Calpirinhas

Boston to Rio de Janeiro had taken over 20 hours, including a stressfully short transfer window in Sao Paulo. I had already needed to use my meager Portuguese to navigate the surprise of exiting Santos Dumont airport directly into a mall populated by non-travelers. I hugged my luggage through the subway until emerging at Nossa Senhora da Paz in Ipanema. My hotel was located just two blocks from that beach made famous worldwide by a 1960s Bossa Nova song. I barely unpacked and reclined before forcing myself to the beach, which instantly melted away my travel anxiety. The urban blocks opened up into limitless sand impossibly fast, and a caipirinha stand immediately invited me. "Uma caipirinha por favor" came out of my lips before I could stop myself. "Onde vocestasentado?" I stared stupidly, and was about to admit I didn't speak Portuguese, when I made contextual sense of the word onde (where) and randomly pointed to a spot. The bartender, if this makeshift stand that was essentially a refrigerator on wheels could have a bartender, nodded, and I went and laid down on that spot. Minutes later, a pretty woman came over with a caipirinha. As I sipped the sugary rum, marveling at the beautiful mountains on my right, the tall buildings off on my left and the expansive beach everywhere else, I wondered why everyone didn't live here.

Antonio and I had been paired together on the Corporate Audit Staff at GE. We had only spent all of 3 weeks in physical proximity, in Cincinnati, but they were an intense 3 weeks and we had gotten close. They were cutoff when I was suddenly laid off.  I had planned to visit him in Brazil in the intervening period of unemployment, but timing did not work out (I went to Colombia instead). When a wedding invitation came in the mail, it was a no-brainer for me to make the trip.

Ever since I made a point of studying Italian before visiting Italy in 2014, I try to learn languages in advance of trips. For this trip, I was able to put in 2 months of semidecent Duolingo practice before going. Unlike in Colombia, where I drastically improved in Spanish over the course of the trip, here I was never placed in do-or-die Portuguese situation, and my Portuguese improved only marginally. Upon landing I was able to ask for directions and the price of items, and that was basically the bare minimum to get by.

In Rio, I couldn't help but be reminded of Hong Kong. It's geologically remarkable for land to rise from the coast to a point high enough yet near enough the city to provide wonderful views. To have both mountains and beaches within subway access -  I'm only aware of those two and Cape Town.  Furthermore, the two cities are both harbors at 22° latitude, at different hemispheres of course, and as a result have similar climates, with palm trees adorning the major boulevards. Both cities had been extremely important colonial possessions, but had since evolved very distinctive local styles and customs. The open air cosmopolitan bars of Ipanema intermingled with cheap food stalls selling coxinha (dough covered chicken) reminded me of Wan Chai.

While the mountains of Hong Kong are fantastic, the beaches are fairly meh. They aren't all that close to the city and get crowded quickly, with some less than pristine public facilities. But in Rio, Ipanema and Copacabana beach are right there, and they are so wide that they weren't crowded on a hot Sunday summer afternoon. If you wanted to get away from that, there were more options further down the coast. I bought some Havaianas, those famous Brazilian sandals, and dipped my feet into the South Atlantic for the first time in my life. I think it was like the third wave that overwhelmed me and suddenly I only had one Havaiana. I stood firm, knowing that the wave would bring the sandal back. But for ten futile minutes, I futilely scanned my neck of the beach. Walking back to my spot, a young man walked up to me. "Amigo, podevocesascorato?" he said, pointing to somewhere behind him. I stared dumbly, until I saw my sandal at that spot. "Obrigado!! Muito obrigado!!!" I replied, amazed. "De nada."

Of the mountain views in Rio, there are many. I visited three notable ones - Pão de Açucar, Vista Chinesa, and Cristo Redentor. Pão de Açucar, bread of sugar, or Sugarloaf Mountain, is this thumb of a rock that arises suddenly from a peninsula situated between Copacabana beach and the downtown sector. Two systems of cable cars had been built to take tourists from the ground to an intermediate thumb and then the Sugarloaf. My view at sunset was spectacular. It was all there - clouds rolling into the mountains in the distance, lush jungled mountains, wide white beaches on both sides, dozens of marina boats dotting the reflective bay. No wonder that the entire bay is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The next day I wanted to hike the Vista Chinesa. This dot on Google Maps aroused my curiosity (it means Chinese View), and research told me it was a great view with a pagoda. I had no idea how to hike to it though, and hotel staff warned me that the surrounding area wasn't exactly safe. So I told a taxi driver just to drive to it. It happened that as he approached, there was a road closure and he said this was as far as he could go. I saw a dirt road leading up into the mountains and jumped at the fortune to get to hike it after all.

The hike couldn't have been more than a mile, but it went through real jungle. It had rained a few days before, and parts of the sloping trail were slippery mud, and I nearly didn't make it up. Finally I clawed my way to a paved road, and as I peeped out from the jungle, I saw dozens of faces staring back at me. I awkwardly looked around in confusion, until I heard cheering and then a skateboarder zoom by me. Evidently there was some sort of downhill race going down that road, which was why my taxi couldn't enter. Looking both directions, I crept uphill towards the audience and pagoda, clinging to the side. I reached the pagoda, and stared out at a beautiful view that included both the Cristo and Pão de Açucar, as well as miles of lush jungle. The extent of the jungle within city limits was truly astonishing.

I admired the view at the pagoda for only a few minutes before a bilingual announcement came on that there would be a 15 minute break in the race. "Quick!" shouted a girl in the pagoda. "This is our chance!" Alarmed, I wondered how long they had been trapped there. I immediately followed suit. Suddenly I found myself hiking into the jungle with 2 multilingual Brits, where we found a small waterfall and calm pools. Locals were picnicking in the water, and one man with a bottle of rum offered me a cup - "Cuba libre?" I don't have many travel rules, but when a Brazilian man offers you a Cuba libre by a waterfall deep within Rio, you say yes.

My Crazy Quick Asia Trip

I still consider my company CiBO a startup, though it is big enough that most people don't have any relationship with the CEO. At the time of this event, we were about 130 employees. So when the CEO David walked into the meeting and asked me to step out, my first thought was, "this can't be good." But his request completely surprised me: "Do you speak Mandarin or Cantonese?" I could have given the long answer, but I'd learned to be concise with executives. "Both," I replied.

"Can you talk about CiBO in Mandarin?" David continued.

"Uh, yes...but I'd really need to prepare."

"Can you talk about CiBO in Mandarin in a meeting in Malaysia in about a week?"

"Uh...maybe....sure."

"Ok. I'll let you know at the end of the week if it'll happen. I'd really appreciate it."

With that he was gone. I returned to my meeting confused but excited, my mind fluttering with possibilities.

Turns out end of the week meant Sunday. Sunday afternoon I happened to be on my work laptop and saw an email with the subject: "KL on 8/2 at 1200 local." The body of the text began, "Ready to give this a shot?"

Saying yes to scary situations, often against better instincts, has been surprisingly rewarding over my life, and become one of my guiding principles.  This Malaysia trip with my CEO seemed exactly like the sort of scary but rewarding experience that I should say yes to.

So I cancelled all my plans and next thing I knew, I was selecting business class flights leaving on Monday. The next day. I had so many misgivings!  For starters, though I'm not shy about speaking, I have long been very insecure about my Mandarin skills. It is my third language which I began learning at age 19.   I'd barely formally studied and never worked in the language, having only lived 6 months in mainland China, so I really wasn't sure I could do this. Secondly, I had no more context about the meeting than I'd just described. I didn't know who we'd be meeting, what we wanted to talk about, what we wanted to gain from the meeting, and why it needed to be in Mandarin in freaking Malaysia. The official language of Malaysia is Malay (not related to Chinese), and English is the language of international business. But I took a deep breath and trusted that David wasn't being hilariously ignorant.

I immediately headed over to my parents. I pulled up a random investor deck and stumbled through it in Mandarin while my dad looked on. It was rough.

I had never been more anxious to get to work on a Monday morning, desperately wanting to get to the bottom of this Malaysian mystery. Unfortunately, almost no one knew what was going on. David's leadership style kept everyone on a need-to-know basis, and it seemed no one in Cambridge needed to know about this China meeting. The only other person going to Malaysia was on a boat off Rhode Island. But with all hands on deck, we put together a reasonably presentable set of slides in the morning - in English. In the afternoon, I gathered the 2 Mainland Chinese coworkers (whose passports prevented them from going to Malaysia themselves) and translated the deck.  The process dramatically expanded my knowledge of Chinese agriculture and software terms. Over and over again I practiced, until phrases such as "Simulating Agricultural Ecosystems - 农业生态模型" became pronounceable, then branded in memory.

Though this trip would circumnavigate the globe, because of weekend commitments, I'd only be in Malaysia for 36 hours. I grabbed my passport and just one small bag, and headed to my parents, where I practiced for another hour. They then drove me to the airport for my 1:50am flight to Hong Kong. I've flown to Asia many times of course, and jet lag inevitably crushes me. This time however, I had business class tickets - and discovered how the other side lives. I was able to pregame the flight with champagne from the British Airways lounge, and the flight attendant offered me another glass when I priority boarded. I reclined my seat down to a bed, and slept a solid 8 hours. Upon waking, I made a point to practice with some Chinese movies, but somehow chose two awfully dubbed Hong Kong movies.

The familiar HSBC posters and temperature checks of Hong Kong International Airport greeted me, yet unknowingly tormented me. How cruel to be in this city I love but unable to enjoy it? Sure I had a 4 hour layover, enough time to take the airport express to Central and grab breakfast. But, after a longing stare at the customs checkpoint, and fidgeting with my HKID card, I decided that this was a business trip and I should focus on business.

Cathay Lounge in HKIA

I reached Kuala Lumpur around 1pm, about 24 hours after I'd set off. My CEO happily greeted me at the hotel lobby. The scene was still surreal and mysterious as we sat down for lunch, and amazingly even then the mystery was not resolved. CiBO had been connected to this Chinese fund through a confusing web of well-placed people, facilitated by our "external consultant", a Norwegian with a suspiciously unremarkable name (I'll call him Jan). It seems Jan's entire job was to open doors. While he seemed like a nice and intelligent man, I couldn't help but imagine him as a less sketchy Paul Manafort. I'm not saying Cibo was doing anything nefarious, but I wouldn't be surprised if I found out Jan was banned from entering Thailand.

We were considering the Chinese company as either a potential investor or a client. While there was partnership to be had here in Malaysia, the work in China was the real objective. That evening we would have a 5pm meeting with the director of the Malaysian branch of this Chinese fund, and afterwards I planned to pass out.

The Malaysian director was not Malaysian Chinese as I had guessed, but a Malaysian Indian man named Rohit. Rohit explained the fund's origins and their investments in infrastructure that fit into the strategic One Belt One Road initiative, such as a port and rail link across Malaysia and Thailand allowing goods to bypass Singapore. They had also some substantial investments in a range of agriculture, and thus there was some generic thought that we could partner.  We wrapped up the meeting with plenty of optimism, and I yawned in anticipation for my jet-lagged sleep.

"We're going to dinner with the Princess. Cal would you care to join us?"
"Sorry what? Princess?"
"Yes, we are having dinner with the Princess of Kelantan. You should come."

Never before had I dined with a Princess before. Jet lag be damned.

So it turns out Malaysia has a monarchy. While mostly a figurehead position, the monarch does exert some influence over the Prime Minister and the democratically elected lawmakers. I was told that the King of Malaysia probably had more real power than the British Queen, but less than the Thai King. Unusual about Malaysia's monarchy is its rotating nature. Malaysia contains nine Sultanates, and every 5 years one of the Sultans is elected King. So one day you're the Sultan of Johor Bahru, the next you're the King of Malaysia. The current King of Malaysia is the Sultan of Kelantan, a state in the north of Malaysia bordering Thailand, with a poor and largely agriculture economy. In the comically non-royal venue of an Italian restaurant in a downtown mall, the King's cousin or niece (I can't remember the exact relation) was seated, accompanied by a male Malay friend.

The Princess was casually dressed in plain western garb. We made introductions (the word "Princess" was omitted), shook hands, and somehow I was placed next to her. The whole encounter was surreal in its normalcy. As wine was ordered and conversation began, my good fortune dawned on me. Though David and Jan had been working on getting business in Malaysia for months, I had actually been to Malaysia more times and to more places, this being my 5th trip. Armed with Facebook updates from friends like Julia Chan, I mustered up fairly insightful questions about the recent election, the local tech industry, and Malay naming traditions. In an extremely geeky company, I was definitely the best data scientist at schmoozing with a Malaysian Princess. To top it off, I discovered that her young daughter shared the exact same birthday as my niece. They even looked remarkably similar. I noticed David smiling at our connection, and again counted my blessings.

The Princess opened up about what her life was like. She seemed like a fairly normal, smart woman whose birthright didn't provide outrageous luxury, but did prevent her from living a completely normal life. She was not as lost as her spoiled younger brother, but didn't have a real career of her own either. She was much more of a conflicted millennial than a Disney protagonist. On our way back, I was so desperate to get to bed that I nearly got hit by a car exiting the taxi.

The next morning I woke up at a surprisingly normal hour and admired the high rise view over central Kuala Lumpur. We didn't need to meet up until 11, so I was able to get out of the hotel and partake in some of my favorite Malaysian staples - white coffee at an Old Town Coffee, smell the char kway teoh at an open air Chinese restaurant, stroll past street stalls with coconuts and cans of Milo.

That afternoon was the only part of the trip that felt like work. David and I sat together in the lobby for hours, picking at the Chinese slide deck my coworkers and I had prepared. It was a hell of a learning experience, seeing him tailor a pitch about technology, agriculture and international growth. Several times I had to add Chinese content, and I found myself sounding out scientific phrases in Mandarin, trying to find the right word order - a skill I'd never used professionally. Trying to get the right tone, we had discussions about Chinese culture and appropriate business practices. As an extroverted data scientist in Boston, I've often bemoaned how my international experience has added nothing tangible to my professional life. That moment, at a fancy Hilton lounge in Kuala Lumpur translating data science terms into Chinese with the CEO, was the manifestation of everything I had wanted. David and I scripted out the entire conversation, starting from "Hello, how was your flight in? How about the weather here?" At one slide, he wanted me to translate "We use plants as sensors." Barely understanding this concept in English, and I told him I couldn't translate this, and managed to convince him towards a different approach.

The meeting wasn't until 7pm. I was a nervous wreck, drinking coffee and rehearsing the slides from a business lounge on the 28th floor with a distractingly gorgeous view. I went over vocab - 计算机软件 (computational software)， 肥料利用 (fertilizer application)， 实时监控 (real-time monitoring) - and amazingly it had begun to click. While I can't really think in Mandarin, I can think in Cantonese, and the similar word order dramatically improved my speaking.

Finally it was 7pm, and Jan and David and I sat in a conference room in nervous silence, with iPads and slides prepared.  The minutes rolled by and the Chairman didn't show up. At 7:05 David chose that moment to go to the bathroom, probably nervous himself. And of course the Chairman arrived when he was outside the room. "Ni hao, ni hao" we greeted each other as the Chairman and an entourage that included Rohit and 2 Chinese men rolled in. The Chairman rushed in briskly, going through the motions of handshakes before grabbing his seat. He looked like he'd been through a full day of meetings and just wanted to get this over. He snatched the iPad and tried to swipe up and down on our beautiful presentation. It wasn't working, and even as I tried to intervene, "you need to swipe right to left", he gave up frustrated and handed the iPad to his lackey, and grabbed the black and white slides I had printed out as a backup. I protested, "please used the iPad", but he was already on slide #3. At that point David walked in, and I tried to grab the Chairman's attention - "CEO! Let me introduce you to our CEO!" The Chairman barely made eye contact. I looked to David and shrugged. He shrugged back and we got into our well-rehearsed script.

"Hello this is David, our CEO, Jan, our external consultant. I'm Cal, a data scientist and today, a translator. Did you fly into Kuala Lumpur today? How are you finding the weather?" Dead silence. The Chairman was on slide #5. My heart raced ahead as the makings of a disaster unfolded.

We moved ahead to the contents and I implored the Chairman, please turn back to slide #2. Finally he started giving me some attention. Around slide #4 he was listening to me more than he was reading the paper, and at slide #6 he realized that we were not an ordinary company. I hit my stride and could tell that he actually understood me. I breezed through the Brazil project that I had worked on, struggled through the word 策略, and closed it up with a slide saying 谢谢. The Chairman gave an appreciative nod, and then went into a long remark complimenting us on our interesting approach and inquiring about the crux of how we built our model. Though he went on for over a minute, I smiled because I understood exactly what he was saying. "He wants to know how we get our data," I translated.

As a data scientist, I was prepared to say to give an exact and literal answer, but I deferred to David. As a Japanese major in college, he was not a literal person. "We use plants as sensors," he replied. I sighed deeply and protested, but David put his hand up and said, "wait, give this a chance." I panicked as I was at a translation loss, but the Malaysian man next to me asked, "What do you mean?" David proceeded with his elaborate and essentially philosophical understanding of plant modeling. The Malaysian Chinese then went into translation mode and I breathed a deep sigh of relief. Like many Malaysian Chinese, his multilingualism was exceptional, and allowed him to take over. His translation took over 2 minutes - I was amazed he was even able to remember all David had said - and amazingly, it worked. With an assenting nod that restored my esteem for the liberal arts, the Chairman bought into that explanation. With the Malaysian Chinese in charge, our conversation continued swimmingly. At one point the Malaysian Chinese asked me if I knew the English translation for "农药", and when I meekly suggested, "farm medicine?" we looked up and learned it meant "pesticide." The Chairman finished his round of questioning then impressed upon his agricultural experience, bragging about how he'd created the finest apples in all of Shaanxi. He concluded with the bold declaration that, were we able to raise $50 million, he would match us by raising $50 million, to be focused exclusively on China. I knew instantly that while this oral statement was by no means a guarantee, it meant that this meeting had been a success. Our message had been positively received, and there would be followups.

Down in the lobby, David toasted me on a job well done and laughed about how disastrous the meeting had begun. It felt so satisfying to step up to a challenge and meet it, and gain so much insight into our international business in the meantime. Three hours later I was on a British Airways flight to London, and I was back in Boston by Friday afternoon, in time for a road trip to Maine.

***

Two weeks later, David was removed from CEO. All the goodwill I had built up with David and the beginnings of a deal with the Chairman instantly evaporated. #startuplife