We went to Rio del Mar tonight, dined at Palio (the prize to the horse winning the annual race in Sienna, but that’s another story), then hit the casino. I won at both roulette and blackjack, Maria had to chase away a blonde who thought she was my good luck charm, and we drove home under a huge, beautiful full moon. We walked back to the villa through the forest amidst the tree frogs. This is a burden, but someone must do it.

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We dined in Fern here at the resort on Monday, run by Jean George, whose Manhattan restaurant we aren’t crazy about, despite its reputation. We encountered the same here, rather indifferent food. But last night we dined in a highly recommended informal restaurant about 30 minutes away, and enjoyed mofongo, which is fried plantain, mashed with garlic and oil. It is accompanied with seafood or chicken or beef. Fabulous.

The pool area at the resort is gorgeous, and contains several levels with islands amidst them. I found two, yard-long iguanas on one of them, a lime-green specimen and an olive drab colleague. The latter was on the ground and staring at me at eye level as I stood in five feet of water. These are wild animals and come and go as they please, meaning they swim across the pools to hunt food or visit friends! (Iguanas can swim in the ocean, often traveling between islands.)

Can you picture a kid in the pool suddenly watching a small dinosaur coasting by, with those huge, rotating eyes taking him in? The kid screams for his parents, the iguana disappears, and his parents assure him that there are no monsters in the pool. It would, perversely, make my day and no doubt drive the kid eventually into psychology where he would unsuccessfully attempt to deal with his own demons.

I digress.

The weather has been great, the ocean warm, the place serene. Tonight we’ll go off property for dinner and some modest gambling.

Be careful, you might want to stay out of the water!

© Alan Weiss 2012. All rights reserved.

We flew from Providence to Atlanta to San Juan yesterday, on two very full but very fine Delta flights. Excellent service.  A car took us on the 40-minute trip to the St. Regis Bahia Beach Resort, and we were greeted by flaming cauldrons on the pools leading to the entrance under a full moon. It was 80-something degrees.

A welcoming rum punch and a private check-in and we were off, via golf cart, to our suite. Breakfast today on the balcony overlooking the ocean, and lunch (a foot-long hot dog) on the beach with a Bahia Beach: rum, muddled cantaloupe, and coconut milk in the coconut. You just can’t beat muddled coconut.

The Atlantic is warm and the beach empty. We dine tonight in the resort’s flagship restaurant, Fern, run by none other than famed chef Jean George.

© Alan Weiss 2012. All rights reserved.

I couldn’t upload my photos in Sydney because of a wire that caused my lap top to lose power, so here’s an example of the view from my suite on a threatening day.

The Harbor Bridge and the Opera House

My flight out of Sydney was 90 minutes late, I suspect because Qantas mechanics are once again using the public to strike back at management. The flight itself was fine. But Qantas, trying to help, cancelled my nonstop Boston ticket because they were afraid I’d miss the flight, and rebooked me through Chicago. Turns out, I could have made the original flight with 30 minutes to spare.

Chicago, of course, has weather problems. So, I’m sitting in the Admiral’s Club in O’Hare waiting for a scheduled 10:15 pm flight to Boston, but they don’t know if the crew will be here on time. As it is, I get into Boston at 1:20 am, then will have to see if my luggage made it, and if not I’ll have to take more time to file a claim.

With all of that, it’s been a great trip, the conclusion of five major events: Toronto, Boston, Palm Beach, Newport, and Australia (Melbourne and Sydney). I’m happy and grateful all worked out so well, and I’ll be relieved when we have wheels up tonight.

Ten day, 20,000 miles or so, 80 people, excellent business.

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

We concluded the Sydney workshop and “mini-college” today, and I had a great time. We had a fabulous group and covered a huge amount of material.

I’m ensconced in the wonderful, fabulous Qantas first class lounge, but my flight to LA is delayed by 90 minutes, which will make my connection to Boston highly problematic. My first reaction is: Is it a legitimate problem or still another Qantas union job action?

President Obama has gone on to Bali. He was very warmly received here despite some terribly lame jokes and use of Aussie slang, that left the locals smirking. At least his plane tends to leave on time.

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

Dinner in Melbourne with Andrew Hollo and his wife, Katie, at The Press Club was fabulous, though Andrew tricked me into walking more than my maximum three blocks to get there. Want to talk about government interference? When I questioned the manager about what had happened to apparently half of my martini, he told me the government mandates the size of drinks! What’s up with that, mate?!

Back to Sydney and a day and a half of relaxation and writing, overlooking the harbor. Then dinner at the Shangri-La’s Altitude Restaurant for my first 12 registrants. Today was the first day of my program here, with a fabulous group of 29 from all over Australia and from New Zealand (and Linda Popky from the US).

President Obama is here with me, and we’re trying to stay out of each other’s way. He’s in Canberra, and I’m pretty sure I have better digs here in the Shangri-La than he has there. I’m also flying in a plane larger than his going back, an A380 compared to his 747.

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

I spend a fabulous day working with the Australia IMC in my presentation in Melbourne. Very energetic, engaging group, and a pleasure to be here. I leave this morning to return to Sydney for my workshop there Wednesday through Friday. I’m hoping to avoid President Obama, who’s also arriving in these parts, since he tends to tie-up traffic a bit.

Flew to Melbourne today for a dinner speech tonight and workshop tomorrow for the Institute of Management Consultants, my second visit with them over the years. For the fourth time in my 3.5 million air miles, the pilot had to “go around” when only a couple of hundred feet over the runway. That puts things into perspective.

The Australian Open Golf Tournament is in Sydney—Tiger Woods was leading, briefly—and you can watch them quite clearly and closely from the road outside the airport. This creates some traffic jams!

The law of unintended consequence: I was taking a nap in The Park Hyatt here in Melbourne before my evening obligations, and had the “do not disturb sign” on. My phone rings, and someone from the staff is calling so she can bring in some fruit, with a note from the hotel resident manager thanking me for coming back.

His intent was good, strategically, but the implementation, tactically, was beyond stupid. His employee woke me up to thank me. That wasn’t what he intended. But it’s what happens when you simply tell people to do things without granting them any judgment about how to do it (or hiring people without judgment). You can’t make this stuff up.

You see how easy consulting is?

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

I’m getting a lot of writing done on this trip, on airplanes and on days between speeches. But this morning, having forgotten my experience in Italy just weeks ago, I plugged my Nikon into my laptop port to load photos, and the computer went black and would not come back on. The hotel IT manager actually called Apple for me, but they couldn’t help remotely.

There is a huge Apple store with a Genius Bar ten minutes from the Shangri-La, but the earliest appointment is next Tuesday. I fly to Melbourne tomorrow morning to speak on Sunday, and my slides are on the lap top, in addition to all the writing I wanted to do. (I know, I could have used dropbox to retrieve them, and even thought of purchasing a keyboard for my iPad to write on the way home.)

I trekked to the Apple store where the first employee at the door, Andrew, told me it was very difficult to get to the Genius guys since it was 3:40 and they only take appoints until 4:00, and were obviously at capacity. When I told him my issue, he took me up two flights of stairs, chatted with two other guys (you can’t tell who’s a manager here, everyone looks the same, and they’re all having great fun), and they assured me they’d get me to someone.

At 4:40, I was introduced to Nick, who took my computer in the back, told me he suspected it was the battery, and then, after hitting a keyboard furiously, found that there were no batteries to be had, and that one could be shipped for next week. However, the computer would now work on direct power with the battery out. That would work for my speech and on the airplanes with power strips.

Not satisfied, Nick hit some strange combinations of buttons, and got the machine working on battery power! He theorized that it had turned off to protect itself from a power surge, and he knew had to coax it back to life.

Here’s to the Apple store and Genius Bar in Sydney, here’s to a great company, and am I glad I bought this stock at $17 many years ago, before all the splits!

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

Just a fabulous meal in Altitude, on the top of the Shangri-La, preceded by a drink in Blu, with spectacular views of the harbor. I’m entertaining the first 12 registrants for my Sydney workshop here on Tuesday evening, so I gave it a test run. Superb food, finely prepared, with highly attentive service.

My waiter was from Punjab, in Sydney for six years. The hostess was Japanese. The world is fascinating.

I may see a ballet at the Opera House tomorrow if I can score decent tickets. The word here is that the Qantas unions my try to reverse the legal decision and strike again, so I’ll also have to look for new backup flights home.

The best TV here remains American reruns, but they are selective: The Closer, Law & Order, Rizzoli and Isles, The Mentalist, Cold Case—nice choices.

The Shangri-La provides you with pajamas! This corner suite is wonderful, with striking views. I had to shake a few cages because it took so long to move me in, so a manager was dispatched to fetch me, along with a bellman. In the suite, the bellman adamantly refused a tip, telling me, “It’s not usual here and we’re well paid.” I actually found that more pretentious than simply accepting my offer of $5!

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

It’s 4.5 hours to touchdown in Sydney. We’re at 36,000 feet above the Pacific. Three of us appear to be awake in the 14-seat first class cabin, which is filled.

I took 1.5 hours to acclimate, read, and have a light dinner, then went to sleep. This is not something you can do yourself, other than put on the pajamas, socks, and slippers you’re provided. The flight attendant turns the seat into a flat bed, with a mattress, top sheet, and quilt. There is also a blanket, a large pillow, and a smaller pillow.

I slept for six hours, awoke with 6 hours left in the trip. A computer screen to my right keeps me apprised of the remaining time until landing. It also controls everything electronically, even my window shades. The seat can be adjusted 20 ways, but also has six “presets” so you don’t have to think about it (e.g., “dining,” “read in bed,” and so on). There is an American outlet that powers all my stuff. My semi-private cubicle is about 25 square feet. There’s a visitor’s seat in case I want to have dinner with someone!

The flight attendant brought some tea and I completed the first of the two book chapters I wanted to get to. That took about 90 minutes, including a couple of breaks.

We landed smack on time in Sydney, and in the A380 it’s like a New York high rise alighting. The huge thing is amazingly quiet. It weighs as much as a naval escort vessel and I’m shocked that runways can sustain it.

My express pass from Qantas took me through immigration faster than those with Australian passports, the bags were coming out by the time I reached the carousel, and customs then waived me through. The driver was in the right place with the right sign, and 30 minutes later I was in the Shangri-La in a temporary room, until my suite is ready. In another 30 minutes, I was in the spa having a massage, a great thing to do right after international travel.

I’m staring a Sydney Harbor. And I’m trying to remain awake and coherent through dinner so that I can have a normal sleep!

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

I left at 7 am in a stretch limo for Boston. Traffic was horrible and almost two hours later, we finally arrived at Logan Airport. (This is why I make it a point to leave much earlier than is required almost all the time.)

A redcap arrived at the limo’s trunk before I even opened my door. He informed me that as of one week ago, American Airlines can curbside check any bag to any global destination. Five minutes later he had checked my passport and Australian visa, and marked my bag for Chicago, Los Angeles, and Sydney. (Let’s hope a later post here reflects its positive fate!) He was great. I tipped him ten dollars and he actually gave me a slight bow. He then directed me to the first class security line, inside.

Security required about five minutes, and I settled into the Admiral’s Club, about a minute from my gate. I began writing, was advised by Flight Tracker on my iPhone that my flight was slightly delayed (which was a lie), and charged everything I own that has a power cord.

I was served a burger (my choice) in first class, and we bounced all over the skies coming into Chicago, where it’s been raining and is seriously overcast. A lot of flights were cancelled. I had allowed a three-hour layover, just in case. But my LA flight has left on time. I’m not writing this at 36,000 feet, waiting for my dinner—an enchilada—and munching on cashews with my vodka tonic. This is a big, honking 767, and the seats are so complicated that in attempting to open the tray table I knocked over my seatmate’s drink glass which, thank the fates, was empty.

I plan to write two complete book chapters during this 10-day trip to Sydney and Melbourne, which will finish my co-writing responsibilities with Omar Khan for our new book, Who’s Got Your Back? I’ll then have a four hour layover in LAX until my Qantas flight on the giant A380 to Sydney. I’ll hang out in Qantas’s club, which memory tells me is pretty good.

My lap top is plugged into a seat power strip. I have three books on my iPad I plan to finish during the trip. I’ve just finished the outline for the Art of the Referral Workshop on November 30 in Newport (it’s going to be fabulous, almost 100 percent experiential). I think people will be quite pleased with it.

Dinner is coming, I’ll be back later. Right now I’ve been awake for 12 hours and have been traveling for 7 hours.

+++++++

I was waiting for the rest room and talking to three of the flight attendants when a black dog walked through our gathering. It was a service dog we had seen board the flight, but his vest was off (“working dog”) and he is clearly not meant to wander the aisles! I’ve never seen this before. I wonder if he was looking for a fire hydrant.

++++++++

I’m ensconced in the Qantas first class lounge, Huge assortment of food, which is tempting but a bit of an overload since the flight will have all kinds of food. I read somewhere that only 1,000 Americans fly to Australia on any given day, which is considered quite low. (The plane holds about 500, but obviously not solely Americans.)

I tried to get on Hulu to watch some TV on my computer, but I was told that they aren’t allowed to broadcast outside of the country! I guess this must be Australian soil within LAX!

I’ll travel roughly10,000 miles today before I’m finally in a conventional bed again. Yet I watch the airport bus drivers transporting us between terminals late at night, and the security people at 24-hour airports, and the employees of concourse shops open until midnight—and I realize that their day is a lot more wearying in a lot more ways than mine, despite traveling halfway around the world.

I changed money outside the club, and for the first time in 30 years over 16 visits, the Australian dollar is stronger than the US dollar. My compliments to the Aussies!

I’ll be back here tomorrow, if I don’t sleep the entire day.

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

Every Canadian I speak to on the subject seems to loathe Air Canada. Here’s my most recent experience:

1. Going from Providence to Toronto, the plane is listed as increasingly late until it reaches three hours. No one from Air Canada (or their local representation, Star Alliance partner Continental) tells us anything. I figure out the arrival from Toronto, which is the incoming flight, will finally get to Providence at 1:40, yet Air Canada lists their departure from Providence at 1:30! I get all my information from Flight Tracker on my iPhone.

2. The Beach 1900D is finally ready, after 2:00, to depart. There are four of us on the 18-seat plane. The copilot gives us the normal briefing, and says, “The flight time is an hour and twenty minutes. The lav does not work. We’re hoping you can hold it for an hour and twenty minutes.” (I am NOT making this up.)

3. We arrive in Toronto, where the walk to immigration is at least two miles. There is no signage indicating that forms must be filled out or where they are. Air Canada has not provided them. I have to retrace my steps to find them. I ask the immigration agent, after the hike, if the intent is to only allow fit people into the country. She ignores me, asks me the usual dumb questions about whether I’m stealing jobs from indigenous peoples, and I proceed.

4. Air Canada originally had me on a 4 pm return from Toronto the next day, after my meeting. They told Amex that there was a “schedule change” and the plane would now leave, same day, AT 9 AM! I told Amex that we would call that a cancellation, not a schedule change. I had to take a flight into Boston instead of Providence.

5. Because of the changes, Amex mistakenly put me in coach on the way back to Boston. When I asked them to change it to business, Air Canada told them it would cost AN ADDITIONAL $1100 for the hour’s flight by jet to Boston. I refused to enable this kind of stupidity. At the airport, I asked the gate agent for an upgrade and she said, “Fine, but it will be $120.” That worked for me.

6. In the Priority Pass club I belong to through Amex in Toronto, I encountered six Air Canada pilots. “Is club membership a perk of flying for Air Canada?” I asked. “Are you kidding,” said a copilot, “we just spend so much time here (in the airport) without any amenities that we  join on our own.”

7. I can report that the US Global Entry System worked beautifully coming home, though the ticking timer in the upper right reminds me of a bad game show.

Canadians apparently have no choice but to fly this airline, or so I’m told. No wonder they all live in just a few populations centers.

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

I’ve published some of the findings from this fourth annual meeting, and more will come. Courtesy of Chad Barr, here are some glimpses of the meeting.

Left to right: Guido Quelle, Susanne Quelle, Suzanne Bates, Drew Yarro, Maria Weiss, Alan Weiss, Chad Barr, Stuart Cross, Phil Symchych, Kerri Symchych, Wendy Nour, David Nour

Getting my hair cut while eating pasts at Il Taverno di Poppagallo.

Typical crowd at the parking lot. That Bentley in the foreground is the same color as mine, but has a smaller engine.

Chad and I at the poolside reception.

Chad, Stuart, Phil, Kerri, Guido, Susanne.

Don Alfonso Restaurant is in the village of Sant’Agata sui due Golfi (between two gulfs, Salerno and Napoli). It was recommended to me by my colleague and mentor member, Angie Katselianos, in Milan. She called it, “one of the three great restaurants in Italy.”

Although it was more than an hour’s drive on winding roads from Amalfi, we hired a car and driver and took the trip. As a result, we dined in what is now one of my ten favorite restaurants in the world, an equal of Per Se, French Laundry, Gary Danko, True, and their ilk.

Don Alfonso’s son, Mario Iaccarino, personally greeted us and chatted during the evening. It is the only restaurant we dined in during our trip (to four world-class properties) in Italy where most men wore jackets. The atmosphere is convivial and very elegant. We were seated at 8 and departed at 10:30. This is not a place that hurries you.

I can’t do justice to the incredible food that was served, except to say that the ingredients are fresh, recipes original, and presentation exquisite. The wine list would require a full night to appreciate. After my selection, the sommelier said, “Ah, you don’t need me,” which was a very gracious lie.

After dinner, we received a tour of the kitchen and were introduced to another son, Ernesto, who rules the kitchen, which was as spotless as an operating theater. There must have been a dozen chefs hustling, smiling, producing amazing dishes.

We were then escorted to the wine cellar, carved out within volcanic rock, as an ancient Etruscan escape route more than 2,000 years old. As I descended on roughly-hewn rock steps, with walls dripping moisture, surrounded by “chapels” of incredible wines, I considered simply staying. How long would it take to consume 25,000 bottles?

Finally, after five minutes or so (it was much faster going down than returning), I arrived at a spiral staircase which took me to the lowest point, 40 meters underground. There, provolone hung from rafters until it aged properly. Now that I had cheese and wine, if I could find a little bread, I was definitely not surfacing.

Mario gave us some gifts to take home, and the drive back was spent talking about a singular adventure. If you ever have the chance, visit Don Alfonso (http://www.donalfonso.com/en/index.htm).

Tell Mario I sent you.

In the kitchen

With Ernesto.

Are some missing?

The light at the top of the tunnel.

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

My lap top stopped working in Capri, so I soldiered on with my iPad and iPhone, but didn’t post here as frequently as I might have. The lap top is now fine (fried power cord) and I’m on the desk top. Here are some photos (our of hundreds) and some more reflections.

My wife and I have been all over the world. We’ve piloted the Goodyear Blimp, had such a large presidential suite in Bangkok that we couldn’t find each other (and agreed to meet at the grand piano), crossed the Atlantic on the largest suite on the seas on the Queen Mary II, climbed Mexican pyramids, and so on. I tell you that, because this trip to Italy, probably our tenth, was one of our very best, ever.

We stayed in four world-class properties (Baglioni in Milan, Aminta Resort in Stresa, Santa Caterina in Amalfi, Quisisana in Capri) and dined in both Michelin restaurants and local tavernas. We saw The Last Supper and visited La Scala, roamed around Pompei and sailed back and forth to Capri. Amalfi is like Shangri-La, hard to believe it exists.

I’ll focus on the final days of the trip in Capri. The Quisisana is a super-luxury property in Capri itself (as opposed to Anacapri) with more luxury stores in the streets per square foot than you can count, but mixed in with an assortment of cafés, gardens, winding paths, and so on. The walking is a test with steep hills, but the sheer beauty and charm of the place are staggering. You can have a cup of espresso, or buy an outfit for $35,000. (I found throughout Italy that once you took a seat anywhere, you were spending at least $40 and usually much more!)

Air France did a marvelous job and on returning last night from Paris, we walked only 60 seconds to immigration (like all foreign carriers, the flight attendants allow first class and business class to exit before the rest of the plane), found our luggage already on the carousel, breezed through customs and found our driver outside—eight minutes after leaving the plane! My kudos to Boston, which is providing a nice welcome to the US. (I’m a Global Entry member but we’ve yet to sign up my wife, who doesn’t take kindly to my using a faster line!).

We’re returning next year. Here’s why:

At the amphitheater in Pompei, right after my speech to test the acoustics (pro bono).

A cast from one of the victims in Pompei. Lava never reached the city, but ash covered it.

The entry to our suite in the Quisisana, with more rooms beyond.

Part of our huge balcony in Capri overlooking the Bay of Naples.

Amalfi, from the ferry pier.

We take the ferry to Capri later this morning. Yesterday, we hired a private guide to take us around Pompei. That was staggering.

We walked through a house that was five times the size of the one we now live in. The public baths had steam heat, warm massages, and intricate piping. The ceiling was ribbed so that water trickled down to the walls and didn’t drip on the customers.

We visited a house of ill repute, where the erotic art work remained. “Were those instructions?” I wondered. “That was the menu,” said our guide.

I stood in an amphitheater, on the exact spot the guide indicated, and heard my voice amplified around the arena, an opportunity most professional speakers don’t have. It’s a miracle of engineering. “How did the Romans figure this out?” I asked. The guide whispered to me, as if committing heresy, “It was the Greeks!”

Do you know that no lava ever reached Pompei from Vesuvius? It was ash that buried the city and the inhabitants who did not flee in time.

We dined in Amalfi at Caravella last night. Restaurants don’t book until 8 pm, then expect you to linger for a couple of hours. There are no “turns” and second seatings as a rule. The restaurant, of course, is on the side of a hill, so the cab merely stops in the narrow street, while we get out and pay, holding our breath as traffic around us gathers.

The three-minute cab ride was ten Euros, which is about $12. In any restaurant on this trip, it’s impossible for two people to dine for less than $150, before wine. Cable car tickets in Stresa were $55 and admission to Pompei was $15. Even small cafes will charge $7 or more for coffee.

Carolyn, our guide, told us that there is too much unemployment but that tourism is only slightly down so far this year. That can be remedied. Everyone needs to see Italy at least once. As my wife said, out loud, walking down a crowded street in Milan, “I’m so glad I’m Italian!”

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

A rooster awoke us this morning, we had breakfast overlooking the Gulf of Solerno, and attended services at the Duomo, originally built in the 1200s. We spend the day at the pool and sea after some sightseeing in town.

Dinner last night was stuffed squid followed by very lightly fried fish. We had an outstanding Brunello Montepulciano ’94.

The “Amalfi Coast” has always had an exotic ring to it, and I hoped I wouldn’t be disappointed. In fact, words and even photos cannot do justice to this  part of the world. The houses clutch the walls of the hills like bats, and you expect them to fly off into the night. The streets are impossibly narrow, yet tour buses fly through. The food is magnificent (I’ve never had a bad meal in Italy, and that included eating raw eel recently pulled out of the Po River on one trip.)

There is a charm here—part scenic, part interpersonal—that is captivating. Tomorrow we have a driver/guide to show us Pompei. Then we have to arrange a boat for Tuesday and our trip to Capri.

Some scenes here over the past couple of days.

The Million Dollar Club boat on Lago Maggiore.

One of our meeting rooms. Note the Ferrari outside the window.

A view of the docks from our balcony in Amalfi.

The path from our villa.

The Duomo. Note the steps. Later we found you could walk up the hill and enter from the side!

The town clutching the hillsides.

We were fortunate to spend a beautiful week in Nantucket tucked in just prior to the storm, and take one of the final ferries out. This was our 16th or 17th year in the same spot. As far as I’m concerned, it’s God’s country.

A virtually private beach, seldom more than a half-dozen people.

You'll note my trademark cocktail!

Another sunset at The Galley on the beach.

We’re due to leave Nantucket today on a 5:30 pm ferry. It’s impossible to change ferry reservations here, which are sold out months in advance. You might as well try to get into Per Se in New York on a Saturday night without a reservation.

Right now, the ferries are running on schedule, though they expect to shut down completely on Sunday, into Monday. The President recently left Martha’s Vineyard, closer to the mainland than we are, but he has more clout.

If the ferry gets us to Hyannis as planned, we then have what would typically be a 90-minute drive back to Rhode Island, but I expect it will be many times longer with all the traffic fleeing Cape Cod. In addition, if winds rise above a certain point, the Massachusetts state police will close the only bridges which can take you off the cape. I have no idea what happens then.

The Wauwinet Inn has already extended a late checkout for us and told us we’re welcome to stay at a reduced rate if we’re stranded here. The car is gassed up, and only requires a half-tank for the normal trip home.

It’s a rainy day on Nantucket, in the 80s. We’ll head to breakfast in another hour or so. We’re wising anyone in the path of the storm good luck and safe travels. I hope to be reporting progress either here or on Twitter.

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

There is a bracing breeze here in Nantucket this morning. The flags are flapping in the stiff wind, making cracking sounds above the gulls’ morning screeches. (Everyone flies flags here, the beach houses look as if they’re in a parade, with the stars and stripes, nautical pennants, and even the national flags of visitors waving from huge staffs.)

We slept though a thunderstorm Sunday night that actually uprooted the umbrella on the terrace. The weather during the day has been splendid so far. As timing has worked out, this is a rare, annual visit when I’m not in the middle of a book project. So my morning writing has been otherwise focused.

It’s fascinating to be somewhere once a year that is like slipping into the most comfortable chair you own or your best-fitting outfit. It’s as if nothing has changed, and some Brigadoon-like, mystical characteristic creates the place for the one week we show up. When I walk into the bar each evening I feel like Norm on “Cheers”—although I’m doing a tad better than his famous line, “It’s a dog’s world and I’m wearing a Milkbone suit.”

But it’s absolutely true and comforting to go somewhere “where everybody knows your name.” (If you’re familiar with the show, that tune is going through your mind right now.)

This island clears your mind, washing the cobwebs out of the synapses, allows you to see better mentally. I gain tremendous insights here, and a strong sense of continuity. Last night, smoking my cigar with some fine Madeira and looking at the sky, I realized that I’ve done this for so many years that it’s a part of my being, a return to ancestral grounds of my own making.

I’ve always found Martha’s Vineyard too noisy and too crowded. There aren’t enough great restaurants, and it lacks the same feeling of remoteness for me. The President is over there, and I’m here.

Chacun à son goût.

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

We saw Huey Lewis and The News in Atlantic City on our way to Cape May. He encourages photos and we were in the second row.

When we came home, a mother duck who had raised her duckies in our pond had decided to take up recreational paddling in our pool with the entire family.

Huey Lewis in great voice.

Duck laps.

Here we are again in Cape May, New Jersey, for our 17th consecutive year.

Alaina and Gabrielle enjoying the sun.

In their private pool.

Early morning, the man on the left empties parking meters, the man on the right sweeps sand from the boardwalk.

My buddy in the late afternoon. I've never seen crows on the beach before.

I hosted a program called Ocean’s 11 in Las Vegas just prior to our annual The Odd Couple® workshop with Patricia Fripp (where I’m headed this morning).  The MGM Grand Skylofts is an outstanding experience. Here are out “digs.” You can see an infinity bathtub with its own TV; another TV that plays in the mirror; my “writing nook”; and other amenities in the bilevel, huge suite, like the steam room!

My son Jason’s “second” graduation took place this morning for the School of Fine Arts, where he received his MFA in theater. Then my daughter, son-in-law, granddaughters, Maria and I headed for Disney World, which we made in under two hours in the huge Dodge SUV.

There is strict security at the gates to the resort (Beach Resort) and then we were greeted and escorted by several “cast members” until we arrived at our villa, where we each have a separate “wing” and common living area. There’s are several small patios where I can smoke a cigar, which I intend to do tonight after dinner.

More on several aspects of all this with photos in the coming days. I’m glad we’re here, because it was my excuse to turn down the wedding invitation. Kate was furious, but I know she’ll forgive me.

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

We arose at 3:45 am, the stretch limo came at 4:15, and Danielle, Jan, Alaina, Gabrielle, Maria, and I piled in. The luggage was overwhelming. We arrived at Boston Logan and a redcap quickly checked seven bags. “No problem,” he said, gratefully accepting a twenty, six of you are entitled to 18 bags in first class!”

It was not only the granddaughters’ first airplane ride, but their first escalators, each pulling a junior “wheelie” with their packs. They were great on the plane, in their own seats, the flight attendant was fabulous, and I had to help her retrieve from the trash a Delta recognition card I gave her, which she thought was garbage!

Another great redcap, a woman, helped us pack a huge Dodge SUV at Orlando, and off we went to Gainesville here, to see my son get his master’s from both the University of Florida and it’s graduate theater program. (In the car, my entire family asked when was the last time I drove an American vehicle. I mumbled something, but don’t really remember.)

We’re at our favorite cottages down here, and after dinner at our favorite steak place, Mark’s, we see Jason in a play at the independent Hippodrome Theater tonight.

After a couple of days, we head back to Orlando for Disney World!

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

We’re in out favorite airline club in the world, Virgin Air’s Upper Class Lounge. The limo enters a private roadway, where Virgin employees take your bags, give you boarding passes and then usher you into a private immigration and security area. It took us five minutes from the car until we were in the lounge. Security took 90 seconds. (Maria is off shopping in duty free, and I’m here drinking and eating a cheese sandwich, since we can’t dine properly until she returns!)

We had dinner last night at the Lanesborough, where we stayed for the first time but will stay again very soon. I may hold a meeting there early next year. The  service is incredible and the Garden Cigar Bar is much easier when you’re a guest at the hotel. Dinner at Aspley’s was one of our best ever in London or anywhere else.

We had the Buckingham Suite, which we shall return to. Simply a great property.

So, our two-week sojourn is complete once we cross the Atlantic again. We hope to be home in time to watch American Idol (the recordings, since I’m going to catch up!).

Great vacations occur when you’re overjoyed to be away and overjoyed to return home.

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

A very tiny portion of the Upper Class Club, behind the Champagne!

We were up at 4 this morning, the driver came at 4:30, at 7:10 we were in Calais, and at 8:02 boarded the Eurostar. We arrived in London at 8:10 (an hour time difference), the hotel driver met us and by 8:45 we were in our suite at the Lanesborough. Centurion arranged the hotel, and we’re in a sumptuous, incredible corner suite that was ready for early arrival. The front desk manager escorted us up and I noticed a woman following her who had arrived from a different direction. Once in the suite, we were introduced—she is our butler.

We’re adjacent to Mayfair and Buckingham Palace.

A few words about the Eurostar, the high speed train that connects London through the Chunnel with Paris, Brussels, Calais and Lille. On the return, for the first time, the premium car was a third occupied. The passengers had boarded in Brussels, and we were the only passengers for that coach in Calais. All of the passengers already on board were male, and every one occupied a two- or four-seat area by themselves. Maria and I were shown to a pair of opposing seats, not our reserved seats, and not one person offered to exchange with us. When I mentioned this to the crew, they simply smiled and said there was nothing to be done but we could move to other cars!

This would never happen on the Acela in the US, where the first class crew routinely asks people to move so that couples and families can sit together. Another thing that is incredible: On the Acela, the car crew always helps you with your luggage, and the car is at station level. On the Eurostar, you have to climb three steps into the coach, and the crew merely watched us each time load four bags and unload them. They never lifted a finger to help.

This, unfortunately, is too often the level of service in Europe. The hotels I patronize are rare exceptions. It’s unfortunate the the Eurostar staff is so totally unmotivated.

At the customs and immigration area in Calais (don’t let the European Community fool you—ALL passengers must show ID for immigration officers in France and the UK, have passports stamped, go through security, and submit to searches), the French officials just watched as we and others struggled with very large luggage that had to be placed on a three-foot high conveyer. Then they watched as the luggage crashed if you didn’t remove it at the other end fast enough. Say what you sill about TSA, they’re a lot better than that.

You travel to appreciate the world and, in the process, appreciate what you’ve got!

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

You see below our day in Hanfleur (“deep port”) and it’s wonderful streets and shops, and Rouen with it’s small streets and 1,000 year-old cathedral.

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

The 15th Century wooden church in Hanfleur.

St. Augustine, carved from a single piece of wood in the 16th Century.

The streets of Rouen. Note the clock has only an hour hand, they did not keep track of minutes

The site of the burning of Joan D'Arc

The great Cathedral of Rouen, built over 400 years and completed in the 15th Century.

You can find 60 photos or so on my Facebook page.

You’ll see here the Robert Niland grave, who was the inspiration for the movie, Saving Private Ryan. You’ll see the first house liberated by the allies (British glider troops who seized the Pegasus Bridge). Almost 10,000 Americans  are buried in what is considered American soil overlooking Omaha beach where, as Lincoln said a half-century earlier, the gave their “last full measure of devotion.” It is as sacred a place as you’re told, as you can imagine, as you can experience.

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

On the exterior wall. The first house liberated in France.

Just a portion of the 10,000 graves.

We dined last night at a restaurant that the concierge selected, Le Flambé. We entered a lovely room and the woman at the desk said in struggling English, far better than my horrible French, “We are fully committed, sorry.”

Me: But we have a reservation.

Her: We are fully committed.

Me: But we have a reservation.

Bartender, who has come over: Sorry we are fully committed.

Me: But we have a reservation.

Bartender and hostess: Sorry, we are fully committed.

Me: But we have a reservation. (I’m smiling and polite, but Maria is clearly about to lose it.)

Manager, who has observed the impasse and walked over: “We are fully committed, sorry.”

Me: But we have a reservation.

Manager, finally looking at the open book on the hostess stand: “Of course you do (gesturing to a passing hostess), show Mr. Weiss to booth number one!”

We had a fabulous meal, with more surgical implements for the shellfish platter (photo should be below) than most doctors would need to remove a spleen. The restaurant did fill, and dozens of people were turned away at the door, which we could observe from our

Dining tools for an amazing selection of shellfish.

Local architecture in Deauville.

A typical street a short walk from the sea.

seats.

You have to love the French. (You have very little choice, of course, when you’re in their country.)

At this point, I have counted six Ferraris in the lot, two vintage Porsches, two old sports cars I can’t identify, scores of ordinary Porsches, and a sea of Mercedes. Not one Bentley, and of course no Super Sports. But a big Rolls convertible chugged along through town, with two guys in it who looked like they were made at at the factory.

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

We dined last night at Rules, the oldest privately owned restaurant in London (18th Century) then repaired to the Lanesborough Cigar Garden, where Guiseppe and Pasquale attended to us. An 18-year Laoproaig and a Davidoff robusto (and a diet Coke for the lovely Maria, who adores the olives there), rounded out the evening.

This morning the general manager of the Baglioni saw us off, and we took the Eurostar to Calais (the Eurostar business premium lounge is pretty unpremium). Shades of our last trip, there was only one other person in the entire top grade coach, and we had a leisurely breakfast with my first glass of rosé wine in ten years or more. An hour and a quarter later, our Mercedes and tour guide, Stephanie, met us for the three-hour trip to Deauville, where we’re ensconced in the presidential suite of the Royal Barriere, overlooking the water. We followed two Ferraris into the place. It’s a very old hotel that’s been refurbished.

The general manager here greeted us and sent the traditional chilled Champagne to the suite. We’re off to church, and then dinner, and tomorrow Stephanie meets us at 9 to head for the Normandy beaches.

The Brussels train stops at Calais.

There are about 20 or more coaches.

A huge bridge approaching Deauville.

From out balcony.

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

This is the final morning of the Million Dollar Consulting® College. Last night we visited Scott’s Restaurant for our “graduation dinner.” Probably the best sea food in London. (Though all their food is terrific, and the menu warns you that “shot may be found in the game.”)

The night prior my wife and I dined at Joe Allen’s in the theater district, then used our Around Me app to walk 12 blocks to Clybourne Park, a brilliant new play about race, social standing, and perceptions. It is, as the sign proclaims, “appallingly funny,” two acts of an hour each set 50 years apart which speed by. The theater district here bustles with people on a weekday night to the extent you have to walk in the street to navigate past the cafes and bistros and people standing outdoors eating and drinking.

Tonight we visit Rules, the oldest continually serving British restaurant, I believe, and tomorrow we take the Eurostar through the Chunnel to Calais.

Scott's Outside

At the bar

There may be shot in the game!

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

We’re eating our way through London like a monster in a Japanese horror movie. The Square was a culinary feast, and we dined at Brunella here at the Baglioni, and Koffman in the Berkeley Hotel, where I had the chef’s signature dish of stuffed pig trotter (not for the faint of heart). Tonight we go to Joe Allens before we see the play, Clybourne Park.

The fourth (and last full) day of the Consulting College is tomorrow. Weather is gorgeous.

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

From the gardens outside the hotel.

The Royal Albert Hall

The swans at the lake (of about a hundred).

Statue of North American beside the Prince Albert Memorial.

The top of the memorial and Prince Albert himself.

Our suite at the Baglioni—the left and center balconies.

A wonderful meal in L’entranger here in Kensington Friday evening, French/Asian fusion that works wonderfully.

Cabbed through Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park yesterday to work with the Sensei team at the Park Lane Four Seasons. The taxi maneuvered among a dozen women in full riding habits on handsome horses, and scores of dogs who romp through the park with great abandon, their owners in leisurely pursuit.

After a full day on Framing and Value Based Fees, Omar and Leslie treated us to The Square, a two-star restaurant with a tasting menu that never seemed to end, each course accompanied by wonderful wines. As a result, I slept until 10 this morning, something of a record for me.

I took two cabs yesterday and both drivers needed help finding the destinations, one of which was the Baglioni where I’m staying, and the other of which was the wonderful restaurant. That’s never happened to me in London before.

A leisurely day today, then the Million Dollar Consulting® College begins tomorrow.

Virgin Atlantic provided another terrific “Upperclass” flight, and the express pass they provide gets Maria and me through immigration faster than people with UK passports. (Quite opposite of how the U.S. treats people arriving, but I’ll take it!) We couldn’t find our driver, so the hotel put us in contact and we found ourselves speaking by cell about five yards away from each other. I thought I had heard an echo….

He deposited us in a spanking new Jag sedan and we crawled through rush hour to the Baglioni, where our Fedexed luggage was already in our suite, which itself was ready for an 8 am checkin.

Tomorrow I work for Sensei (my friend and co-author Omar Khan’s firm) then a day off, and then the Million Dollar Consulting® College conducted right here in our suite, the first time I’m doing this in London. Our view is of Kensington Park.

More to come….

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

The Mentor Hall of Fame group took a private guided tour of Ellis Island.

The Statue of Liberty, of course

The Great Hall through which 12 million people were processed

The members and guests on the excursion

On our recent trip to New York we had wonderful meals (Il Tinello on 54^th), stayed at the Peninsula, saw The King’s Speech (superb), and spent time with the family and our super-bright, adorable grandchildren (a lot of me in them, easy to see). A typical long New York weekend.

We also stopped in at the Café Carlyle, where we’ve seen great talent, to catch the penultimate show by Paulo Szot, the wonderful singer who played the planter in the hugely successful revival of South Pacific. He won a Tony for the role.

We usually sit at the stage, a few feet from the performer, but Mr. Szot is a tall man with a big baritone, so we chose to sit in a corner banquet. (The maître d’ is always accommodating, and quite gracious in responding to good cheer.)

After dinner, at  show time, the lights dim and Mr. Szot enters from the rear of the cozy room (90 people virtually on top of each other, the waiters do a ballet to get food and drink to the tables) singing as he proceeds, “Some Enchanted Evening,” which mesmerized the place. He is a large, impressive presence, with a great voice and wondrous range.

Launching into his second selection, my wife leaned over and said, “I’m in love,” clearly not indicating I was involved. I leaned back and said, “I just discovered I’m gay.” (Please don’t write letters, try to lighten up.) We were both charmed.

As the show draws to a close he wisely saves “This Nearly Was Mine” for the last piece (before his single encore with “If Ever I Should Leave You). One of the most magnificent songs in the Great American Songbook (Rodgers and Hammerstein), it brought the musical to a lengthy standstill during an ovation with Mr. Szot alone on stage. He sang it equally magnificently in this small room, and it was one of the greatest live performances I’ve ever experienced in my life.

This is what New York is about. (People in Rhode Island say, “We’re going to the city, meaning Providence. I have to teach them that The City means New York.) The room was packed with sophisticated people and tough critics, and we were blown away by an awesome talent.

That’s not a bad way to spend four days, requiring only two, three-hour train trips. Batteries recharged. Who cares about snow! Life is grand!

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

Travel is often burdensome these days, but the beauty of it can still shine through, especially when you’re fortunate enough to be able to indulge yourself.

Last night, Guido and Susanne Quelle and I had an unexpected farewell dinner when Guido found me after a massage and told me he had decided to stay another night. So we went to a small, exquisite restaurant in western Berlin, where I had reindeer and pig beautifully presented. It was a great treat with great people.

This morning I ambled out of my quarters, checked out in a minute, and found a very concerned concierge who ran up saying, “Dr. Weiss, it is only 8 and your car is not scheduled until 8:30!” I told him that was fineand went to read the morning paper by the fireplace. Of course, he nevertheless summoned my car and ten minutes later I was on my way.

My driver, Eric, is 25, born in St. Petersburg, and speaks Russian, German, English, and French. His family is Jewish and he’s studying Hebrew since that was prohibited in Russia. We talked about urban areas, governments, and politics.

I think the world of Lufthansa (I’m settled into their first class lounge at the moment in Munich, where after a meal I’m going to have a cigar in their cigar lounge, all courtesy of the airline). However, at Tegel Airport, where Eric deposited me in Berlin, I ran into their bureaucracy.

My flight was at 11:05 to munich. It was now 8:50. The ticket desk woman just shrugged without smiling. “You have a wait,” she said. She never offered an earlier flight, since that would have entailed work. When I asked where security was, she merely pointed. Why she is in a job dealing with the public, I do not know. But more was coming.

Transiting security, where I was yelled at for putting my liquids and coat in the same bin, I walked to a Munich flight leaving at 9:15. It was now 8:55. No one was around but the ticket agent, and I was to learn that the business class (there is no first domestically) was only a quarter occupied. The gate agent was an attractive blonde.

“Can I get on this earlier fight?” I asked.

“It is late for that,” she commanded.

I simply froze a smile, since I really wanted to strangle her, and said, “Yes, it is.” She wasn’t so attractive any more.

“I will have to call my supervisor!”

“Your supervisor?”

“Yes.” She then dialed with a peculiar arch to her hand, which I realized was necessitated by her very long nails, which would have otherwise punched three keys at once.

After some brief conversation on the phone, she frowned. I at first thought I had been denied, but quickly learned that she had.

She stuck out her hand. Realizing she probably didn’t want to hold hands with me, I handed her my boarding pass, being very careful not to go near her talons. She punched the computer keyboard as if furious with it, and stared at the monitor as if it had offended her.

Finally, she handed me my new boarding pass.

“Thank you,” I still smiled.

“You are welcome,” she seemed to threaten.

Once in Munich I stood in an insane 30-moinute immigration line only to find at the club that there is a separate (bored) immigration agent assigned here, and the Lufthansa man I talked to on arrival directed me to the long line even though he knew I was a first class passenger and could avoid it. He apparently felt no need to help in any proactive manner at all.

The club crew and all the cabin crews have been great, which leads me to believe they are hired by entirely different people.

It’s been a wonderful trip, I was overjoyed with both of the workshops I presented, and fortunately missed all that snow in the northeast. Looking forward to my trip home. But, first, my cigar.

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

Completed the Change Management Workshop today. Very nice dinner last night hosted by Guido Quelle at Vox in the Hyatt. Tonight I take the entire group to Aigner Gendarmenmarkt. Happy to be missing the snow back home, hope it clears by my Friday flight.

In the photos you see the Ritz-Carlton’s grand staircase, the pianist who plays daily, and the Beefeater who “officially” opens the bar at 6 each evening. You see him with Holger Kampshoff, Angie Katselianos, Susanne Quelle, me, and Guido Quelle. Obviously, you can tell we had all opened the bar before him!

I’m in Berlin for the first time in 48 years, having first visited as an exchange student to Finland during the height of the Cold War. As opposed to the youth hostels we stayed at in 1963, I’m ensconced in a sprawling suite in the superb Ritz-Carlton, where I’m conducting two workshop over the next two days with people from 5 countries.

The Lufthansa lounge in Boston’s Logan Airport is rather desultory. I found a separate door marked “Senator’s Lounge” and asked the manager if it were for first class passengers. He said it was but advised me not to go in since “It’s very small and the food is the same.” (He didn’t say “as good” as the lounge I was in, since it wasn’t very good!)

However, the flight to Frankfurt was superb. There were 8 first class seats and only 6 passengers, and the food and service were extraordinary. It’s tough to sleep when you’re arriving in Germany the equivalent of 11 pm your own time, of course.

They brought ramps and buses out to the plane, and the purser told me, “Take the first class bus only, it will leave for the terminal first!” A first class bus? I asked if they were serving drinks. “No,” he said seriously, “the trip to the terminal is too brief.”

Sure enough, there’s a bus with an electric “first class” sign. The six of us walk on, and a seventh person, from business class, attempts to board. The driver slammed the doors in his face and an official outside clearly admonished him and sent him to another bus. And our vehicle, with room for 50 or more, left with just six of us while the plane was emptying. In over 3 million air miles, I’ve never experienced that.

Finding my Berlin connection (no paperwork, by the way, just a passport for a 30-second check with an courteous immigration agent), I came upon a man stacking newspapers in racks. I asked if I could buy the Wall Street Journal and Herald Tribune. “No,” he said, they are all free for passengers.”

After a nap and massage, I’m headed out for dinner. Photos will appear shortly. One thing very different from the 60s—the huge iPad sign and Apple store across the street!

© Alan Weiss 2011. All rights reserved.

We were supposed to have a lovely dinner in New York on Wednesday, prior to Thanksgiving with the family, and then catch the play “Freud.” Instead, I wound up at St. Luke’s Roosevelt Hospital.

We left The Palace Hotel by limo and arrived for pre-theater dinner at Marea, one of our favorites. I was happily engaged with my fusilli and octopus when I felt a flash of heat. I have been battling a cold, and have been through five time changes from Bora Bora and a 40 degree temperature decrease.

I told Maria I had better head for the rest room and she offered to walk with me. I told her I was okay, rose, walked two steps, and the next thing I knew two other dinner patrons were working over me, taking my pulse and asking if I knew where I was and when I was born.

The good thing about a great restaurant is that there will always be doctors at dinner, and Mike, the EMT, told me later, “Do you know that one guy was a cardio-thoracic surgeon? You couldn’t do much better than that if you had to pass out somewhere!” (Mike couldn’t figure out though, why the doctor was considering CPR when I was clearly breathing, and I didn’t like him telling me not to move because, “You may have broken your neck and if you get up you could be paralyzed.” He then began to ask the other doctor where he practiced and went to school. I was staring up at the fraternal conversation, wondering if this shouldn’t be more about me.)

Anyway, Mike arrived with a buddy, they checked vital signs and off we went. There was a lot of blood all over the floor, since I went down like a building being demolished. ONLY IN NEW YORK: As we get outside, Maria yells to our limo driver, “Follow that ambulance!” She came with me, lights flashing, limo pursuing.

Unlike any medical television show you care to name, Roosevelt’s ER was calm and completely in control. Dr. Kim took my case, Ellen was my nurse, and a great guy whose name I can’t recall was my “transporter,” taking me for my CAT scan and back. Approximately 85 people asked if I knew were I was and my date of birth, and apparently I aced the tests. The CAT scan was negative and the diagnosis was plummeting blood pressure (something like 77 over 47 whereas I’m always at 120 over 80) due to medicine and alcohol.

The Roosevelt ER is not only well run, it’s courteous, professional, and reassuring. It is typical New York: Asian, Hispanic, Black, White and combinations thereof in every position. And it’s a funny place.

Transporter: The CAT scan folks will get to you in just a few minutes.

ME: You tell that to everyone and it’s going to be a long wait.

Transporter: That’s true, but what I’m telling you is far more politically correct.

These were terrific professionals, with great attitudes. I don’t care what they’re paid, they’re not paid enough. And contrary to stereotypical stories, no one asked me about how I was going to pay or for my insurance until after I had been initially treated.

After three hours I was stitched up (three in my eyebrow, three in my lip, and super glue to close a gash on my nose), was told how l lucky I was, and was sent to discharge. A great guy there, with huge blonde dreadlocks, said, “Let’s get you out of here as quickly as possible,” and calculated swiftly, took my Blue Cross Coast-to-Coast coverage, and charged us a grand total of $100.

On our way out, we saw Mike with another patient coming in. “Hey, Mr. Weiss,” he yelled, “you look much better!”

“New York and March 3,” I said.

Now Mike was concerned. “No, I didn’t ask you where you are….”

“Kidding, Mike!”

“Oh, good one! Enjoy your holidays!”

And we stepped out into the night and our waiting limo.

(Postscript: The family had Thanksgiving dinner as arranged in the private dining room of Marea last night. I asked the manager to add the prior night’s meal to the bill, since we had sort of rushed out. “No,” he said, “it’s on us. You’ve paid enough!”)

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

Some final images from Bora Bora which I found on my camera. Some of us on our departure in the Four Seasons’ private launch: Mary Jane Sobel, Drew Yanno, Suzanne Bates, Andrew Sobel, TLM (The Lovely Maria), and me.

The first photo is where I would write early every morning, on our deck, and the second is the opposite side of the deck with our plunge pool.

We’re in LAX where I’ve showered and feel like a new man, after sleeping for most of the Air Tahiti flight, which arrived an hour early. Immigration was quick and our bags were already offloaded at customs. We gave them to American, went through a very efficient security line, and hit the Admiral’s Club.

Here’s a crazed photo of me taken by Rob Nixon as I steered (piloted? helmed?) the luxury launch back from an island dinner right into the Four Seasons dock. Rob claimed I hit some coral, but he had as much to drink as I did. The next day, heading by boat to the airport, the prior night’s crew called me “captain.”

I’ve decided to be a vice admiral, a title I’ve always loved.

I haven’t written for a while because we’ve had business meetings in the mornings, snorkeling and water sports in the afternoons, and great dinners in the evenings. Imagine taking one of the finest hotels in the world—with appropriate service and amenities—and transporting it to a Pacific island in a breathtaking settings.

Although the Four Seasons is about 80 percent occupied, there are no lines, ever. Breakfast, lunch, beach chairs, pool lounges—everything is always available and without that horrible resort mentality where people are staking out positions at 6 in the morning and then going back to sleep.

This is the final morning of the Million Dollar Club, with another dinner tonight. Tomorrow is relaxation and then an evening plane connection to LAX and back to Marina del Rey for an evening before returning home.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved

I’m sitting on our lanai overlooking the huge lagoon and mountains that frame it. The mountain wears a cloud like a crown. A lone motor yacht, about 100 feet long, creeps into the harbor at very low speed, as though intimidated by the grandeur of the place.

Except for the occasional small motor boat, the only sound is the lapping of the waves. As the water glides by around the stilts which support these bungalows, there is a sense of movement as I type, as though my house is going in the other direction from the flow and I’m looking aft!

A large cloud hovers nearby and the mountain’s crown slips further down its peak. It’s now wearing a boa.

I’ve just written another book chapter at 8 in the morning and it feels as if I could stay here and write novels. And that’s with total peace and tranquility. I can imagine James Michener here, in the turmoil of war and the paradox of tropic beauty, creating Tales of the South Pacific.

In the time I have written this, the large cloud has overtaken my aerie. Rain pelts down on the plunge pool and furniture and the thatch of the roof. But I’m ensconced under a small hut, completely dry, with the smell of fresh rain and the promise of a new day.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

I think these speak for themselves. The room shots are all of our suite from various perspectives.

Our “way station” after Sonoma is the gorgeous Ritz-Carlton in Marina del Ray, where I originally took refuge on 9/11 when I realized I couldn’t get back home. The staff and property are incredible, and I stayed for a couple of days before deciding to drive cross-country with a client. Now it’s my hotel of choice in LA.

You can have all your meals on the club floor here where the food is wonderful, overlooking the marina. We spent part of the day at the pool, where a sea gull alit to take advantage of the heated water, and then on to LAX for the eight-hour Air France flight to Papeete. We change there to a small Air Tahiti plane for Bora Bora.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

Yesterday afternoon I delivered a closing keynote in Sonoma to the conference of Caldwell Partners on “Accelerating Growth.” The CEO introduced me. A room full of tough, bright, highly assertive partners in the search business. My kind of people. We had a great time.

Maria and I celebrated with a limo and dinner at The French Laundry, the famed sister restaurant to Per Se run by Thomas Keller. (My co-author of The Global Consultant, Omar Khan, was able to land us this reservation inside of four weeks, which even American Express Black Card couldn’t do. Sometimes the reservations wait is several months.)

The restaurant has only about 15 tables, which I estimated were each to be filled for two seatings. The service is impeccable, and the food ridiculously well prepared and presented. I opted for wine pairings, since it’s impossible for me to settle on a single wine from such a magnificent list.

The sommelier asks for your wine preferences, then uses them to match wines by both the dish and the diner’s personal tastes. Thus, instead of Montrechet, which I love, I was presented with a wonderful Mersault. I also has a white Rioja, which I didn’t know even existed, until the sommelier educated me that about 10 percent of Riojas are white.

There were nine courses, plus several intermezzos and amuse bouche tossed in for good measure. Just to give you an example: The foie gras paté was served with a choice of three kinds of salt, one of which was 40 million-year-old Jurassic salt. (I AM NOT making this up!)

After a three-hour dinner (I estimated that those arriving for the second seating wouldn’t be leaving until 1 am), we were graciously offered a tour of the immaculate kitchen, and met the chef and his assistants. We saw the same closed-circuit TV of the Per Se Kitchen in New York, which, when we had that tour, showed us the French Laundry kitchen, so that Mr. Keller can keep his eye on both, wherever he may be. The kitchen reminded me of one of those British war rooms in old movies—everyone in motion, low key communication but not conversation, all knowing their jobs, somehow managing not to bump into each other in a confined space. And the chef graciously posed for a photo!

The car returned us, we walked by the Fairmont’s open “fire pit” near the entrance, and this morning we’re in the Admiral’s Club waiting for our flight to LA and the Marina del Rey Ritz-Carlton. The following day we’ll start our journey to Bora Bora.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

The car came at 5 in the morning and, incredibly, there was substantial commuter traffic heading to Boston! Who wants that life?!

Our nonstop out of Logan to San Francisco was terrific, but one of the very last that American is flying, since they are abandoning the route this month. Another car picked us up for the hour or so drive to the Fairmont Sonoma Resort and Spa, where I’m keynoting for Caldwell Partners. We dined last night in Santé, a one-star restaurant on the property.

I was determined to try a Sonoma wine since the vines are literally growing through the windows around here, and the sommelier recommended Pinot Noir. I went with a Hanzell, which I’ll never do again. The meal, thankfully, was wonderful: tuna tartare and pan seared sturgeon, followed by mission figs and fruit.

We’re in an historic building, which has its pros and cons, and we’re also in California, which has it’s quirks and charms. I love the fact that they boldly announce that hybrid cars cost less to park! When I asked the valet why that was, he said, “Beats me, it’s just Fairmont policy.”

The service here is superb, except at the front desk, where some seem to think they’re all maitre d’s at a fully committed restaurant. I can do without massive attitude, but this is what happens when there is no top-end competition in town.

Tonight, after my speech, a car will take us to the French Laundry, Thomas Keller’s sister restaurant to New York’s Per Se. The concierge, Eric, who’s terrific, volunteered to take my place “should I not be able to make it”! My buddy Omar used his influence to get us in with “only” a month’s notice!

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

I’ve always believed in “local vacations,” where we can turn a weekend (or whenever) into a singular experience.

Yesterday, we packed an overnight bag and headed for the Castle Hill Inn in Newport (where quite a few of you have joined me for the Million Dollar Consulting® College). Instead of staying in the Turret Suite, we took a beach cottage, about 25 yards from the surf.

We attended church in town at St. Mary’s, a gorgeous Gothic structure where John and Jackie Kennedy were married. Then we headed back to the inn for a Far Niente wine tasting over canapes and a four-course dinner. It was an intimate experience for seven couples, plus the wine company and inn people. The CEO of Far Niente talked about the winery between courses. (This was a good reason to stay over, we had a LOT of wine, but the car found its way down the hill by memory.)

This morning, I awoke at 6:30, grabbed a robe, and headed for the beach. The sand was insanely cold on bare feet. The surf was warmer. There were no lights on, the vaguest outline of the full moon, and gulls on their way to work.

All of this 25 minutes from our home. We’ll have breakfast on the porch watching the ocean, then back in time for football and the Times. I’ll have a huge amount of energy for Monday. Watch out.

Our granddaughters had their second birthday party yesterday in a clever place with a huge water activity center, giant slide, and cave. It’s hard to believe that two years ago we were racing home from Capri to face grandchildren born three months prematurely. We are eternally thankful that we have been granted these miracles, who are healthy and ever-active.

Once we got the girls home, Maria and I took off for Saturday Vigil Mass, and I chose the Church of the Transfiguration in Chinatown, on Mott Street. It’s a gorgeous place, with a predominantly Chinese congregation and an Indian priest the evening we visited.

We hang out in Tribeca quite a bit when we visit the kids, and one of our favorite places is the corner suite in the Greenwich Hotel. The place is great—you can have breakfast in a courtyard—and the entire area is thick with trendy, busy restaurants of every persuasion.

I had told the concierge that I wanted to try something that was great even for this area, and we were sent to the Greenwich Grill, a few blocks away. We were greeted cordially, escorted to one of the prime, corner tables, and then the restaurant bought us cocktails because the hotel had sent us!

We opted for the 8-course Chef’s Seasonal Tasting Menu (I cheated, and also ordered some uni—the place has a sushi restaurant downstairs) and the entire meal was outrageously good. The fare is billed as “Italian/Asian fusion” and somehow it works wonderfully (more than half the packed house was Asian). On some nights they have both Japanese uni and California uni!

If you love high-end food and trendy places, don’t miss this excellent restaurant. The ambiance, service, and food are standouts, even in New York and even in Tribeca.

New York,  New York, it’s a wonderful town….

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

Probably the only Bentley (it has four-wheel drive, of course) to qualify for off-road, over-sand driving on the restricted beaches of Nantucket.

We’re on the ferry, heading back. It’s great to look forward to a vacation and to also look forward to going home.

The designer has been busy with Maria’s renovations, and my library is now missing only one table. After Christmas, we’ll move up to the second level, and do the living and dining rooms, followed next year by the third level and the master bedroom.

The ferry should get in about 6, and by the time we offload and hit the road, I’d estimate an 8 pm arrival home, at which time Danielle and the granddaughters should be in residence!

We found an item in the Times this morning about a Beagle who can sniff out bedbugs, so we’re thinking of hiring Buddy out to Homeland Security, or whatever.

Photos above taken leaving Nantucket.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

A pleasant dinner last night at Oran Mor, with an ’05 Turley Zinfandel at a surprisingly good price. I had octopus followed by duck! Then, back at the ranch, an 1870 Madeira with a cigar on the terrace.

We’ll lounge on the lawn today, have lunch, then head back for the ferry and the mainland. We only spend a long week here every August, but it’s somehow like we’ve never left. It’s interesting to be able to visit the same places each year while also trying a variety of new destinations.

The photos below are a typical scene as I walked from Cold Noses, where I bought the dogs some treats, over to the restaurant where I had already parked and was meeting Maria.

The dockside scene, near the ferry.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

I just finished Chapter 7 in The Consulting Bible, it’s 8 am, and there’s a strong breeze coming at me across the bay. The U.S. and marine flags, on the pole of the private property adjoining the inn, look like billboards, stiff in the breeze.

There isn’t a cloud in sight, the sky is baby blue with a crisp horizon against the cerulean sea. All I hear is the creaking of the bobbing boats down by the water, and the wind riffling through the vegetation—not a motor, not a voice.

On the way to dinner last night at Sfoglia, which was wonderful, rich Italian with, of course, a Bulgarian waiter out of central casting who’s going to Barcelona after the season, we impulsively ducked down a side road out near the inn. The two-lane asphalt turned into two-lane dirt, and then a single lane where the vegetation brushed the car, which was simply following two tire tracks. (This had to be the only Bentley ever to take the route.)

We were rewarded at the cul-de-sac with a beach that jutted like Jay Leno’s chin into the bay, where a single brown labrador romped in the water with a couple lounging in chairs watching him. On the other side, five fisherman were trying their luck from the beach. In 15 years we had never found this spot. (I remember once taking our SL down a dirt track in Martha’s Vineyard, to find 40 parking spots—39 SUVs and us—at the finest beach on that island.)

No seals yesterday, but small shore birds, larger than sandpipers but smaller than gulls, dove vertically 20 yards off shore, for all the world like Stukas, apparently after large schools of fish. They hit the water so hard I was sured they’d be stunned, but they only thing they were was fed.

Off to breakfast and the beach. This is our last full day here. It’s wonderful to visit places where your dreams are faithfully reproduced.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

Great evening at The Club Car in town, eel followed by sweetbreads, with a nice Puligny Montrechet. When I asked the host for a different table, not so close to the lively bar, he kindly provided a four-top at the other side of our restaurant. And who appears there as our waiter, but our former car service driver from years ago, who has since been to Bangkok and now works the summers on Nantucket! If we had taken the first table we probably wouldn’t have even seen him in the busy restaurant.

Some photos should be appearing here later today. The weather has turned much more favorable and this looks like a second, consecutive beach day. The beach was “crowded” yesterday, with about 8 people! We saw seals zooming like submarines past us toward the point. Seagulls were providing air cover, probably looking for fish remains the seals didn’t devour.

I turned the car’s lights off for a few seconds as we stopped on the serpentine stretch leading out here after dinner. I haven’t been enveloped in such total darkness (we couldn’t see the front of the car) since I was lost in the Norwegian woods when I was 17. (Yes, that’s a true story.)

I’m going to be heading for rehab once we return, since I’ve become addicted to turkey hash at breakfast.

It’s 8 am, I’m waiting for Maria to awake, writing from the terrace, morning dew requiring that I clean the computer screen. Meanwhile, I’ve finished another chapter in The Consulting Bible, posted my morning advice on Twitter, answered all my email (including a potential $20,000 referral for a keynote), and checked the latest postings on AlansForums.com. And her I am, finishing this.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

We dined at The Galley last night, usually a sunset over the beach, but far too overcast. Outstanding Wahoo followed by lobster. Great “people watching” place. Traffic seems far lighter than prior years, the drive back to the inn now almost vacant of cars.

Much nicer morning as I write this from the terrace at 8:30, Wall Street Journal and New York Times already delivered! (When there’s no fog, the planes get here earlier.) I’d like to try for the beach today.

Last night I smoked the largest cigar I’ve ever tried, with the champagne the inn so kindly provided for our August anniversary. It was a Tatuaje accompanied by a Vueve Clicquot. Call me Gatsby. Is that a green light……?

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

We’ve been dining at the Pearl in Nantucket since it opened 11 years ago, Asian fusion in an upscale atmosphere. (It’s much easer to park these days on the cobblestones, because the crowds are smaller and the Ferraris had only 4 inches of clearance!) I had a wonderful, rare big-eye tuna with Japanese cold noodles. The drive back on winding roads with the top down, pretty much deserted, is always a treat, but the canopy of stars didn’t develop because of the overcast hovering over the island.

I’m sitting out on our terrace this morning, looking at the bay, just finished the next segment of my newest book, The Consulting Bible,due out early next year from Wiley. McGraw-Hill tells me that Million Dollar Speakingshould be out in September since I beat the submission deadline by so much.

Went all the way down to the edge of the dock this morning, strong winds, white caps, boats bobbing, had to hold my hat in my hand. Invigorating. Life is grand.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

After a martini with some stuffed blue cheese olives on the side in the bar, we ambled into Toppers and our regular table. (Toppers is named after the dog who held sway here long ago.)

Some shrimp and lobster cakes followed by an outstanding soft shell crab, tempura style, but with a very delicate hand, all of this accompanied by a ’97 Chateau L’Evangile Pomerol. (I’ve never been a fan of “matching” wines to food. I like outstanding food and outstanding wine, despite color or origins.)

The inn is about 80 percent occupied, but the parking lot is nearly empty. Most people are picked up or use cabs, which is a hike from town.

At breakfast this morning, with nine tables occupied out on the veranda, six of them contained couples or families reading and ignoring each other. Only three of the tables were engaged in conversation! We’re married for 42 years and still talk to each other!

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

We’re back, left at 6 am this morning, beat the GPS estimate to Hyannis by 35 minutes, and sailed on the ferry Eagle to Nantucket. Drove off and over to the Wauwinet. We immediately Gatsbied by having Kobe beef and short rib burgers with truffle fries on the lawn, with a Wauwinitini (a touch and slice of peach). James, the head porter is back from Jamaica after a two-year absence. Immigration gave him trouble after 18 years of continuous seasonal work here, and it took this long to straighten it out. My tax dollars at work. Most of the faces are the same, and I head for Mitch behind the bar in a few hours for my customary martini prior to dinner tonight at Toppers. (For the wine enthusiasts: Last night we ate at Providence Prime, one of my favorite steak places in New England, and we had a Berenger Private Reserved 2005 Cabernet, which was rather stunning. If you’re ever in Providence, go there and mention my name.)

A long line of impressive sail and power craft passed the ferry on the way into the harbor. Photos to follow.

Weather today is great, but the week is supposed to be problematic. My reports will continue.

Our car is lost in a sea of SUVs awaiting the ferry. The various craft passing us as we enter the harbor in Nantucket.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

Made it home all the way from Cape May in about 5:40. Major accidents closed the southbound Merritt Parkway in Connecticut (we were going north) but then slowed everything else. After two detours with our GPS, we finally got by the pasta al dente that passes for highway in New Haven. (Connecticut is, I believe, the wealthiest state per capita, yet it has the absolute worst roads and worst cell phone coverage I know of.)

We had seven consecutive days of glorious weather, perhaps our best ever. We’ve decided to make changes next year: We’ll either rent a different condo location, or rent a house on the beach. We’re also going to change some restaurants. Friday night at the Ebbit Room was adequate but not outstanding. We think our former favorites are getting a bit tired, so it’s time to change things around.

The Jersey shore resorts are clearly suffering. You can see a big crowd on the Wildwood boardwalk in a photo I’ve posted below, but the rides were not well populated, the fast food joints were mostly empty, and virtually no one was playing the games. There are “vacancy” signs everywhere in the middle of the summer. We’re in the midst of a slow-but-sure recovery, but it’s not accelerating still more because consumer spending (even at luxury levels) has become very conservative, I think because people don’t know whom to trust any more. But the market had a ferociously good week last week. Now is the time to get bargains.

In another three weeks, we’re off to Nantucket, aka: God’s Country.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

We went to The Pier Restaurant last night and had a wonderful meal. My daughter prefers white wine, so we had a Far Niente ’05 Chardonnay. Very nice and kept on ice, something rare these days. When we left, at about 7:30, the restaurant was only 20% filled, which was once unthinkable. Nor was the beach all that crowded today (which is fine with me) and we had our sixth consecutive day of outstanding weather, albeit with a wind that prevented my reading the papers at the beach. Tonight we go to The Blue Pig and our daughter and grandchildren will then head back to New York. Both girls ran into the ocean this year a little ways, so we’re quite pleased with their carrying on five generations of family tradition at the Jersey Shore.

I won the second highest award at the arcade playing “Deal or No Deal,” 200 tickets!

I have moved up from whack-a-mole to whack-a-gator, having to push an 8-year-old amateur out of the way.

Here’s what I’ve learned on this summer vacation:

• Sea gulls are attracted by packaging. They can tell food by the container or bag, and pursue the opportunity. Tell me again why consultants can’t find buyers?
• If you can fit more than six letters on the rear of your pants and I can read them at 20 yards, you shouldn’t be wearing messages on your rear end.
• I can recognize already the 14-year-old girls who will become prom queens, fall in with the wrong crowd, marry big men on campus, and ruin their lives.
• It’s ostensibly for the kids, but the truth is that adults just love to dig huge holes on the beach.
• Dolphins play great games, especially when they leap in the wakes of passing boats.
• The most depressing people I see are the guys with metal detectors out on the beach at 6 am.
• A beach house from which you have to drive a mile and park to get to the beach is not a “beach house.”
• I spend 7-8 hours on the beach each day, of which 15 minutes are on the phone and 20 minutes on email. I will make over $60,000 this week doing that. Why is it that people are so inflexible that they can’t return a phone call or an email if they’re on vacation?!

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

Big dolphin day, some about 20 yards from the beach, others gamboling behind a cigarette boat, leaping like, well, dolphins.

Tonight we head for the Wildwood boardwalk, see how many rides the girls will attempt, how many games of chance I will lose at. It’s not the same since they did away with the Whack-A-Mole machine.

Love getting up early, going for coffee, writing, being among the very first on the beach.

Ironically, Apple is now trying to deliver my new iPhone, and they’re telling me that FedEx will only give it two more tries! I told my house sitters to be on the lookout for the FedEx truck and to send Koufax after it. They might just waive the signature requirement!

Cape May early in the morning. Alaina and Gabrielle camped out. Maria’s personal sea gull:

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

Freda’s Cafe last night, BYOB again, so I chose a very nice Villa de Caprezanno to accompany the stuffed peppers and giant prawn (which was only slightly smaller than the table).

My observation is that Cape May is not as crowded as last year, with “vacancy” signs at virtually every B&B and hotel, and parking spaces at the beach (usually as rare as an objective news anchor) much easier to secure. The beach crowds during the week are sparser than I recall, as well. Tonight we should drive over to Wildwood, with its two miles of boardwalk, for the grandmunchkins, and we’ll see what the crowds are like there.

Daughter Danielle assembled a beach shelter yesterday that would have shamed the Brooklyn Bridge designers. The kids did not go in it once, of course.

The “dolphin watching” boats seldom stop in front of our location on the beach and you never see dolphins around them. But when they’re gone, the dolphins come and frolic and fees, for the first time while I was in the water about 50 yards away. Could it be the boat motors scare the dolphins, or the dolphins have learned to avoid the boats and their intrusive gawkers? The law of unintended consequences?

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

Dinner at The Black Duck, BYOB, and since I’ve been successful in two recent wine auctions, I can bring wine everywhere. This was an ’05 La Fleur de Laussac Bordeaux.

Lemonade from lemons department: My lap top curser froze last night, I think the track pad is broken. But my daughter arrived with the grandchildren and her lap top. So I used Dropbox on my iPad to find where I was and copy what’s ahead, then write on her lap top (as I am right now) and place the chapter in our shared Dropbox folder. Everything will be up to date on my desk top when I return. Otherwise, since it’s tough to type at length on an iPad, I would have missed five days of morning writing! Life goes on.

More to come.

Nice dinner last night at Martini Beach. Crowds not as thick as last year, restaurant with open tables at 7 on a Saturday. Finished with an Opus X and chocolate covered jellies and nuts on the balcony. Maria’s seagull made another pass today at her lunch, but the anti-seagull fire drove him off. Started my morning ritual of getting coffee at 7 at the diner, then wandering over to watch the bikers, joggers, and walkers on the boardwalk (which is really asphalt), then writing, until the beach guys open with the chairs and umbrellas at 8:30, so that I can get settled right on the water. Maria usually get there in the next hour or so.

The breakers have been fabulous, but very rough, with a strong undertow, even though I’m prepared for it. Which got me to thinking, as I was trying to estimate the next wave’s cycle so as not to get clobbered (which has happened three times thus far).

A lot of consultants are stuck in the undertow. They are willing to venture out, dare the oncoming waves, enjoy the rush. But they keep getting pulled farther out because the don’t apply discretion or judgment, or even common sense. When they finally extricate themselves, they are farther down the beach, temporarily lost, and too intimidated to go out and try the waves again.

The “undertow” in this profession comprises buzzwords, fads, training people, meeting planners, human resources, academics’ books, invalid testing instruments, poor coaches, victimization mentalities, professional groups that set the wrong standards, and demanding clients. Some consultants get caught in all that undertow and find themselves either needing rescue or exhausted when they finally drag themselves back to the beach.

You can’t just dip your toe in the water. You should make waves. Just don’t let the waves make you.

Watch out for the undertow.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

Bad luck at the Borgata tables last night, though I did learn to play a new kind of poker. You have two chances to take back your money. I needed two more.

Drove down to the Sandpiper on the Cape May beach this morning, arrived at 9, room wasn’t ready of course, so we changed and spent the day on the beach anyway. One of the managers trades his parking spot with me so that I’m between the building and a utility gizmo, safe from all but seagulls. I carry stuff in the trunk to deal with that. On the beach, a gull swooped down, grabbed two fries from Maria’s dish, dropped one and flew off. As she was recovering from the most daring attack in Jersey since Trenton, the gull came back in, under the umbrella, for all the world like a P38 on a strafing run, and grabbed the fry he had dropped the first time! Another gull zoomed down in pursuit and a WW II dogfight ensued, but “our” gull swallowed the loot during a hard right bank.

Stereotypical photos of advertising plane and sand turtle should be appearing here, with a rare glimpse of the hitherto unknown waterproof pager, which this guy wore on his bathing suit! If you’re that important, and you may be urgently needed at any time, how do they let you go to the beach in the first place? (Paging Dr. Greely, where are those nuclear attack codes? Is it 34ytu or 33ytu to launch?)

Another guy says to me, “Can you read that iPod here in the sun?” (“No, I’m just staring at a blank screen trying to find inner harmony with technology.”)

Off to the mission church and then dinner at Martini Beach, one of our favorites.

I’m writing from the Borgata in Atlantic City. We made the run down here from East Greenwich in a tad under five hours. We’ll spend the night and then head for Cape May in the morning. It’s always interesting to us to be driving through our old stomping grounds in Jersey.

I pulled up to valet parking at the hotel and there must have been 75 cars outside waiting to be parked. The valet captain sauntered over, we looked at each other, looked at the car, and he said, “Don’t worry, I’ll put it in the VIP area. It will be right next to the cashier when you check out tomorrow.” Tip gratefully tendered, we found a cozy nook inside to read in and snack on truffled fries until the suite was ready. Tonight we’ll dine at Fornelletto for southern Italian, then try some gambling.

My plan is to write the second chapter of The Consulting Bible on this trip for Wiley. McGraw-Hill has told me that Million Dollar Speaking and Million Dollar Coaching may both be released in January.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

Our view from The Mooring in Newport and my 7-pound lobster, which I finished completely. A belated Father’s Day dinner!

Marie Osmond has wanted to meet me for years, so I agreed to go backstage and chat in Las Vegas. Obviously, she was not content with chatting….

I’m writing this from the wrap-around balcony of our carriage house in Gainesville, Florida. (Photos should be up later today. And I’m writing this because Chad Barr, my technology genius, advised me long ago to get a Verizon gizmo for Internet access anywhere. I call these Chadovations.)

My son is directing a play here, where he is two-thirds of the way through his masters of fine arts. One of his projects in his final year is to teach Shakespeare and produce a Shakespeare play in a federal penitentiary. Last night, over dinner, his stage manager called to let him hear part of the five-minute standing ovation over his cell phone. We attend this evening. (The finest steak place in Gainesville has a wonderful wine list and one of the greatest Delmonico steaks I’ve ever eaten.)

The University of Florida has over 50,000 students here. There is a nice little downtown area with a lot of well-behaved college kids, but with some women who make you stop in your tracks, not due to what they’re wearing, but what they’re not wearing.

“Are those hookers?” I asked my son, who teaches quite a few of the classes in the theater department. “No,” he explained, “they are sorority girls who deliberately dress like that in the evening. They’re known as ‘sorostitutes.’ ”

The bed and breakfast we’re in has overtones of Savannah, Sea Pines, and New Orleans. The owner’s father is a landscape architect. Our second story digs are surrounded by tall trees and plants, we have two fireplaces (one in the bathroom), four doors leading out to the huge balcony, and a resident Collie on the property. It’s southern charm you don’t expect to find in north-central Florida.

Perhaps I’ll try some Southern Comfort, which is normally way too sweet for my tastes. We are driving a Cadillac, which I haven’t driven for maybe 20 years, and my wife is acting as copilot, since I can’t figure out half the controls (though it does possess a great “blind spot” indicator light which Bentley ought to adopt immediately).

I hope I can watch the Masters before the performance tonight. Quite some drama arising there!

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

As part of my ongoing commitment to public service, here is some free consulting help, from one of the finest consultants in the world, for those senior managers and executives responsible for daily operations in hotels. I’m someone who readily spends thousands of dollars a night for penthouses and tens of thousands on meetings. I expect to be treated at least decently and the same as someone spending $150 per night, because we’re all your customers.

• Don’t have servers or desk clerks with facial piercings. These can be removed (I’m told) during working hours. It’s unappealing to deal with someone who has something punched through their chin, tongue, or eyebrow, sorry.
• “There you go” and “no problem” do not mean “you’re welcome.”
• Equip your housekeeping department with the information they need to avoid banging on doors when the guest room has already been serviced or a late checkout has been granted.
• Ensure that any diner in your restaurant is greeted and asked if they’d like a drink within two minutes of being seated.
• See to it that your hosts and hostesses do not appear to be dressed as if they’ve just changed a tire on an 18-wheeler.
• Clear the trays out of the halls before the food remnants turn into other life forms.
• Throw out the mini-bars that charge you automatically if you so much as read a label. If you don’t trust me, tell me that when I make my reservation and I can go elsewhere.
• Provide Internet access for free. Stop nickel-and-diming us.
• Do not employ people who can’t speak at least rudimentary English (or whatever the native tongue is in your country). It’s very dangerous in case of emergency, and it’s annoying when you simply need some help.
• Every employee you encounter in the halls should establish eye contact, smile, and say “hello,” “good morning,” or whatever is appropriate.
• If your operators can’t pick up the phone within 7 rings, you’re understaffed or mismanaged.
• Don’t use outsourced concierges. They don’t care as much as your own people and they show it.
• Stop installing television/movie/game combinations that require a Cal Tech degree to turn on and off, let alone find American Idol. (The same goes for the alarm clocks.)
• Tell your housekeeping staff that after a guest checks out the radio/clock alarm should be turned off on the assumption that the next guest does not have to get up at 4 am to catch an early plane to Peoria.
• Your staff should call me “Mr.” or “Doctor” (or, “Your Grace”), but not “Alan,” because I don’t like forced familiarity and we’re not peers.
• If your personal phone and/or email are off limits and you are screened by underlings, you are a failure as a leader and a fool as a manager.
• When I request a group breakfast or break at a certain time, I don’t mean that your staff should leave the kitchen at that time, I meant they should have set up and been leaving my conference room by that time.
• Why is it, in 25 years of delivering keynotes and workshops to the best of the best, NOT ONE person in hotel management has ever requested that they or their staff attend such topics as leadership, innovation, customer service, and so forth? (I find that the staff in charge of the room often stays around discreetly to listen.)
• If I have to escalate a request that, if finally granted, overturns a subordinate’s decision or a “policy,” I’ll bet dollars to donuts that you haven’t granted sufficient discretion to your front-line people, and you’re therefore wasting your time and mine.
• Assuming people change their clothing daily, have a week’s worth of hangers in the closets.
• Knock off the hidden charges. When you charge $2 to call a toll-free number, I don’t like it. But if you charged an extra $2 for drinks or $5 for entrees, I wouldn’t care.
• First and last impressions are critical. Your doormen are fundamental, therefore, to your success, no matter what shift they are on. Make sure they know it and appreciate it, and that you show them you appreciate it.

© Alan Weis 2010. All rights reserved.

My lunch partner, Gabrielle, and the view from our restaurant.

Launch of iPad at Apple Store opposite Central Park, 4 minutes to go!

The crowds just before 9 with major TV crews on hand for iPad launch
at Apple Store across from Central Park in New York.

New iPhone app in Bergdorf Goodman elevator to order designer shoes,
shot with my iPhone!

The Stafford Hotel

St. Paul’s Cathedral, designed by Christopher Wren

St. Paul’s Cathedral, designed by Christopher Wren

St. Paul’s Cathedral, designed by Christopher Wren

St. Paul’s Cathedral, designed by Christopher Wren

http://www.contrarianconsulting.com/virgin-atlantic-air-club-in-london%E2%80%99s-heathrow-airport/

I was at the desk of The Stafford this morning checking out, when a man walked up next to me and told the desk clerk that he was departing and she could just leave the charges on his bill. She asked that he wait a minute to check his totals, while I was checking mine. I looked up to find Matt LeBlanc, of “Friends” and “Joey” fame, looking at me. We said hello, compared experiences on this being both of our first times in the hotel, and I offered to let him sign my bill as well. He declined (I’m sure he would have been in the penthouse if I weren’t), and we shook hands as I wished him safe travels.

At Heathrow, there was a very short first class line, but a Virgin Atlantic woman with a radio phone asked us to follow a man onto an elevator. I looked at my wife and wondered what kind of aura we had given off to get into trouble. But the man took us to a private check-in where we used to go before they suspended it due to security concerns, and we went through complete check-in and security in three minutes. Then, astoundingly, the VAT reimbursement took only five minutes with no line and a very nice agent, and two minutes after that we were ensconced in the club, from which I now record this.

I’ve completed Chapter 8 of Million Dollar Speakingafter a full English breakfast and a vodka and orange juice. Once I sign off here, I’m headed for some sushi. I’ve taken some videos with a new iPhone app, which I hope we can get up here in the next day. As I’ve written before, we leave the hotel early in order to spend more time at the Virgin Atlantic Air Club.

I love London, can’t wait to return. And last night I finally got to the Lanesborough garden cigar room!

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

• A speaker sends out a promotional piece stating “over 1 million audience members over 17 years.” What are we expected to believe with all this stuff? (Do the math.)
• When I respond to nuisance spam from some guy I never heard of, he replies that “we’re connected on linkedin,” and he’s very familiar with my work. Then why is he sending me a blanket, hyped-up offering to “improve my marketing skills”? Some Internet “marketing coach” probably told him this was a great way to market.
• We saw “Priscilla, Queen of the Desert” at The Palace in London, and it is screamingly funny, performed with rollicking bad taste, and I’d rate it as a “must see.”
• I am now thinking that the best restaurant in London my be Scott’s.
• Bentleys, Jags, and Astons are all over the place in Mayfair, but the Ferraris with the Arab plates have largely disappeared.
• British ongoing wry humor:
ME: Would you like me to fill out some forms so that my luggage can be Fedexed home?
CONCIERGE: No, sir, but I imagine Fedex might.
• If Greece is bankrupt, and the Greek government realizes it must conform to EU demands, but protestors on the streets don’t want any kind of austerity measures, then what DO they want?
• Never be too blasé about democracy. Turkey is one of the great democracies in the world, and it’s now reacting to the fear of a military coup, for which there is precedent in the not-so-distant past.
• The level of newscasts on British television is worse than that in the US, where I think it’s pretty dismal.
• Are there better descriptions than “mushy peas” and “potted shrimp” and “bubble and squeak” and “cocklee”?
• You cannot get in and out of a London cab for less than $15.
• Why do service representatives feel that it’s friendlier to immediately call you by your first name? Who on earth is teaching them that a customer actually prefers to be a peer with the customer service people?
• The famous cartoon states that “On the Internet, no one knows you’re a dog.” Well add to that, “No one knows what to believe.” People seem to vacuum up names from their own data bases and elsewhere to send all kinds of irrelevant offers complete with phony credentials and ridiculous guarantees. On top of that, even legitimate companies aren’t paying attention. After buying a product which was exactly as advertised, I was asked for my email “to keep my registration on file for the warranty.” I asked that no promotional use be made of it. Sure enough, I began receiving email solicitations with an “unsubscribe” that demanded you log into their online store and “manage your account.” Good product, but they’ll never get a referral from me. (Recently, I was asked to sign up for a “major” international teleconference, where some big names were dropped, implying they were the presenters. The small print said that the material “was based on their work”!)

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

We’ve been to Les Trois Garcons, Greens, and tonight, Scott’s, one of the finest restaurants I’ve even been in. Spectacular service (the bartender allowed me tastings of two vodkas) and fish so good that it made me weep. Octopus carpaccio, smoked haddock, and for dessert, anchovies on toast! Six of us enjoying a rare meal with one of the finest Montrechets around, a Batard 2003. Martinis and two bottles later, we headed for The Strand.

We couldn’t get into the cigar garden of the Lainesborough Hotel because it was packed last night, so we settled for drinks in the upstairs bar. But tonight we saw Priscilla, Queen of the Desert at The Palace, which was drop dead hysterical.

The follow-up day for my Shameless Promotion grads was superb after two days of Mentor Mastery training. Tomorrow is allocated to sightseeing and buying things. My wife has already scoped out a $400,000 Bentley Arnage. Fortunately, the wheel was on the “wrong” side.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

Arrived smack on time on Virgin Air. Security in Boston took all of 60 seconds, and immigration and customs at Heathrow took 90 seconds. Virgin gives you an express pass which is even faster, apparently, then having an EU passport. We had to find our driver amidst 50 or so holding signs (one doing so with his teeth, thank goodness not our driver), and The Stafford had our penthouse suite ready for our 8 am arrival.

We visited Harrod’s, enjoyed high tea at the hotel, and made some additional reservations for the week. I have a separate office in the suite, sort of a corner nook, which is great for writing.

I’d love to say I’m having withdrawal signs from Olympic curling competition, but I’m not! (I think Apolo Ohno is terrific, but going crazy over seven medals is a bit much when Bonny Blair won five golds and a silver.)

I’ve engaged a cartoonist, and in the next month you’ll be seeing a weekly strip here called “The Adventures of Koufax and Buddy Beagle.”

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

Our driver picked us up at 3:30 and took us to Boston, where we’re ensconced in the Virgin Airlines upper class club, awaiting our flight to London. The club has been completely redone, no longer shared with Northwest, features a Charcuterie (I’m chomping on antipasto and stuffed grape leaves) of amazing variety, and a uniformed hostess takes your coat and bags and gives you a quick tour of the place. (The Virgin club at Heathrow, which we’ll hit on the way home, is simply the best in the world.)

Another person signed up for the March Million Dollar Consulting® College while we’re here via a phone message, and we’re going to have a very intimate (9) and fascinating group, including two Australians. Typically I get one or two more people in the final weeks (March 22 is the program). We’ll be at the venue that once held the America’s Cup races and now may well do so again!

On tap this week: Training five people in the Master Mentor Program, which officially kicks off March 1, with 22 Master Mentors. Maria and I will host a dinner at Les Trois Garcons, dine at La Gavroche, Helen Duroze, and Scott’s. We’ll see the musical version of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. We’re going to try for a tour of Buckingham Palace, as well as some serious spa work. There’s also my private gambling club where I’ve been a member for 25 years (no kidding, it’s called The Palm Beach Club), and a cigar lounge or two we plan to visit. We’re occupying the Penthouse Suite of The Stafford Hotel. When I told a senior manager there that we usually stayed at The Ritz, about three blocks away, he said, “Congratulations on upgrading, sir.”

This must be my 20th trip to London, the first one in a youth hostel in 1963. I believe I’m moving in the right direction.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

We took the train to The City, spent time with the grandchildren, and are now ensconced in the penthouse suite of the Mela Hotel, a boutique place on West 44th, within walking distance of everything. We’re ordering deli for a modest repast with the big game, accompanied by a Sonoma Merlot that management includes with a very nice gift package. Finished writing chapter 5 of Million Dollar Speaking on the way down, along with the Sunday New York Times. Finished Altar of Eden and began Wambaugh’s Hollywood Moon.

We head back after a haircut and more grandchildren time tomorrow, arriving in time for dinner in Providence before heading home.

Do you know there will be approximately 11 minutes of actual action during the entire SuperBowl? Where is Janet Jackson when you need her??!!

I’m running a Mentor Mastery session in London in February, and secured the presidential suite at The Stafford Hotel through American Express Black Card. All details were taken care of.

However, I thought it would be a good idea to talk to management personally, so I put in a call the other morning. A senior manager promptly called me back. I asked where the hotel was by landmarks, having been to London 20 times but never to this property.

“We’re about two blocks south of The Ritz,” he said, referring to one of the most famous, and most expensive, hotels in the world.

“Ah, I know where you are,” I said, “we usually stay at The Ritz.”

He responded immediately: “Well may I congratulate you for upgrading, sir.”

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

Last evening, our final night in Hawaii for this trip, we took a suggestion from Cori, the hotel’s guest services manager who learned that we love sushi, and trekked to Sushi Sasabene (which, roughly translated, means “trust me”). Paralleling the famous “Soup Nazi” in the old Seinfeld series, the owner and chef here is known sotto voce as the “Sushi Nazi.”

The cab deposited us on South King Street, which would have to undergo serious urban renewal to be called pedestrian. An unimposing storefront housed Sasabene, which seated perhaps 50 people between the large, u-shaped sushi bar and the surrounding tables. Although only half the sushi bar was occupied when we arrived, we were informed that we should wait until the chef was ready for us.

A few minutes later, with no perceptible sign or utterance, we were told that the chef was now ready. We were seated on the side, thank goodness not looking directly at the exalted one, but clearly within his peripheral vision. He is a very handsome man, with what seems like a steel patina directly under his skin. I realized that I couldn’t think of the last time I had used the adjective “dour,” but it immediately came to mind. Everyone was dressed in black.

The assistant chef, a rather cheerful fellow, served the food, never the chef himself, who prepared it. There are no choices at all except for your brand of saki or beer. The chef decides what you will eat and in what order. The assistant does his best to save your life. For example, serving us tai (snapper) and sake (salmon) simultaneously, he would strongly warn, “No soy, please, on snapper, only on salmon!” and, just to make certain he had done everything in his power to protect us, would hold his hands over the soy bowl to further indicate it was not to touch the snapper under any conditions.

One does not return food here. You eat what is in front of you. At one point a staff member loomed over my wife’s shoulder as she struggled with her chopsticks to remind her that sushi etiquette required she eat the sushi in one bite, not two. Nervously, I peered over my saki cup to see if the chef were looking. I would have hated to see her ejected.

The courses came in waves, with always enough time to thoroughly savor and digest each. The people on our right, who came in after us, gave up and departed, filled to the gills. However, I had noticed a couple to our left who clearly had an uni (sea urchin) course, which we had not.

Eying the chef warily, I said to the assistant nonchalantly, “Is there an uni course?”

“Ah, yes, I can get you one. And for you, miss?” My wife hates uni. “She’ll have one, also,” I jumped in when she had hesitated for a nanosecond. A few minutes later, the assistant arrived with two orders of uni, winked at me, and placed both of them on my dish.

All this time the chef is preparing fish with the rapidity of a machine gun and the attention of a diamond cutter, while also constantly looking around the entire restaurant. Above his head hangs a sign, “We reserve the right to deny service to ANYONE.”

I’ve eaten sushi for over 30 years, all over the world, and many times in Japan. On one memorable trip to Rio, I had to speak Spanish to the Portuguese-speaking assistant, who then spoke French to the Japanese chef. It took 20 minutes to order hamachi (yellow tail).

We consumed last night six different kinds of tuna alone, as well as lobster, oyster, crab, snapper, squid, salmon, mackerel, and I don’t know what else.

It was the finest sushi I’ve ever had in my life, bar none.

If you’re ever in Honolulu and you love sushi, make a reservation at Sasabene. Just don’t make any demands. Or requests. Or sudden moves.

Trust me.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

I’ve finished, on this trip, Pirate Latitudes (Crichton), Last Night At Twisted River (Irving), I, Alex Cross (Patterson), and am halfway through What the Dog Saw (Gladwell). Had a great time speaking at Rob Nixon’s coaching club event, and fine food every night. (Unlike Maui and Kauai, Oahu has very good restaurants.)

Last night we hit Alan Wong’s: The elevator was out so we hiked up four floors, and then the elevator alarm sounded at high pitch for 20 minutes. No one complained! The food is astounding. I also highly recommend The Beach House and Roy’s. Tonight we’re visiting what the guest relations manager calls “The Sushi Nazi,” with shades of Seinfeld.

And I made about $150,000 while on the beach.

But now the real point of my story, and it’s going to offend some of you, je regrette.

It’s a guy thing. There are some things that, well, make me sad. Guys who wear a short-sleeved shirt and a tie. Guys who use pocket protectors. Guys who bite their nails to the nub. Guys with three holsters on their belt for pagers and phones as if that’s a sign of power. (The sign of power, of course, is NOT carrying such hardware.) Guys who use their knives like a dagger.

But the saddest guys are those guys roaming the beach with headphones, a pathetic little sand sifter, and a metal detector attached to their arm. Has anyone EVER found enough precious metal to pay for one of those things?

And if you did find a valuable ring or metal on a bulging billfold, shouldn’t you return it to the hotel fronting that beach? It really isn’t yours to keep, any more than that wallet I lost in the cab returned by the honest cabbie was his to keep.

Here we are on Waikiki, Diamond Head lordly overlooking the scene, with boats and surfers and catamarans and outriggers on a placid, glass-like sea. And what are these guys doing? Walking the sands amidst the palm trees with metal detectors and headphones, sweating like wart hogs, with a hobby only slightly weirder than Civil War re-enactors.

Yes, I know, I’m painfully judgmental. I’m not fair. Who am I to make such observations?

I’ll tell you who, someone who knows strange behavior when he sees it.

I know how to make money on the beach. By providing value that creates income while you lounge. The only detector I need is the one that tells me where the waiter is who can fetch the mai tais.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

I’ve just completed the Mentor Summit and Mentor Hall of Fame Meeting in San Francisco, and a day’s presentation for Rob Nixon’s Coaching Club in Honolulu. And now we’re taking a week off on the beach.

We’re at the Sheraton Waikiki, where we stayed a couple of times over 30 years ago. Ordinarily we’d be elsewhere, but the function was held here and they’ve refurbished the suites. We have one balcony in the bedroom that shows the sunrise, and another in the living quarters that shows the sunset! Twenty-five stories below, we can watch giant, green sea turtles meander in the crystal clear water. If you’re lucky, they’ll swim up to you when you wade in.

Unlike so many popular tourist destinations, the food here is great (as it was in San Francisco, where we dined again at Gary Danko, for my money on of the dozen best restaurants in the US). So far, Roy’s has been our favorite here with some incredible fish, but we’re off to Alan Wong’s tomorrow which has a sterling reputation, so we’ll see.

Sitting in church before mass on Sunday here, I realized that my wallet was gone. It must have fallen out of my pocket in the cab. My wife asked if I wanted to leave, but I observed that church was probably where I belonged at the moment. Fortunately, I usually keep a hundred dollars of bills in a side pocket, and I had money for the collections and a cab home. I tried to enjoy the service and the sermon was quite well done.

I notified the cab company (“Sir, we have 500 cabs, but I’ll put out a text message for you”) which is actually called The Cab Company. I notified Cori, the guest services manager who had escorted us to our suite when we arrived, in case I needed to get some cash. Then I called the credit card companies, which took only 20 minutes for all of them. One woman asked, “Are you all right?” I was very impressed. Amex will have three different, new cards to me today, Tuesday, by Fedex, at no charge.

My wife remarked on how well I had handled things, and said that she hoped whoever found the wallet could really use the $800 inside of it.

We hit the beach.

At about 4 pm we returned, to a blinking message light. It was Cori. “I have your wallet,” she practically screamed, “the cab driver dropped it off and I have his number for you.” I quickly called to ask him to return for a reward. He hasn’t done so yet.

The worst thing about losing my wallet would be a few photos from 30 years ago that can’t be replaced. My car dealer would replace the registration, and AAA would replace my license. Various club memberships would easily be restored. The money can always be replaced. We have to keep things in perspective.

And the greatest perspective is that most other people are like you, not damaged somehow, and willing to do the right thing. I realized that I had returned money, airline tickets, and all sorts of things I’ve found. Why wouldn’t I? Why wouldn’t the cab driver?

We’re off to the beach again, to the turtles, to the Pacific.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

Participants at work and views from our suite at the Mandarin Oriental at Alan’s Mentor Summit.

Del Posto was outstanding for New Year’s Eve dinner, though only about a dozen tables were occupied from 6 to 8. They may have been filled for the late seating, but they certainly weren’t doing two turns. We baby sat until 1:30 for the grandchildren, who slept throughout (my wife unhappy, me not so unhappy). For the 4,000th time we watched the ball drop somewhere over Dick Clark! (Highlight of the evening: Jennifer Lopez’s outfit.)

A car took us back to The Palace and the streets were still crowded with people. Everyone’s a buddy on New Year’s in New York!

We attended mass in St. Patrick’s yesterday (Holy Day of Obligation) and then took some time to wander around behind the altar and near the crypts. The Cathedral is striking, and it is not supported financially by the archdiocese, only by contributions.

Last evening we had a drink with Mike and Elie Robert. Mike is the co-author of my very first book, The Innovation Formula, and they were visiting New York with their two daughters. We’ve known each other since the early 70s.

Maria and I then had corned beef and cabbage in an Irish pub next to the Lyceum, the oldest legitimate theater in New York (1903) where we saw “In the Next Room,” also known as “The Vibrator Play.”

It’s written by Sarah Rule, a protege of Pulitzer Prize winner Paula Vogel, with whom I served on the Trinity Repertory Board, and who is now at Yale. Set in the 1890s, it describes the historically accurate treatment of women’s “hysteria” using newly invented electricity to power the medical intervention, shall we say.

The work is about 45 minutes too long and the second act is a disappointment. But it’s a fascinating story, well acted, if not tightly written. The house was packed.

We’ll spend an hour with the grandchildren this morning, then head back on the Acela where a ton of financial paperwork 2009/2010 awaits me as i watch football tomorrow. Nice problem to have.

Enjoy 2010. After all, what’s the alternative?

© Alan Weiss 2010 All rights reserved.

The car came at 6:45 in the morning yesterday for the 7:50 train. First class had exactly five people, which was fabulous (no business travelers). We arrived at Penn Station a few minutes early, to find a cab driver imploring us to ride with him, since so many cabs were vacant! He actually loaded the bags into the trunk!

Our usual corner suite at The Palace was still being cleaned so I had lunch in the lobby (an excuse for Bloody Marys) while Maria shopped.

Last night the concierge secured a corner table at Vice Versa, and the food was simply incredible. Sauteed calamari in artichoke hearts, followed by a wonderful monk fish.

Then we saw “Race,” with James Spader, David Alan Grier, Kerry Washington, and Richard Thomas, written and directed by the extraordinary David Mamet. If you get the chance at all, see this play. It’s a sometimes screamingly funny, often wrenchingly honest two hours on shame, guilt, and race relations. The evening shoots by. It’s in a league with productions such as “Doubt” and “The Heiress.”

Early dinner tonight at Del Posto, then baby sit the grandchildren through New Year’s, back to The Palace late. It’s snowing in New York, so we have to hire an SUV to get us around, that cab driver won’t be begging for customers today!

Happy New Year!

© Alan Weiss 2009 All rights reserved.

Many of you apparently don’t believe I have a sister, Lori. I do. You see her pictured here at Christmas. (She is on the right.) On the left is my son’s dog, Humphrey Bogart.

© Alan Weiss 2009. All rights reserved.

We’ve had a great time here at the Fontainebleau. Amazingly, it’s at 100% occupancy! The last time I was here was with a client, long before the renovations.

Like most successful operations, the hotel attracts a wide diversity of guests. There are older people revisiting a memory in their lives; middle-aged people seeking out some elegance and fun; and younger people on the prowl. (There are some families with young children, but not many.)

At one of the pools, three women strut by in heels.
“Why don’t they just carry a sign, ‘Looking for a man’?” asks The Lovely Maria.
“If I saw such a sign,” I inquire, “what would be my proper reaction?”
TLM: “You’d probably have to correct the spelling.”

We dined at Red Meat the first night, in South Beach, and I’ll go back. Great steaks, fine wine list, with an entire glassed-in wall holding the wines. (We had a Caymus Special Selection.) The sommelier spends most of the night on a ladder scrambling around like a spider. Last night we went to A Fish Called Avalon, right on Ocean Drive, and we had a table on the veranda next to the street. From that perch I can sip a martini and watch the parade of people, dogs, and cars. (A 1958 Buick was at curbside.) I’ve seen five or six Bentleys just at the hotel thus far, but no GTC Speeds. We wound up at The Delano for drinks, which was surprisingly subdued.

The Fontainebleau serves drinks and meals on the beach and at the pools. The weather has been partly cloudy but tolerable. The open air bar in the main lobby has a terrific, lighted blue floor, must be a thousand square feet, and provides a fabulous atmosphere.

Tonight we’ll dine in Gotham, a sister restaurant of the great place in Manhattan.

Last night I used our “living room balcony,” which wraps around the side of the suite, offering a “Miami Vice” view of downtown as well as ocean front. I smoked a very nice Macanudo Madura, accompanied by some chestnut chocolate, and listened on my iPhone to Steve Tyrell’s “The New Standard” album. We saw him last week in New York at the Café Carlisle, from about five feet away, best seats in the house. He does a super job on the Great American Songbook.

We return Sunday morning, and I might just make the late afternoon football game.

Meanwhile, though I wouldn’t return to the Fontainebleau as a regular haunt, I’m fascinated by imagining how the celebrities of the late 40s and 50s would take a luxury train out of New York to travel to Miami, spend weeks (or the entire summer) in this and other beachfront hotels, circulating among clubs and parties nightly. Not much television, post-war boom times, café society.

Then I remember Billy Joel (who helped close the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame special the other night, hosted by Bruce Springsteen, which is a MUST-see): “The good old days weren’t all that good, and tomorrow ain’t as bad as it seems.”

Here’s to tomorrow.

(The Sunset Island Restaurant at Key Largo)

(The Sunset Island Restaurant at Key Largo)

(Sunset)

(The beach at the Fontainebleau)

(The street scene from A Fish Called Avalon in South Beach)

(The Blue Bar at the Fontainebleau)

© Alan Weiss 2009. All rights reserved.