Gonna get myself connected

This is around the time of year when I usually spend a couple of days at a trade show in Barcelona. In fact, it’s exactly that time of year. I’m writing from my second-floor room at Pension Norma, which translates as ‘hotel rule’ according to my mobile phone. Either that’s very prosaic or my phone’s not really trying. My phone also tells me I’m 655 miles from the nearest pint of Harveys, so perhaps it’s simply feeling a little homesick.

It’s not only my phone that’s pining for Sussex. My wife, along with her teenager and cats, has remained at home. Despite the excitement of my trip, I miss them… and I’m sure they miss me. (Well, to be honest, three of them probably just miss my ability to fill a bowl with dinner at the appropriate time.) Fortunately I should be able to persuade the aforementioned phone to give them a ring.

If you’ve not spotted a theme here, let me explain. It’s going to be a phone-filled week because my chosen trade show is all about mobile technology. And whilst I’m not expecting a great deal of sympathy for my plight, I can assure you it isn’t all tapas and tortillas. There are early starts, crowded trains and traffic queues to contend with before I begin my work for the day. If I’d wanted that kind of nonsense, I’d have found a job in London.

Inside the show, I’m one of eighty-five thousand people milling about. Each exhibitor is doing their best to attract my attention and extend my stay. Curiously, each seems determined to reinforce national stereotypes as well. My conversation with an Austrian company includes a cup of coffee and a marzipan Mozartkugel. The Scottish contingent is hosting an evening of whiskey tasting. A French company has wine while a German exhibitor has employed two Spanish women to wear traditional Bavarian clothing. There’s tea and biscuits when I talk to an English software developer. I chat to him until the biscuits run out.

Back in my hotel room, when the buzz of the show has faded, I call home and catch up with the latest news. All’s well. After saying goodnight, I check for email messages and prepare my agenda for tomorrow. Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy the event – but I’d enjoy it even more if a Spanish day included 36 hours and my hotel room contained a teleporter instead of a wardrobe. I open the Harveys app on my phone again. Still 655 miles from a pint. I walk across the room and stand next to the window. The display changes. 654 miles. I’m feeling better already.

First published on Viva Lewes 27th February 2014: www.vivalewes.com

Better than Barcelona

I've just returned from four busy days working in Barcelona. (No, I'm not expecting sympathy. There are very few UK jobs that wouldn't be enhanced if they were transposed to the Spanish coast, although being an umbrella salesperson might be more of a challenge). For the last few years Catalonia's main city has hosted Mobile World Congress, an event that sees thousands upon thousands of phone manufacturers, network operators and software developers dragging their wheeled suitcases along cobbled pavements. If there's a single sound that says 'business trip', it's the noise of a wheeled suitcase being dragged by a man in a suit. Anyway, I was there... and unlike many of my fellow travellers, I was struggling with a heavy bag slung casually over my shoulder in order to blend in with the locals. I'd also chosen to wear a bright orange jacket in a bid to look 'European'. Well, I'd heard numerous tales of conference visitors being targeted by pickpockets.

I learned three things from this trip. Firstly, my shoulders are not especially rugged. It's clear that my mother held me by the shoulder, rather than by the traditional heel, when giving me my childhood dip in the River Styx. Next time my suitcase won't just have wheels, I'll make sure there's an outboard motor as well. Secondly, an orange jacket is as much a fashion statement in Spain as it is in the UK - which is another way of saying I stuck out like a sore carrot. On a positive note, dressing as a fluorescent hunchback is apparently off-putting to street criminals.

But perhaps most importantly, I learned that Barcelona is very similar to Ringmer. Except Ringmer is better. Let's begin with the Sagrada Familia, Gaudi's stunning eighteen-spired church. It was started back in the 19th century and still gives the impression of being a work in progress. Ringmer's church may be a little smaller but it's definitely finished. Next, there's Iberian ham. This is traditionally prepared on a jamonera, which looks like the offspring of a breadboard and a medieval punishment, and is usually carved with the unfortunate pig's trotter still attached. Our local butcher wouldn't dream of selling meat without lopping the foot off first. On the subject of food, visit many restaurants in Barcelona and they'll serve you tapas. Visit Ringmer and you'll be offered full-size meals. That's three-nil to us already. Talking of soccer scores, Barcelona has a football club based at the inappropriately-named Camp Nou: the ‘new field’. Inappropriate because it's now over 50 years old. Ringmer's football team play at the Caburn Ground, a fitting name as it’s been overlooked by Mount Caburn since the Cretaceous Period around 100 million years ago.

Finally, there's language. Barcelona is proudly Catalonian, so you'll hear both Spanish and Catalan spoken in the city. Yet Ringmer is a one-language village, making life much easier. Sure, you may hear the occasional villager telling you he wunt be druv but you don't need to juggle two phrasebooks when you visit us. Maybe I ought to have a word with Ringmer's parish council. I reckon we should put in a bid to host 70,000 mobile phone specialists. My shoulder would certainly appreciate it.

First published on vivalewes.com 7th March 2013: http://vivalewes.com/