My AFIS students’ impressions so far

Harry asked me to write about my students’ first impressions of London.  The students in this American Institute for Foreign Studies (AIFS) Study Abroad program are all American community college students from northern California. Many of the AIFS students have never traveled abroad before, never had a passport or used public transportation.  For them, everything is new—and I love seeing their excitement when a tour guide tells us about a medieval church or we walk into the restored Globe Theatre.  Many of them, like us, seem to be eating up the history and culture.

But they are also college students, the average around age 19.  The drinking age is 18 over here, which means easy access to alcohol for all of them and some are taking full advantage.  Falling asleep in my classes is no longer the result of jet lag!

Also, the students are in different living arrangements.  Roughly half live in student apartments in the Kensington area.  They have Resident Assistants from AIFS but in large part they are on their own, to find or cook meals, and so on.  The other half of the students are in home stays scattered in different boroughs of the city.  These students are interacting more directly with the British and many have similar aged “brothers” or “sisters.”  Two of my students reported teaching their British “brother” how to do tequila shots, for instance. 

In our British Life and Culture course every Wednesday, the instructor, a British sociologist asks the students about their observations.  They have commented on the great diversity of language, dress and ethnicity here; the “old” architecture; none of them seems concerned about the recent riots or safety in a big city.

In my Shakespeare class this week, we discussed Much Ado About Nothing, in particular the scene in which the friar counsels Leonato to pretend that his daughter Hero is dead in order to make Claudio regret forsaking her.  He says: “That what we have we prize not to the worth whiles we enjoy it, but being lacked and lost, why then we rack the value, then we find the virtue that possession would not show us”—or in other words, we don’t value something until we lose it.  I asked the students what they were missing from the US and their responses were mostly food-related: Mexican restaurants, peanut butter. . . also a fast internet connection, transportation by car. . . .No one seemed to be missing their families—yet.

More on Shakespeare later. . . .

Beth

"Are you American?"

TOTTENHAM, HARINGEY, LONDON

I've been going to swim practice for about two weeks now, and Abby started on Monday. We're part of the Haringey Swim Club, based out of a leisure center nearby. There are about twenty kids, all around our age. They all have fabulous British accents, and they're all very curious about "the Americans." One of the conversations I've had many times is:

"Are you American?"

"Yeah."

"I love your accent."

"Thank you, I love yours."

"Oh. Which school do you go to?"

"I'm taking classes online."

"Really? Do you know (fill in a celebrity) who lives in Hollywood?"

"No, I live in Northern California."

On the whole everyone is really nice. They want to know what we miss and what we like about London. Our coach gives us recommendations of non-tourist things to do in the city. I'm really enjoying meeting people my age, and it's particularly interesting to hear about what they think about the U.S. Tonight everyone wanted to know if we missed the juicy hamburgers or the sunshine. I think they were a bit disappointed that we missed the taste of the water and our cat.

Lily

Our Humble Abode

WOOD GREEN, LONDON

Me in front of 95 Boundary Road

Our dining room

Our kitchen

As my dad and I walked down Boundary road, lugging our massive suitcases, I looked at each row house. Which one would be ours? Further down the street I got more of a feel for the different kinds of houses. There was red brick, white brick or stucco with pebbles. I wished with all my heart that ours was NOT stucco with pebbles. It wasn't.

95 Boundary road is an adorable, red brick row house with a blue gate, thank goodness! As you walk inside, the tiny entry hall is lavishly tiled in a middle-eastern style. Down the small hall in front there is a half bathroom and the kitchen. Although this house could probably fit into our house at home three times, the 9 foot ceilings make it seem quite spacious. A medium sized modern kitchen, living room with 2 couches and a small dining room make up the down stairs. A breath taking trip up the steep staircase will lead you onto a miniature landing. My room is straight ahead with a long and narrow bed at one end and a view out onto our flower garden. My sister's room is to the left and she has a people watching window above the street. My parents room is in the middle and is usually brightly lit, until the sun goes behind a rain cloud. Our house has two special features as well, a cupboard under the stairs and a loose floorboard in my room (for those Harry Potter lovers).  I love our house and I'm glad we live there--so no complaints.  Enjoy the photos!

Abby

Mom in the back garden

Operation Fish and Chips

“You’re brave, Pete!,” my sister Liz said as we drove to SFO for our departure.  She was commenting on the fact that I was leaving my business in the hands of its managers for the next four months.  The way she said it made me pause.  Bravery and stupidity can be closely related!  I’ll find out which I am only when I’m 10,000 miles from my customers and employees.

A year ago when Beth was awarded the position to teach California Community College students for a Semester Abroad in London it was clear that the right plan was for our family to join her.  It was a year away and we would each figure out how to do it.

At first it seemed perfect for me to treat this fall as a sabbatical.  I pictured myself sitting on a comfortable stool in a pub, sipping a room temperature draft bitter thinking about the future of gate automation and how to ensure that my life makes a significant contribution to the world…or at least to humanity.  I read a book, “Built to Sell.”  It emphasizes that the true test of a company that is sellable is one that can survive or even thrive for an extended period without its owner’s day-to-day involvement.  Well that was what I wanted to hear.  The problem, of course is how to get a business to that point.  And how to test it and know you’ve got it right without risking a disaster.

Of my twelve employees three have grown into an Operations Team with me:  an office manager, an installation manager and a service manager.  Beginning last fall we met monthly for a half day with an outside coach to work on specific managerial basics: managerial finance 101, sales 101, managing people 101, etc.  In January I told the Ops Team of my “London” plans.  They each responded differently and true to their respective character from: “What?  You’re crazy.” To: “Great, I’ve worked with remote bosses in the past.” To: I’m not looking forward to you coming back and taking away from me what I’ve shown I can do!”  We then turned our monthly meetings into prep meetings.  It was in June that we agreed to give this “adventure” a name.  The whole business voted and we chose Operation Fish and Chips.  We figured by giving it a proper name we’d be able to talk about it in short hand, make it feel like a discrete project, and (hopefully) add a little spirit of fun to what otherwise might seem scary.

Together we made lists of risks during Op F+C (what if our main subcontractor goes out of business?), tasks that needed to be completed before Op F+C began, and each of our roles and responsibilities now and during Op F+C.  Each month we tracked our progress against the tasks.  We fired someone, built a robust project management process, bought a new type of vehicle so we could sell a vehicle which is nearing the end of its life, and listed the resources available to support the business -- answering the question: “Who do we call when”  “…we need a performance bond?”  or  “we need to hire a temporary installer?”

Meanwhile I honed my message to my employees and sub contractors: “I’m confident in you”; “Our customers are confident in this company, not just me”; “We have a great team”; “I can be reached by email”; “I’ll be skype-ing in every two weeks”; “Each of us and the business itself will step up to a new level during Operation Fish + Chips.,” etc.

The week before my departure I sent an email to key customers and received a flood of messages along the line of: “What a great experience you’ll have,” “You have a great team.,” “Why aren’t you going for a year?” They were gratifying and I emphasized them to all the employees.

The morning before Abby and I flew to London Bay Cities Automatic Gates had a breakfast together at Hobee’s.  Everyone was in a good mood (a nice, free breakfast can do that).  I gave each person an English food goodie of their choosing: 6-pack of Newcastle Brown Ale, thick cut orange marmalade, dark chocolate McVittie’s digestive biscuits, etc.  I repeated my “confidence” message one more time.

At the end of breakfast one of my employees asked: “Peter, do you have a succession plan?”  “You mean if I die?”  “Yes.”  Fortunately I could answer in the affirmative.  But the unexpected morbid question in front of the whole team reminded me that with unexpected death as a constant possibility, I had to think, first: Carpe diem!  Take advantage of the chance to live in London for four months.  And second: you can only do so much to avoid risks.

I said “good bye” to Liz at the entrance to immigration at the airport.  A few minutes later in the waiting lounge for our flight while Abby listened to her IPod I checked my email messages. Halfway into a quick response to a customer’s email I bit my lip.  I deleted my response.  I decided to be brave and let my Ops Team handle the response on their own.

Peter

Two Ears, One Mouth

WOOD GREEN, LONDON
As a family we have agreed, naturally with varying levels of enthusiasm, to keep up this blog as a family journal.  As cub reporters our contract calls for each of us to publish one piece a week.

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Peter