travelswithalice
April 28, 2016
Omaha diary
Shareholder Weekend in Omaha
Thursday.
We're in Lincoln, Nebraska ...storm over Omaha, airport closed... flight diverted, have to refuel.
Now waiting for word from Omaha where thunderstorm is hovering over the airport. Three other flights await.
Cleared for Omaha after an hour.
Friday.
At the Fair. The Exhibition Hall.
Shopping day at Berkshire Hathaway stores all brought together under one roof. Cowboy boots, bed linen (bamboo sheets!), carpets, kitchen stuff, small planes, mobile homes, ice cream, diamonds. 30% off retail prices for shareholders.
Saturday.
At the Century Link Center. The Warren and Charlie Show.
It's cold and wet, the sky a dreary gunmetal grey, but Stuart's up at 6:30 to secure seats at the convention hall outside which people had started queuing this morning at 4.
The show starts with a film at 8:30 and I find myself in the wrong place. I'm in one of the overflow rooms and a text from Stuart tells me I'm miles away from where I should be.
The nice man at the door leaves his post to escort me to where Stuart sits, waving to me, in one of the precious sought-after seats in the main auditorium. We're way up in the gods but we consider ourselves lucky to be there.
Sunday.
Epilogue.
Okay. It was fun, exciting, and entertaining. Stuart got to chat with money man Mario Gabelli who thought Stuart was some big shot from Sydney. I got to be in the same elevator as CNBC's Becky Quick. She didn't ask to interview me though. I would it were Andrew Ross Sorkin instead- I'd have asked to interview him! And I saw Billy Jean King in the hotel lobby.
Oh alright, there was an exciting buzz in the lobby all the time and I did get to breathe the same air as some heavy hitting masters of the capitalist universe.
However I probably won't bother to come again.
Did I learn much? I'm not even sure I was meant to learn anything. It was purely entertainment. The cult of personality. The Warren and Charlie Show. Preaching to the faithful.
In the end, I couldn't help feeling a bit let down. At times those two old geezers behaved like a couple of rich spoiled brats.
A young man asked an earnest question about the future prospects of his family's cattle ranch.
Charlie, who usually waits until Warren finishes answering the question and turns to him with a "Do you have anything to add, Charlie?' was quick at the draw.
"I can't think of a worse business!" He scoffed.
It was mean spirited and unnecessary. Warren attempted to be more kind but didn't try hard enough. He said, "I know people in the cattle business who did well... but they also owned banks and such."
On Coca Cola. Questions to do with the well known and highly contentious issue of investing in a product with an obscenely high content of sugar, arguably the single seriously major contributing factor in obesity and related diseases.
Warren said it's his choice to get his daily 700 calories from Coke (his choice is the sickly sweet Cherry variety) and it's other people's choice if they want to consume excessive amounts of sugar by drinking unreasonable amounts of Coke. He says he's 95 and he's healthy and happy. He could drink water and eat broccoli but then he wouldn't be happy.
Munger said he considered such questions "immature and stupid."
I thought a serious issue like that needed a less cavalier treatment from the Sage of Omaha.
From the start of his address, he was defensive about BH's not too stellar performance. So I came away asking myself why we, the shareholders, should continue paying for foolhardy investments in businesses that are unprofitable and have no clear path to profitability.
BNSF. Its main cargo, coal, is down and bound to go lower. The railway is a capital guzzler. WB said more expenses are in the offing as railways are expensive to maintain.
Then why stay in it? Good money after bad.
GEICO. The insurance business has become too competitive. The float is no longer advantageous in today's low (soon to be zero) interest rate scenario.
Amazon/ Jeff Bezos was mentioned at least five times. BH used to like consumer-oriented retail businesses but now Buffett says he can't and won't even try to compete with Amazon.
Why IBM when he used to say he wouldn't go into IT because he didn't understand it?
And if BH is so great, why the low bond rating? Munger's answer: "They're wrong."
At times, I found Warren's folksy stance a tad overplayed. He doesn't like committees, meetings, or market research. Oh, he probably has a PowerPoint somewhere but he wouldn't know how to use it anyway. And repeatedly insulting hedge fund managers and investment advisers? Tacky.
Quo vadis?
I'm still processing all this. I'm still a fan...
By the way, this is his house. Taxis are under strict orders not to stop in front of it.
Monday.
Leaving Omaha.
At the airport, an overwhelming presence:
Buffett was at our hotel this morning. We knew this because they were setting up in the lobby yesterday for an interview by Becky Quick on Squawk Box. A once in a lifetime chance to be in the same room as the reigning superstar of investing, the very person we travelled to Omaha to see!
We didn't feel like getting out of bed at 6 o'clock for this. I guess we're suffering from Buffett fatigue.
Labels: Berkshire Hathaway, Omaha, Warren Buffett
April 26, 2016
Why Havana?
We wanted to see it again. We were fascinated when we first came six years ago.
Havana makes me feel like a character in a storybook. The names I associate with this place come from somewhere in my books from long ago. Graham Greene. Ernest Hemingway. Castro, Cuba, and Communism.
Why have we come? Certainly not for the cuisine. For that, we'd go to Spain or France. To be pampered? No. For that we'd stay in Manila. Sun and sea? Scenery? Architecture? Art? Culture? See above.
We've come for the buzz, the conceit, the exalted feeling that we were here before everything changed. We've come again because this is history being made. It's such a thrill to be part of it. To be inside it. To see and feel how a country and its people are redefining themselves.
Quiet square in Old Havana.
At the ballet. Great seats for about 30 euros.
Street food.
There's a sleek black helicopter that now and then swings over the streets of Old Havana. The unmistakable whir drives the little boys playing in the street wild. They chase around following its route. They point excitedly and call out, "Fidel! Fidel!"
Think about it: will American kids be as affectionate with The Donald?
What about Filipino kids with Duterte?
I don't think so.
Labels: Havana
Breakfast at Havana's Hotel Santa Isabel
This is a world away from Obispo Street and its environs. Books line the street and go all around the pretty garden square.
There's lovely music from a violin and guitar duo, a young girl and her grandfather, I imagine.
Voices are low and muted. A distant sound of drums. My omelette is perfect. The yogurt is homemade.
Labels: Havana, Santa Isabel
April 25, 2016
Swan Lake at Ballet Nacional de Cuba
At the Ballet Nacional de Cuba.
A ballet staple from the 19th century, Swan Lake perfectly showcases this legendary company's strictly classical style: a style that many ballet enthusiasts consider old fashioned. Under the direction of indefatigable Prima Ballerina Assoluta Alicia Alonso, now 94 and nearly totally blind, the company maintains a reputation for preternatural excellence and rigorous discipline.
The fact that this performance was superb is no great surprise; much is now known and expected of this ballet company. The surprise was in the flamboyance of the costumes. I remember a more austere production in 2010 when the adored Alonso sat in what would normally be the royal box, graciously acknowledging the wild cheers of her public.
I loved being there, fortunate to have seen this renowned company twice. And in their home theater too!
Sadaise Arencibia, the company's star principal dancer danced up a storm. I was transfixed as I scrutinized her every unbelievably precise leg, arm, and neck movement, her face intensely expressive and glistening with sweat. She was a heartbreakingly beautiful Odette and a hateful and technically brilliant Odile.
We were seated across the aisle from two lone front seats on the right, where sat the principal male dancer's parents. I'm guessing, but only a proud father would have unashamedly bellowed "Bravo Raúl!" (for Raúl Abreu) at the dancer's every appearance, unmindful of the amused stares of everyone around him.
Brava, Sadaise! Bravo, Raúl! Bravissimo, Cuban ballet!
Labels: Ballet Nacional de Cuba, Los Nardos, Swan Lake
April 24, 2016
Havana streets
Our room in Hotel Santa Isabel looks out onto a big square. I ask the concierge if noise would be a problem. He assures us that although daytime Havana is chaotic and loud, at night all is quiet.
Walking the streets, even at night, is safe.There are no vagrants or homeless people. I don't see loiterers, drunks, or evidence of drug use. People do call out and try to sell things, offer taxis or pedicabs, or ask for tips for having their photos taken, but never aggressively or intimidatingly.
There is no overt police presence in the streets. Bars close and party noise ends before midnight.
Moon over Plaza Vieja.
Wifi village outside Hotel Ambos Mundos. Hotels are good places to catch elusive wifi signal.
Young people here look happy. They don't look bored or troubled or troublesome. I have yet to see obnoxious behavior even in children.
At the puppet show.
So many things about this city make it more than just another old, decaying, poor outpost of communism. Havana is indeed a very special place.
It's also a city on the move. Change is coming and there are huge challenges. Buildings are way past crumbling and are huddled close together. Streets are potholed, dug-up, and dirty. There are open sewers.
One would expect to see rats and cockroaches. I have not seen any. There are no mosquitoes and very few flies.
The reason for this became evident to me today. Fumigation.
This worries me. The acrid fumes linger in the air even into the night. I taste it on my tongue the morning after. I guess there's a trade off. In the short term, the city gets protected from bugs and pests and the diseases they bring. I dread to think what the long term damage is though.
Labels: Havana
April 23, 2016
Amarilis at home
A great way to have an authentic local experience is to eat a meal in someone's home. We do just that at Paladar la Mulata del Sabor, just off Plaza Vieja.
Our host, seventeen-year-old Amarilis, is eager to start college in September. She goes to ISA, she says proudly. Instituto Superior del Arte.
Pretty, vivacious, and gracious, she chatters away in an eloquent blend of fractured English and body language as we wait for our meal.
It's a long wait. Thankfully, the tiny front room where we are is kept cool by three windows, an open front door, and two electric fans.
Every inch of space in this room is taken up by photos and myriad decorations. There are wall hangings, welcome signs, fairy lights, swags of gold musical notes, artificial flowers, Chinese vases, a Cuba license plate, a goldfish tank. In one corner is a raised stone table, almost like an altar, where a group of framed portraits are watched over by a Christmas angel. On the wall above is an elaborate script that presumably says GOD BLESS OUR HOME.
We check out the family photos lining the wall beside us and try to pick out Amarilis from among them. She tells us they are mostly of her grandmother and her older sister. There isn't a single one of her; she doesn't care to be photographed. She points to an empty picture frame and says, "That's me."
There's none of her mother either. She died of cancer at 47. It was the fifth anniversary of her death thirteen days ago. Amarilis doesn't like seeing photos that remind her that her mother is gone.
"She was my life," she declares. "My love, my friend, my boyfriend, my everything!"
What of her father? "No good! Party, party, party! No money!"
"I love you," she whines theatrically, ridiculing what is probably an oft heard refrain. The body language takes over. She scowls and pushes out her arm, an upright palm wordlessly defiant.
A pretty teenager who doesn't care to have her photo taken is a rare thing. This one doesn't mind talking about herself though. "I like music. I like all music except rap. I don't like hip hop. I love dancing. And pizza!"
The meal finally arrives. From her perch at the bar, only a few feet away from the tiny front room which would seat maybe ten people on a busy day, she watches apprehensively as I take my first bite of the house specialty. Chicken with rice and fried bananas. It tastes very much like our Filipino humba.
I flash her a thumbs-up and she breaks into a smile, mouthing a breathless thank you.
Later, I ask her if she cooks. No, it's her grandmother's boyfriend who does the cooking. She herself makes "the best mojito in Havana," she says.
Her grandmother stops at our table on her way out. She says hello and asks if we're enjoying our lunch. We sure are.
Sometime during our meal, a young man comes in, plants a quick kiss on Amarilis s cheek, and rushes on into the kitchen.
"My brother," she says. "And his friend," she adds, smiling brightly, as she moves to the window to chat with her brother's friend.
There's salsa music playing and she starts to dance. "Is that salsa?" Stuart asks.
"Disco," she says with a shy smile.
We ask if we can take her picture. She says yes. She quickly checks the result on Stuart's camera.
"No, not good! Take another one!"
Stuart takes another and another. She strikes a pose. And another. Then a picture with me. And another. She's a teenager after all, preening for the camera.
As we're about to leave, she says, "Maybe if you come back later tonight, we can dance salsa."
"You mean there's dancing here in the evening?" I ask.
"Only me," she smiles. "I'm crazy!"
April 21, 2016
Havana hasn't changed
Havana hasn't changed in the six years since I last saw it. At least not dramatically so.
There is of course the presence of American tourists. With the US embargo all but lifted, they are now permitted to travel to Cuba, albeit only in official tour groups. At the airport, a huge crowd waits an excessively long time for their luggage. We wait an hour and a half for ours.
In town though, I have yet to see the anticipated flood of arrivals that prompted Stuart and me to put Cuba at the very top of this year's holiday list.
Out and about.
Dancing in the street.
Not quite the street but out in the park. I sit on a stone bench with the locals while Stuart goes off to get tickets to Saturday's ballet. Music blares out into the park from loudspeakers. The dancing is at times frenzied and spontaneous, at times tepid and not too exciting.
The streets seem dirtier. And in some cases, smellier. Increased construction work may be a contributor but the trash is more along the lines of the odd shoe and discarded food variety than general construction rubble.
On the food and beverage front, there is a marked shift in the level of sophistication. There are more eating options. I've already had, in the last three days, two exceptionally good meals.
Most telling is a newish (two years old) cheese and wine bar across the street from Hotel Raquel. It's called Casa del Queso- El Marriage.
Indira brings me a cheese platter and a plate of jamon Serrano for Stuart. I ask her if locals come for cheese and wine. She says it's the young professionals and university students who come.
The cheese platter includes bread and a glass of Chilean wine, all for CUC$7.50. There's Blanco, Azul, Caribe, Atlantico, and Mozzarellal. The cheeses are all made in Cuba except the Parmesan which, like the jamon, is from Spain. The jamon costs CUC$8 and a glass of wine is CUC$1.50.
Locals generally use the moneda nacional, the Cuban Peso. But where most tourists go, only the Convertible Cuban Currency or CUC is acceptable. One CUC is roughly equivalent to a Euro.
Next door is a bar, still in the process of being fitted out, La Reliquia. It doesn't look or sound like all the other bars here. The crowd is young, well-dressed. The music smoother, if that's the right word to describe it.
The hotel is a hive of activity.
I'd love to be part of this reconstruction, this rebirth. There are workers and scaffolding everywhere. I can imagine the challenges faced by the GM of this hotel. So many little things to do- the restaurant staff to be trained, unimaginable problems uncovered while buttressing up crumbling walls, archways, staircases, the lift.
A camera crew is setting up in the lobby. A video man walks through the restaurant, filming us at breakfast.
Soon, a crowd of tourists wielding cameras and cell phones troop in, clicking away at the beautiful stained glass roof, the marble columns, the steel-cage lift.
Stuart and I smile and offer our best angle to the cameras as we work the temperamental lift. On our third day in town, we're now part of the local landscape. Even the workers know us. Holas and smiles all around as we head to our room.
I'm redecorating.
I move furniture around in our room. I can't help it. I do it all the time. Housekeeping will have a shock!
Stuart and I are not very adventurous when it comes to hotels. We had initially booked four different hotels for the nine days we'd be in Havana. But having found a hotel with a good bed, fluffy white towels, and a bathroom that works- hot water, a shower floor that drains, a toilet that flushes- we immediately chicken out of two other hotels and decide to stay where we are.
The bars: Floridita and Monserrate.
One of our most awaited moments is the bar scene. No shortage of musical talent here. The band in Floridita is fun, cheerful, has three pretty blond girls. But the band at Monserrate is the one I can't wait to see and hear again. Santiago y Habana. Six years ago, we walked to the bar nightly to party with this band. They were brilliant. I imagined that these days, they'd be famous.
They're not. They seem tired and slightly beaten down. Their music is still good but their enthusiasm seems to have waned. They're very late starting- except for the guy who plays the trumpet who was there early and kept worriedly looking out for the rest of the band to turn up.
The break after a brief first set seems to go on forever. The band leader keeps replenishing drinks for the band- again except for the trumpeter- from a gin bottle secreted behind the drums. We leave, feeling let down.
The sound of Havana.
In the morning, I'm once again awakened by high-pitched children's voices from the school across the street. Uno dos, tres cuatro, cinco seis..!
Morning exercises out on the roof deck. It sounds like fun. After a restful night's sleep, I'm thinking maybe I'll join them. After breakfast.
There is a uniqueness to the street noise here. More than the music, the drum beat, there is the sound of people's voices. They talk to each other in the street. They hug and kiss. They shout and play and call out to each other, to the children, to their dogs.
The citizenry has recently been allowed cell phones. Will Havana streets soon go quiet? Will children stop playing street games? Will people stop looking to see if their friends are around? It's bound to happen.
But maybe Havana is different. None of Cuba's invaders has managed to rub out its uniqueness. Not the Spanish, not the British, not the Americans.
Let's see what the iPhone does.
Labels: Havana
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