner, for those of you familiar with William Gibson's Neuromancer, having dinner in the Japanese quarter of a German city amongst both dive bars and an upper class hotel, is kind of, in a very mild way, how I would have imagined life in Chiba City would be. With a bit of imagination...

"The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel..."

Longing for Lisbon

As it would happen, I was asked to come down to Portugal to help out in a project. I protested that I was a bit busy and my current workload didn't quite allow me to take on other work, but, to cut a long story and several phone-calls short, in the end we settled on me doing a short two-day visit during which I would try to help out with current issues, do a sort of audit on the systems and basically consult with the local engineers where I could.

Now, last time I was here, during the summer of 2009 (See my older post "Weekend Late-Lunches"), the work was difficult, and hard, and hours long. But since I was here for about three months, I still managed to have a look around the city. To feel it's vibe and appreciate the sociable peoples here, who will chat with you over coffee even though you try to explain you don't understand Portuguese.

Coming back and visiting some of the places of that summer again, I couldn't help but think of the phrase

"it was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."

While that summer was full of difficulty and extremely hard work, it also brought colleagues closer to being friends and the strong bonding experience of a common goal under stress. I can think of worse places to have an experience like that than Lisbon...

Now, packing up the few things I brought on the short trip, I feel a little bit sad for having to leave so soon. But also hopeful for the prospect of perhaps coming back here in the future. Would that constitute a mild case of what the Portuguese call "saudade"?



P.S.
I still didn't find the entrance to the castle.

Sometimes you just know what's going to happen next...

It's monday-morning, and I find myself preparing to go to work. I'm working on a project in a neighbouring country, so my commute is, shall we say, significant. Usually I leave on sunday night, when there's light traffic and less stress. But this sunday, I had other, better, things to do, so I'm driving on monday.

I had packed my bags, my laptop, any related project paperwork, clothes, shoes, corporate badge, jacket, wallets, keys, everything's there and I hobble, packed like a mule, with two backpacks and assorted items, towards the car. Where, as I am fishing for the keys to the car, I can feel the key-chain of my house keys slipping off of my fingers. The keys drop. I look down. Just in time to notice them hit the storm drain.

In a brilliant flash of insight, I could see my day expand, deterministically, in my mind.

The keys slip through the grate and with a fittingly undramatic splash hit the water at the bottom and disappear into the murky depths of the storm drain's catch-bucket.

The key-chain is important. Apart from the physical importance (in it's capacity of opening the doors to my domicile), keys are somewhat symbolic in the "key to the city", "key to my heart" and "key to my life" kind of way. So, regardless of the consideration that you don't want to have any key to your front door ending up in potentially irresponsible hands, there's the psychology of the matter. And the certain knowledge that I cannot, will not, have my mind at ease as long as I don't hold those keys in my hands again.

Storm drains in the Netherlands are made out of cast-iron. Or some other suitable heavy material that isn't too overly expensive and not as toxic as lead. There's no way to lift one by myself. I could move it with a long enough and strong enough lever, but that would possibly put me in trouble with the local municipal works-department. Worse, if I lever it out of there and it tips over and down the chute on it's side I might be charged with vandalism, destruction of public property, or such.

Alright. Alternative approach. Ummm... A fishing rod? With a magnet? Bit of a cliche perhaps... Then again, I don't know how deep the catch-bucket goes and the water is too murky to see my keys in. A stick? Again, no idea how long it should be and I might just push it down the real drain, not just the catch-bucket beneath the grate.

So, back to the municipal works-department... Calling them will take some time, especially on monday. And, knowing bureaucracy, it will probably take even longer than that before the crew arrives with tools. So I'll end up waiting for them for some time, but lacking keys, I can't do so inside my house.

Not retrieving the keys and simply going to work isn't exactly an option either. While I will be staying in a hotel, I can't really wait with this for a week. The keys will be gone for sure. And after that, if the house hasn't been emptied yet, I'd have to replace all the locks. Which, as the locks are an integral system, would be both expensive and time-consuming.

While these possibilities and implications are still fractalling in my mind, some process intervenes and indicates that the "undesired expenditure of the day" flag has long since been raised.

My foot moves. I put my bags in the car.

And I kneel down to retrieve my keys. Which were narrowly trapped against one of the drain's sidebars by my foot.

That was a close call.

Now I can rest comfortably in the knowledge that I will not know what the rest of the day might bring.


Keychain image is (c) 2008, toxel.com