Customer Service in Portugal

Do you think customer service has improved in Portugal? I do! Here are some examples: Clinica Cuf Cascais; Heath Club Visconde; Medis; Millenium Bank. What do you think?

Pitching In

James Blades, St. Dominic’s student, helps in the Global Initiative Abano Beach Cleanup , September 26. Over 80 people came out for the event, a huge success. Mark March 20, 2010 on your calendars: Country-wide Cleanup Day.

Happiness in Lisbon

Congratulations to WIN Productions and its main sponsor Janseen-Cilag Pharmaceuticals for sponsoring the 2009 Happy Conference in Lisbon on September 21. Three friends and I attended the conference held in the Tivoli Theater to a packed audience of over 700. The event was impeccably organized and presented. I never saw Portugal function so well. It was a world class event with Harvard Psychology Professor Tal Ben-Shahar talking about the science of happiness, stress reduction, learning and well-being in families. The information was not new, but it was well packaged. He enthralled the audience and convinced me that ” Happiness, independent thinking, self-esteem, and hard work are all commodities within our reach and vital to a well functioning family, classroom and society. ” I wrote an email to the group after the conference. ” You, the young and dynamic leaders who organized this positive conference, are the hope for Portugal’s future.” www.happyconference.org

Changing Times

Changing Times

At 9.15 pm on Monday evening I went into the health food store Jardim Verde in CascaisVilla Shopping Center. The young woman working there ( alone) helped me find my items and was ringing them up at the register. I noticed a man walk into the store and then leave, but nothing seemed unnatural. Just as I was about to walk out of the store, three huge security guards came in holding a 30ish aged man, thin and shaking. They told him to open his shirt. I stood there in awe…and in fear. Cascais has always seemed so “protected” and safe. Inside his shirt I saw that he had sewn in pockets and then the guards told him to take out the numerous products (shampoos, aloe vera, face creams) that he had just stolen from the store while the woman was competing my purchase. He also had items in plastic that the guards told us were from Jumbo or Pingo Doce. Then the man kept pleading that we let him go. He looked at the girl and me and we saw needle marks on his arms. Then the security guard asked the woman what she wanted to do with the man. She didn’t know and, wisely, called her boss. The owner said “Let him go.” Then the man left with the guards. I think they went to Pingo Doce because there I saw several policemen.

My first instinct also was, “Let him go.” However, I’ve thought a lot about the incident and now I think rehab would have been a better option. There is a recent article in the Economist about Portugal’s successful handling of addicts via rehab vs. prison. If you read the article, also read the comments beneath it. The link:

http://www.economist.com/world/europe/displaystory.cfm?story_id=14309861

I spoke to one of the security guards as I was about to leave the center. He told me he has never seen these people with knives or guns in CCVilla, which was my fear. He said they steal to sell the items and then use the money for drugs. I feel sorry for the man and gratitude that I have chosen a different path for my life.

What would you have done if you were the store owner?

Waiting and texting on the road

Antonio Capucho, the Cascais Mayor, now running for re-election, has done a terrific job of routing traffic out of Cascais. But driving in is a different story. Yesterday, at 6.30 pm, it took me 35 minutes to get from Monte Estoril to the center of Cascais via the Marginal. I’m not sure if the problem is the fancy new apartments he’s licensed ( who can afford them in this economy?), or the two-lane road now out dated, overcrowded and often blocked by an overheated car or an accident caused by some cell phone talking driver. The USA is now running a vivid, terrifying ad about the dangers of texting while driving. A young woman takes her eyes off the road to send a text message, hits an oncoming car, and causes a horrific crash killing her, her two passengers and the driver of the oncoming car. Statistics show it’s more dangerous to text and drive than to drink and drive. Maybe it’s time for new roads and new laws to keep up with the times.

Settling In

Settling Into  Portugal

There is a positive side to coming home. I returned to Portugal, not the USA. I’ve always craved the exotic, and while Cascais isn’t Shanghai, there’s enough “different” here to satisfy my foreign cravings. In fact, I walk more, as I did in China, and my senses are on high alert. I notice signs that used to flash by; smell flowers that passed as street decorations; speak to Portuguese with renewed interest. Even my bank feels better. I walked in to Caixa Geral in Cascais last Thursday. Before I entered the cold cavern of lines and tellers, I was stopped by two twenty somethings, well uniformed and smiling, (a characteristic I often miss in the Portuguese). “Can we help you?” one said, with customer service high on her agenda. They are the new gatekeepers of the state bank. Then I noticed CGD’s new campaign, “ Soluções para Residentes no Estrangeiro.” ( Solutions for Residents Abroad)The flyers and large poster in the bank entry show the famous fado singer Mariza on her cell phone in a foreign city, not in Portugal. The campaign bothered me: Portugal is experiencing enough of a brain drain as young professionals are leaving the country to work and make their living abroad. With salaries here some of the lowest, or the lowest, in Europe, most who leave, have no choice. Even the gas station attendant in Estoril told me, “I’m leaving in October. I found work in Belgium. My wife and child will follow me after I’m settled. “He said he didn’t want to leave the Portugal he loves, but he can’t support his family here. So, Portugal loses another, not an intellectual (they leave too), but a service-oriented, ambitious young man who’s looked ahead and seen a better life elsewhere. I feel protective of Portugal. So I wonder: why does the state bank glamorize people leaving the country, or at least make it easy for them to have Portugal away from home? A better campaign would be, “Make it, save it and spend it in Portugal.”

Who’s Writing for the Mayor?

Maybe Mayor Capucho feels the same. Last week I saw a sign promoting the new Cascais hospital which will open in 2010 near CascaiShopping. (Congratulations to Mayor Capucho, the only person who got the hospital built.). But beneath the glossy picture of the new structure, IN ENGLISH, it says, “Health of the new generation” First, why is it in English? Second, what does the slogan mean? I’ve played around with all possible prepositions to see what the Mayor, or his PR firm, intend. Does he mean health for the new generation? But then what about Portugal’s aging, who make up the bulk of its people? Or maybe health to the new generation, means the hospital will deliver health to all. Or maybe, it’s that the hospital will give new generation health care to all. And if that’s the case, Bem Vindo! ( Welcome!)

Coming Home

Pearl sellers ( and bargainers) in the YaShow Market, Beijing

I didn’t want to leave China. My original visa mandated that I return by August 3, but I knew I wanted more time in the country. So after extending my visa (see account on a previous blog: Extending My Visa), I travelled in Shanghai, Beijing and Daton, the site of the famous hanging monastery and the Yungang Grottoes. Daton, rich in coal and iron, has grey and orange skies (not the kind from a summer sunset) and hoards of electrical wires, enough to heat all of Beijing. But most memorable in Daton was my visit with a 77-year old man who had lived in an earthen cave all his life. He never married but had the daily company of children from the neighboring cave- village visiting him and their parents bringing him food. He also had a small vegetable garden behind his cave with a small, shaggy brown dog tied to a post.

Days like the one with him, the cave dwelling children, the monastery and the grottoes made leaving hard. In addition, I got to know Beijing well. I taught myself how to use the Beijing Subway ( clean and easy to navigate with), saw the famed  Olympic Water Cube and Birds Nest and frequented the major markets  of YaShow, the Silk Market, Panjiayuan ( the Dirt Market, held on weekends and good for antiques –fake and authentic). I’d recommend YaShow for the best selections and the least aggressive sales people, most under the age of 25. By the way, anyone who says the Chinese are not making copies (knockoffs) any more, hasn’t been there. The only brand I wanted and couldn’t find easily was Lacoste. Congratulations to then for strangling the copy market. I wonder how they did it. (Finally, I did find and buy two Lactose golf shirts, but the alligators face the wrong way and the shirt material is low grade cotton.)  Other brands from Channel to LX, Polo and Prada are abundant, well made and cheap once well negotiated ( 1/3 of their asking price is the lowest I ever got, and not often). Also, when you are tired of the haggling and the walking, the YaShow and Silk Markets have foot massages, manicures and pedicures along with extended back rubs on their top floors. Those prices are not negotiable, but reasonable.

Now that I am home, it’s almost painful to write about China. It seems so close, and yet I know it’s so far away. Paris, which I love, is only 2 hours by plane, but I certainly can’t get to China easily on my miles, winter is coming there, and a good friend said yesterday, “Pat, if you went right back, it wouldn’t be the same.” I think and hope he’s wrong. (Maybe at Carnival next February?)

Jet lag has never bothered me much, but it took me 10 days to get my biological clock straight. I’d wake up at 1 am (9 am China time) with place and time disorientation. Only my dogs sleeping beside me reminded me that I was home, and once I even thought they’d come to China!  Finally, two enjoyable weeks at home have helped me to readjust. I’m a little less nostalgic and sleep until 7.30 am. I confess to walking into every Chinese shop I can find and blasting “Ni How” (hello) to the man or woman behind the register. As most barely speak Portuguese, and none speak English, they seem happy for a word from home.

I gave a talk last week on my experience and tried to share my memories with some friends. Still, at dinner last night, when someone tried to convince me that “China is too backwards and dirty to visit” I felt defensive and protective, like a Mom wanting to shelter her child from harm. Maybe I can return in February and for sure I’ll reapply to teach in July. Until then I’ll have to be content with soggy egg rolls from Chinese Wall Restaurant up the street and synthetic sweaters from the Chinese store nearby. If anyone knows of a competent Chinese teacher, who also speaks English, please email me their contact: patwestheimer@gmail.com       Xìe xìe. Thank you.

Thanks also for reading and commenting on my blog about China. I’ll continue my blog with comments on daily life in Portugal.

Going to the Bathroom

1 August

Sorry for the unsavory topic, but it is central to daily life!

I limited my liquids in China even though the bottled water tasted fine, was plentiful and cheap, and the daily air temperature was 95º.  It’s just that what goes in has to go out: that was the problem: not what went out, but WHERE!

Bathrooms in China are mostly “Asian style.” That means a small white ceramic oblong plate with a hole at the top  or bottom depending on which way you stand. Feet indicators straddle both sides for squatting.

I’m in good shape and limber, so I didn’t have problems with the position, but it sure wasn’t comfortable. The teachers who wore skirts were smart. I didn’t plan that well in advance. Long pants and shorts presented problems.

Then there was the issue of paper: After one week, I learned, mostly the hard way, to always carry wads of paper with me in my pockets. The “ bathrooms” ( that is, rows of  stalls) consisted of the ceramic holes in the floors and a plastic bin beside them we were to throw the  paper. On most days the papers overflowed. One day Lucy, a teacher from Florida, figured out something smart:  “ If you use the “ handicapped” stalls” they are the sit down kind,”  she said. And she was right. The only task then was to find doors , often with no locks or broken ones,  that had the handicapped sign, in blue. Airports all had them. Few stores or restaurants did.

McDonalds was the best. Half to the stalls said “Squat” written outside of the door. “The other doors said “ Sit”. You would think everyone would line up for the “ sit” ones, but not so. The Asians shunned them as they did knives and forks. The rest of us lined up for them regardless of the wait time. Many of my students told me they found the Asian style more sanitary. Probably, they are correct.

After almost six weeks I never mastered the squat technique perfectly. That’s because I’m still not certain which way to face, looking in or looking out. The cautious part of me decided, right or wrong, I’d face out. If someone opened the door while I was inside, which often happened, I’d be there to say, even in English, “ No, No!”

The other issue was finding the bathrooms. Early into the trip I was in a large department store and had forgotten to limit my liquids on the over 100º temperature day. Suddenly I really had to go! I approached several salesladies and asked for “ WC, Toilet, Bathroom” and even made the squat motion. No one knew what I was talking about. One lady thought I was looking for shorts and led me to the newest collection! In desperation, I called Jane, my Chinese teacher from the school. I was so embarrassed but I told her the problem, handed the phone to the saleswoman who then understood. After a minute, she smiled, took my hand and walked me like a young child to the back of the store where I, once again, faced the row of stalls with doors that barely locked. I was too embarrassed to return to the area of the saleswomen who helped me, so I sneaked out of the store through another exit! 

Beijing Grows on Me

On the Boeing 777 from Shanghai to Beijing we bounced around for one hour of the 1.50 minutes flight. My fear of flying returned so fiercely that I grabbed the arm of the young man beside me (he was asleep) and prayed to every god the Chinese ever believed in that if we landed safely, I’d be a better person.

I also vowed it would be my last flight before the long one home next week. That’s not to say there’s anything wrong with China’s airlines. So far I’ve flown with four different companies. Unlike US airlines, well-dressed flight attendants serve full meals even in economy class, give pillows and blankets without charge and walk up and down the aisles frequently, smiling and asking if all are ok. I wasn’t but I can’t speak Chinese and was not about to embarrass myself on the more than 200-people, packed plane. Someone told me that now that China’s airfares are so reasonable (I paid less that 100 Euros for this flight), more Chinese are flying. Some day, the source said, more will fly than there are seats. The solution: standing-up airlines…well, not yet, and not me!

Finally, we landed in Beijing. My pressure normalized, my smile returned and I decided I’d make this last leg of my trip as memorable as the others, even if the sky looked more ashen than blue.  Here’s how I began: I checked into the Westin Beijing, Financial Center and immediately called The China Culture Center (www.chinaculturecenter.org ). I’d read about them in travel books and on the Internet. They have tours in Beijing as well as trips outside of the city, plus nightly lectures on topics such as Zen Meditation, Chinese Painting, and Cookery: hand pulled noodles and dumplings. Their tour leaders are culturally astute, and no factory visits are included in their reasonably priced tours. (Half day tours cost under 20 Euros.) I signed up for one to Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City and another: a pedicab tour of the Xuanwu Hutong (sort of like a cleaned up favela).  I learned about art, architecture, sociology and nothing about current politics. Our guide to the Square cautioned us against political discussions and pointed to white shirted gentlemen whom, she said, were “secret police.”

One man on the tour told us that Starbucks had a space in the Forbidden City for the 2008 Olympics. But then some blogger complained about cultural insensitivity, and there went Starbucks. Or maybe not. After two hours, we stopped at a Chinese-named cafe with items such as Cookie Smoothie ( an Oreo floated on the top of chocolate chip ice cream and ice); Green Tea Smoothie( I tried it and am sure it’s the same syrupy recipe I sampled in the Wuhan Starbucks) and other types of coffees and pastries. I’ve welcomed Starbucks –and even McDonalds–on this trip. They both have English speaking personnel and bathrooms ( more about bathrooms on another blog). I hope those white- shirted gentlemen don’t bust the café. The smoothie cooled me down in the 95º heat and humidity. I held onto the cup until the last ice cube melted.

Speaking of the Olympics, a woman I met on the tour told me the Olympic venues were open for visiting. ( They were closed when I went on a tour of China last October.) The next day, my third on Beijing (pronounced with a hard “J” sound), I went by taxi to the Olympic site. Taxis are so inexpensive here, it’s embarrassing. A 30 minute ride (everything seems “ 30 minutes away”), costs less than 3 Euros. When I try to tip, the drivers hand the  money back. The taxi drivers have no English at  from all. I rely on the hotel to write down wherever I want to visit. Then  I cling with my life to the hotel’s address in Chinese for the way back. If I ever lost that paper, I would really be lost.

On this taxi ride, the driver took me as close as he could to the main entrance. Five  minutes later, I stood inside of the steel, meshed structure, The Birds Nest and then to my favourite, The Water Cube. I sat in one of the gallery seats imagining Michael Phelps blasting to victory in the long, blue pool beneath the stands. A huge movie screen above the main pool shows scenes from the games, featuring, of course, Chinese athletes, but including others as well. The atmosphere in the site was like a carnival: kite sellers were showing their wares, tempting young families to buy for their children; other vendors sold key chains and medal replicas. If it can be sold, the Chinese will sell it, and all for a price that’s negotiable. A gentleman  from Dubai,  here on business every month, told me to offer 10% of their price. “Even if they seem insulted, in the end, you’ll have your wares at this price, or close,” he said. I haven’t be quite that bold but I am getting better at bargaining, or so the vendors tell me.

As I left the Cube I saw people swimming in what was labelled the Olympic warm-up pool.  A guard told me in enough English for me to understand that the pool is open to the public every afternoon except Monday. I’m trying to figure out how I can swim with my wallet and camera with me as I’m not certain about lockers, or maybe I’ll leave that adventure for another trip.

And speaking of adventures: I leave the hotel in 2 hours ( midnight) for a 7-hour drive by 2 drivers from the hotel to Datong, site of the UNESCO World Heritage Hanging Monastery. My friend Eusebio had sent me a picture from the Internet of the marvel last year, and I never forgot its beauty and mystery.  In truth, I have no idea where Shanxi Province is, the area of the monastery,  but it’s close to the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region, and that’s enough to make me want to go.

So, if no monsoons catch up with us, and the monastery stays hanging and not falling, I’ll be back in two days with photos and, I hope, a good story to tell.

Loving Shanghai

The sleek Maglev train entering the downtown Shanghai station

I could live in Shanghai. It’s a steamy, sensual city, with a stunning skyline and open, cosmopolitan people. My post-hippy era friends scorned me for staying at the The Westin Bund Center, Shanghai  and not in the trendy French Concession area, a cross between Greenwich Village and The Left Bank.  (Contrary to hearsay, I never was a hippy: I studied while my friends smoked pot.)

The Westin, with a carefully trained, guest-centred focus, became like my mini-family and extended community. I was greeted like a friend when I returned from a day of touring and asked the following morning how I enjoyed the ERA acrobatic show the night before. It was fabulous, similar in format to Cirque de Soleil, but with Chinese acrobats worth of winning Olympic medals. The staff also helped me with directions to experiment with the Maglev, the world’s fastest airport transportation link. For example, the distance from Heathrow  in London into the city is similar to the Shanghai link, but the Heathrow Express takes 15 minutes (average speed 66 mph and top speed 100 mph). The Shanghai train is more than twice as fast, arriving in under 8 minutes.  I rode it for fun, sitting in the blue padded seat  across from a young Chinese girl wearing her Sunday best pink, lacy dress. She was travelling to the airport , then fly to inner China with her family for their summer holidays. The girl and I both gasped, then laughed, as the train leans left, then right as it navigates China’s hills on the way to its destination. I had wondered how I’d explain that I wanted to return immediately, that I was not flying out of Shanghai that day. Like most experiences in China, it proved easy. A train employee stood on the platform, spoke good English, smiled and told me the same train I had come on would depart for central Shanghai in 15 minutes!  However,  make no mistake about English. There is very little of it here. One student told me, “Pat, when you need help, look for a college student. They will speak English.  Good advice, but I’ve still had to resort to more body language than verbal language, and so far, it’s worked.

Back to the hotel: Breakfast there reminded me of Israeli breakfasts, so plentiful that lunch arrived as an afterthought. When the head waitress seated me on the second day, she  already recalled my name, calling me Mrs Patty . She also   taught me a new Chinese word every morning to add to my 20-ord vocabulary, then asked,  “Do you want your peppermint tea today?”  How did she remember with all of her hundreds of clients?

I confess to loneliness when I arrived in the city. After three-plus weeks of living, eating and teaching with a compatible group of teachers, I found myself on my own, by design , ready to travel in China before returning home. I didn’t predict how much I’d miss the camaraderie. That’s why, on my first day in the city, I booked a half-day tour. Six of us rode in a mini-van from the old part of town, which looked artificially touristy, to a second-storey  tea house,  then to the obligatory pearl factory and finally  to witness the skyline at sunset. I’m fascinated by the tops of buildings here. They adhere to Feng shui( wind-water) principles of propitious design and direction. Some buildings have balls on the top; others have holes in them; and many have long points headed for the sky.   The tour then ended up in a restaurant area where we were offered the chance to remain or return to our hotels. I opted for the latter.  I enjoy breakfast alone and tolerate the same for lunch, but dinner for one in a family-oriented, very foreign city, feels uncomfortable. I can manage, but I’d rather not.  In fact, I often believe I’d be well suited for community living. My sister resides in what she calls an “Active Living Community” near Washington D.C., a code word for senior living. The community contains homes, apartments, swimming pools, a golf course, restaurants, and offers classes from contemporary novels to how to play bridge. All activities are optional, but I imagine I’d join (or try to teach) as many as I could.

Now that I’m on my own in China and school is over, I create my own plans rather than adhering to the class schedule, I have more time to reflect and introspect. For me, travel is the best living meditation and feedback mechanism I know. I get to see how well I fare with strangers, how often I lose my temper ; how I deal with change and delay and what skills I have for coping , surviving and making my way in an unfamiliar world. I think I’ve become a better listener, asking fewer questions, and not feeling like I have to know all the answers. One lady in our teacher group was surreptitiously called “ the textbook” for her knowledge of everything. In contrast,  I can’t even say what came first,  the Qing  or the Ming Dynasty. Worse, the Chinese word I learned yesterday eludes me today. But I notice that I still like to tip taxi drivers and restaurant servers ( as I do at home)  even though the travel books say “ it’s not done” in China. And I get a thrill out of giving away the small ceramic roosters from Portugal that I brought as gifts. The locals respond to these tiny souvenirs as if I had given them a diamond. In fact the doorman at the Westin shows me the rooster every morning when I leave for the day.“ I likes the football there,” he said today, opening his white gloved hand which held the present. I  have only four days to explore Shanghai before my final stop, Beijing. But I already know I’ll be back, with even more roosters next time.