Last week I found myself on my way to Nice to represent our organisation at a series of meetings with people I’d never met, on topics I had only the sketchiest of details about. Not a recipe for guaranteed success.
Couple that with my general aversion to businessness and, as sure as the probability of being regarded with deep suspicion at the airport, a cornucopia of faux-pas was in the offing.
Fortunately, that trouble never really materialized. The south of France was Nice. And I managed to take care of business. The biggest problem was that Nice was even warmer and sunnier and beachier than pictured above, and I was dressed like this:
However, I did manage a quick submersion in the chilly May morning Mediterannean, and for great chunks of the meetings I managed to present myself as capable and earnest. So yeah, success. Business and pleasure mixed.
I realized, while waiting for my return flight, that business trips – when required very infrequently – are novel and, largely on the strength of that novelty, are even enjoyable.
Plus when they are to vacation-friendly places like Nice, you can complain about them in a way that makes people both despise and envy you; that’s a winning combination.
However, I’ve heard that once the novelty fades, you’re left with nothing but the pain in the ass from uncomfy plane seats, and bags under your eyes from watching incomprehensible late-night French TV in bed.
Here’s hoping the travel stays novel.
