POSTING # 33

Canadians Can Compete---Yes We Can! ; On the Road to Chita, in Eastern Siberia---Part II; Short Stuff (Mini-Stories about Kids and Pets)


Canadians Can Compete---Yes We Can!

Canada is going through a tough period of economic, financial and employment adjustments and it is easy to get depressed about whether we can compete successfully in the international arena. This is true even when one remembers that we have a healthy, well-educated, creative and energetic population, backed up by enormous natural resources.

But, I have had a few experiences over the last couple of weeks that have dispelled some of those blues.

The first has to do the Toronto-based Obus Forme Company that produces Sound Therapy, a gadget that fights sleeplessness by playing relaxing sounds of nature: Ocean, Summer Night, Rain Forest, Waterfall and Heartbeat.

I have had a problem of waking at night and not being able to get back to sleep, I have tried listening to the radio but news programs depress me (it’s all ‘bad’ news) and talk shows make me angry (the hosts often remind me of my grandfather’s comment: “An empty drum makes the most noise”).

In the end, I am more wide-awake than before.

Our daughter suggested the Obus Forme machine, which she had used for several years. I had trouble finding a store that stocked them but looking on-line I found that Well.ca, a Guelph-based on-line drugstore, listed them. I spoke to a consumer service representative, Nicole, who told me that Obus Forme had discontinued my daughter’s model but was coming out with a new model in early August. She said she would email me when the new models came in.

Right!

Website people never call you back.

Then a week later I got a note from Nicole saying that the models hadn’t yet arrived but she wanted me to know that she hadn’t forgotten me.

That was nice.

Another week later she sent an email saying that the new models had arrived. I phoned and ordered one. She said that Canada Post promised the model would be in Virgil in 2 to 4 business days. It arrived in 3 days.

And the machine is fantastic. The soft sound of ocean surf lulls me back to sleep in just a few minutes.

Hats off to Obus Forme, Well.ca---and Canada Post!

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Another example of Canadian competitiveness.

My brother and sister-in-law introduced us to Chez Cora’s restaurant in Milton.


The growing chain, started by a woman, Cora, from the Gaspé in Quebec serves delicious breakfasts all day and other light meals. What makes the chain unique for me is the use of fresh fruit of all kinds, presented in attractive, unexpected and appetizing ways.

I understand the company is considering expansion into the US.

Good luck to them!

I wish we had a Cora’s near us.

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Yet another example of Canadians---this time new-Canadians---competing.

Our daughter suggested we visit a new store called Oceans Fresh Food Market at 499 Main St. South, Brampton. (I can’t find a website—perhaps it is too new.)

It carries a full-line of ‘Canadian’ supermarket products (the usual milk, butter, eggs, soap, toilet paper etc) plus fruit, vegetables, fish, nuts, beans and other items that in the past one could only find in Hong Kong, Kuala Lumpur, Seoul or Singapore. The aisles are wide and the design is open and friendly.

What a fun place to explore.

I am sure that the thousands of Canadian students who have journeyed to Asia to teach English as a second language will be delighted to find some of the foods they enjoyed over there.

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So there you have some experiences that have helped bolster my faith in the ability of Canadians to compete.


On the Road to Chita, in Eastern Siberia---Part II

Last week I explained that in 1996 my interpreter, Yuri, and I had arrived by train in Chita, Eastern Siberia. Our host, the manager of the Chita Employment Centre, was not happy with the available hotel rooms and arranged for us to stay at a nearby Russian Army base.

Let’s continue the story.

After a thirty minute drive in the manager’s car we pulled up at the gate to the base. The manager chatted with the armed guard, who upon learning that the manager was a retired colonel, saluted smartly and lifted the barrier.

We parked in front of a two story, frame building where a young soldier was waiting for us. He took us and our bags to the second floor and opened the door to the room that was to be mine. The room was large, fresh-smelling with a double bed and a view of a rolling countryside beyond the fence that surrounded the camp. There was a TV and some soft chairs.

The soldier opened the door to the private bathroom---large, deep tub (with plug) that was spotlessly clean, a large sink (with plug), toilet and a bidet. The bathroom was warm, the towels were soft, and there was soap and toilet paper.

After two nights on a train, I wanted to climb into the tub and soak but we had to go back to the Employment Centre and try to figure out whether it could be converted into a model office.

As we drove to the Centre, Yuri explained that he had learned that the army base was a sort of rehabilitation centre for army officers who were recovering from illness, surgery or, sometimes, too much vodka over too long a period.

Apparently, my room was reserved for generals. That explained a lot.

Rolling his eyes with delight, Yuri said that although his room was not as posh, it was still very comfortable.

When we got to the Chita Employment Centre we began by meeting the senior staff and then touring the office. As we went around the office, I made a mental list of problems that I would want to discuss with the manager and his senior people the following day. By the end of the day, it was a pretty long list---things weren’t looking too good for Chita as a possible model office.

The manager drove us back to the army base where we discovered that the base commandant had invited us to join him for dinner in his private dining room.

The commandant was in his mid-50s, tall, slim with short hair. Dinner opened with vodka toasts and then we turned to a selection of breads, plates of cheese and smoked meats, and bowls of different salads.

As was usual with Russian meals, I would have been happy to make a meal of the appetizers but I had learned that I could only nibble. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to do justice to the main course---and an unfinished meal was an insult to the chef.

The commandant passed the bread basket and I took a crusty roll. Now, I should say that although I like all kinds of bread (my ancestors were master bakers, after all) I just love crusty rolls---if they are fresh and well-made. This roll was perfection: the roll broke with a satisfying crunch, flakes of the crust fell on the plate, and the inside was soft, white and smelled of yeast and fine wheat.

Although I wasn’t sure it was appropriate, I felt I had to tell the commandant how much I was enjoying the roll. When Yuri had translated my comments, the commandant nodded and said he was proud of their bakery. Then he launched into an account of how the base was managing to survive, although the nearly bankrupt national government kept cutting back his funds.

The base had always had a small farm with a bakery and a dairy to provide some of the food for the troops. As his funds were cut back, he expanded production and started selling bread, milk and butter to surrounding towns. With the cash he raised in this way and with some bartering he was able to keep the base operating at an almost normal level.

The main course consisted of thick, juicy pork chops, mashed potatoes and vegetables. I was glad I hadn’t overdone the bread and appetizers.

After the meal was over and we were sipping our coffee, I dared to ask him a question that I thought he might refuse to answer. I asked if, on a scale of 1 to 10 he could say how likely he thought it was that the new regime would succeed. (I carefully used the term ‘regime’ not ‘democracy’ because by 1996 ‘democracy’ was being blamed for all the hardship being endured in the nation.)

He paused and then said that Russians always used a scale from 1 to 5, and if it was all right he would use that scale.

After another pause, he said he would put the chances at 3. There were many problems. In addition to the huge unemployment problem and resulting poverty, the levels of crime and corruption were much worse than under the old regime. He hoped the experiment would succeed but it was not a sure thing.

We discussed that subject some more and his answers were always thoughtful, concise and candid. He was an impressively well-educated, well-read person.

The commandant switched the subject to hockey. He said that he loved hockey and there were many teams of teenaged boys in the Chita area. He mused about whether it might be possible to arrange for a Canadian team to play against local teams. They didn’t have artificial ice but with the Siberian winter there would be lots of natural ice rinks. The base and the surrounding towns could house the players.

It would be good for Russian-Canadian relations.

We began a riff on how such a trip might be organized. The Russians would do this, and the Canadians would do that, etc. I said I was sure that many Canadian teams would love to visit Siberia.

The discussion was fun.

But in the end, we had to face the reality of distance---travel costs would be unaffordable.. If only there were flights from British Columbia to Chita (about 5000 miles) it might have been feasible but there were none at the time. A team would have to fly the other way around the globe, to Europe, then to Moscow and then to Chita (about 15,000 miles). It was a brave dream, but would have to stay a dream.

Later on, I wondered who would have ever believed that a Russian Army commandant would propose such a dream. I wouldn’t have believed it.

As we shook hands after the meal, he said that I was the first NATO citizen to have been admitted onto his base and that he had enjoyed our discussions.

His comment needs a bit of amplification.

The term ‘NATO’ had been used for years in the Soviet Union to express all the fear and outrage that the USSR felt toward the West---as in “NATO is evil”, or, “NATO wants to destroy our country and kill us”. It was the counterpart of our ‘evil Communists’.

As I will describe in later postings, my consultants and I sometimes had to confront feelings of fear, suspicion and even anger from the people we were trying to help---just because Canada was part of NATO.

It had taken some courage for the commandant to welcome me onto his base. It was good to know that he had enjoyed our exchanges.

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The next day, after a very good sleep and an excellent breakfast, Yuri and I packed and returned to the Employment Centre.

I raised my questions and concerns with the manager of the Centre. It became clear that there were some serious staff conflicts and some accommodation issues that could not be resolved before our project ended, in March 1997. I had to tell him that we would not be accepting Chita as a model office site.

I think the manager understood but he was disappointed.

And understandably.

His office would not have the status of a model office, would not have a team of Canadian consultants to help sort out his problems but perhaps most of all, he and his superior, the Regional Director of Employment, would not have a two week study tour to Canada.

I felt badly about having to reject his office but looking back I realize that Chita was like some other Russian offices we visited. There were often strong female employees---such as the woman we met the first morning in Chita---but the men in charge were not prepared to listen to them.

And the offices suffered as a result.

Male managers not listening to their women workers is, of course, not unique to Russia.

Short Stuff (Mini-Stories about Kids and Pets)

While in Russia, I once used the expression, “We shouldn’t count our chickens until they’re hatched.” A friend told me that in Russian the proverb was, “Don’t count your chickens until the fall”.

When I looked puzzled, he explained that in Russia in the old days, hatched chickens were left outside with the adult chickens until the cold weather. Then, they were put in the chicken house. While they were in the yard, foxes or hawks could get them. So, farmers didn’t count them until they were safely in the chicken house.

I think I prefer the cautious pragmatism of the Russian version.


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See you next Sunday for Posting #34 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting, or email me at johnpathunter@cs.com.