Coco and Camarao do Brazil

I am so tired.

That kind of tired that seeps into your bones and makes them heavy as rocks, that crawls in behind your stinging eyeballs, the kind of tired that you feel you'll never be able to shake off.

And I only recently came back from vacation.  Something's rotten in the state of Res, I tell you.

Speaking of vacation, I am way overdue a posting.  So here it is, a brief but exclusive glimpse into the glamorous Brazilian adventures of Res and Hottie:

Friday: Res bails early from CoolCo Sub and hops onto a small plane to a London with a big suitcase full of dresses.  Hottie has just returned from Houston (obviously).  The two of them are exhausted and skip the big Friday night out in London.

Saturday: Res and Hottie wait for pre-ordered cab.  And wait some more. Cab doesn't show up. Learn to never trust anyone but black cabs.  Make it to Heathrow in time for plane (and pancakes at Giraffe). Spend a long time in a flying metal tube. Land in Rio.  It's hot. Hottie has a couple caipirinhas. Res is a party pooper and goes to bed.

Sunday: Our fearless heroines decide to jump off a mountain.  Not before signing beautifully drafted liability waiver, specifying that it applies to all hang-gliding activities such as "take-off and landing (including, but not limited to, crashing)". Despite said waiver, both girls manage stunning, crash-free landings. Spend rest of day recovering on Ipanema with some coconut water and a couple camarao. Res takes first caipirinha.  And second.

Monday: Trusty host Daniel takes the girls on tour of city.  Gets them lost in Tijuca National Park.  Explains ups and downs of marriage over large skewers of meat. Then plonks them down on a bar terrace overlooking Santa Teresa for caipirinha o'clock.  Where we meet a yacht stewardess and a straight man with a T-shirt that says "Flower". Res takes a bit of a fancy to Brazilian beers. At dinner, Hottie attempts to identify menu options by making barnyard animal sounds at the waiter and Res orders a mint tea only to receive a small swamp in a bucket.

Tuesday: More beach time.  The girls even manage to squeeze in a run and purchase bikinis (size large, therefore covering half a butt-cheek; we learn that what we think of as "normal" bikini bottoms are referred to here as American bikinis, diapers or parachutes. Lovely).  Then Christ the Redeemer goes all mystical in the fog and Copacabana sparkles from the top of the Sugarloaf, before it's time to samba the night away at the fabulous Rio Scenarium.  More caipirinhas are had.

Wednesday: It rains. Res gets a sunburn (rainburn?) and turns into a bit of a camarao herself. For good cheer, Res and Hottie purchase Havaianas and try to sing for beer money. It doesn't work. Res orders fish for dinner and gets beef. Never mind. There's always more samba to save the day (until a senior citizen decides to demonstrate his trademarked pelvic thrust move and the girls run away... fast).

Thursday: Bye bye Rio, off to Paraty.  It rains. Paraty is nonetheless charming.  And serves wonderful caipirinhas.  Res gets a samba lesson from a waiter.

Friday: Sunshine in Paraty makes for idyllic beach time. Res misses her coconut water, though.  In the evening, the girls are entertained by the fabulous Yara and Richard Roberts and eat the best food of the whole trip. Res makes farofa and feels pretty pleased with herself. Hottie learns how to make caipirinhas and London cocktail nights are transformed forever.

Saturday: Last day in Brazil, spent in Sao Paulo with INSEAD alumns and friends. Much food, drink and dancing is had by all.  It rains.  That's because Brazil is sad the girls are leaving.

Sunday: Plane, more plane, an early Monday morning breakfast at Heathrow, another plane, and arrival in Zurich.  The vacation is over.  Time to prepare work trip to South Africa.

More on that in another post.

Big Mac

I did it.  I made the switch.

Although really the active voice isn't entirely accurate in this context.  I didn't make the switch.   The switch was made.  And now I have a Mac.  A big one.  With a little tiny keyboard.  But hey, I'm not size-ist or anything.

First impressions: it's pretty.  Really pretty.  And really big (except for the keyboard).  So very big and very pretty.  Good.

But honestly... what does it actually DO that my PC didn't?!  And where's the damn delete key?

And now I hear the pillaging armies of Granny Smith converts in uproar, ready to tear me limb from limb for this act of blasphemy.

Sorry.  I will get used to it eventually, I'm sure.  But any chance I can get a non-Lilliputian keyboard?!

In the meantime, here are a few photos to entertain you with, since photos do look rather cool on my gigantic Mac screen (what, you don't have a gigantic Mac screen? What are you people waiting for?!)

Merry Christmas everyone, may it bring you all lots of teddy bear cuddles...

PS: Anyone know why my Big Mac beeps at me ever twenty minutes?

Jealous?

The view from where I'm currently typing, painted toenails and all:

Bons bisous de la presqu'ile de Saint Tropez!

Gute Laune*

Tomorrow's moving day and I'm in a strangely good mood.

I say strangely because I haven't been accustomed to good moods lately.  And also because I hate moving (I tried to count how many times I've moved house in my life, and I lost track somewhere in the 20-30 range.  You would think I'd have grown to enjoy hauling my possessions around by now.)

But still, I'm getting all sorts of positive vibes as I sit here and type.  First, because the boxes are finally all stuffed and sealed.  Second, because I'm coming back to my beloved city (twenty kilometres away might not seem like much to you, but it's an ocean for a city girl like yours truly.)  Third, because I'm watching France-Mexico with the girls tonight.  And generally, because life is sweet like a yellow pepper.

Wait, what?  Where did the yellow pepper thing come from?

Not to worry, that's just me trying out an awkward but oh-so-poetic transition to this great shot by Mr. Res Sr.  (aka Daddy).  This photo just puts me in a good mood.  Look at that little yellow pepper there, in with his species yet distinctly out of place (I've named him Res Pepper.)  I'm thinking of getting this photo framed and putting it up in my spanking new kitchen.

*because there's no reason why I shouldn't throw in a German title when the mood strikes

Choukran

Am still reeling from the week in Cairo (and desperately sleep deprived) but I wanted to share this picture with you.

This was the setting for a rehearsal dinner.  Yes, you read that right.  A rehearsal dinner.  And no, that is not a cardboard backdrop.

As a result, I have decided never to get married, as nothing short of a reception on the moon can top this.  Sorry boys.

I'm crawling back under the covers now to dream of pharaos.  I'll be with you as soon as my feet land back in the real world.

In the meantime, enjoy the rest of your weekend!

In the days of Victoria

Oh dear oh dear oh dear. 10 days have passed and I still haven't told you about my trip to Australia. I'm at risk of losing my precious Australian readership! (That's right, I have an "Australian readership." Of about 10 people.)

Here we are then, a day by day run-down of my second summer vacation in February.

Tuesday: Get on plane. It's an A380. I'm on the top deck. That remains exciting for about 35 minutes.

Wednesday: Still on plane. I think. I'm not sure what day it is, though, so perhaps I've actually migrated to a galaxy far, far away.

Thursday: In Melbourne. Feeling a bit worse for wear, I attempt a run. It does not go well. Instead, I decide to take the tram into the city. I forget to get off, end up on the other side of town, and have to get another tram back in. This clearly entitles me to a glass of wine, before meeting the Chick for a dinner of burger and fake champagne by the beach.

Friday: Miss Klum arrives and the trio is now complete in time for my first ever cricket match. As far as I can tell, cricket involves a lot of standing around and taking drinks breaks. Both for the players and for the spectators. Desirous of a little more action, we head to an outdoors bar, then an insanely overheated back-alley nightclub, and still somehow manage to make it back to bed still upright on our heels.

Saturday: Ah, the legendary Aussie barbecue. What a wonderful way to while away the afternoon. This is followed by an exlusive invitation to a 21-year-old boy's birthday party (don't ask). All I can say is: thirty-somethings have more fun.

Sunday: Woo-hoo! My very first music festival (yes, I know, that's embarrassing) and The Killers are headlining! Even the weather gods are with us.

Monday: We say goodbye to the weather gods as Miss Klum and I drive out of Melbourne in the cold and rain towards Wilson's Prom. Fortunately, the skies clear once we get there and it's in the sunshine that we hike the 20 kilometres to the lighthouse, to sleep in a little cottage battered by the wind.

Tuesday: Klum and I realize that it's all fine and good to hike 20k to a lighthouse until you have to hike the 20k back in the morning. Fortunately the wallabies are there to keep us company. In the afternoon, we drive over to Phillip Island, attempt the beach until we finally admit it's too cold, and spend the evening watching very small penguins (cleverly called Little Penguins).

Wednesday: A slightly quieter day where we hang in Torquay, home of Rip Curl, and shop. What? It's cold!

Thursday: It's the Great Ocean Road drive day which keeps us very busy, what with driving on the left, spotting koalas, and hitching a helicopter ride. A very, very good day.

Friday: Back in Melbourne and sipping wine in the Yarra Valley. Also catching a glimpse of the fire damage from last year. I'm happy to report the green is coming back.

Saturday: Wait! We forgot about the Olympics! Time to catch up, especially as the weather feels like London in November.

Sunday: The Chick, insane as ever, has us wake up at 5am to go to a triathlon. Even crazier, she's participating. Klum and I undertake our cheering duties with professionalism and poise and Chick crosses the finish line victorious. And then, sadly , it's time to spend another soul-quashing 24 hours on a plane.

That's a pretty full run-down I gave you there. What? You want more? You want pictures?

You certainly are demanding this evening...

View from helicopter @ Twelve Apostles (of which there are eight)

Koala

Wilson's Prom lighthouse

A Taste of Namibia

The beautiful Namib desert, with our footsteps on the crest of the dune...

Watching Paris Watching You

Itsy Bitsy Res

I've been feeling rather introspective lately (or as The Analyst puts it, "philosophical", which I like because it makes me sound clever rather than self-obsessed). I've noticed that generally when people have no idea where they're going, they start looking back, as if the past held some kind of a clue. And it might.

So I looked back.

And found this photo.

This is Res when she was a baby. You can tell because it says "baby" on it. In case you were going to mistake me with a small sea otter or a large loaf of home-baked bread.

In fact, this is the first ever picture taken of me, on the first ever day of my existence. If you look really closely, tilt your head to the side and squint a little, you can sort of see the lawyer/consultant/frustrated writer that I would grow up to become. No?

So let's see if we can find some clues.

Personally, I think I look pretty fat. And rather sleepy. Maybe this means I should move to Spain where people eat and sleep all the time (no offence to my lovely Spanish friends). Except I don't speak Spanish.

I also have those long, skinny fingers stretched out as if I'm reaching for something. Or playing a piano. Maybe I should learn to play the piano (damn those 18 years of violin lessons).

Also apparent is my rather disastrous taste in clothes and lack of eyebrows. Both of these problems have been fixed by now, though, so I think we can look past them.

Right, well, that wasn't terribly useful. Unless I am actually supposed to be a Spanish-speaking, piano-playing, fat, eyebrow-less person.

Which could be right, but then there's this photo, which clearly indicates I have a hidden passion for sheep (oh dear)...

Seen on a wall in London

The Definitive Guide to My Little Corner of Paris (Part 2)

MARKET: Le Marché des Enfants Rouges (rue de Bretagne)

Because its improbable name, a reference to the young pupils of the local orphanage, was coined at the start of the 17th century. Because the concept of choosing your lunch from a motley crew of international food stalls and then settling at one of the large wooden tables to eat with strangers is impossibly charming. Because one of the sweetest things the Boy ever did was order a pizza there just because it was called the "Res Ipsa Pizza" (clearly I'm easy to please when it comes to grand romantic gestures).

RANDOM SPOT: The wall at number 180 (rue Saint Martin)

Because over the winter it cheerily wished passers-by a "bonne crise" and because, now that spring has come, it assures us that all is well again in the world... sort of.

CAFE: Café Beaubourg (next to the Pompidou)

Because, while admittedly overpriced, it has one of the best car-free, people-watching terraces in Paris. Because there's a small chance the art from next door might seep in subliminally while you're having your beer, making you terribly cultured.

BAKERY: Berko (rue de Rambuteau)

Because even though you're living in the Magical Land of Patisserie, sometimes you crave cheesecake. Or cupcakes. Or both. And because when that happens, walking into Berko feels like you've died and gone to frosting heaven.

SUPERMARKET: Daily Monop' (somewhere near you)

Because they're open late enough for weary consultants and other non-35-hour-week folk. Because they have loads of fresh, pre-prepared dishes that mean I no longer have to cook when I get home at some ungodly hour and am feeling rather lazy. Because shopping there with my Duane Reade "Bag It For a Greener NY" tote adds a certain element of bobo chic to the experience that is not entirely unpleasant.

To my boys

I am so sorry. I know you'll feel betrayed and abandoned, and you won't understand, but I really hope you'll like your new home in Germany. You'll always be my babies.

PS: Don't eat too many mice.

Leaving L.A.

As announced, I had great plans to go to San Diego from L.A. and see the "far south" of California. But, on a whim, and reasoning that living it up was justified in case the earth was about to implode due to the upcoming creation of a giant black hole on the Franco-Swiss border, I went to Las Vegas instead. Driving up in style in a little sporty convertible (in real life, those things make your hair very messy), I then spent hours hiking up and down The Strip in million-degree weather (so THAT's where all the heat is!) before splashing out on a very nice late dinner back at the Palazzo and playing Roulette (I won $30, which made my night). The next day it was time to drive back to L.A. in time to catch Mozart at the Hollywood Bowl, a wonderful contrast to the sinful kitch of Vegas. My final day in California left some time for hanging out with friend and baby, strolling along Venice Beach and Rodeo Drive and catching a glimpse of the Hollywood Sign. I even dipped a toe in the Pacific. The Pacific is cold (well, not everywhere, obviously) and I'm looking forward to going back to the balmy Mediterranean in a few weeks!

So for now it's bye bye from Paris (the real one), where I will be doing very little besides an occasional catch-up with INSEAD before driving south for wedding, family and bubble madness.

On the Road Again

Very shortly, I will be packing up my increasingly full bags once more and heading away from the coast to Yosemite National Park. In the meantime, here are a few pictures of what I've seen so far in this "Golden State"...

Hearst Castle:



San Luis Obispo Mission:


Sea otter in Monterey:



Driving over the Golden Gate:



The Police!

Picture Gallery (Part 2)

Montmelian Ball

Picture Gallery... as promised (Part 1)

Summer Ball


On the Lawn and Cabaret

The Montmelian Ball is Coming!

The most surreal, extravagant, decadent, fabulous party of the year is coming to the INSEAD bubble this weekend, and I get to have the privilege of being a co-organiser this time around! That's right, this Saturday my new home is hosting the magical Midsummer Night's Dream ball...

P is for Procrastination

For those (sadly too few) of us for whom recruitment season is over, P5 is a very different beast from what we've experienced over the past 8 months. A glorious mix of sunshine, parties, travelling and the occasional class, P5 is definitely not conducive to getting anything done. And I don't just mean case readings and project write-ups, but also car repairs, exercise, grocery shopping, finding shoes to match my ball gown, blog writing, etc... Thus proving the theory that the more free time you have, the less productive you become. At least the tan is coming along pretty well, and my liver's getting a good workout.



So, I imagine you're wondering what exactly I have been up to in the past three (four?) weeks since my last posting. Well, I've had a few interviews (leading to several more dings and a couple more job offers), I've experienced the madness of Queen's Day in Amsterdam, I've almost died when one of my front tires blew out on the A6 to Paris, and most recently I've enjoyed being maid-of-honour/Paris-tour-guide at my friend's wedding, complete with a very emotional ceremony, fabulous food, some nervous speech-giving by yours truly, staring at a TV-celebrity, being incredibly silly at the "Kid's Table" and showing off sunrise at Notre Dame to bleary-eyed Americans (photographic evidence below).


And yes, I have actually made it to a few classes as well, and continue to run from meeting to meeting to "help" me decide which job offer to accept.


All-in-all, a not-too-shabby start to P5!

Picture Time

I realize it's been a while since I've provided photographic evidence (embarrassing or otherwise) of my time here at INSEAD, so I have come online today determined to right that wrong. Also, I haven't been feeling verbally prolific and it's about time for another post so... this is my lazy response to public demand.

First up, the lovely home I've made for myself in P4:




And the view from my window when I woke up on Monday and realized it had snowed properly for the first time this year. In April.



And then there are the photos from Barcelona, with the outrageous-and-still-undefeated INSEAD boys and girls rugby teams... spicing things up on the pitch and in Barcelona's finest culinary establishments.



In other news, recruitment season carries on, painfully for most of us. The eager anticipation has given way to interview and ding fatigue, and it is now with sad, resigned faces that we go off to meet our executioners - uh, I mean interviewers.

In answer to a question posted on these pages last week, no, the recruitment situation is not THAT bad. But it's not that good, either. Given the events of these past few months, banks are essentially not hiring, which means a lot of dashed hopes and increased competition for the remaining jobs. Consulting firms are out in force, but the offers have been few and far between so far. That being said, the "top 3" are still interviewing so we'll see what happens there.

In terms of industry jobs (i.e. everything that's not banking or consulting), we're not quite sure what the situation is. The big multinationals come present on campus, but in a few cases they seem to have very much limited their hiring (internships only, certain geographical areas only) as compared to previous years. The process is more opaque in this area than for consulting, so really it's hard to say whether finding a job in industry has become more difficult. So we keep our fingers crossed.

In my own little personal journey, I finally experienced the pain and suffering that is the consulting interview. Needless to say, it did not go well, which tends to confirm my impression that other avenues are probably better suited to me. The silver lining, however, is that I finally feel like I'm "part of the gang", having now also been subjected to mindless calculation exercises and out-of-left-field questions about industries I know nothing about, coupled with the "oh-my-gosh-have-you-ever-even-practiced-case-interviews" look of disbelief from the hardened interviewer (the answer to that is yes, by the way) and the ensuing feeling of confusion and despair when you walk out of a gruelling 1.5 hr session feeling like you did in 2nd grade when the teacher called on you and you didn't know the answer and everyone laughed.

Fortunately, there are friends, crepes, and plenty of bottles of cider to go around and make you feel better afterwards. And then there's always next week, with more interviews (including at least one that will not involve calculating percentages while standing on your head and solving a rubix cube).