The slowest tour bus in the world...

I've learned that one of the best ways of orienting yourself in a new city is to take a city tour. And yes, the commentary can be a bit dull sometimes, and some of the sights unlikely to tempt you back for a second look, but you do get a sense of scale and a flavour of a place in a relatively short time.

And so, knowing that Santiago has such a thing, it was time to find it and, after a few false starts (the map wasn't very good), the bus stop was located and the bus caught.

One thing that I'd already noticed was the number of Chinese vehicles on the road, and the bus, designed to look a bit like a London Routemaster, was a Chinese model, painted red. As it turned out, it wasn't the fastest thing on four wheels, as it ground its painfully slow way around the downtown area. Past the Japanese Garden, past the hotel, and on into the upmarket districts of Las Condes, the bus pottered, allowing a good view of the architecture in the tree-lined streets.

I was a little concerned that, with a lengthy detour out to a shopping mall in the eastern suburbs, the day might be lost, but the accelerator was finally located, and the bus arrived at Parque Arauco, described as the 'fashionista mall of choice'. It is, I must admit, rather fancy, with Tiffany and Burberry represented amongst the array of international stores. There's clearly some money amongst the relatively well-to-do locals.

An excellent lunch of austral hake on a bed of pesto mashed potatoes, and a bottle of Patagonia's finest Austral beer, made for a fine repast, before heading into the mall to have a look around and to get some of my daily step count done.

Back on the city tour, and off to Bellavista, a rather hip and up and coming area of the city, at the foot of an isolated hill. The creaky old funicular to the top had a dauntingly long queue, so an exploration of the area on foot was the best option. Patio Bellavista is a collection of interesting restaurants and interesting gift stores seemingly designed for tourists, although the number of non-Latin Americans is still relatively few, given the cost of flights and the distance to be travelled.

I noted a few potential gift ideas but had reached the point where retreated to an air-conditioned hotel room seemed like a good idea.

When retailers fail: feeling a little bit like a vulture (a slightly better dressed vulture, but nonetheless...)

I was reading my newspaper yesterday, perusing the business section, when I came across an article which noted that all of the Austin Reed stores would be closing. Now, I admit, I've never shopped there, but it was a chain that I knew of, albeit the prices were above what I'd normally pay - I've never been extravagant when it comes to my wardrobe.

And my first thought was, "there'll be some decent savings to be had". I noted my diary to drop into the Ipswich store midweek to see what might be had, especially as I need a few new things what with my recent weight loss and all.

However, today, I had an unexpected opportunity to do a little shopping, as I was in London anyway, with a little time to kill. So, I made my way to the Austin Reed at the bottom of Regent Street, emblazoned with closing down posters, and had a look around.

As I did so, I encountered an employee, possibly a little older than myself, who looked somewhat glum, and it reminded me that, when a large company fails, it's the ordinary workers who suffer the worst blow. I felt a mite guilty, coming into the store in search of a bargain.

Now, it is true that, by buying goods, even those marked down, I am helping to generate funds that might go towards redundancy payments, and might even help a potential rescuer by giving them cause to salvage something, some jobs, from the wreckage. It might not be much consolation for the employee.

Of course, it could be that Austin Reed never stood a chance. Britons buy more online than the citizens of other European countries, and retail outlets reliant on in-store purchases are competing in a shrinking market. But I'm an old-fashioned soul, I like to see and feel the merchandise before I buy. I like shops.

The market is often cyclical though. As supermarkets moved away from personal service in the 1970s and 1980s, so they returned to cheese counters and fishmongers in the last decade. Perhaps we'll see a similar cycle in our purchases of clothes. One can only hope...

Another gorgeous day in the South Seas

Welcome to Nadi, where I'm taking time out from my busy schedule of sunbathing, reading, drinking the occasional dip in the pool and drinking the odd cold beer or two to do a little light shopping and reconnect with the outside world.

Of course, I've never been terribly good at doing absolutely nothing at all. However, I have another two weeks of this booked in August so it could be looked upon as orientation. So, you see, I'm actually working very hard. You're not convinced, I can tell...

I did do a little shopping in Lautoka, buying two shirts intended to frighten or blind my fellow colleagues at the office and elsewhere, but my biggest success was to get my hair and beard cut - very short. I look reasonably good, I think. The locals were a bit surprised to see me wander in, but I slotted straight into the vital conversation taking place (England or Argentina for the World Cup?) and, for F$5, I thought I got a good deal.

Next stop, Las Vegas, where it is 106 degrees. I'm not planning to go outside unless it's absolutely necessary...

Gorillas in the mist

Sorry about the absence of reports. I couldn't blog from Harrogate (I don't own a laptop and the computers in the conference centre didn't appear to like www.blogger.com). And so, where were we?

I went up to Harrogate on Thursday evening, and had a fairly pleasant train journey apart from the idiot who had decided to occupy my reserved seat and set up his computer. Politely noting that he was in my seat, he asked if I minded giving up my window seat so that he could use his computer. Pointing out that I did mind, having wanted a window seat, he then asked if he could trail his cables across me. I wasn't wildly keen to be used as a cable tidy but consented, not wanting to appear churlish, only to then watch as he used the wretched gadget to listen to music. Get an iPod, loser!... I drove him away eventually, though.

Friday morning was spent doing some light shopping at Gap. I like their chinos and some of their brighter coloured shirts (faceless bureaucrat does peacock), and needed a couple of extra bits of wardrobe for the weekend. Next to the Turkish Baths to get some information and then to a rather nice barber shop for a haircut, beard trim and general refurbishment before dropping off my shopping at the hotel. The weather was lovely, with bright sunshine, although it was a mite brisk.

The Turkish Baths are fascinating. I turned up, paid my £13, and was escorted to the changing rooms for a brief explanation of how it all works. Friday afternoons are gentlemen only, leading to a general lack of clothing. I'm not the most svelte person in the world, tending more to walrus than giraffe, but I've learned to be fairly relaxed about my imperfections and strolled into the wonderfully restored hot room. I was a little disconcerted by the gentleman who followed me into the steam room, though. He had enough metal piercings in his genitalia to set off metal detectors... as far away as Leeds Bradford Airport... and I'm wondering how he gets on when he travels overseas...

I spent a very pleasant two hours or so, alternating between the various rooms and the steam rooms before heading back to the hotel to mingle with the newly arriving delegates. Imagine my surprise on discovering that two inches of snow had been depositing on Harrogate whilst I was gently broiling...

Shopping the faceless bureaucrat way

I had seen a waistcoat that I quite fancied in the Indian Village Industries Emporium, and decided to go and buy it yesterday. So I caught the train, and, on the way across town, I dropped in to the Khadi Village Clothing Emporium, as recommended by my father. It's a Government of India enterprise, proof that socialism works... sometimes. Imagine if you will a 1940's department store, with tiled floors and everything behind counters, with people there to serve you, but only if you approach them, none of this "can I help you?" nonsense.

There I spotted a waistcoat which I fell in love with, raw silk in cream with threads of all the colours of the rainbow interspersed across it. I had to have it. So I try it on, find that it fits to my satisfaction and ask to purchase it. An invoice slip is written and I assume that this is instead of an invoice. But no, I have to take it to the cash counter, where I queue to pay for it. They then give me part of the invoice slip, which I am to take to the packing desk, where I exchange it for a package with my item in it. As Kalina, my cousin's wife said, it's just like Bulgaria before the fall of communism (she's Bulgarian, so I'll take her word for it...).

All in all, a quintessentially Indian experience. And I love the waistcoat...