Readjusted My Attire

Today, will be the day.  I’m gonna do it.  I’ve only made it twice so far on this trip to the gym and I’m feeling it.  I saw that photo of me speaking that my colleague sent back to my wife.  What happened to the ab-development program I’d been so far along with back home.  All this fine Brazilian food had loosed me up quickly.  Standing by the elevator in my shorts and sneakers, I got the text:  "We’ll be there in fifteen minutes to pick you up."  Reluctantly, I returned to the room and readjusted my attire.

Yet another chance to talk about Chinese history and business this morning.  I’m uncertain if this is what anyone wants to hear.  Oddly there are clearly some Chinese people in the audience.  So I consider calibrating the novelty of mentioning who Zheng He or Hong Xiuquan were to people who were quite familiar.

The reception was wonderful, though one especially lovely young lady sitting in the front row got up and left early, which had me feeling that my diatribe was dragging.  Met one gentleman from San Francisco who’d spent the same amount of time in Brazil that I’d spent in China.  We traded observations and insights on spending that much time from the U.S. and he was effusive in suggesting what I’d discussed had helped him reframe his thinking on China and the nation's ambitions and capacity.  He asked if I had put one of my talks up on Youtube and I shyly answered “no.”  But it made me wonder about that. 

A second meeting and then a third and by the time we reached the fourth where I was to have given a talk I followed the counsel of my hosts and explained to the person we were meeting that I would need to leave shortly for my flight that was four and half hours from now.  Fortunately, one of colleagues was just as well suited to speak to these people and having missed my flight out to Brazil I was determined not to miss the one home. 

Indeed, the ride out to the airport takes a full two hours.  And my driver, who must have some sort of Waze app in the car was darting down one street and then over to another.  After a nice exchange with this young Paulista I soon became involved in a long, enervating phone call.  But outside I realized I was finally seeing the other side of Sao Paulo, impoverished, gritty, down at the heel and utterly fascinating it saturated my mind in overlaying the discussion on the phone and I mused that I was very glad it was this young guy who was driving here, and not me.

Thursday 3/28/19

Spin My Swivel Chair

Up early, as always.  My friend whom I’m sharing this room with snores.  I’ll spare him the sound of my typing and gather my things to head down stairs.  Up on the big screen in the lobby of this Renaissance hotel it’s all about soccer.  No sound, mercifully.  Just two teams battling it out and zoom in close ups of key plays and commentators.  I have to get some work done.  I’ve been running so hard on this visit, that a backlog of work is piling up.  I find a place by the wall, plug in my devices and spin my swivel chair around to get started. 

Not sure what lead me here.  I’ve otherwise had nothing but Brazilian music on.   But, as I usually do when I want to work, I searched for some bop to drive my progress.  I stumbled upon a track of Eric Dolphy’s that I’d never heard before: “Springtime.”  Magisterial, the head of the song sweeps out like a broad plane upon which everything is possible.   I played the nineteen-minute song over and over again, sitting there and eventually I took it upon myself to write three key friends to tell them, that if they hadn’t yet hear the song they must do so immediately.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zjgSHCGBh2o

Later after the gym and a shower, I was giving a simple speech about Chinese history and Chinese business and doing my best with my fledgling knowledge of Brazil to tie it into something contextual for the setting of Sao Paulo.  And I think it went well.  People are refreshingly ready to entertain a discussion about history and even a small segue into Chinese remarkable historical progression, can, I believe help people to contextualize that which is otherwise a blur, from the daily news cycle. 

We had a generous walk then, over to another neighborhood where my friend and colleague wanted to introduce me to a business contact.  We arrived early at this informal Italian restaurant that was devoted to jazz.  Every inch of wall space profiled some jazz luminary or other.  Behind me was the famous photo of Harlem in 1958 when seemingly everyone who was anyone made it out on the porch stoop for that famous photo: “A Great Day in Harlem.”  A larger than life Lady Day had pride of place on the opposite wall and I considered the remarkable influence of music from the United States, on the rest of the world.

Wednesday 3/27/19

Bacalao Reminds Me Of

In my Emerging Markets MBA class I often used to teach a class that profiled a number of successful Brazilian companies.  A few years back one my Brazilian students brought to my attention that one of the companies, Obredecht was involved in enormous scandal, Operation Car Wash (Operação Lava Jato) involving former President’s Lula, Dilma and many companies, notably among them: Obredecht.  So when the cab dropped us off at an imposing tower for our first meeting, that the building was Obredecht Tower, I took notice.

The next meeting was with a fascinating legal start up.  I hadn’t realized that Brazil apparently has more lawyers than any other country and this afforded this dynamic, young CEO a chance to launch a distinct, industry service model.  Touring his office, he explained that he was committed to hiring people from different ethnicities, gender and class background and that, given that many people who worked for him had never seen a museum, he had lined the walls of the company with remarkable, domestic artwork. 

Graciously, he later took us to what he’d gushed would be a remarkable Brazilian meal.  The restaurant though, was closed for lunch and he pivoted quickly and asked if we liked sea food.  Todo Bem.  Soon we were up and into a classy restaurant which he explained was a local feature in town, having been here for many years. 

Cod’s a rather plain word.  But I like the salty associations in my mind.  Bacalao reminds me of many things, like the Puerto Rican salsa star Hector Lavoe who has same titled song and the big sheets of bacalao one could buy back in the Mission in San Francisco, which you needed to soak for a time before preparing.  “I’ll have the Bacalao.”  So did my host.  We tried one and then another Brazilian white wine, and talked about his remarkable family background from Syria and Germany and Portugal.  We were the last ones to leave the lunch shift and all I could think of after this was nap I was going to insist upon taking, once we’d walked the few blocks back up to our hotel.

Tuesday, 3/26/19