L’Auberge espagnole

It was one of the movies I watched in order to prepare for my life here in Barcelona – L’Auberge espagnole. Similar to the movie, I was resigned to the fact that I was headed back to the days of cramped apartments with a cultural assortment of roommates. If my search for a flat was any indication of what was ahead, I was going to be in trouble.

In proper last-minute-student-form, I grabbed the last two people looking for roommates and began the search. It would be my first time living with men – two of them yet, before I knew it, two became four. Me and FOUR men….in one apartment? I had visions of dirty dishes piled ceiling high, dirty clothes strewn across the house and queues for the bathroom. It was developing into a nightmare.

So four of us settled into a popular US coffee chain to scour the internet and find a flat for five. A week transpired in scorching temperatures and excessive humidity levels and still we had found no apartment. Eventually I put my foot down and shaved the number of men down to 3. And then we walked. We walked half of Barcelona in the August heat wave to find some of the city’s most unattractive flats - my fears from L’Auberge epsagnole were coming into focus.

In a twist of fate, the outlook for the next 15 months changed quite drastically. After stumbling past a curious doorman clad in his royal blue top, we soon found ourselves peering into a flat originally on the market for sale. It was empty and a thin layer of dust covered the black and white marble floors. The ceilings were raised higher than a typical flat and they were all decorated with ornate molding adding a bit of character and charm. The four largest rooms were flanked with frosted glass French doors and another set of doors led to a balcony shaded by a solitary tree. The lobby was home to an old-fashion elevator that may or may not work at any given time. It was adorned with a red carpet that led the way to the front door where Andreas – the doorman and town gossip – stands daily, perched at the ready for the next big thing to walk by.

We would have to furnish the flat ourselves, but with only that caveat, we were sold on our new home. I was convinced by now that my time was going to play out less like the Erasmus experience and more like the lives in L’Elegance Du Herisson.

Our little Balmes flat has taken on a life of its own. I fear that Andreas the doorman isn’t an intellectual in hiding, but we do stumble through whispered conversations as our paths cross in the mornings. The boys and I survived a few multi-hour trips to Ikea where I felt like a mother to three kids with varied attention spans. I herded them through the Ikea maze and we all tried to make sense of the Swedish product names with Catalan descriptions. We couldn’t decide what to do with the four extra rooms so one is home to a Television that has never been turned on, our laundry hangs to dry in another and guests from near and far crash in a third that is equipped with a guest bed and drawers.

Our landlady initially acted as if she wanted to be a bit of a grandmother figure. She brought us pots and pans and before we knew it she showed up with massive furniture that she clearly had no use for in her own flat - as time went on we noticed we were getting a significant amount of second hand dilapidated furniture. We still see her from time to time if the pilot light goes out and we can no longer stand to take ice cold showers or when she stops by to see her son the Veterinarian that has office space on the ground level. The flat has its oddities – like the world’s smallest kitchen in a 200 m² flat and so what if my window vibrates - ok shakes - when the trash is emptied at 1130pm and again at 230am.

The flat has seen its fair share of guests and probably has been the catalyst to more rumors than we deserve. We have even hosted MBA orphans for weeks at a time over the summer. We can speak a combination of Spanish, English and German, yet we often have conversations for five minutes using just one word or communicate silently through our own signature dance. And let's be honest, it’s not uncommon to cross paths at 7am when someone is coming home and another is going out.....

But our lease ends at the end of the month and we’ll move on to our new adventures which are still left largely undefined.

I’ll miss the regal red carpet that greets me every day. My next flat probably won’t have the same frustrating ability to trap you in the lobby, but out of your flat – total fire hazard in my opinion. Andreas will probably miss flirting with my friends back home on Skype and our cleaning lady will have to find a new place to take breaks from her adult-sitting job for the old man upstairs.

I will miss the boys.

I will never again have three people deny claim to the bottle of champagne that sat idle in the freezer for three months after exploding. No one will fog the house with the aroma of aerosol spray at 4am. I will miss the orange juice they bring me when I am sick and the Spanish translation service they provide when I need just about anything. I'll definitely miss having the option of them bringing me clean clothes later in the day when I spill my morning coffee. Never again will I possibly live with three people with such odd dietary habits - cookies with caviar? Nutella with a spoon? And the copious amounts of microwaved eggs?!? I will miss them standing at the threshold of my door narrating the previous night’s debauchery or listening to my gripes of the day.

And I will miss peering out my bedroom door to see three men scampering about the flat like children in just their underwear….It's been a fun 15 months.

Fancy a Dip in the Harbour?

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” - Mr Twain

I come from a family of sailors and a family deeply entrenched in the US Navy so the idea that I do not know how to sail has always been unsettling for me – but so is the idea of not having a job in a few months when my MBA runway comes to an end. That whole reality thing seems a bit daunting.

And then I was faced with the decision to spend a weekend thrashing through consulting cases and calculating profitability potentials….forward and backwards….or go sailing in Italy…..It really is surprising how quickly I made up my mind!

Yeah, I postponed selling my soul to case cracking for just one more weekend – with admittedly very little hesitation. I quickly booked a ticket to Milan and set out the travel details with a few other classmates. I did sign up with a moment of trepidation - I had never officially sailed where I had any ounce of responsibility. Surely this wouldn’t be an issue.

The event was sponsored by Rolex and was organized (in the finest of fashions) by SDA Bocconi from Milan. As I thumbed through the instruction pack I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the packing suggestion list. Within 5 minutes I had ignored it completely and packed as if I was headed out to sea for the next three years. The next sigh came when I saw the regatta (did I mention there was a racing element involved??) schedule – two divisions – A and B. Great. I sent a report back to the States to let my parents know about my upcoming induction into the family – but not to worry I was just going to be cruising in the B Division. False. Apparently we had agreed for the serious racing. I was going to have to take this seriously so naturally I went back to the sports store and bought a pair of sailing gloves. I felt like the kid that shows up on the first day of school with bright white runners (I tried to not let anyone see me rip the price tags off on Day 1).

The venue was amazing. Santa Margherita, Italy. After a bit of a delayed arrival from Milan, we took a quick 2km taxi ride from the train station to the boats – 2km for 20 euros. Seriously? Seemed a bit arbitrary on the rate, but our driver gave us the most enthusiastic driving tour of the village pointing our each bar with unmatched fervor. We said a quick hello to our floating home for the next four days then headed up to a little villa that happened to sit atop a hill with finely manicured landscaping and sweeping views of the harbor. Nearly 500 MBAs (with a sprinkling of Alumni and Masters) chatted away before we moved the party down the hill and eventually to a boat.

I am not really crazy about the idea of alcohol and boats and me, so I had decided to take myself to bed which required disembarking the party boat that swayed slowly as people danced with amazing energy for the hours we were keeping. Lucky for me I had a few gentlemen helping me back to fixed land. Unlucky for the few gentlemen. Right before the last step I took someone said ‘No that’s not a step’. Indeed a step it was not. And fresh harbor water it was not, but swimming I was – as was the poor guy that tried to avert disaster for the both of us.

Things were off to a great start or you could say they were going quite swimmingly. Then this whole racing thing started and guns were going off and countdowns started and I felt like I should have brought along a copy of ‘Sailing for Dummies.’ Thank goodness we had 1. A great Italian Skipper – Leonardo 2. A great and extremely patient Italian Skipper - Leonardo.

You could argue that we had the fastest boat and that it was completely disadvantaged by its crew. As we passed boats going upwind they coveted our fancy racing sails, as they passed us flying their Spinnakers on the way back it was a role reversal. No one coveted any part of our boat when we finally unveiled our blue and white Spinnaker sail…..horizontally. At this point I don’t know much about sailing, but I did know that we had done something wrong. We couldn’t take it down fast enough – the committee boat did manage to sneak in a quick cell phone photo and a good laugh.

And this was just Day 1. After three races we anchored up near Portofino Harbor and went for a swim. Like a true professional, I was fascinated with the clarity of the water so it clearly made sense to open my eyes underwater to take a look around. That would be the last time I saw clearly as I donated my last pair of contact lenses to the Sea. Last pair as in I have one left and am stuck with just one in my right eye as I wait for a new delivery from the US. It’s been a real bang-up 24 hours for me at this point, but nothing in me wanted to be anywhere else than on that boat.

Bike Ride Anyone?

‘It’s like riding a bike.’

They say this when you go away from something and after a while away you come back and getting into the swing of things again is, well, just like riding a bike.

So it was back to work time for a few months over the summer. We all scattered around the globe for our glamorous MBA internships after we spent months courting companies for the perfect summer gig. All those late nights suddenly had a curfew with an early wake up the next day. Consulting projects called my name and it was back to researching, learning and strategizing. The training wheels were certainly off as I was thrown into the deep end of a project with only one directive – two months to get it done! This was exciting as I was about to dive in to a solar project (a space where my heart lies). I will admit that there was a three day transition. The last time I was in this ‘working world’ it was in an office decorated purely by hospital-bright fluorescents and the booming voice of a man that rivaled Napoléon in stature and style. Now I headed in to an unstructured environment with soft gray walls and even softer voices. This was not going to be like riding the same bike, this was going to be a ride straight up hill, but at least it was on a luxury bike.

Getting back to work was not the only return to old habits that this summer would hold. One morning I dropped a few papers onto the floor and had to twist, contort and practically kneel down in order to pick them back up. My range of motion wasn’t what it once was. Realizing the effects of multiple months of sedentary life and limited physical activity with no stretching, I went down to the basement and sorted through the boxes that held what was formerly my NYC apartment. I shifted through old clothes, books and dishes before finding my yoga mat. I signed up for classes in one of the old Mill buildings in town and lied to the receptionist about how long it had been since I had practiced. Keeping the ‘diving into the deep end’ theme, I started back to Bikram Yoga – nothing better than Yoga in 100°F (~38° C) temps to limber up – after all, it would be like riding a bike right? That look on the poor guy’s face! On Day 1, I focused a little too hard on one pose that may or may not have a name that contains the word tree. I felt like a drunken flamingo and tipped a little too far to the right without releasing the pose. Nothing says nice to meet you like tackling someone equally sweaty in the midst of a packed 4:30 yoga class. I haven’t gone back to that class and I am not sure I am welcomed.

And then there was the living situation. I was back living at home for a few months as my internship gave me some flexibility with remote access and my client was nearby my parents’ home. Eleven years. It had been eleven years since I last lived at home - plenty of time for Mom and Dad to forget about my idiosyncrasies and for me to forgive theirs. So I settled in to the back bedroom overlooking the nature preserve and unpacked my clothes into the last piece of furniture that remains from the first 18 years of my life. I settled into familiar routines during the day, but the nights were not so easy. For the past 6 years I have lived above the constant hum of taxi cabs in NYC and motos in Barcelona. Now I could hear nothing but the occasional branch snap as a deer slipped back into the darkness after eating whatever mom has growing in her garden. Silence. I couldn’t deal with it and had to bring a fan in for some white noise and that barely worked.

It’s been two months and I feel like I am just getting into a schedule, sleeping at night, waking up early (without the swift kick in the pants from a cup of coffee) and executing a regular exercise routine – with the proper amount of balance of course. There isn’t much time left. Just enough for quick visit from the grandparents to let them know I am doing okay and one last trip to NYC to see old friends, visit old haunts and right a few wrongs. Then I am back to Barcelona to try out that bike again -speaking Spanish, hours of classes and landing that coveted job.

I hope I don’t forget how to pedal….December is going to be here before I know it and I don’t want to waste a moment.

Can I Take My Mulligan?

It is nearly June and the gravitational pull of the Barcelona beach is increasing exponentially with each day. The problem is that exams are one week away and then things will begin to change – irreversibly so.

I finally got an internship offer from a small consulting group working on a few renewable energy projects. Technically I could work anywhere in the world, but I am going to head back to New England for two months. It will be a perfect home base for a few weddings and planned holidays in the States. I anticipate a lot of research and writing lies ahead for me, but so does a gym for the first time in……well that’s not terribly important is it? My family is there and my beloved set of golf clubs. There is something magical about waking early to hit a bucket of balls or play a quick 9 holes. The summer will afford me a number of mornings like this.

I anticipate a steady amount of sleep, meals that do not include bocadillos and further Red Bull detoxification. The next two months will be a perfect opportunity to practice my Spanish too - so I have already set up lessons at the local German language center….c’est la vie. Maybe another day for the Spanish – I’ve got a reputation to uphold and I do not want to confuse people after the summer if I come back fluent in Español!  

There is only one problem. This is merely the beginning of the end. Back in December we watched the 2^nd years shed tears and cherish smiles, one last time. It repeated again in March when most gathered for the final time to graduate. And so it begins for us. 12 month program, exchanges around the world and life will begin chipping away at our ESADE experience. No longer will we hear the questions ‘Where are you from? What did you do before ESADE? Where are you living?’ from voices that I could recognize in a crowd of thousands. We’ll get another chance to work with new classmates as we theoretically shed our ‘Section’ affiliations. This is however another joke being played on us to get closer to more classmates in a program that we are on the downhill side of.

The new batch of ESADE MBAs is nearing their arrival. Through various channels we are showering them with the hints and wisdom we’ve accumulated over a mere ten months. It is salt in a wound. There is no time to live in the past, but the memories are bittersweet. We had our end of year gala last night with the typical sprinkling of nostalgia – picture shows, video recorded footage and superlatives for those that best embodied different themes.

It seems like only yesterday……

As fast as lightening forms glass, we emerged from the sands of our home countries and past histories. We converged on the beaches of the Mediterranean, each a different piece of glass with both rough and refined edges. Over ten months we have exhibited exquisite craftsmanship to chisel down those corners that never seemed to align with others. Our international excursions, cultural dinners, insightful conversations, late nights that were early mornings, classroom banter and even playground grumblings all worked to add new shades of color to our glass. The cases, presentations, lectures, conferences, more cases and more boring lectures laid down a framework for us all.

Then there were the synergies and footprints, bandwidths and blue oceans, the core competencies and eco systems with low hanging fruit. Don’t forget about paradigm shifts, peeling the onion, soup to nuts, value chains with value propositions vis a vis turnkey solutions. Will you ever forget Telefonica, Ikea or Coke? What about Zara’s fast fashion and Unilever? Or even FC Barcelona, Wal-Mart and L’Oreal? Easy Jet and airports will never be the same.

These seemingly dictated topics facilitated the soldering process behind the scenes. While we were busy loathing the 22 and sipping our 60 cent café con leche, our 180 unique and newly refined pieces of glass formed a one of a kind stained glass creation. When the Barcelona sun shines, together we reflect an unparalleled and unique light. Two weeks remain of our group soldered together, but we’ll forever have the memories of this light.

Several times this week I have wanted to do it all over again. Not to change it, but to cherish it again all over. The summer in New England will bring me back to things I love dearly, but I cannot help but smile about the new things and people from Barcelona that I love.

I would like to take my mulligan please.

Pocket Full of Dirhams…….

…..and dollars and pounds and euros.  On the heels of my post-case-competition-lost luggage adventure, I arrived in Abu Dhabi. I would soon join sixteen of my classmates and friends for a Spring Break trip that would turn out to be, in a word, epic. My trip, in fact everyone’s trip, started months earlier when we were more concerned with the thick heat emanating from the Barcelona sidewalks, let alone Spring Break.

Meet Ebrahim (there is no need for anonymity, for this man should bask in the glory about what would transpire). Anyone from Section B will tell you, Ebrahim is from the Emirates and he also is from the oil industry – this we have known from Day 1. The guy is impressive. He nods his head yes more than a bobblehead on a dashboard, instantly luring you into agreement with his opinion. He also has a portfolio of mannerisms that include agile wrist twists and poorly timed air quotes. He is the most active listener and animated story teller at ESADE (sorry Italians). So this Ebrahim had an idea that he proposed very early into our time served here at ESADE. He wanted to get a group of students to go on a high end Spring Break trip to the UAE – so sans alcohol, bikinis and beach time and sans charming backing packing adventures through Europe. Hmmmmm.

Undeterred by anyone’s opinion and driven by a sincere and extraordinarily selfless desire to show ‘us’ what it’s like in ‘his’ world, Ebrahim spent months putting together eight days of escapades. The pitch sounded great when he presented it to a group of club Presidents – but the price tag seemed a bit high. 2,800 Euros on top of tuition and costs of merely existing for the term of an MBA program - he got  a few murmurs before adding in the caveat that he had arranged a sponsor that would end up footing a good portion of the bill. And so the uptake was a little stronger and seventeen of us embarked on his adventure for our maiden voyage to the UAE as ambassadors of ESADE.

The group spent the first day at Masdar City hopping around in tiny cars that drove themselves and eating a spread with a Sheikh. Stilts lined up her Plan B as one of the sister wives of said Sheikh and tried to shake her nickname. Still without luggage, I joined them at dinner after a swift attempt to put together a makeshift wardrobe in ten minutes at the Abu Dhabi mall – I had enough time to order a frilly drink with a title related to pirates and parrots – enter Petey the Porcelain Parrot who adorned my drink. 

Petey spent the next day with me while I made attempt number two in the mall – still no luggage. The group headed off to ADIA for a ‘colorful’ session at the world’s largest sovereign fund’s headquarters. A safari was on the docket for the evening so we headed for the Souk to buy ‘authentic’ outfits for event. The divas, excuse me…..the men….took about 45 minutes to pick out a white dishdash while the women fumbled through stacks of colorful traditional Bedouin dress – in 10 minutes…..I’m just pointing that out. After an hour trip towards the isolated desert we hurled ourselves up and down the expansive sand dunes at angles that tested the integrity of our Toyota’s manufacturing. We rode camels, got henna tattoos and belly danced like a robot would.

The next few days followed suit in both in terms of colorful presentations and exhilarating nighttime adventures. Petey had a few accidents along the way, cracked his face and got kidnapped, but that is a story for another day. We were warmly greeted on the executive floor of NGSCO and learned all about natural gas shipping (and pirates!). With the acting CEO by our side, we threw our best questions at the presenters to dive more into the business and their culture. I will never be in that board room again and likely neither will some of the guys that presented to us. What stood out the most from that visit was the pride and grace that their CEO showed towards his employees – with a noted smile of pride towards our fearless leader Ebrahim.

And so it would continue with visits to Etisalat and then a full day of eating with ADCO at both their headquarters and out at an oil field. There was a game of hide and seek with Petey in the Grand Mosque, rides at Ferrari World, securing lost luggage and more and more and more food. We travelled out to Dubai and stopped by GE before Emirates Airlines. They fed us and then took us to the engineering facilities for a tour of the site as well as one of their fully equipped A380s – first class cabins come with a door, a bar and a shower…..for two (redefining the rules of the Mile High Club).

With amazing days filled with board rooms, CEO’s and corporate presentations behind us, we headed out for sushi dinner, sake bombs and dancing at the Atlantis out on Palm Island in Dubai. Some of us headed home at 12, others at 3 and the daring stumbled in after 6. It was our one night of ‘spring break’ and we figured we were on the home stretch. Or final day in the UAE was not to be taken lightly and was – with the intent of being redundant – epic.

Without obligation, we were invited into the home of one of Ebrahim’s sisters for lunch. We knew this was going to be special, but we did not anticipate the magnitude of the experience – an experience I cannot do justice to even with my professional vicarious story telling details skills. In traditional manner, the women were received in one part of the home and the men in another. After a few glasses of juice and far too many bites of chocolate, around thirty women and children filed in to greet us. Conversation was slow at first as we tiptoed into the newfound cultural environment, but the opportunity to see behind the abaya was the first of many special moments. We moved into another section of the house to eat. My new fascination with the word ‘YES’ got me in trouble as his family offered up more and more food of which I was unable to discern ingredients or anticipate taste. I think I tried everything…..sample size was uniformly five spoonful’s. We muttered under our breath to each other our workout regimens when we got back to Barcelona. After a 32 course meal from the floor, we untwisted ourselves without an ounce of grace and began our goodbyes. A quick tour through the living quarters showed us what can only be described as the results of Extreme Home Makeover UAE Edition! Eventually, we begrudgingly reunited with the men and were presented gifts by the children and family. Off we headed for the airport.

For 14 days I was in the US, UK, Spain and UAE – with the local currency from each place burning holes in my pockets, but now it was the end of this journey.

Ebrahim’s every other word on the trip was ‘very’ and his message and desire were that we leave with a positive impression of his homeland. We knew before every getting onto a flight out to Abu Dhabi we were in for a treat and that we would see great things. What we didn’t know was that epic and special perhaps do not do justice to the trip. The man behind it all showed us something to be cherished for a lifetime and we will forever be ‘very, very, veeeeeery’ grateful that this one time we ditched bikinis, backpacks and boats for dishdashes, abayas and camels.

But now, what the hell am I going to do with all these dirhams, pounds and dollars!

A Date and Two and a Half Bags

Noted. I’ve lost followers due to my lapse in blogging. C’est la Vie. I’ll blame it on my recent affinity for the word ‘Yes’ that has recently been combined with the words ‘Case Competition’. I have competed in two in the past two months, both of which have required about three weeks of work. Not yet learning my lesson, I am again on the brink of competition number three and considering more – if my good fortune continues, I just may enter more (note: good fortune not limited to actually winning the cases).

The first competition was in London with the Hult Global Case Challenge. This year they teamed up with Clinton Global Initiative and water.org (hello Matt Damon!) to penetrate the bottom of the pyramid with a search for feasible, scalable and sustainable business models aiming to increase water and sanitation access in peri-urban slums. The team included a few classmates which made the process quite entertaining – 1 English gentleman, 1 Portuguese and Italian speaking American from Brazil, 1 time-keeping, brain-mapping, diligent Indian, 1 Umbrella drink Texan and me. The competition itself was great - we did well, learned a ton about water and ‘open defecation,’ but of course it was all the moments in between that were priceless. We taught one of the gentlemen how to properly iron his pants even though the celebration was short lived as he then used his spit to try to clear the stain on his pants – two hours before the events commenced. We sipped English brews, ate nutella balls and recalled tales of the international support we received along the way – perhaps the most colorful being our dear friends at the World Toilet Organization and WaterSHED Asia. They provided unparalleled anecdotes with the trials and tribulations of defecation and dirty water. Through humor they really inspired us to the seriousness of the issue at hand.

After the stress of presentation, the exhausting networking and the suspense of judge’s deliberation we walked away without a trophy, but with a pocketful of memories and headed for the bar. After having spent countless hours locked in small rooms throughout Edificio 3, I had……..wait for it………gotten tired of talking. With a disclaimer that this was merely fatigue stemming from speaking of water with the same four people and they had perhaps exhausted their patience for listening to me long before I reached my tipping point. In my effort to replenish my speaking quota for the evening I dramatically broke from the circle we had formed in the center of the post-party bar and walked towards the closest human only to find myself walking straight into the corner of the bar – I whipped around and grabbed the first person I saw and forced him to talk to me. A taller gentleman with a funny sounding accent later identified as Scandinavian -- nice guy that was able to withstand my prolific communication who ended up being good for a dinner date rendezvous in Dublin a few weeks later. How international of me, right?

So, no trophy, but a date….these case competition things may be fun. As soon as I got back, I had perched myself up at the cash machine at school and waited for the technology to scour through my bank accounts for remnants of cash somewhere……I could have been there all day. While I waited a classmate came by looking for a female to join his upcoming case competition team. I was so exhausted from the last three weeks of work that I only heard the list of requirements he had for my suggestion and they sounded like words I would love someone to use to describe me one day – so I said ‘How about me?’ without really checking off where I did and did not fit the bill.

71 hours of fun filled action waited for us – did anyone tell the judges that we lost an hour due to European daylights saving time? And did anyone tell the rest of the world to adjust their clocks all at the same time – surely this is a step towards real globalization. Anyway, we churned out a 6 page report after discussing the strategic implications of moving a Chinese Solar PV manufacturer to the USA. There would be a lot of waiting before we had to do anything else and the ESADE competition was steep so I spent more time refining my Spring Break plans to Abu Dhabi than contemplating the finals in NYC that would cause a few hurdles for me in the event that we advanced to the top 5 teams globally. And out of more than 250 teams worldwide, we made it to NYC. First thought – the $20,000 1^st prize…..nope, returning to the city I love…..nope. Getting my haircut…..yep! Come on….it had been 9 months and sans language skills, I wasn’t ready to take the plunge for a trim here in Barcelona.

Moving on – the boys (American, Catalan and Finn this time) and I arrived in New York for the Aspen Institute Business and Society Case Competition Finals. We spent the morning digesting a proper American breakfast (eggs with a side of grease and two slices of grease with your choice of a stroke or a heart attack for free) and practicing our speech – We had a problem getting 71 hours of banter stuffed into 6 pages and now we had 10 minutes to talk about it – this would be tough. The five teams presented and while the judges deliberated we chatted with various representatives and members of the Aspen Institute – I dropped words like ‘internship’ and ‘summer projects’ as often as possible. I even ran into the organizers of the aforementioned Hult Competition. We took home third place and a check for $5,000 - before Uncle Sam gets ahold of it. The boys went out to celebrate while I headed out for dinner to my favorite NYC spot (Sofia Wine Bar) with longtime friend and my parents that dropped down to see me for a few hours.

As soon as I landed it was time to go again and nothing is better than flying out of Newark Airport at 630am. I successfully battled with the taxi driver trying to dupe me on a fare type, checked in my bag and headed to security on my flight to London with hopes of eventually getting to Abu Dhabi. I love airports. They make me laugh; I challenge you to really find a better place to people watch. Airports can make or break couples, push patient parents to the verge of child abuse and the make the kindest of business men swear when things don’t go their way. It’s too funny to me, so fortunately, I tend to be in a good mood regardless of the events – and the worse they get the more I am entertained. This would be a good one.

Stay with me here. I was on a United flight from Newark to Dulles to London for a night before I headed to Abu Dhabi to meet up with 15 friends for a week. The security line was backed up; even with my early arrival to the airport I would be pressed for time with this line so I quietly asked to slide through the fast track line. Accomplished. The fast track line split from time to time and I just barreled forward, only to reach the end where the slowest of workers existed. I even jumped in front of a family of four with a kind smile and headed to the gate. Problem #1. They bumped me for standby passengers – 5 minutes before they should have – they kindly offered vouchers to anyone willing to take the next flight. No takers. Perk #1. I ended up on a first class flight direct to London on Continental. Perk #2. For my ‘troubles’ in rescheduling I was given $400 cash. Perk #3. My flight was leaving 2.5 hours later so I got breakfast money (which later negated the benefits of the 9 course first class in flight dining service).  Perk #3. I arrived in London earlier than previously scheduled which would allow for more sleep than anticipated. Problem #2. My bags were nowhere to be found. Problem #3. I flew into Terminal 4 with Continental and my baggage information was housed in the archaic IT systems at United in Terminal 1. Problem #4. I flew out the next morning from Terminal 5 of Heathrow. If you have ever flown from Heathrow or taken MIS at ESADE, you understand that this was Problem #4 of what was about to be several more.

Don’t worry, I only had a week of meetings and I was on day two of the one outfit I had packed into my carry-on luggage. But I kept a smile on. I trekked through the various terminals of Heathrow with my carryon, my laptop bad and a small hotel laundry bag that held the shampoo, toothbrush comb that the hotel donated to my cause. In the airport I had just enough time to grab a small bottle of perfume. Key purchase I tell you. Just me and my two and a half bags. I was so disheveled looking by the time I arrived in Abu Dhabi, I am surprised I didn’t get flagged for extra screening, perhaps they felt that bad for me and my barely held together half bag of toiletries.

And so my week moved on and under the advice of the United Airlines Employees, I purchased a few new outfits (Perks #4-10) to get me through the first few days of Abu Dhabi. My luggage showed up two days before vacation ended, but I figure between the money won in the competition, the $400 cash and the pending reimbursement from United, I did pretty good for a ten day vacation.

I think I am technically still on top with these two case competitions. Where to next?