Car hotels and moules-frites

We are in New York now.  I unpacked my small carry-on yesterday and repacked for New York where are am joining a few hundred (?) others who have completed the Coaching training that I started in January. We are cohort two of a brand new program that has enlarged my view on things exponentially.

I have started to insert what I am learning in my practice, with the first successful (I believe) attempt this week in Cote d’Ivoire.  It is all very exciting.

It took us nearly 7 hours to drive from Manchester to New York. There was a lot of what I used to call ‘first gear’ stretches, but now we just call it stop-and-go. Luckily we had good books, good company (the two of us) and good music so the ride wasn’t that bad.

After we parked our car at its hotel for a fee that would get you a bed and a shower in other places, we walked to our hotel. It is right next to the Sex Museum. It looks more like an Apple store (lots of glass and white, attractively displayed merchandise. I think it is a shop rather than a museum. Between the shop and our hotel is a movie theater for adults only; now playing: animal sex. But the museum/store is cooler and hipper than the seedy establishments one would expect to be focused on sex. Our hotel does not rent rooms by the hour. It is clean and quite elegant.

We ate across the street in a Belgian restaurant that looked just like the Belgian restaurant in Dubai which looked just like the real thing with heavy red velour curtains hanging on large brass rings to keep the cold weather (respectively  90 and 110 degrees) out. There were wise sayings painted on the walls in French (and maybe Flemish), the kind of hanging lamps that are common in high ceilinged establishments in Belgium and Holland, balloons in the colors of the Belgian flag and specials because today is Belgium’s national holiday (or so they said).

I had steak tartare, Axel had moules-frites. He had a hard time choosing from the extensive beer menu. The menu had pairings suggested by the sommelier but we learned that a beer connoisseur is not a sommelier but a cicerone from our friend Larry’s son in law who practices this profession on the other coast.

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