MONDAY
It's 4:05pm and I'm careering through the Harbour Tunnel in a taxi, regretting my decision to eat a large tub of yoghurt as an afternoon snack. Because it seemed unlikely that I would eat until landing in Hobart, I decided that eating something filling would be a good idea. I didn't, however, figure on catching a taxi that swerved through the streets of Sydney to get me to the airport, making yoghurt seem a very bad idea indeed.
I get out of the cab, a little green (and this is saying something considering I have never been travel sick) and head into the terminal. It's the wrong terminal so I have to haul my bags over the road to the correct terminal. I check in and head straight for the departure lounge, for I have nothing to buy from the shops lining the corridors. I read Christopher Jay's special report on project management in the last week's Financial Review. Most of it is pretty basic and several chunks of it are incomprehensible. I imagine a rookie I can outwit at the conference - excellent.
The flight boards. I am near the back and I spend the time reading the inflight mag and then having a short nap (planes make me sleepy). We arrive in Hobart in due time. Instead of catching a taxi (an estimated $40), I decide to go the cheaper route via shuttle bus ($21 return) even though I'm not technically paying. I figure it's an environmental thing.
I arrive at the Hotel Grand Chancellor after a pleasant trip over the Tasman Bridge only to find that they have no record of my room booking. This part was supposed to be arranged through the AIPM. I try calling Tanuja, the communications manager, but I get her voicemail. I try the only other person I know, Jody, in case they are together but I encounter another voicemail message. It is 9:30pm before I decide that if I don't hear from anyone by 10pm I'll try another hotel. The receptionist at the HGC is very helpful, trying every single name I can remember. Usually, she says, she would just give me a room and sort the bill out later but they are fully booked. Eventually 10pm comes around and I need a bed. She finds one in the Old Woolstore, the hotel in the street behind, and I check in there.
It's only 9pm Sydney time so I spend the next hour or so at my laptop, working on my novel. It gets cold so I go to bed, where it is still cold. During the night I even have the sense to turn up the air conditioner to 25 degrees but wake up in the morning aching from tensing against the cold all night, grateful to have a hot shower. Then I find the extra blanket in the cupboard.
TUESDAY
I check out because the OW is fully booked out tonight and I need to find another place to stay. I wander over to the HGC, which is hosting the conference, and wait for the info booth to open. Apparently a record of my existence in Hobart exists and I can wander around freely. I return to the OW (which, I should mention is a converted wool storage facility, hence the name) to have breakfast, my first solid meal since lunch the day before.
When I return to the HGC I meet up with Tanuja who is muy apologetic. (She did call - too late - the night before but seconded my decision to find a bed at any cost). I then attend the keynote speech.
At morning tea I talk to Rob (AIPM staff) and have an absurdist conversation with him, which makes me realise I probably misjudged him the first time I met him. And probably the second time as well. I also find out that Christopher Jay is not a rookie but an ancient journo who was probably a copy boy in the 1950s. Which doesn't excuse the fact that some of his writing doesn't make sense.
I attend a bunch of (pretty good) sessions.
I eschew lunch and enlist the help of another HGC receptionist who locates a vacant room at the Henry Jones Art Hotel, which is tres chic. I return to the OW to collect my bags. The receptionist is an attractive lad who helps me by giving me directions to the HJAH.
I head over to HJAH where the receptionist there is even better looking. It turns out that there is only one room left and it is mine. It also turns out that Prime Minister John Howard (and entourage) checked out that morning. I cross my fingers and hope that this doesn't mean I have to sleep in his recently vacated bed. The concierge carries my bags up to my loft room - it is divine. (The HJAH is a converted jam factory and my room had these beautiful exposed beams and the biggest bed I've ever seen).
I reluctantly return to the fray for more sessions. This time I meet Rob in the hallway and we have a more serious conversation even while he's trying to balance a Powerbook (be still my beating heart) and a competing priority in attending to the speakers. I let him go as I need to get into an audience somewhere. The afternoon sessions turn out to be pretty good too.
In the break I enact my version of networking, which is to wander around the room seemingly with a purpose, hoping that someone will make eye contact so I can introduce myself and get rid of my business cards. This kind of works. I meet three people this way, even though they are all exhibition stall staff.
The afternoon keynote speech is a good blend of analysis and progressive ideas suggesting that project management needs to recruit people from disciplines other than engineering and logistics.
I have just half an hour before the dinner cruise to see a bit of Hobart. I wander along the wharf area and spend most of my time taking photos of a bird standing on a buoy (above). The buoy bobs around with the gently moving water and the bird seems happy to ride the rotation.
I hotfoot up to my room and change for dinner. The cruise is to Wrest Point Casino, not so very far away, but the boats ride out around the bay to show guests a good time (and give them enough time to drink a couple of glasses of wine). There are so many people that the AIPM have hired two boats. I plant myself on the bow of the second boat as it sets sail. I'm soon joined by two guys, one from Townsville (I think his name was Tom) and Richard from Melbourne. We battle the wind chill factor and talk about where we come from and what we do. SA Chapter President Stephen Beaty, who I've spoken to on numerous occasions but had only met that evening, joins us for a little while before he deems us crazy for bearing the cold.
At some point some lady from 'below deck' marches up to inform me that my stockings are nice but everyone can see them. I find this mildly amusing, mostly because I'm wearing a three-quarter length jacket over a skirt that, if not for the wind, would fall below my kness, which means they might be able to see my stockings but they certainly can't see my undies so the problem being..?
We arrive at Wrest Point. I'm not on Tom or Richard's table - in fact the only person I know on my table is Jody. I leave my boat companions to find my table. I'm seated next to that afternoon's keynote speaker, Ian Irving, and an academic from Bond Uni, Wilf. Jody has nabbed prime position next to the most beautiful man in the cosmos. Well, not quite, but he is certainly handsome and beautifully dressed. (Later I find out Charlton is the next day's keynote speaker, well-versed on the ways of Antarctica and thus not often as beautifully dressed).
The night is a muddle of bobble headbands, Andrew Daddo, awards, fake hynoptist opera and dancing, all of which serve to provide excellent entertainment. Rob seeks me out again to give me a phone number... not his but a contact he thought I'd be interested in for the magazine. Such a sweetheart. [THEN SOME IDIOT WAITER CLEARS THE TABLE, TAKING THE SLIP OF PAPER WITH THE NUMBER ON IT WHILE I AM TALKING TO TANUJA] [it's probably a good thing the number wasn't Rob's].
WEDNESDAY
Everyone has scrubbed up pretty well for the morning after. The two morning speakers are excellent, with John Smyrk redefining project success and Charlton Clark looking gorgeous and talking about building an ice runway in Antarctica. I'm pretty chipper at morning break until I find out that Rob's girlfriend was the person who took all the photos the night before. My devastation reaches into the late morning sessions, each seeming more hopeless than the other.
At lunch I talk to Andrew (AIPM staff) about journalism, then Christopher Jay comes by and I decide to network. Incidentally I find one of the people I was dancing with the previous night. Her name is Wendy and she is also from Bond Uni.
The last keynote speaker is Dr Keith Suter, who does well in 'the graveyard shift'. I spot Richard entering the ballroom and call out to him - we exchange cards but I doubt I will see him again. New president Bill Young closes the conference.
I have just one hour to experience Hobart, so I wander off in search of parks (pictured above) and other points of interest, including Salamanca Place which, I'm told, totally goes off on the weekend. It's a pleasant walk around the water frontage, akin, I suppose, to a stroll around The Rocks or Darling Harbour or something.
Back at the HJAH I bump into AIPM CEO Peter Shears who offers to share a taxi but I tell him I have a place on the shuttle bus booked so I line up with a bunch of project managers. It turns out to be good for networking as I fall into conversation with another Bond Uni academic (they were everywhere).
The airport is fairly chaotic - it seems the whole conference has relocated to the departure lounges. I settle back and eat chocolate. When my plane is announced I stand, only to be hailed by Richard, who is catching the same plane. I should note at this point that all direct flights to Sydney were booked out so I had to fly via Melbourne. We organise to see each other on board although we're sitting nowhere near each other.
After take off, I see him looking around for me. There is a seat next to me but for a moment I hesitate, wondering whether I am, in fact, merely courting a transport freak. What the hell, I think. I wave him down and we spend the flight chatting. All very pleasant and normal except for the bit about skinny dipping in his front yard, which, I'll have you know, he invites me to do when I'm next in Melbourne. During the the warmer months, he warns. I wouldn't mind seeing him again but it's probably a case of next year's conference.
Home is full of moths but sweet nonetheless.
[P.S: Those of you who read this blog might wonder how it differs from The Magic Sitar, particularly on the matching entry re: Hobart. The answer is that this blog is not on any search engine and doesn't link from my profile so therefore by a thin shield of web membrane I feel safe enough to name names and be explicit about stuff that goes on in my life.
The people who have this address are those would are far enough away to avoid getting involved or those who are smart enough to stay quiet while I mouth off at the world. As far as I know there are four regular readers of this blog. Hail to you all.]
[P.P.S: I called Rob to find out if he had stats for project managers working overseas for an article I'm doing and it turns out that it wasn't his girlfriend taking pics at the dinner, it was his ex-girlfriend and they were travelling together. Now what am I supposed to think? After that lengthy phone conversation where he proved he was intelligent and articulate, I think I'm in love with him.]
No comments:
Post a Comment