So just go back from Abuja today. Went there yesterday for a conference and decided to stay somewhere different. I tell a lie. I knew that my chances of getting a room at Hilton or Sheraton was zilch. This is how I ended up at the Rockview Hotel. I had stayed there last year and had found it to be comfortable, good value for money etc, etc. The chap at the front desk said that they had no rooms but they had a suite available which could be mine for the right price (for him). After we exchanged banter for a few minutes, we then exchanged “handshakes” and the suite was mine. People let me tell you say that now I know why those politicians never want to leave power.
This suite was massive. I mean I travel a lot but have yet to come across something of this size oh. In it were, two TVs, DVD player, surround sound system, CD player, 2 fridges, 2 bathrooms, a four piece dining suite, a three piece leather living room suite, a king size bed and a PC. Literally thirty seconds after getting into the room I heard a ringing noise. So JJC that I am na him I begin carry phone for living room (still ringing noise), bathroom (still there) , bedroom (nope still ringing) until I realised that it was actually the doorbell. Yep. There is a doorbell. It actually makes sense now that I think about it because if you were in the main bedroom or the master bathroom you would never hear someone knocking.
Anyways, lo and behold there was a guy there telling me he had come for the turn down service. I told him “Oga look I have just entered oh, there is nothing for you to turn down, turn up or turn over so you better turn around and go back where you came from”. The man then started to pull a tray from the trolley he was pushing. I now asked him “Oga wetin be that?. I no order room service oh”. “Oh this is complimentary” he replies. “Compli wetin?. Are you sure? I no go pay if it appear for my bill tomorrow”. So by now he has deduced that I am not a politician or a man of dishonest means. He can sense that I am not used to the finer things in life. So with pity he then explains that all the guests in suites get the same thing. So what was the compliment. Well, a bottle of beer, bottle of malt, bottle of sprite, bottle of water (large), a carton of juice and some very chunky very cold pieces of watermelon, pineapple and paw paw. Man, I was all over the fruit like Chelsea on Spurs! The fruit tasted out of this world. People, if Halle Berry (Iyawo keeps warning me about this woman but I won’t listen sha) herself had been rubbing me down with baby oil I could not have felt better (obviously only one way to find out). Kilode? Eminikan tan?
So imagine that I am in one of the discounted suites and getting all this. Imagine what the people in the Presidential suite get. So now I fully understand what he meant when Baba said that these elections were a matter of life and death. Me sef don ready to die for my country oh.
Some pointers in case you do want to stay at the Rockview. Make sure you specify the new one (there are two). Do not try and pay with credit cards (90minutes to check out) and whatever you do, do not send your clothes to the laundry room to be ironed unless you do so two days in advance (otherwise take an iron with you). You have been warned.
Next time - the Presidential and Local primaries. Oh what fun. Lots to tell.
Wednesday, 21 March 2007
Monday, 5 March 2007
A case of two robberies. Naija style.
So I am in the Business Centre of my hotel when I overhear the following conversation behind me. It would seem that this chap from Italy arranged to come to Nigeria for a business meeting. Being that it was going to be his first time in Nigeria he was extremely nervous. He therefore arranged for a car from the hotel to come and collect him from the airport.
He arrives at MMA last night to be met by a chap with a sign bearing his name. He duly follows said chap, after ascertaining that it was the hotel driver, to the car park where he gets into the car only to be joined by another chap. He is therefore hemmed in, in the back seat with the driver up front. He quickly deduces that this is not kosher and asks some more questions that the real hotel driver would have known the answers to. As could be expected the robbers did not have the answers but they did have a fourth man join them whom they picked up not far from the airport.
And so it was that this man had all his worst fears confirmed as he was stripped of 18,000 Euros, passport, mobile, credit cards etc. He was then driven somewhere and the robbers kindly hailed a cab for him (what true gentlemen) before legging it at double speed in their car. He went on to explain his predicament to the taxi driver who in his mercy took him to the Sheraton from where he was able to contact the hotel.
Meanwhile, back at the airport the real hotel driver was in a state as he could not understand how the passenger had not yet come out of the arrivals hall three hours after the flight had landed.
Moral of the story – do not let your name be written on a placard because what the robbers do is copy it down and then place their man closer to the entrance than the person that is actually supposed to be meeting you. They then steer you away from the main entrance, into their car and off you go. Also, always have the mobile number of the person that is collecting you.
Anyway I can just imagine the tales this chap will have to tell when he gets back home to Italy. Ah well, as they say in the film Blood Diamonds – TIA- This is Africa. Sxxt happens.
I will be writing our erstwhile Minister for Aviation, FK, to find out why it is not possible for the hotels to have their actual booths inside the newly redecorated lobby to avoid this kind of image damage exercise. Also why the outside cannot be more lit up and the touts moved back from the entrance gates. More suggestions welcome.
The second robbers are our good friends at NEPA. In case you are not aware, anybody in Lagos that is enjoying more than three hours of constant electricity at the moment is living the life of Riley, (or Jimoh, Musa or Francis, more appropriately). It is so bad that most households and businesses are running generators for twenty to twenty four hours a day? Naturally they are not built for this sort of usage. Our house alone is littered with the ghosts of four. One of them bought just a week ago went kaput and the seller then told my family that the kick plate had broken. After a week??????
So at my hotel on the mainland things are not much better. I was actually frightened yesterday that at any moment something in my room was going to burst into flames such was the off\on on\off, high current , low current rhythm of the power (either that or I could start charging people to come in for a disco). The generator outside has been moaning since I arrived on Friday and yesterday it decided to give up the ghost. There was lots of warning with about 30 outages per hour. I kid you not. It was so bad I could not dare to plug in anything electrical in case it melted or exploded. Since my stay here about a month ago the hotel has now installed one hell of a drum to hold diesel for their generator. This thing is the size of a small bungalow. I am damned sure that they are not making a penny in profit during this period and might actually be better off chucking us all out and shutting down.
So I made a trip to the lobby to ascertain exactly what was going on. (I am actually getting quite good at this investigative journalism stuff. Before I was just an amateur poke nose, amebo (whoops power just went) but now I see myself as a professional busybody. All I need now is a raincoat and you can call me Columbo).
Naturally it turns out that he who pays the most gets the most. NEPA is rationing electricity because there is a shortage and this is fair enough. However the only people that are getting their rations are the ones that appear at NEPA offices bearing gifts. My mole tells me that a big hotel on the Island is currently gifting them to the tune of about N200k per week. This does not guarantee 24/7 power, just a period for the generator to rest before kicking back into action. And of course they still have to pay the legitimate NEPA bill through the front door (whoops lights have starting to dim again. All sorts of things clicking around me as the current fluctuates. Thank God there are no fluorescent bulbs in this place). It’s just gone again.
When the generator broke down yesterday morning (thank God I was out) they rushed down to Nepa with N10k to buy 6 hours of electricity to give them time to fix it. Apparently there was not a flicker during that period.
So there you have it. A case of nightime robbery and a case of all day robbery. God help us.
He arrives at MMA last night to be met by a chap with a sign bearing his name. He duly follows said chap, after ascertaining that it was the hotel driver, to the car park where he gets into the car only to be joined by another chap. He is therefore hemmed in, in the back seat with the driver up front. He quickly deduces that this is not kosher and asks some more questions that the real hotel driver would have known the answers to. As could be expected the robbers did not have the answers but they did have a fourth man join them whom they picked up not far from the airport.
And so it was that this man had all his worst fears confirmed as he was stripped of 18,000 Euros, passport, mobile, credit cards etc. He was then driven somewhere and the robbers kindly hailed a cab for him (what true gentlemen) before legging it at double speed in their car. He went on to explain his predicament to the taxi driver who in his mercy took him to the Sheraton from where he was able to contact the hotel.
Meanwhile, back at the airport the real hotel driver was in a state as he could not understand how the passenger had not yet come out of the arrivals hall three hours after the flight had landed.
Moral of the story – do not let your name be written on a placard because what the robbers do is copy it down and then place their man closer to the entrance than the person that is actually supposed to be meeting you. They then steer you away from the main entrance, into their car and off you go. Also, always have the mobile number of the person that is collecting you.
Anyway I can just imagine the tales this chap will have to tell when he gets back home to Italy. Ah well, as they say in the film Blood Diamonds – TIA- This is Africa. Sxxt happens.
I will be writing our erstwhile Minister for Aviation, FK, to find out why it is not possible for the hotels to have their actual booths inside the newly redecorated lobby to avoid this kind of image damage exercise. Also why the outside cannot be more lit up and the touts moved back from the entrance gates. More suggestions welcome.
The second robbers are our good friends at NEPA. In case you are not aware, anybody in Lagos that is enjoying more than three hours of constant electricity at the moment is living the life of Riley, (or Jimoh, Musa or Francis, more appropriately). It is so bad that most households and businesses are running generators for twenty to twenty four hours a day? Naturally they are not built for this sort of usage. Our house alone is littered with the ghosts of four. One of them bought just a week ago went kaput and the seller then told my family that the kick plate had broken. After a week??????
So at my hotel on the mainland things are not much better. I was actually frightened yesterday that at any moment something in my room was going to burst into flames such was the off\on on\off, high current , low current rhythm of the power (either that or I could start charging people to come in for a disco). The generator outside has been moaning since I arrived on Friday and yesterday it decided to give up the ghost. There was lots of warning with about 30 outages per hour. I kid you not. It was so bad I could not dare to plug in anything electrical in case it melted or exploded. Since my stay here about a month ago the hotel has now installed one hell of a drum to hold diesel for their generator. This thing is the size of a small bungalow. I am damned sure that they are not making a penny in profit during this period and might actually be better off chucking us all out and shutting down.
So I made a trip to the lobby to ascertain exactly what was going on. (I am actually getting quite good at this investigative journalism stuff. Before I was just an amateur poke nose, amebo (whoops power just went) but now I see myself as a professional busybody. All I need now is a raincoat and you can call me Columbo).
Naturally it turns out that he who pays the most gets the most. NEPA is rationing electricity because there is a shortage and this is fair enough. However the only people that are getting their rations are the ones that appear at NEPA offices bearing gifts. My mole tells me that a big hotel on the Island is currently gifting them to the tune of about N200k per week. This does not guarantee 24/7 power, just a period for the generator to rest before kicking back into action. And of course they still have to pay the legitimate NEPA bill through the front door (whoops lights have starting to dim again. All sorts of things clicking around me as the current fluctuates. Thank God there are no fluorescent bulbs in this place). It’s just gone again.
When the generator broke down yesterday morning (thank God I was out) they rushed down to Nepa with N10k to buy 6 hours of electricity to give them time to fix it. Apparently there was not a flicker during that period.
So there you have it. A case of nightime robbery and a case of all day robbery. God help us.
Sunday, 4 March 2007
30 minutes in Lagos and already......
We landed into MMA in Lagos at 5.30 in the morning for some stupid reason(I must be getting senile) I was expecting to be tucked up in bed at the hotel by 7am especially after my luggage was delivered in record time. I mean I was out of the airport in less than half an hour of stepping off the plane. The newly found efficiency at MMA and the newly installed plasma screens combined to lure me into a false sense of civility.
This rapidly evaporated over the next two and a half hours spent in traffic. Most of that was on Awolowo Road just trying to get on to the bridge. Naturally there was the usual mix of aggressive driving, sirens of all sorts, official and unofficial traffic wardens (please when driving past make sure you tip the one armed guy that keeps traffic flowing on that stretch of road. He does a fantastic job.)
As we were just getting to the bridge some moron in a brand new car tried to cut into the traffic from the outside lane. Unfortunately he did so in front of a huge 4X4 which promptly took off his front bumper. Naturally grammar started. The 4X4 guy must have told the idiot driver to get stuffed because he just got back in his car and drove off whilst Mr Brand New Car was left to count the cost of saving two to three minutes waiting in the queue. Where is Take That when you need them? “Have a little patience” indeed.
So it was that we were on the bridge when I heard the familiar siren of one of Lagos’s new phenomena’s. The professional beggars. Professional in the sense that they are uniformed- crisp white shirt, caps, green khakis and black shoes. Usually they would be surrounding some poor sod who would be sat on a chair right on the white lines dividing the traffic maintaining a sorrowful gaze whilst all around Okada boys zoomed hither and thither.
I was expecting to see the usual chap sat in the chair with his huge testicles out for all to see. Now I am not sure that if I had testicles that huge I would choose a bridge on which to display them. Has he never heard of porn videos? Or Nollywood? Anyways I was surprised to see some poor kid , no more than ten years old sat on the chair looking miserable. As we were stationary this gave me an opportunity to do my journalistic piece on behalf of all my avid readers (yes, both of them). Shio.
I called over to the lead beggar as it were and the following conversation ensued.
Me : What is wrong with the boy?
LB : Perplexed that my window was down but there was no visible currency in sight however playing along in the hopes that there would soon be crisp notes fluttering out the window any minute. “Oga na sickle cell dey worry am.”
Me: Thinking - hmm I can see how roasting him alive in the hot sun totally consumed by car fumes will cure him. “So what are you collecting money for?”
LB : “We want to help him. He has to go to hospital to get his blood changed every week.”
Me: “Which hospital?”
LB : Looking confused. Roll of eyes, licking of lips, slight cough. If this guy was on a lie detector the needle would be flying off the page. He looks off into the distance and then says “That one over there?”
I follow his gaze and all me I can see is water.
Me: “Over where?”
LB : Looking even more uncomfortable “The one over there by CMS”
Me : “Ah hah. I see. What is it called?”
LB: After long pause and now desperately trying to get his colleagues attention for help “I cannot remember”
Me: Thinking. So let me get this straight. You take the boy to the hospital every week to get his blood changed but you cannot remember the name of the hospital? Hmm. “Okay, so what do they do for him?”
LB : “They change his blood every week”
Me : “And how much does that cost?”
LB : Brightening up now that we have come on the to subject of currency. Mumbles “Two hundred” and then decides to go for the jackpot “N250,000.”
Me : “So you collect N250k every week for that poor boy to go and get his blood changed at a hospital you cannot name?”
LB : His confidence plummets once again. He can see the money disappearing before his very eyes.
Me: “Well okay. Good luck to you” and I wind up.
Now before you start thinking I am some heartless bastard you might want to read one of my earlier posts about “adopting” the young boys that hang around the Eko Hotel and giving them money everytime I see them. What I am not prepared to do is pay this muppet to exploit some young kid. Our society is already doing enough of that.
So within 30 minutes in Lagos I am already forced to start making life and death decisions and checking my morals and principles. I’m off to bed.
This rapidly evaporated over the next two and a half hours spent in traffic. Most of that was on Awolowo Road just trying to get on to the bridge. Naturally there was the usual mix of aggressive driving, sirens of all sorts, official and unofficial traffic wardens (please when driving past make sure you tip the one armed guy that keeps traffic flowing on that stretch of road. He does a fantastic job.)
As we were just getting to the bridge some moron in a brand new car tried to cut into the traffic from the outside lane. Unfortunately he did so in front of a huge 4X4 which promptly took off his front bumper. Naturally grammar started. The 4X4 guy must have told the idiot driver to get stuffed because he just got back in his car and drove off whilst Mr Brand New Car was left to count the cost of saving two to three minutes waiting in the queue. Where is Take That when you need them? “Have a little patience” indeed.
So it was that we were on the bridge when I heard the familiar siren of one of Lagos’s new phenomena’s. The professional beggars. Professional in the sense that they are uniformed- crisp white shirt, caps, green khakis and black shoes. Usually they would be surrounding some poor sod who would be sat on a chair right on the white lines dividing the traffic maintaining a sorrowful gaze whilst all around Okada boys zoomed hither and thither.
I was expecting to see the usual chap sat in the chair with his huge testicles out for all to see. Now I am not sure that if I had testicles that huge I would choose a bridge on which to display them. Has he never heard of porn videos? Or Nollywood? Anyways I was surprised to see some poor kid , no more than ten years old sat on the chair looking miserable. As we were stationary this gave me an opportunity to do my journalistic piece on behalf of all my avid readers (yes, both of them). Shio.
I called over to the lead beggar as it were and the following conversation ensued.
Me : What is wrong with the boy?
LB : Perplexed that my window was down but there was no visible currency in sight however playing along in the hopes that there would soon be crisp notes fluttering out the window any minute. “Oga na sickle cell dey worry am.”
Me: Thinking - hmm I can see how roasting him alive in the hot sun totally consumed by car fumes will cure him. “So what are you collecting money for?”
LB : “We want to help him. He has to go to hospital to get his blood changed every week.”
Me: “Which hospital?”
LB : Looking confused. Roll of eyes, licking of lips, slight cough. If this guy was on a lie detector the needle would be flying off the page. He looks off into the distance and then says “That one over there?”
I follow his gaze and all me I can see is water.
Me: “Over where?”
LB : Looking even more uncomfortable “The one over there by CMS”
Me : “Ah hah. I see. What is it called?”
LB: After long pause and now desperately trying to get his colleagues attention for help “I cannot remember”
Me: Thinking. So let me get this straight. You take the boy to the hospital every week to get his blood changed but you cannot remember the name of the hospital? Hmm. “Okay, so what do they do for him?”
LB : “They change his blood every week”
Me : “And how much does that cost?”
LB : Brightening up now that we have come on the to subject of currency. Mumbles “Two hundred” and then decides to go for the jackpot “N250,000.”
Me : “So you collect N250k every week for that poor boy to go and get his blood changed at a hospital you cannot name?”
LB : His confidence plummets once again. He can see the money disappearing before his very eyes.
Me: “Well okay. Good luck to you” and I wind up.
Now before you start thinking I am some heartless bastard you might want to read one of my earlier posts about “adopting” the young boys that hang around the Eko Hotel and giving them money everytime I see them. What I am not prepared to do is pay this muppet to exploit some young kid. Our society is already doing enough of that.
So within 30 minutes in Lagos I am already forced to start making life and death decisions and checking my morals and principles. I’m off to bed.
Sunday, 25 February 2007
The Future of Africa is in zzzzafe hands.
Friends. Please check out our African representatives at the UN standing up for the rights of all Africa. Demanding equality in trade, fighting for advances in medical and social services, belabouring the lack of electricity in oil producing countries, haranguing the hooligans who come in through the back door to steal our gold, silver, diamonds, platinum, oil and human resources. These UN represents will fight till there is no fight left in them. Their voices must and will be heard. There is just no stopping them.
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAd9SP29oQT5p4b_TYOdtrqZa-6eRLVwamPx31xP_cG-pahqIlNXu5wcPEzsYb3J8Gdncb14Olugfoc2LWOG5o7dDu05OuzMxOrozhtyVaWdcw-Pi2Cchv_cKsKbFpmE45K4SbelFWiIrM/s1600-h/africa+reps.jpg
But then again........
Thanks to Anthony Arojojoye
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAd9SP29oQT5p4b_TYOdtrqZa-6eRLVwamPx31xP_cG-pahqIlNXu5wcPEzsYb3J8Gdncb14Olugfoc2LWOG5o7dDu05OuzMxOrozhtyVaWdcw-Pi2Cchv_cKsKbFpmE45K4SbelFWiIrM/s1600-h/africa+reps.jpg
But then again........
Thanks to Anthony Arojojoye
Friday, 23 February 2007
Virgin Atlantic - Why no special offer to Nigeria?
I sent the following email to Virgin this morning further to them sending me an email detailing their latest promo. I am especially annoyed as I have just booked six people to fly with them to Lagos for the Easter break and this promo could potentially have saved me £650. It is not the first time I have received this sort of mail from them and am getting a bit fed up of being ripped off. I like the airline and its services and I greatly admire Branson but enough is enough. (Please don't ask me to fly BA as I would rather walk).
Maybe it is time to create a pressure group?
Dear Sir/ Madam
I received your email today offering discounted miles for travel to various destinations around the globe. Again I notice that this offer does not include flights to Nigeria. Can you please explain why this is the case and why Nigeria is so often excluded off your special offers?
I look forward to your urgent response.
Regards
Maybe it is time to create a pressure group?
Dear Sir/ Madam
I received your email today offering discounted miles for travel to various destinations around the globe. Again I notice that this offer does not include flights to Nigeria. Can you please explain why this is the case and why Nigeria is so often excluded off your special offers?
I look forward to your urgent response.
Regards
Monday, 19 February 2007
Ciao Bella - The End
Day 2 and out to dinner after another trawl through the centre of town looking at the shops (the kids are not keen on shopping thank God whereas if it was their mother hmm ..). We are determined to have an authentic Italian meal before our departure, after having endured a Macmeal and the hotel restaurant buffet, and so it is that we are pointed in the direction of a lovely restaurant not too far from the hotel. When we enter it is one of those places where you immediately feel comfortable. There are a lot of occupied tables, everybody is yapping away and there is just a good vibe in the place. We are duly seated and the waiter comes to take our order. This is when the palaver starts. The kids have very strong views on what they will ingest. I am not saying that I am not the same but let’s just say that my list of non edible foods is not as strict as theirs.
So Ed would like a Pizza, MD would like Pasta/ pesto and grilled chicken and I would like everything on the menu but decide to go for lasagne. However it turns out they do not serve Pizza. Whaaat? And you call yourself an Italian restaurant? Oh and also they do not have Pesto. “This is something you get out of a bottle isn’t it?” sneers the waiter looking at me as if I had just ordered a McChicken and chips. “We do not serve things out of the bottle here. Everything is made fresh”. Okay, can she have fresh pesto. No. And why? Because we only serve fresh tomato sauce. So no Pizza and no pesto? Correct. Hmmm. He then suggests that across the courtyard is another restaurant which is less formal and might be able to provide us with the foods we need.
So now after a few minutes we are getting up to go and of course all the Oyinbos are looking at me like Oh that poor dudu man, he has seen the prices on the menu and he has realised that he is in the wrong restaurant. He was probably looking for like a Dominos pizza. Pele oh. Oma she. I felt like opening up my wallet and flashing them all the cash I was carrying (okay most of it is Naira and other dodgy currencies from my trips but they were not to know that!).
Bizarrely the same scenario takes place across the road. They do pizza (which MD will not eat) but not pasta. AAARGH. Kids. Who needs them? Especially at 9.30 at night when all you want is lasagne and Italian ice cream. Now you all know how much I love my kids and will do anything to please them. This is why I suggested to MD that she either have what was on offer or she could go hungry and I was sure there was a packet of peanuts in the mini bar in the room she could have when we got back but in the meantime ED and I were going to stuff ourselves with original Italian pizza. Needless to say, after some moistening of the eyes, she came around to my way of thinking and agreed to have a pizza with just ham and tomato sauce (she hates cheese as well!!!). I had a beef pizza and ED had a ham, cheese, pepperoni pizza. Tough love. It works everytime. Especially where my stomach is involved.
Now see the thing is that if you are used to Dominos and Papa Johns the pizza here is going to come as a bit of a shock being that is basically served on like a flat bread with fresh tomato sauce and other fresh ingredients. I mean it is not great to look at and when it first arrived my heart sank but a couple of mouthfuls later I was as happy as Larry. Or Guiseppe (to keep with the theme of being in Italy and all). We also had orange juice which again was freshly squeezed but was red. On arrival I recalled the waiter to say look my friend I asked for Orange juice, not tomato juice. Who do you think you are playing with? Do you realise I am an original Yoruba man from Lagos? I beg bring me a glass with something orange in it.
Oh you should have seen the look of pity. He was now looking at me like hmm the immigration laws in this country are getting too lax. This is why this moron is here troubling my life.” The girls then explained to me in muted tones that it was orange juice but from red oranges. Wth is a red orange and how come I have never come across it before? Has my life been that sheltered? Obviously the girls were not embarrassed at all (although they did start pretending that we had come in separately) but somehow I think their next break will be spent away with their mother. She apparently is more civilised and worldly. Imagine the insult.
Unfortunately it was time to leave Milan. My impression of Milan is that it is a relatively small town (from what I could see on the tours) and I was a bit disappointed I did not get to see more models on the streets (so I could check out their fashion sense of course). I would say it is a weekend break kind of place rather than somewhere you would want to go for a longer period. But definitely the Castle and the cathedral should be top of the list. One final tourist hint. If you are planning to go it is wise to book in advance to see Leonardo Da Vinci’s “The Last Supper”(pictured above) at the S.ta Maria delle Grazie church (pictured above) as the waiting list generally runs to about a week so we missed out.
And so it was back to London where uncharacteristically – it was raining!!
So Ed would like a Pizza, MD would like Pasta/ pesto and grilled chicken and I would like everything on the menu but decide to go for lasagne. However it turns out they do not serve Pizza. Whaaat? And you call yourself an Italian restaurant? Oh and also they do not have Pesto. “This is something you get out of a bottle isn’t it?” sneers the waiter looking at me as if I had just ordered a McChicken and chips. “We do not serve things out of the bottle here. Everything is made fresh”. Okay, can she have fresh pesto. No. And why? Because we only serve fresh tomato sauce. So no Pizza and no pesto? Correct. Hmmm. He then suggests that across the courtyard is another restaurant which is less formal and might be able to provide us with the foods we need.
So now after a few minutes we are getting up to go and of course all the Oyinbos are looking at me like Oh that poor dudu man, he has seen the prices on the menu and he has realised that he is in the wrong restaurant. He was probably looking for like a Dominos pizza. Pele oh. Oma she. I felt like opening up my wallet and flashing them all the cash I was carrying (okay most of it is Naira and other dodgy currencies from my trips but they were not to know that!).
Bizarrely the same scenario takes place across the road. They do pizza (which MD will not eat) but not pasta. AAARGH. Kids. Who needs them? Especially at 9.30 at night when all you want is lasagne and Italian ice cream. Now you all know how much I love my kids and will do anything to please them. This is why I suggested to MD that she either have what was on offer or she could go hungry and I was sure there was a packet of peanuts in the mini bar in the room she could have when we got back but in the meantime ED and I were going to stuff ourselves with original Italian pizza. Needless to say, after some moistening of the eyes, she came around to my way of thinking and agreed to have a pizza with just ham and tomato sauce (she hates cheese as well!!!). I had a beef pizza and ED had a ham, cheese, pepperoni pizza. Tough love. It works everytime. Especially where my stomach is involved.
Now see the thing is that if you are used to Dominos and Papa Johns the pizza here is going to come as a bit of a shock being that is basically served on like a flat bread with fresh tomato sauce and other fresh ingredients. I mean it is not great to look at and when it first arrived my heart sank but a couple of mouthfuls later I was as happy as Larry. Or Guiseppe (to keep with the theme of being in Italy and all). We also had orange juice which again was freshly squeezed but was red. On arrival I recalled the waiter to say look my friend I asked for Orange juice, not tomato juice. Who do you think you are playing with? Do you realise I am an original Yoruba man from Lagos? I beg bring me a glass with something orange in it.
Oh you should have seen the look of pity. He was now looking at me like hmm the immigration laws in this country are getting too lax. This is why this moron is here troubling my life.” The girls then explained to me in muted tones that it was orange juice but from red oranges. Wth is a red orange and how come I have never come across it before? Has my life been that sheltered? Obviously the girls were not embarrassed at all (although they did start pretending that we had come in separately) but somehow I think their next break will be spent away with their mother. She apparently is more civilised and worldly. Imagine the insult.
Unfortunately it was time to leave Milan. My impression of Milan is that it is a relatively small town (from what I could see on the tours) and I was a bit disappointed I did not get to see more models on the streets (so I could check out their fashion sense of course). I would say it is a weekend break kind of place rather than somewhere you would want to go for a longer period. But definitely the Castle and the cathedral should be top of the list. One final tourist hint. If you are planning to go it is wise to book in advance to see Leonardo Da Vinci’s “The Last Supper”(pictured above) at the S.ta Maria delle Grazie church (pictured above) as the waiting list generally runs to about a week so we missed out.
And so it was back to London where uncharacteristically – it was raining!!
Sunday, 18 February 2007
Ciao Bella - Pt 2
Ah. Time to settle down and enjoy the flight. Just relax. Ease my seat back. Stretch my legs. Stop press. None of this is possible. Firstly, the engines are making the sort of racket I do not appreciate at 40,000ft. They seem to be protesting much too loudly for my comfort. I have always felt that sitting on the wing was the safest place on an airplane as I read somewhere that it was the most solid construction-wise but obviously not so safe if the engines are going to explode at any minute. My discomfort is compounded by the fact that my 6ft frame and size 13 feet just cannot seem to fit comfortably in my seat. And to add to my woes the seats cannot be “relaxed”, that is there is no button to put the seat back er back. Hmmm. I have never come across this before. I mean even your base model Chanchanbellsolido planes in Naija at least give you the opportunity to rest your seat back (thereby giving you more room to drop to your knees for prayer as and when needed). Okay, well I am saving over £600 and it is a two hour flight so I will just have to grin and bear it (suffering and smiling as Fela would say).
With an active imagination like mine you need to be able to focus on things otherwise your mind starts to drift to planning world destruction or at least doing painful things to Blair and Bush. Or you start thinking again about Halle Berry and how she is wasting her life (sure an Oscar is nice and all but hardly keeps you warm at night does it?). And so it was that I decided to take in our cabin crew. I wonder how airlines actually go about hiring for this role. Do the premium airlines take the cream off the top and then the rest sort of filter down the scales. Our cabin crew was exactly what I would expect on a budget airline. Not glamorous but also trying very hard not to be duds. There was the chap who fancies himself a bit of a rebel what with his hair gelled into a Mohawk and the other one who fancied himself a bit of a ladies man – what with the strutting and posing and pushing out of chest.
The funniest part of the flight was actually when I overheard one say to the other “can you get X to guard the door?”. WTH? Is something about to go down? Why does X need to guard the door? It turns out that they were about to serve the Pilots their snacks and one of them had to stand in front of the open cockpit door for security. Or as she put it “so an attacker would have to go through that person to get to the cockpit”. Hmm. Very interesting and I am sure works very well on paper. However the fact that X turned out to be this Asian girl who was about 4ft 10” and probably weighed the same as my carry on luggage slightly defeated the objective. I am damn sure if I had sneezed loudly enough the poor thing would have jumped straight through the cockpit out of fright. Oh well, it’s the thought that counts.
Ciao Bella. Milan here we are. After a 45 minute cab ride from the airport to the hotel we finally check into our suite and the girls are more than happy. They have managed to suffer the indignity and trauma of a budget flight in silence in the hope that the hotel will more than compensate for their distress and it does. They are particularly excited that the shower has six electric settings. I am just happy that we have separate rooms with our own individual plasma screens. It’s bad enough having to watch their programmes in English, if I had to watch them in Italian I would throw myself out the window. Damn we are only on the first floor so this would only mean a slight concussion and broken ankles and not the instant death that would make a strong impression on them. Damn. Oh well you cannot have everything. (See what I mean about my imaginiation?)
Out on the town after getting instructions from the front desk. The lady tells us there is a train station about five minutes walk from the hotel. By this stage the girls are looking at me like “excuse us dad, but you did say this was a holiday did you not? So what is it with the budget flights and now you want us on the train? Public transport? How will we ever be able to face friends and family again?” But I am determined to expose them to reality. When I were a lad I used to walk barefoot to school, backwards, in the rain etc etc (of course they know that I went to ADRAO and was chauffeured to school every day but it’s the thought that counts, no?) So off we go to find the train station which apparently is five minutes away. Unfortunately for me, four minutes away is a taxi rank which is how we ended up in a Multipla being driven into town. That whole educating the children thing can wait after all they have suffered enough for one day.
We arrive at the Duomo cathedral and I am left with my mouth hanging open for a good five minutes. It is one of those buildings that makes you ponder how we can say that humankind had developed when we have gone from building these sort of magnificent edifices to the Trump tower? I mean this building is just staggering in its absolute beauty. Now I might be a Muslim but that does not stop me from appreciating Christian beauty like this wonderful Cathedral, St. Paul’s in London and Iyawo (see what I did there?). Unfortunately I am unable to post any pictures because the $700 camera that was forced on me by a shyster in NY less than a year ago has gone kaput but I would urge you to check it out on the web.
We then took a tour of Milan and what struck me the most was the architecture and the civilised way it was all put together. There was lots of green, parks, public scultutres and works of art and I absolutely loved all the buildings, both residential and commercial with their little courtyards. We then went on from there to the Castle -Castello Sforzesco (pictured above although this does not do it justice) which is now stuffed full of artefacts, scultures, works of art etc. The vastness of the castle itself is something to behold. To imagine that this infrastructure was put together by man just proves to me that there is a still a question mark as to whether we as a species are currently living up to our potential. Where is the eighth wonder of the world I ask you?
With an active imagination like mine you need to be able to focus on things otherwise your mind starts to drift to planning world destruction or at least doing painful things to Blair and Bush. Or you start thinking again about Halle Berry and how she is wasting her life (sure an Oscar is nice and all but hardly keeps you warm at night does it?). And so it was that I decided to take in our cabin crew. I wonder how airlines actually go about hiring for this role. Do the premium airlines take the cream off the top and then the rest sort of filter down the scales. Our cabin crew was exactly what I would expect on a budget airline. Not glamorous but also trying very hard not to be duds. There was the chap who fancies himself a bit of a rebel what with his hair gelled into a Mohawk and the other one who fancied himself a bit of a ladies man – what with the strutting and posing and pushing out of chest.
The funniest part of the flight was actually when I overheard one say to the other “can you get X to guard the door?”. WTH? Is something about to go down? Why does X need to guard the door? It turns out that they were about to serve the Pilots their snacks and one of them had to stand in front of the open cockpit door for security. Or as she put it “so an attacker would have to go through that person to get to the cockpit”. Hmm. Very interesting and I am sure works very well on paper. However the fact that X turned out to be this Asian girl who was about 4ft 10” and probably weighed the same as my carry on luggage slightly defeated the objective. I am damn sure if I had sneezed loudly enough the poor thing would have jumped straight through the cockpit out of fright. Oh well, it’s the thought that counts.
Ciao Bella. Milan here we are. After a 45 minute cab ride from the airport to the hotel we finally check into our suite and the girls are more than happy. They have managed to suffer the indignity and trauma of a budget flight in silence in the hope that the hotel will more than compensate for their distress and it does. They are particularly excited that the shower has six electric settings. I am just happy that we have separate rooms with our own individual plasma screens. It’s bad enough having to watch their programmes in English, if I had to watch them in Italian I would throw myself out the window. Damn we are only on the first floor so this would only mean a slight concussion and broken ankles and not the instant death that would make a strong impression on them. Damn. Oh well you cannot have everything. (See what I mean about my imaginiation?)
Out on the town after getting instructions from the front desk. The lady tells us there is a train station about five minutes walk from the hotel. By this stage the girls are looking at me like “excuse us dad, but you did say this was a holiday did you not? So what is it with the budget flights and now you want us on the train? Public transport? How will we ever be able to face friends and family again?” But I am determined to expose them to reality. When I were a lad I used to walk barefoot to school, backwards, in the rain etc etc (of course they know that I went to ADRAO and was chauffeured to school every day but it’s the thought that counts, no?) So off we go to find the train station which apparently is five minutes away. Unfortunately for me, four minutes away is a taxi rank which is how we ended up in a Multipla being driven into town. That whole educating the children thing can wait after all they have suffered enough for one day.
We arrive at the Duomo cathedral and I am left with my mouth hanging open for a good five minutes. It is one of those buildings that makes you ponder how we can say that humankind had developed when we have gone from building these sort of magnificent edifices to the Trump tower? I mean this building is just staggering in its absolute beauty. Now I might be a Muslim but that does not stop me from appreciating Christian beauty like this wonderful Cathedral, St. Paul’s in London and Iyawo (see what I did there?). Unfortunately I am unable to post any pictures because the $700 camera that was forced on me by a shyster in NY less than a year ago has gone kaput but I would urge you to check it out on the web.
We then took a tour of Milan and what struck me the most was the architecture and the civilised way it was all put together. There was lots of green, parks, public scultutres and works of art and I absolutely loved all the buildings, both residential and commercial with their little courtyards. We then went on from there to the Castle -Castello Sforzesco (pictured above although this does not do it justice) which is now stuffed full of artefacts, scultures, works of art etc. The vastness of the castle itself is something to behold. To imagine that this infrastructure was put together by man just proves to me that there is a still a question mark as to whether we as a species are currently living up to our potential. Where is the eighth wonder of the world I ask you?
Final part tomorrow (p.s - I need an editor!)
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