THE FASTER LANE / TYLER BRÛLÉ
Trips to remember
I’m not the tidiest person in the world. I know this might come as somewhat of a surprise confession but anyone who’s visited my office will know that this is defined by a jagged mountain range of magazines shipped in from our Tokyo bureau, favourite paper stocks, newspaper supplements that I’ll someday get to, various gifts opened and unopened, invoices to be signed, letters to be read, boxes of wine that need to be loaded up and taken home and stacks upon stacks of books that will hopefully find space on a bookshelf over the coming weeks.
On the home front it’s a tidier affair but my side of the bedroom has a life of its own. At first glance the room could be classified as “neat” but if you spin around to my patch there are small piles of books, a couple of half-full tote bags that don’t know if they’ll get out on the road again and a dresser that’s a mix of passports, crumpled receipts, euros, francs and business cards that are waiting for some sort of follow-up. The other day I decided to get things under control and while organising shoes and sorting through the totes I came across a little black nylon duffel with a luggage tag attached: a reminder of the last time I flew long-haul. I’ve now marked 7 March in the diary as I’ve made a commitment to not let a full year pass without being in Tokyo. (If you’re reading this and just happen to be a Japanese diplomat who can assist me in creating a compelling case then you know where to find me. And by the way, I can give you hundreds of reasons why I need to visit.)
While I feel lucky that I’ve managed to get around Europe with reasonable efficiency and frequency in the past 11 months, my trip to Paris earlier this week reminded me why we often speak of “the art of travel”. It’s because it takes real practice and skill to get it right and my simple journey on the TGV revealed how rusty I am.
For the past three decades I have taken some pride in being a pro in security queues; knowing my 777s from my 350s for choice of seats; and having a proper regime for getting on the road swiftly and seamlessly. When I boarded the TGV, made my way to the seat and attempted to set up my high-speed office and dining arrangement two things became clear. First, I wasn’t going to be very productive as I didn’t pack the correct Mac cable and second, it’s clear that millions of other professional travellers are also going to be a bit flabby when they start to travel again because much like gyms and restaurants, trains and planes are empty – no one is out on the road.
My depleted techniques were further confirmed when, against my better judgement, I checked into a hotel that had come highly recommended but still left me wary. After the clunky welcome I walked into a room that I believe the hotel staff must call the “Baby Jessica Suite” (or, this being Paris, la suite bébé Jessica). You don’t remember Jessica McClure? Think back to the late 1980s, somewhere in Texas and the little girl who fell down a well in her aunt’s backyard and spent two and a half days stuck in the shaft. Remember how it dominated world news for nearly a full week? On this particular Tuesday evening, staring upwards at the soaring ceiling, the battleship-grey walls and the the 3m-by-2m room dimensions, I didn’t feel like being bébé Brûlé wedged between a shower stall and headboard so I made swift plans for an escape to my original hotel of choice. Why hadn’t I gone with my well-honed instincts? A year ago I would never have considered the chosen hotel. Is this what happens when you spend too much time out of your natural groove?
The next day, in the comfort of the hotel I would have instinctively booked in the first place, I found myself with a walk-on part in series six of Le Bureau des Légendes (yes, yes, it seems there’ll be some kind of follow-on to the best TV spy series ever made), in which I’m wandering back to my room in this large Saudi-owned hotel in the middle of some crazy pandemic that has brought not just France but the world to a standstill. Sounds crazy already, doesn’t it? Anyway, I’m walking through the long, winding corridors and there’s no one around – not a chambermaid, bellboy, trainee front-desk clerk from EHL or fellow guest. Nevertheless, the hairs on my neck are bristling. I’m being set up, non? At the next turn, surely a black sack will be thrown over my head, I’ll be shoved into a wheely laundry bin, taken out the back of the hotel and then bundled onto a plane (finally I get to fly long-haul!) owned by some unsavoury sheikh and then imprisoned in some glittery palace on the Red Sea where miraculously this pandemic hasn’t reached and the entire court only consumes products made in France.
Okay, it didn’t go quite like that but I was set up and imprisoned for sure. First, the only option for evening dining is to remain in your room (unless your Lebanese friends, who have nothing to do with unsavoury sheikhs, invite you for a business dinner) as the public spaces in the hotel are off-limits and you need a pass to venture out onto the streets. Then, on checkout, when you get the bill and see that you’ve been charged more than in normal times, you realise that your one night has paid for the electricity, wages and over the top bouquets in the lobby. I think I was so stunned by the bill that I couldn’t recall if I was still in the Canal+ spy series or if it was just a normal Thursday in Paris. No matter, I believe that it was all part of what we’re seeking these days, dear reader: an experience. On the upside, don’t let anyone ever, ever tell you that the French are lazy and have it easy. Over the course of two days I witnessed many full offices, met with execs keen to compare notes and saw lots of improvised tool kits used to open windows and keep overheated offices ventilated. No one knows quite how to behave in this melange of modern, in-person working but it’s human and entertaining. As we move toward global remobilisation I’m thinking that there just might be a business in retraining people how to dress, meet ‘n’ greet, dump the elbow bump and behave in settings made for conviviality and commerce. Let me know if you fancy signing up. Find me at tb@monocle.com.
