Tipping the maid

Last week, in San Antonio, I was sitting in a restaurant by the River Walk with some friends. We were about to pay our bill, and discussed the tips. We're not used to tipping where I come from. For most types of services, it's all included.

I learnt about tipping when we lived in Colorado. You should tip about anyone who provides you a service; waiters, taxi drivers, hair dressers, and room maids (but not room mates). I reminded my friends that they should tip the maid before checking out of the hotel (some of them where leaving the next day).

(In a fair world people like me would be paid less, and the maids would be paid more. I know this sounds like a socialist thing to say, and I guess I'm kind of socialist at heart, at least in theory, and sometimes I even try to practice.)

The maids are doing a nasty job cleaning our rooms, and they don't get much paid for it. I know, because one of them once told me. This happened many years ago in New Orleans, before Katarina destroyed the city.

I stayed in Hotel Monteleone, an old hotel with a historic atmosphere in the French Quarter. One day I returned to my room to pick up some stuff I had forgotten, and I came in while the maid was cleaning my room. She asked where I came from (I'm speaking English with an accent), and then we had the conversation going. She was a cute Afro-American girl, grown up in New Orleans. She had two little kids, and was totally relying on tips to make enough money to keep it going. Her salary was less than $5 per hour (she said).

In the morning the day before I left, I met her in the corridor outside my room. She told me that she had her day off the next day, which was my checkout day (she probably new from her room list). It was a discrete hint that I should leave her the tips one day early. Otherwise it would end up with a different maid.

So, this is what I did: I put $50 on the desk in my room, $10 for each day she had cleaned my room, and wrote on a note that it was her tips (she was a very cute girl). When I came back to my room that night, there was a box wrapped in gift paper on my bed, and a card signed "Best Wishes, Your Maid".

I unwrapped the parcel. In the box there was a small ceramic bathtub with the hotel's logo. She had stolen it in the hotel's stock of bathroom accessories. I brought the bathtub back home, and had it for many years in my office, with pens and pencils in it.

Now the bathtub is lost and gone. I don't know where, but I'm sure I'll book in at Hotel Monteleone the next time I make it to New Orleans >:)

(The picture above has nothing to do with the story above, which took place before the advent of digital cameras. However, New Orleans and Austin both reminds me of great live music, jazz and blues, respectively. The picture was taken by a friend of mine, some years ago, when we happened to spend a night on 6th Street in Austin, Texas.)

Lone Star

I've been in the Lone Star State for almost a week now, for a geophysics conference in San Antonio. I have talked to some smart people, and attended many interesting presentations. My talk was on Wednesday, and it went quite well.

San Antonio is one of the American cities that I really like. Every night I've been enjoying the bars and restaurants on the Riverwalk together with friends. The Mexican food is great, and the beers too. Negra Modelo became my favorite.

It's been nice and sunny weather, maybe a little bit hot, but that's fine. I'll get plenty of cold and snowy days in the next few months.

It's six years since my last trip to America, and exactly ten years and one week since my last visit to San Antonio, in September 2001. I was kind of a strange feeling to be back in the same conference center where we watched the acts of terror in New York, Washington and Pennsylvania live on CNN, and no one cared about the conference.

Now I'm ready to go home. I've just checked out of the hotel, and wait for the airport shuttle.

My throat is a little bit sore. I got infected by something on the flight from Europe to America. It's hard to avoid on these intercontinental flights. The air conditioning system on the plane effectively circulates the world's complete collection of nasty bacteria and viruses.

Don't worry, it doesn't bother me much. I've had a great time in Texas >:)

(The picture above is from the Riverwalk. It's about the only picture I got to take in San Antonio. It's a shame, I know, but I was busy at the conference all day, and it was dark when I was out to enjoy San Antonio)

See you later, Moscow

Today we got the first data delivery from the company we're dealing with in Murmansk. A guy came to our Moscow office with the data on a USB disk this morning. I had to sign 4 copies of receipt papers. Two of them I couldn't even read, but our Russian lawyer was by my side, and said it was OK.

But my signature wasn't enough, bacause in Russia they want stamps too. So they searched around our office to find some kind of stamp, and then everything was fine. I could probably carved a stamp out of a half potato (like we did as kids), and they would be happy with it. The only important thing was to get the damned paperwork stamped.

Then my business in Moscow was completed, for this time. One of our drivers took me to the airport. The first part of the trip was nice, through central Moscow. The driver told me, in his very limited English, about the history and current use of every building along the streets; The Kremlin, the Ministry of This and That, the Bolshoy Theatre, the Pushkin monument (Lady of Spades is a good book; recommended), and Stalin's Seven Sisters.

The Seven Sisters, also known as Stalin's Cakes, are seven monumental buildings, built for the 800-year aniversary of the City of Moscow. Eight buildings were planned, but only seven were finished before the aniversary ... and the eighth was never built (drawings exist). The Seven Sisters are used for various institutions; Moscow State University, The Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Hotel Ukraina, Hotel Leningradskaya, and a couple of apartment buildings for the rich and powerful. You can spot one of the Seven Sisters in the photo in my previous post.

The traffic was slow but steady on the first part of Leningradsky Prospekt. It's part of a federal highway that goes all the way to St Petersburg (the driver told me). At the point were 5 lanes are reduced to 3, we got stuck. Our drivers, however, are good guys, with very creative solutions. So we left the higway, and took the small side-roads, through apartment areas, sports stadiums, construction sites, junk yards and green parks ... and then back on the highway. So I made it to the airport in time, again.

Da svidaniya, Moskva.

I'll be back in about three weeks.

(I took the picture above from the highway on a previous trip to Moscow in July. It shows the Red Gates Square Building, one of Statlin's Seven Sisters)

Notes from Moscow

I have a crazy travelling schedule these days. Last week, I was on a domestic trip up north. This week, I'm in Moscow. Next week,I'm going to San Antonio. In between the trips,I need to catch up with thing in the office. But most busy was the preparation for everything upfront. My writing has been suffering from this. No time to post on my blog, and no time to work on my so-called novels (yes, plural, I'm working on two novels now, in rare progress). Fortunately, days away traveling also means nights free for writing, and other sorts of fun.

I flew into Moscow today. A driver picked me up in the airport. The traffic jam was terrible. It took almost two hours to get to the hotel. The Moscovians have found various tricks to get around the problem. The rich and powerful have blue lights and sirenes on their Audis and BMWs, to get through the traffic. Along the higway to the city centre, there's an unofficial dirt lane for the impatiant, through gardens and across lawns, wherever it's physically feasible to get trhough.

Actually, I enjoy going to Moscow. It has become a metropol comparable to London and Paris. The Russians are a proud people. Their hospitality is great, and they always want to show you the best of their country (there are plenty of not so great things as well). They always want give you the best borsch (the famous beetroot soup), and the best salty fish (as a starter), and they always book five-star hotels for me.

Moscow has never been invaded or occupied by foreign powers. They stopped Napoleon in the battle of Borodino in 1812. You can read the artistic exposition of it in Tolstoy's War and Peace. The Germans didn't get further than to IKEA. At that time there was hardly any IKEA, of course, but there's a memorialright outside the warehouse, to mark the place where Hitler's army was forced to retreat.

But also, in a sense, the Russians show a lack self confidence. Anything made in Russia is inferior, importeted stuff is superior; cars, clothes and even soccer players (recently Cameroon superstar Samuel Eto'o was signed by Anzhi from Dagestan for a $28 million per year salery). In bars and restaurants, they always want to serve the tasteless imported beers, like Heineken, Budweisser and Carlsberg, even though the Russian beers are much better.

I checked into the Swissotel by the river a couple of hours ago. It's a convenient place to stay, just a ten-minute walk from our Moscow office. They gave me a great room this time, on the 26th floor, with a magnificent view of central Moscow. I didn't bother to go out tonight, so I chose the lazy option, eating in the hotel. Right now, I'm sitting in the restaurant on the 34th floor, to get something to eat. It's dark outside, and I'm looking down on the Moscow River. The barges gliding slowly down the river make a big contrast to the busy highway on the river banks.

I'm eating alone tonight, and taking a couple of beers; first a Baltika #7 with my food, and then Belgian abbey beer, Leffe Brune. Boring? No, not at all. I'm never bored. I'm entertaining my self with some writing. I'm lonely tonight, but doesn't feel lonesome. My own company is good company, sometimes at least.

(Above is a picture I took from my hotel room right before dawn today. Very nice view of central Moscow.)