suggzy

Part Two.

Crikey, it’s been a bit of a three weeks or so, hence the delay in finishing off this latest ridiculous tale. I have not, as yet, secured employment in BARCELONA, but SWK and I did take in a few days in charming Luxembourg (country number 47, with Romania and Moldova coming up in June), and I am, as I type this out, celebrating the fact I now have two interviews on the horizon. Been a ‘nothing doing’ three months, so this is most welcome news. I suppose I may have got them on merit, but I reckon it’s been my decision to grow a Lucky Bushy Beard. I shall have to maintain it well, so I look all ponderous and wise come the big days. Hope I get one of these gigs, so I can blow some of the remaining redundancy on a trip somewhere, and hopefully generate some more raw material for the old blog.

So, back we go, those five years in time, and I came to in my mega room with the customary dry mouth and dizziness that I find accompanies going to sleep for a bit in the afternoon. Perhaps it’ll be for the best if I don’t move everyone off to Spain, as it does seems to be rather the expectation there. Sleeping in the afternoon has never sat well with me. Wholly discombobulating experience. I’ve known many other people, Sarah the First included, who could pretty much go into shutdown at the drop of a hat. I’m jealous of the capacity to go to sleep on demand, however, as one who often finds himself digesting the darkest corners of Wikipedia on his iPhone at 3.00am.In fact I would probably make remote-controlled narcolepsy my superpower.

It was an uneventful evening. Sorry, but it was. Can’t be bathed in lunacy every day, and I’d already had more than my fair share. Sweated in the heat, sat out with a couple of beers and read my book. Got a bit lost walking through the park on my way back, as I failed to find any food. So, I dragged myself back up the room, ate the mints, drank some water, sorted out my whistle for the next day and fell asleep.

The next day dawned. Things livened up a bit. Breakfasting on the terrace, rather conspicuously reading my way through the order of service, I met a guy from the University of Worcester over coffee. Nice chap, talkative, bit of a twinkle in the eye; I always manage to fall in with a fun crowd at things like this. 50-odd, he was, and a curious doppelganger for a different chap who once tried to teach me C++ Computer Programming, when I got landed with a training course whilst on the dole for a bit. Quite famously, by way of a brief diversion from our main theme, the training centre went bust two days before our assessments – we arrived mid-morning to find the bailiffs had taken away all of the computers, which rather slowed up the endeavour.  I looked at the trainer, he looked at me, there was a mutual shrug and we went to throw down a few cold ones across the road in front of the coverage of the cricket. That was a fun day.

Anyway, back to the present. Or past, rather. Breakfast done with, we travelled up to the meeting point, where our whole ‘Euro Gang’ had been promised an audience with the Mayor of Šiauliai (bet you’d been wondering when he would turn up, eh?) before we cracked off on our cultural tour of the city and surroundings. The square was packed with folks. Clearly I was not the only pen-pusher who knew when he was on to a good thing. It was a mighty deputation of Estonian farmers, small creepy men from Portugal, and a few token, sweltering Brits sprinkled through the many nations there.  I trailed off to sneak a ciggie and a couple of photos, and before I knew it we were being squired ’round to City Hall. Our crocodile went up hill and ‘round dale, through doors, up in lifts and eventually we all emerged in an office roughly half the size needed to house all off of us tourism-hungry liggers. And over in the distance, by the screen, was Boss Hogg, from the Dukes of Hazzard.

Or so it appeared, anyway. It soon transpired that the second lookey-likey of the day was in fact the town’s Mayor. I wondered, idly, if anyone amongst his acolytes had ever considering playing on this in a marketing campaign. Effusive in his greeting, he was on us in a moment, shaking hands and booming out a welcome in a language very few of us in the room could understand. He laid hands on everyone and then, all of a sudden, a mighty cart was wheeled in, exacerbating the crush further. On said wagon? Tea, coffee, fruit juice, pastries and, er, well, some sort of local champagne/cava creation. It was about 9.30am.

I figured it was warm out, the aircon was pretty weak and, well, it’s me, isn’t? In for a penny, in for a pound and all that. It didn’t occur to me to remember my experience of drinking Belarusian fizz three years beforehand, but happily this was a rather more agreeable drop. I sank a couple of glasses, taking care to drop in a coffee and an orange juice as well. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Smiley Mr Worcester swanning around with some bubbles, so refused to feel guilty.

Figuring that a frightening UN game of musical chairs was shortly to follow, I decided to make for a seat before any fear of a stand-off. Only to promptly be ushered back out of it, to join a queue to be photographed by Boss H, er, the Mayor. I popped my glass out of sight, fearing opprobrium back at the ranch; let’s not forget I was on thinner ice than was ideal.

So, piccies done, I dived for a different seat, cheered by the photo shoot and the breakfast tipple. I wondered if there might come next a rendering of the National Anthem, or a parade of flower girls, but, disappointingly we went direct into business mode. Down went the lights, and up came a slide detailing the events for the next two days. I’ll not spoil it, read on.

And then, the video. A 15-minute blockbuster that detailed the history of the City, the pulling power that coming events would have, the ambitions for Higher Education, and lots and lots and lots about Basketball, of which, whilst I am a big sports fan, I know nothing much about. I can only piece that together for you because they made up for the narrative soundtrack being in the local tongue, by pausing every 45 minutes to narrate what had been said. The good production values notwithstanding, this did cause things to drag on, somewhat. Eventually the lights went up again, to rapturous applause. And back out into the now blazing sun we went.

Our gently tipsy regiment were taken on a march to the town Cenotaph/sundial. I fired off a couple of bemused texts back home to Sarah I, and had a bit of an explore, including the rather nice local church. Then, we were back to Basketball. Or, more precisely, a tour of the local stadium that was soon to host a European Championship tournament. All jolly impressive, chaps, but, as they say, WTF?

A substantial fleet of buses swung into the square, and we were issued with a couple of tourist guides and a packed lunch. My first Lithuanian crisps, a sandwich of mysterious meats and cheese, a fairy cake, an apple, and, saints be praised, a bottle of lovely cold water. To a man and to a woman we were all sweltering. The lunchboxes were placed on the floor and we all tore into the water, as the convoy headed off to our two afternoon haunts.

Now, as much as I am taking the mickey here, and only gently, I hope, the first stop was something quite remarkable. Here it is:

The Hill of Crosses. A devotional site and a memorial to the fallen dating from 1831. Very, very moving it was too. I took some reflective video, which I sincerely wish I could still find, but I am sure YouTube would repay your visit well. When we visited, there were reckoned to be at least 125,000 crosses there. During the years of Soviet occupation, the military would, periodically, bulldozer the site. Warm-hearted totalitarians that they were. Whereupon, quietly but effectively, local folk would rebuild it bigger than before. It was quite a marker for the indomitable human spirit and the power of faith. It rose up out of nowhere, across from the road and stunned us all. Some things have a quiet, universal effect.

The emotion of it all had given every one quite an appetite, so as we wended our way back towards the city, the sound was that of the pop of plastic boxes and the tearing of cellophane. Satiated, the wagon train pulled in to the “quite new but lovely” University Botanic Garden”.

As with so many things in life, we had spiralled from the sublime to the ridiculous. Naturally, full marks to anyone for a green initiative and the drive to create something attractive for the rest of humanity to enjoy. But perhaps it might have been better to let it grow a bit? The place had the appearance of the lovechild of a pitch and put course, and a lightly-tended, stubbly Yorkshire allotment. There were, spread around, some alarmingly mature plants amongst the seedlings, that my new pals and I agreed, sotto voce, had evidently been planted whilst we’d been watching the video. I do have a tendency to fall in with a somewhat ribald, piss-taking crowd on occasions like this – never mind the language barrier, or the hurdles of internationality; anyone can spot a bit of dark humour going on. Still, I am sure it’s a sprawling and verdant delight by now. I do hope so. They’d put up an awning with the makings in it so we could all create and then brew up our own herbal teas. That was just lovely, so I stopped sniggering and enjoyed it.

Back to town, for the closing event of the tourism day. A buffet of local delights and a talk on local history (English, this time, but I can’t give you the rundown, as another pantechnicon of fizzy wine was summoned, and I felt the need to rehydrate). Small talk followed. Something that they insist on calling networking. I learned only yesterday that one can now attend ‘How to Network’ courses. Money for old rope, if you ask me. Have a snifter, wander around a bit and see what happens. In this instance? Not much. I chucked a few business cards around, and found myself on the end of the gentle but sweaty advances of a diminutive Polish chap. All in all, it was time to beat a retreat. Mr Worcester and I had a beer in the dying of the day’s fierce sun, and made for our lodgings. Sensibly to bed, to fall asleep with my book.

So to day 2. The point at which some actual work was going to be needed. And the scene of some fancy footwork I remain quite proud of. The art of pure, confident bullshit. Some days, I excel at this.

So, after a more temperant breakfast than had become the norm, we ambled back up into the City Centre to the venue for the conference. The room itself was high up in the University registry, and surrounded on all sides by floor to ceiling windows. As a consequence, we were bathed in lovely sunshine. And sweat, as was de rigeur in those parts. The crowd grew, as I sipped coffee and water and thumbed through my notes, fingering my pocket at all times for my memory stick, like an edgy Best Man.

After a mixture of performances, including something rather good from the lady in charge of the whole gig (who I complemented in a break – she was charm itself, as she had been on the ‘phone), I was called up to speak late morning. Nervelessly, I held forth on the subject I knew a lot about, with slides, a few little gags, and everything. The definition of professionalism and not a bad job, I thought. Without dripping with sweat, I’d have given myself at least a nine. After 20 minutes or so, I got to questions. The vast crowd seemed, well, a trifle bewildered. A member of the throng asked tentatively about what had happened about my presentation on a completely different topic. No one came to help, at this point so I made a show of reaching for my water for a deep lug, and rustled through my papers, only to discover that, yes, I had been billed as talking about Mystery Subject X. I don’t actually know what had happened, but just for once I think I may have been blameless. So, failing to see what else I could do, after all the fizz, crosses, seedlings and buffet I had soaked in, I just said

“Ah, yes, thank-you for asking about that. As I see we have a little more time, perhaps I could go on to that and give you a few more thoughts by way of an extension?”

Grins, expectant nods, etc. So, I simply made up another presentation on the spot, cobbling together bits and pieces I knew, speaking with unflappable confidence so as to not crack the veneer and expose my near-total ignorance of the subject at hand. I took examples from the audience, and pontificated merrily away. I was in the zone and, a further 15 minutes later was greeted with rapturous acclaim. Phew. No one seemed to have noticed the join, or that I was patently wearing the Emperor’s New Clothes. I’m hoping my capacity to do this now and again might see me back into employment soon…

Lunch followed. I sweated my way through that and dashed out for a cig. The afternoon session was rather shorter and at the teatime close we were told about ‘special plans’ for  a social event in evening.

So I strolled back to hotel for a freshen up and a change into alternative, dry kit. I met new pal in a bar for a sharpener (he was most amused, having seen through the whole façade entirely, but we both agreed that, as raw and complete bollocks, it had been worth its weight in gold) and we ventured into the venue, once we found it (it was in a totally anonymous concrete block behind a car park, that we circled several times). Down we went to a mercifully cooler basement. We were handed the ubiquitous local fizzy wine (UK conference organisers should take note, I think) and took a seat whilst there was an interminable display of folk singing and then a welcome speech. I’m pretty much certain someone, somewhere, was playing the saw to accompany the former, but can’t swear to it.

In closing, our hostess told everyone there would now be a buffet and local wine tasting (music to my ears; by now I was considering a move for citizenship) and a local dancing lesson (not music to my ears – I am rarely seen exhibiting my snake hips). Once again, I handed out a few business cards to some friendly and rather less lusting Poles, nattered about my “fascinating presentation” to a chap from Portugal and drank some wine and tried to hide behind the mountain of comestibles. However I was soon hauled into a mega circle on the dance floor comprised of 40 or so folk, and indulged in a considerable amount of what I am going to call Walk-walk-walk, Hoy! Hoy! Hoy! Manoeuvres, to the farts and squeaks of an oompah band. This was as excruciating as it was exhausting. Sweat sprung down my back once more.

The whirl over with, I was greeted afterwards by VC who also said she loved my presentation(s), wanted very much to work with my University and would be taking me back to the airport herself the following day ( I guess Silver Lurch had the weekend off?) I pointed out this meant leaving for the airport at 5am (I actually had no clue about how I was going to get back), but she did not care a bit! I accepted with alacrity.

Smiley and I leaked out, found a bar for cold beer and chatting with some other pals of his. I weaved home eventually, a little later than might have been ideal, and stuffed things into a case and set the alarm.

Day 3 dawned. Too early for breakfast, I added some water to the belly full of wine, beer and vol-au-vents, and pressed myself out into the dawn. And home we did go. Our girl was on time and very charming indeed. We chatted about this that and the other, with me obfuscating like a fool, because I know virtually nothing. It was utterly lovely, barrelling through the countryside in the morning Sun. I adore moments like this with folk from overseas. Get the work stuff knocked off and learn all about them and you get to tell them all about yourself and your home. Always learning. Great stuff.

Kaunas airport appeared. We bade farewells, hugged and I awaited my homeward flight. I picked up some ciggies… and passed on a bottle of Suktinis.

Alas, I never heard from her, or Smiley again. But I have the memories, and now so do you.

Next time, once I have a couple of job interviews out of the way, I shall take you to Malta, with my Mother. Thanks for reading.