Category Archives: Personal

A collection of personal thoughts and stories

European Vacation – August 9

This was a day that I was both looking forward to and approaching with some trepidation. Before we had come to Europe, Gaetan and Lina, our hosts in Chambery, were visiting us in Canada. I had mentioned that I would love to do a bike ride while in France. Marc, their son, who’s a 21 year old rugby player and is in incredible condition, said he’d love to go with me. While very thankful for the company, I was wondering how I could keep up with someone half my age who was in better shape than I’ve ever been. We were being joined by some other relatives, Yves, a cousin who’s around my age and Gilles, Marc’s half brother, who was in his 30’s. I was feeling a little more confident about the bike ride, taking some consolation in the fact that I do a lot of bike riding at home. Marc told me he planned a ride around the Lac du Bourget, a loop of about 75 kilometers with the first 14 being straight up hill, climbing a local mountain called Le Chat. Fear again gripped my chest.

After picking up my rental bike, we rendezvoused and headed out, starting the climb up Le Chat. Luckily, I found I could hold my own and soon relaxed and began enjoying the ride.

It was an incredible experience. You just can’t have rides like this in Canada. The climb up was challenging, but the switchback carved it’s way up the mountain, much like what I’d seen on TV with the tour de France (although this wasn’t part of the actual route), past fields and small villages, giving incredible views of the lake and valley below, with a post card view of an abbey on the lakeshore. We took a break on the way and I felt the surge of the adrenalin and the amazing realization that I was overlooking incredible scenery in the French Alps. We soon reached the peak and headed down. This was a pure rush, zipping down the mountain into village after village, leaning into tight hairpins and hitting the gears just right to maintain pace on the infrequent climbs. I’ve gained a whole new respect for road cyclists. This is more than a sport, it’s an art form.

We dropped back down to lake level at the end of the lake, and then traded places breaking the wind at the head on the relatively flat last half of the ride back into Aix Les Bains. Marc and I parted from the other two for a quick tour through the town of Aix Les Bains, zipping through narrow streets and through priorities (round-abouts). One thing I noticed is that with the compressed scale of European streetscapes (everything seems smaller) even the moderate speeds I could manage made me feel like I was flying through the town. Jill (my wife) made the astute observation (while we were being driven through Chambéry) that it felt like we were in a video game, with everything flying towards us at accelerated speeds. Much better than any Disney ride!

After we went through town, we ended up at a large aquatic center where we met up with my wife, daughters and the rest of the family for a picnic.

It was at this moment that the second moment of fear overtook me. I was informed, as we entered the pools that I was not allowed to go swimming in my modest North American shorts/swimsuit. In France, you needed a real swimsuit, also known as a Speedo. If you’re not familiar with this particular article of clothing, it’s approximately the size of a rubber band, made of a fabric that’s less durable than wet tissue paper, with roughly the same ability to cover anatomy. But there was hope! I didn’t have such a swimsuit, so I simply wouldn’t go in the pool. I’d wear my safe North American suit, with its comforting 14 meters of ironclad fabric and watch the activities from the sidelines. And there was a bonus. This was a French swimming pool, which meant that at least some of the women would be topless. My luck was looking up, for about 14 seconds. Marc noticed there was a vending machine where you could buy Speedos for just 8 Euros. Not just any Speedos..but ones smaller than normal, so that they could fit in tiny plastic packages the size of a postage stamp.

Thanks Marc! No, really, thank you from the very bottom of my heart!

I went and managed to squeeze into the Speedo, looking around and taking some consolation in the fact that there were guys even larger than me, wearing similarly microscopic suits. Ah well, I sighed…when in France! I made it through the pools and as soon as I could, covered the suit with my trusty Canadian trunks. France is a beautiful country and I wanted to do my part to keep it that way.

During a quick trip to the coffee bar at the pool, I discovered it really is a small world. We met a lovely Irish lady named Sinead who had married a local and had relocated to Aix les Bains. But as a child, she had spent many summers at a resort in Kelowna, where I live, called Beacon Beach. Beacon Beach is no longer there, but it was right across the road from where my wife grew up and where my in-laws still live. Sinead was familiar with the house! We traded emails and I promised to send her pictures of Manteo, the new resort that sits on the former site of Beacon Beach. Who knows..perhaps a future home exchange partner!

After the beach, we headed to yet another ice cream shop, which sold huge scoops of incredibly delicious ice cream for less than a euro! And the theme continues.

Marc’s brother, Eddie, then took us for a tour of downtown Chambéry. The richness of the city centers in Europe far surpasses anything I’ve ever seen in North America. Even very vibrant urban centers like Boston, New York and San Francisco can’t match the perfectly balanced blend of culture, history, monument, parks, retail and residential areas you find in Europe. Chambéry is a little bit smaller that Kelowna, which has always struggled a little with the vitalization of it’s downtown core. Although Kelowna has made great strides in recent years, and is considered to have a reasonably interesting downtown compared to other cities it’s size in North America, Kelowna’s core was eclipsed by the enchanting pedestrian lanes, plazas, streets and parks of Chambéry. You could easily spend an entire day wandering from shop to shop, stopping for refreshments in the many bistros and picking up some culture in the museums and historic sites. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a full day to spend. This was our last day in Chambéry and we were packing in as much as we could. A quick 90 minutes exploring, and we were back to Lina and Gaetan’s for a quick bite, then off for a nighttime visit to the lake resort town of Annecy. Old Annecy is a fairy tale alpine village on the lakeshore, with canals similar to Venice and tiny little plazas that looked just a little too picture worth to be real. However, some quick checking of the facades convinced us that this was indeed a real place. A magical stroll through the streets and a quick drink at a café capped off a spectacular day (the ugly Speedo incident not withstanding).

European Vacation – August 8

We were heading back to Chambéry today, but our train wasn’t til the afternoon, so we had time to squeeze in a little more Paris. Another morning run to MonoPrix for breakfast and the makings for sandwiches later, and then we were off to Montmartre.

The goal was the Basilica Sacre Couer, which sits on a hill with an amazing view of Paris, but the streets of Montmartre that we walked through on the way proved very interesting in their own right. Vibrant would be an apt description. We made our way to the Basilica, climbed the many steps, walked right into the cathedral (no line ups, no admission!) and then had our lunch on the steps overlooking Paris. I’ve never been in a restaurant with a better view. The price was right as well.

A quick check of PocketStreets showed that the Moulin Rouge was just a quick walk away. I couldn’t resist. We had a few minutes to spare before we had to get back to the hotel, pick up our checked bags and head to the station. We walked down the hill. On the way, a street vendor/pan handler (the distinction between the two was blurred in this case) tried to get me to stop so he could show me some little plastic bracelet for my daughter Lauren, who was holding my hand. I skirted past him, mumbling a “Non, merci” and started off. Apparently I transgressed some French etiquette, as he launched into a tirade about my being an American and how we “never had a time for anything, always in a hurry”. I kept walked as the tirade picked up in both intensity and volume. Apparently there was some emotional baggage that needed unpacking and he was in full swing. I didn’t bother stopping to correct the question of my home country. I felt the fine points of distinction between Canadians and Americans would be lost on him.

As we moved from the solemn sanctity of Sacre Couer, I couldn’t believe the transformation as we got closer to the Moulin Rouge. It was a graphic depiction of the dichotomy of Paris, with history and religion juxtaposed against bacchanalian sensuality. And we saw it all in a few blocks. My wife was kept busy diverting our daughter’s attention from the graphic posters depicting the entertainment in the neighborhood establishments.

“Look over there, on the right girls”

“What..what are we supposed to be looking for”

“There, over there..no..not left..right..quickly!”

“Where?”

“Oh..never mind. It’s passed now”

Although it was a valiant attempt, I’m not sure it was entirely successful. I think I caught a knowing grin on their faces as we quickly shepherded them into the nearest metro station.

A bit of stress navigating through the metro back to our hotel and then back to the Gare du Lyon, but we made it back on the train and settled back for the 3 hour ride back to Chambéry. I realized I had a column due so I fired up my PDA and jotted down a few thoughts about attitudes about time in North America and Europe, based on my observations over the past week. Here’s the link if you’re interested. I’ve got to admit, it was pretty cool being able to file a column while on a high speed train. But I’m sure I’m in for a shock when I get my cell bill.

After arrival back in Chambéry, we were whisked off to a family reunion, seeing as my mother and father-in-law were departing the next morning for southern Italy. More food, more grasping for conversational meaning in 4 different languages (English, Italian, French and vigorous sign language) much more kissing on both cheeks, a lot of pictures and we were ready for bed.

European Vacation – August 7

This was our day to explore Paris. But with the events of the night before, it took us a little while to get going. We went to a local grocery store, the MonoPrix, and grabbed some baguettes, fruit and biscuits for breakfast. Say what you want about the French, they make some kick ass bread. A quick breakfast sitting on our beds and we braved the streets of Paris again, significantly more paranoid and aware of our surroundings due to last night’s adventure. I had perfected what I’ve since called the “Paris Pat”, which was a quick check to ensure I still had my money belt, my pocket change, my pda, my backpack, my children, my wife and my father-in-law. With practice, I had it down to 5 seconds flat.

This morning, we decided to stay out of the metro for a bit and walk up to the Latin Quartier and the Ile de Cite, where Notre Dame is. Along the way, we wandered through the Jardin du Luxembourg, a quintessentially Parisian park in front of the French Senate. A little less famous and crowded than the Jardin de Tuillieres by the Louvre, the reduced scale of this park was just the thing we needed to restore Paris’s magic. There were pony rides, beautiful fountains and sculptures, marionette shows (unfortunately none were playing at the time), children playing with miniature sail boats and several couples on benches sucking each other’s faces off. Apparently this is also a national past time, along with smoking. When the two are combined, which is often, the results can be a little revolting.

After the park, we continued through the Latin Quartier and then crossed the bridge to the island where Paris originated. We were immediately drawn to the instantly recognizable façade of Notre Dame. Although we would have loved to go in, the queue went down two blocks, and we weren’t prepared to invest at least two hours in gaining entrance. This is the reality of a summer trip to Europe. You have to pick and choose your activities carefully, as the demand and crowds prevent you from seeing everything. Instead, we opted for a small, very expensive, but very good scoop of Berthillion ice cream and grabbed a perch overlooking the Seine to enjoy them. I’m guessing gelato and ice cream will emerge as a theme on this trip.

Fatigue was beginning to set in, as was hunger, so we headed back to the hotel, stopping at our friendly MonoPrix to grab some more baguettes, ham, cheese, salads, olives, fruit and a bottle of wine for lunch. It you want to avoid the exorbitantly overpriced bistros, I highly recommend these impromptu picnics. Based on my experience, it’s impossible to get bad food in France.

A quick nap, and we headed out for the evening. We caught the metro (no criminal activities this time) to the Champs d’Elysee and wandered down the boulevard to the Arc d’Triomphe. Another “must do” Parisian experience. The most interesting things we found were the car dealerships along the way. Half museum, half gallery, these dealerships celebrated the art of the automobile. Concept cars and interactive displays showcased the latest offerings from Renault, Peugot, Toyota and other manufacturers.

After we crossed the Seine again and made our way to the Eiffel Tower, timing it perfectly to arrive just at dusk. The tower lighting up was a spectacular site, although, because of line ups, we opted to keep our feet on the ground. On the hour, hundreds of bright twinkling lights turn the tower into an amazing centerpiece for the “City of Light”. Time was drawing short on our day, so we caught the metro back to the hotel and giving in to convenience, decided to opt for a late night pizza from a nearby “Pizza Hut”. A crime, I know, but we were tired.

European Vacation – August 6

Today, we were off to Paris. My wife, two daughters, my father-in-law and myself boarded the high speed train in Chambéry and watched as the rolling countryside of Rhone-Alpes gradually gave way to the flat plains surrounding Paris. We arrived in Gare du Lyon, where we met Nathalie, another relative who was kind enough to guide us through our first hours in Paris. We boarded the Metro and set off for our hotel in Montparnasse. Nathalie immediately warned us about the busy metro stations and pick-pockets, a warning that proved to be prescient. We navigated through the Metro with relative ease and soon found ourselves outside the Best Western Nouvelle Orleans. I know, Best Western doesn’t sound terribly romantic, but this small hotel seemed to be well regarded on the various travel websites and it was actually quite charming and clean. The one thing we found interesting was the difficulty in finding rooms for a family of four. Rooms in Europe are quite small and in this case, we split the party in two, 3 in one room and 2 in the other.

After dropping the bags and freshening up, we reunited with Nathalie (who spent 30 minutes reminiscing in the neighborhood, as she used to live close by) and caught the metro to the Louvré.

This was the first Sunday in August, so admission was free. We waited in line for about 30 minutes to gain entrance (crowds were large, but not unmanageable) and then started with the Denon Gallery, where the main attraction is the Mona Lisa. We spent an hour or so wandering through the maze of galleries, looking at one incredible treasure after another. Even the building is a work of art. Finally, we came to the gallery were the Mona Lisa hangs. If you’re counting on spending hours, or even minutes, getting lost in her mysterious gaze and subtle smile, here’s a dose of reality. You’ll be lucky to catch a split second glance through the throng of people that constantly resist the guard’s attempts to move the crowd along. One particularly boorish and persistent visitor ignored 3 repeated warnings about taking pictures and was ushered in non-too-gentle fashion from the building. Unfortunately, visiting the Mona Lisa is one of those “seen it, done it, cross it off the list and move along” experiences. But take heart, this museum is absolutely jammed with less famous but no less breathtaking works. I highly recommend finding the Botticelli’s or spending some serious time in the large format French and Italian galleries. And if all else fails, just look up. The ceilings are works of art in and of themselves.

The Louvré was a little hot and the crowds were rather large, so it was quickly taking its toll on the family. We were overdue for a break and closing time was rapidly approaching, so we let ourselves be herded into the huge group heading for the exits and reemerged on the streets of Paris. It was a very small taste of all the Louvré had to offer, but unforgettable none-the-less.

After a quick walk up to the Opera House, we boarded the Metro and made our way back to Montparnasse in search of a restaurant near our hotel. And this was where disaster struck. On the metro, it just took a few seconds and an inquiry of my father-in-law about the current time to separate him from his wallet. We never even noticed until we got off the metro, found a restaurant and he went to pay. Luckily, he didn’t have everything in his wallet and his passport remained untouched, but it definitely put a damper on the evening. We headed back to the hotel just to make sure it hadn’t been accidentally left there, but no such luck. My father-in-law, Nathalie and myself headed to the nearest police station to make our report. By this time, it was about 10 pm, so it took a bit to find one open.

Here is where I had my first introduction to the efficiencies of the French justice system. We went up to 3 officers in front of the station and started explaining our situation. I was more than happy to give my 25 year old extremely limited high school French a rest and let Nathalie take the lead. I did know enough to sense that the conversation really wasn’t going our way. I was hearing a lot of apologizing, liberally sprinkled with shoulder shrugs and shakes of the head. I was quickly getting the feeling that this was not going to be a quick process. After a few minutes of rapid fire French, Nathalie turned to me and explained that they were really busy, that we were looking at a minimum of 3 and a half hours, and the strong suggestion was that we come back at 9 tomorrow.

With my polite Canadian upbringing, I was quite prepared to accept the explanation as fact and trudge back to the hotel. Nathalie, being much more familiar with the “European way” was not as quick to give in. She turned back to the officers are fired off several more salvos. My father-in-law, although not completely up to speed with what was going on, was getting frustrated with the lack of progress, and was increasingly concerned about the potential liability of having his ID in some criminal’s hands without an official police report being filed. After more heated discussion, Nathalie brought me up to speed with her progress. Apparently the original excuse of being too busy, with too many people ahead of us had evaporated and the obstacle in the path of justice was now lack of access to computers. We had to wait til the next shift before they could get to a computer. The next shift change was 2 hours from now. Aha, at least we had made 90 minutes progress in the overall duration. But Nathalie, bless her heart, was not too be deterred. Obviously tired, and not at all planning to spend the better part of the evening defending her poor Canadian relatives, she turned back to the officers (we had about 5 participating in the discussion now) and refused to take no for an answer. Surely there was some kind of form we could fill in, just to get the robbery on file. One officer thought there might be, but he’d have to go look for the form, and he couldn’t do that for 45 minutes.

Oh..I was beginning to get this. It’s like an auction, you just keep battering away and the time limit continues to drop. I sensed us getting closer to our objective, and I silently cheered Nathalie on. She was also sensing progress, and tried the tactic of repeating the same request over and over again. Finally, one officer realized it was time to give in, and said they could file the report right away. Nathalie had won! It was an inspiring performance. But apparently the room where the report would be filed was the size of a phone booth, and there was only room for 2. I happily let my father-in-law and Nathalie accompany the officer, while I found a convenient cement post in front of the station to sit on, trying to absorb as much of the Parisian way of life as I could in the surrounding few meters.

One more interesting observation before I pack it in for today. I was still atop my post when the shift change happened. The French custom is to kiss both cheeks in way of greeting on arrival, or to say good-bye. It’s not an actual kiss, but a grazing of the cheek, accompanied by a distinct kissing sound. It’s common between members of the opposite sex and with women, and if two men are quite close, than it’s also appropriate. It took me a little while to fall in step with this custom. At first, I was being a little too aggressive and actually planting the lips on the cheek. But soon, I got the hang of it (although the first male to male one still threw me for a loop) and was kissing up a storm. By the way, if you’re a man, hand shaking is considered essential upon greeting or departing. Failure to do so is quite rude.

I was amazed to see each of the shift members go through this ritual with the guard in front of the station, who happened to be female. It would be unthinkable not to observe this ritual, but apparently not a big deal to find every excuse possible to avoid doing your job. Ah..the French (or more accurately, the Parisians).

It was a long and interesting day. We trudged back to the hotel, found Nathalie a taxi to her flat after thanking her profusely, and proceeded to pass out.

European Vacation – August 5th

This was a very cool day. We were invited into a small village called Montvernier in the French Alps where (follow this now) my wife’s cousin’s son’s girlfriend’s parents had a chalet. I realize the connection was a little strained here, but what the hell, it was an invitation to a chalet in French Alps. Would you say no?

The father was the chief of the local branch of the Gendarmerie, the French national police. The chalet was beautiful, the view was incredible.

This was our first real example of the intricate and involved ritual the French call eating. This is much more than mere sustenance, this is the apex of a cultural evolution hundreds of years in the making. Course by course, we worked our way through the culinary dance, guided by our gracious hosts. Food and wine paired with care, starting with white wine and a fruit liqueur, creating “kir”, with patés and other appetizers. Then on to vegetables and hard boiled eggs, paired with a lighter red wine, then the meat and potatoes, served with robust Merlots and Cabernets, then the most incredible cheeses I’ve ever eaten. We’re familiar with appellation wines in North America, with strict controls on the source of the contributing grapes. In France, cheese is treated with no less respect, and one particularly delicious cheese was made only in the tiny village we were visiting. The hosts brought out a 2 kilo block, which was an incredibly generous gesture. It would be like breaking out the 40 year old single malt scotch for people you barely know. Luckily, I think we sensed the importance of the gesture and showed proper appreciation.

After we wrapped up the cheese and wine, we finished with café and blueberry tarts that somehow captured all the flavor of a fresh picked berry. If I seem obsessed with the food, it’s because the entire country shares my obsession. I wrote a column recently with some thoughts of how in North America we’re obsessed with time, while in France and other European countries, life is more centered on eating and social interactions.

We wrapped up with a stroll up the mountain to the village of Montvernier. This was picture book scenic, and they happened to be having a “Fete du Pain”, or Festival of Bread. The celebration seemed to be centered around the baking of 2 kilo loaves in a communal wood fired oven that was well over 150 years old. The baking and selling of the loaves (we bought two) was accompanied by games and impromptu entertainment.

Sadly, it was now time to head back to Chambéry. We bid adieu to Didier and Nadine, our hosts, and chose to avoid the highway back in favor of a more leisurely drive through the vineyards and small villages. The Savoie region is rich in history, for many years serving as a region that passed back and forth from French to Italian hands. It straddles the main valley and pass connecting the two countries, so was of great military importance. Once can see the string of castles and fortifications that oversaw the passage way. One was pointed out to us that apparently served as a prison for the Marquis de Sade. Although not as famous as its neighbors as a wine producing region, there is also a vigorous industry that turns out some world class wines. On the drive back, we drove through one breathtakingly scenic and ancient village after another, with wineries and lush vineyards set against the rugged backdrop of the French Alps. All in all, an unforgettable day.

European Vacation – August 4

This morning, it was up to catch the train to Chambéry. Chambéry is a small city in the French Alps and is the heart of the Savoie region. It is just around the corner from Albertville, close to Grenoble and Chamonix.Three Winter Olympic venues within a one hour drive (and Torino is less than a two hour drive away). It also hosts one of the Alpine stages of the tour de France. This is where my wife’s cousin and her family lives, along with other aunts, uncles, cousins and other family I was lucky enough to marry into.

The day was mostly taken up by the train ride, but we did have time for a quick car ride to Aix Les Bains, a lake side resort town on Lac du Bourget, the largest natural lake in France. For me, there was a lot of similarities to my home in Canada’s Okanagan Valley. It felt like home, except they were speaking a different language.

Do You Know the Way to San Jose?

First published August 3, 2006 in Mediapost’s Search Insider

At the end of this week, thousands of search marketers will begin their pilgrimage to the west, to the mecca of search that is San Jose. It’s time for what has emerged as the premier search gathering, the West Coast version of Search Engine Strategies.

This show always marks a bit of an annual milestone for me. It was two years ago that I became a regular columnist for “Search Insider,” and I also try to shoehorn the sessions I present into our annual family camping vacation, precariously balancing on the cusp of the many professional and social demands that surround SES San Jose and keeping a wife and two daughters from throwing my laptop down the nearest camp toilet. I usually drive in from the campground in Santa Cruz, sunburned, smelling of wood smoke and carrying my “good” clothes, borrow a hotel room and shower from one of my colleagues who chose to forego the “back the nature” route in favor of room service, and try to make myself presentable. For the most part, this tactic has been successful for me.

I’ll be thinking of you

This is the first time in five years that I’m actually missing the show. This year, the family prevails and I’ll be vacationing with them through France and Italy (sans camping, avec hotels). My work tasks have been restricted to writing this column (next week, the Continental European version!) and making the odd, long, overdue blog post. But as SES ramp-up week gets into full swing, I’m getting more than the occasional twinge of regret as I turn down invite after invite. This year promises to be a packed show. Oh well, I hear sipping wine in the south of France can ease those twinges.

I’ll actually be there in spirit, if not in the flesh. I helped Danny Sullivan put together the research update panel, which kicks off the show Monday morning. This session has emerged to become one of the most popular, and my partner Bill Barnes will be there as well. Greg Sterling is filling in at the moderator’s helm, so you can be assured of some pithy comments. I almost wish I were there.

A search snapshot

This show in particular acts as a microcosm of how far search has come. It takes place in the backyard of the engines, and Yahoo, Google and Microsoft will be there in full force. The legendary Google Dance will give attendees a chance to rub elbows with various ultra-bright engineers in their natural habitat. Yahoo will throw some kind of bash, and there will be at least a dozen other formal networking events of various sizes, (including the SEMPO membership get-together on Monday night) sprinkled throughout the four days of the show. And that’s after the sessions; some 75 of them squeezed into five tracks over four days, covering every imaginable aspect of search. At an average of 4 presentations per panel, that’s 300 different speakers, cramming your head full of valuable information. That’s a lot of search, no matter how you slice it. Pity the poor search newbie who is looking at this as his introduction to the channel.

No show gets deeper or more intimately into search. Danny Sullivan, Chris Sherman, Karen Deweese and a virtual legion of presenters who all put their unique spin on the show, have made this the must-see event and turned SES into a tremendously successful franchise. The West Coast show is book-ended by a no less successful East Coast version in New York, and it has been repeated at locations around the world. It’s a long way for Danny, an ex-journalist who thought he might do an impromptu study on these things called search engines, a minor but rather interesting development in the online world, circa 1996. Searchenginewatch.com was born (I’m sure I was one of the earliest subscribers) and the rest is history.

You’ve come a long way

Danny must shake his head in wonder sometimes. Nobody has been a more consistent observer of the search world, and he’s been privileged to have extraordinary access to the key industry players. He’s sat in the front row as the industry struggled, emerged and launched into hyper-growth.

Danny Sullivan is still the first person analysts and journalists turn to for insight and commentary. During the show, he flies at a frenetic pace, fueled by Coke and donuts. Meanwhile, the implacable Chris Sherman acts as ying to Sullivan’s yang, ably stewarding the international shows (a note of irony that Danny, who lives in England, coordinates the North American shows, while Chris, who lives in Boulder, Colorado, does the international shows). And somehow, they manage to pull it all together for each show, seeing each eclipse last year’s attendance numbers. I attended my first SES in Boston in 2000. I started presenting almost three years ago now. It’s been tremendously exciting to see them continue to grow bigger and better with each iteration.

Well done, Chris and Danny. Again, I almost wish I could be there to tell you in person. But by the time you read this, I’ll be somewhere in the south of France, and that has its own consolations. But I’m sure our paths will cross before long. Chicago, perhaps?

 

European Vacation – August 3

I’ve been on European soil for a little over 48 hours now and a few things are notable. We escaped from the Hell that is New York in the midst of a heat wave. 100 degree weather that we were told “feels like” 120. All I know is that it was an oppressive wall of wet heat that made everyone in the Big Apple really. really bitchy. Despite that, the day was pretty much jam packed. Thanks to Anton at Acronym for slipping us past the crowds at the Empire State Building. The view was fantastic, if a little hazy. After, we discovered the benefits of a well air-conditioned museum on a really hot day, as we slipped inside the confines of the Met for a few hours of reprieve.

We had promised the kids a real “New York Slice” and we realized whilst sitting in Little Italy that there was no way we could get back to the hotel, get our bags and get out to JFK. We gulped the pizza down in eight minutes flat and headed out to try to catch a cab. On the way to the airport I asked the cabby if he thought we could make it to the airport. There is no breed of animal on the earth more pessimistic than the New York cabby, unless of course it comes to their ability to do the impossible. Any mere mortal would be hopelessly mired in the steaming and volatile stew that is Midtown Manhattan, but this individual (I believe his name was Anwar) could not only get us to JFK, but get us there close to on time. Of course, there was a small price to be paid. A quick calculation on my part indicated that although pricy, the cost was not totally ridiculous. With a shrug to my wife in the back (the heat had sapped her strength to protest) we put ourselves in the hands of Anwar. The cab was air conditioned and as long as it was heading in the general direction of JFK, I decided it was a better place to be than the street.

Anwar proved to be a good as his word, and got us to the airport in good time. On the way, we got a lovely guided tour of Queens, including what Anwar assured me were “the really nice” parts of Queens. I remained unconvinced. Then, we traded the hell of Manhattan in a heat wave for the hell of International Departures from JFK. One thing confused me. Why with all that is possible through computers and centralized reservations systems, would Delta Airlines be unable to figure out that 4 international departures within 15 minutes might require more than 4 people working a 12 position counter. Why do airlines continually do this to us, installing ticket counters that are at least 4 times larger than they ever intend to use? Also thanks to New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg for insisting that JFK keep the temperature at a nice refreshing zillion degrees. It was a wonderful way to cap off our day. We got on our flight (delayed for two hours) and with relatively little additional adventure, were on our way to Milan.

We landed in Milan, where it was cool and raining. I’ve never seen us more welcoming of crappy weather. This wasn’t rain; it was sweet nectar from the gods. We arrived at the Una Hotel Century, steps from the Stazione Centrale in Milan (where we had our first experience with Trenitalia, the Italian train system, as we made reservations for tomorrow’s journey to France. It took us an hour just to figure out which line we were supposed to be waiting in). A quick check in and several moments of confusion as we tried to figure out the hotel room. For some reason, none of the lights seemed to work. Finally, my 10 year old daughter Lauren told us to put our room key in a small slot near the door. Voila..light! Smart kid..I think we’ll keep her.

We grabbed a quick nap and then set out to explore Milano. The metro brought us to the piazza in front of the Duomo and we were immediately accosted by several swarthy Italians who grabbed our hands, jammed bird seed in them, after which we were swarmed by pigeons who proceeded to have a food fight while perched on our arms, shoulders and heads. My other daughter, Alanna and my wife, Jill were the first to be swarmed, then it was my turn. Lauren kept her hands firmly on her camera, establishing her place as our photographer, making her exempt from the pigeon mugging. My wife was not terribly impressed, with thoughts of bird flu running through her head. My initial reluctance was overcome by several assurances of “Free! Free!” Apparently that word doesn’t translate well in Italian, because after we’d had enough of our version of “The Birds” and tried to escape, a hand was quickly extended for money. My offering of a euro was treated with disdain (and what I suspect were a few Italian curses). We quickly retreated from the Piazza.

We wandered the streets for a while, gradually making our way up the Via Dante to the Castello Sforzesco, a rather imposing castle. Opposite the castle we grabbed a panini (sandwich) and our first gelatto. Oh my god! This is what ice cream is supposed to be. Do me a favor, go directly to your freezer, take the 45 gallon drum of that crap we call ice cream out, and throw it in the garbage. I’m not sure if you ever saw the episode of Everybody Loves Raymond where they go to Italy and Robert, upon trying gelatto, says ‘It’s like I never tasted a peach before”. I had to try it for myself so I also ordered Pesca (peach) and I can tell you it’s one of the few cases where Hollywood didn’t stretch the truth We walked back to the hotel along the street where the main fashion stores are. My memories of Milan will always include men coming from work in Armani suits, hopping on a Vespa (scooter) and zipping through the streets. It was everything I ever imagined Milan to be.

I’m Back…Finally!

It’s been forever since the last blog post, I know. I have really good excuses. I’m actually on vacation now, going to Europe with my family, so the past month has been a concentrated effort to try to wrap up everything before leaving.

One of the “wrap up” items was to try to finish the first draft of the new eye tracking study. I didn’t quite hit that goal, but it’s well along and I’m hoping I’ll be able to steal the odd hour to keep nudging it along in the next 3 weeks. I’m also hoping to get the odd post in as well. Then, September, its back to a regular posting routine, I promise!

So, to ease back in, some miscellaneous comments about a mixed bag of topics.

A few weeks back, I wrote a column about a theory we had called “Pre-mapping” of search results. Well, we managed to test pre-mapping with a panel of about 80 people. We split the group into two, one with a scenario that would lead to using a search engine to book a hotel room, and one that would lead the group to use the search engine to find out more about the hotel in question. We expected to find the second group much quicker to skip past the top sponsored ads and head for the top organic listings. The idea of pre-mapping is that you have a predetermined concept of where you’ll find the most useful results on the search page and you relocate there quickly. We thought the scenarios we created would lead to distinct pre-mapping activity. But when we looked at the results, we were surprised to find there was very little difference in the scanning activity of the two groups. Both started in top sponsored, and spent some significant time there. In fact, the research group even appeared to linger there a little longer, spending more time reading the listings. More about this as we sort out the data a little more.

If you happen to be in San Jose for Search Engine Strategies, make sure you catch Bill Barnes from Enquiro, pinch hitting for me on the Search Behavior Research Update panel, kicking off the show on Monday morning. He’s got a fascinating time lapse look at side by side heat maps of the two groups. Very cool stuff. He’ll also have some never before seen slides on a fascinating little side by side perceived relevancy test we did. Check it out and say hi to Bill after.

Speaking of SES, for the first time in 5 years, I won’t be at the show at all. Normally I try to balance the show with a summer family camping trip, but this year we opted for Europe instead (more on this on the Thursday Search Insider column). Of course, that means this year I got invites to all the really interesting parties. I’ve had to send my regrets to at least 5 different invitations. It looks like it’s going to be a packed show, with 5 different tracks over 4 days. Danny Sullivan is a mad man! Some day he will explode, driven over the edge by excessive amounts of Diet Coke and one too many donuts.

One monumental regret is that I won’t get a chance to see Matt Cutts. I saw a blog post somewhere (I think it was Barry Schwartz) that pointed to what may be the funniest thing I’ve ever seen…a virtual paper doll of Matt, complete with costumes of Inigo Montoya and Super Spam Cop. And this is legit..it’s not a spoof. Thank god my daughters are past the age of playing with this site. The idea of my little princesses dressing and undressing Matt would send me into psychotherapy for at least 6 months. But unfortunately I won’t have the chance to accost Matt on this. Please do me a favor, if you see Matt at the show, please bring this up and tell him Gord sent you. Thanks.

Well, that’s probably enough for the first catch up post. I’m on a flight right now to New York (105 degrees tomorrow..ouch!) and after a sweat soaked day in the Big Apple (first time for my girls) it’s catching the night flight to Milan tomorrow night from JFK.

For those interested, on my reading list this trip is Small Pieces Loosely Joined by David Weinberger. If the name doesn’t ring a bell, he’s also one of the authors of the Cluetrain Manifesto. It looks fascinating and was recommended by Mitch Joel of Twist Image. I’ll let you know what I think.

Dear Google Search History

First published July 13, 2006 in Mediapost’s Search Insider

In the 1600s, Samuel Pepys became history’s most famous diarist. From 1660 to 1669, this English Member of Parliament kept a detailed diary, which was published posthumously. In it, we gain a fascinating eyewitness account of the Great Plague and the Great Fire of London. Most passages were not so monumental, however. Here’s one example from July of 1663:

Up betimes to my office, and there all the morning doing business, at noon to the Change, and there met with several people, among others Captain Cox, and with him to a Coffee [House], and drank with him and some other merchants. Good discourse. Thence home and to dinner, and, after a little alone at my viol, to the office, where we sat all the afternoon, and so rose at the evening, and then home to supper and to bed, after a little musique.

Sounds like Sam pretty much polished work off by noon and spent the rest of the time drinking, gossiping, playing the ol’ viol and listening to some tunes. All in all, not a bad life! No wonder he had the free time to write about it.

The Diary I Didn’t Know Existed…

I never considered myself a diarist. I’m much too busy actually trying to get through my life to spend time writing about it. I suppose the odd blog post would be autobiographical, but other than that, I didn’t think I was leaving an account of my day-to-day thoughts. I was wrong.

Some time ago, I signed up for a Google Analytics account for my blog and at the time, I somehow activated Google’s Personal Search History function. Because I have a laptop, and tend to use the same computer at work and at home, I was unknowingly capturing a pretty complete snapshot of all my search activity. Just a few days ago, I realized I was still logged in. Today, I took a look back at two months of search activity.

…A Day-by-Day, Search-by-Search History…

First of all, in the past two months, I’ve searched 540 times. That’s an average of 9 searches a day. In looking at the log of day-to-day activity, I can pretty much tell exactly what I was doing, and what thoughts preoccupied me, on any given day from May 11 to today. The topics are a little scattered. In a one-hour period on June 5, I went from looking for what an average winning percentage was on Freecell (don’t ask), to looking up the details on a new business contact, to looking for a new design template for my blog, to looking for GPS software for an upcoming trip to Europe. Can you say attention deficit?

In a quick analysis of my activity, it seems that 59 percent of my search activity is work-related, and 41 percent is personal. Twenty-eight percent of my searches were navigational (I knew what site I wanted to end up on, and was using the search engine to get there) and 71 percent were what I call “mapping” searches (where I was looking for the search engine to suggest sites I was previously unaware of). And in 34 percent of my searches, I never actually clicked on a result.

…And That Was Just Mine…

The point is not to go on about how I search. You could care less. The point is that search history gave me a snapshot of just what I was thinking about, at an average of about nine times a day. In looking back, I could remember what I was working on, what products I suddenly thought I needed, how much planning I was doing for an upcoming vacation, what new acquaintances I suddenly decided to Google to find out more about, and what arguments needed to be settled. I’d see queries come up, disappear for a few days, then suddenly re-emerge later, either in the same or modified form. It made me realize how integral online is to my life, and how much I depend on search to connect me to the vast and diverse content that sits out there. It mirrored my thoughts about upcoming purchases, life events, things that were bothering me, issues at work and just plain old time-wasters.

Now consider the implications of this. I’m one person, who actually lived the life in question, and I was amazed by the insight gained by looking back. Consider this data in aggregate form. No wonder John Battelle was blown away by what he called the “database of intentions,” this gargantuan deposit of data that is owned by the search engines, providing intimate glimpses into individuals at the micro level, and incredibly granular macro mosaics as we step back. Based on the search trail and clickstream I looked at, Google, if it chooses to, would know more about me than my wife (keep the snarky comments to yourself). And remember, search history is just the data Google chooses to make public. Through the tool bar, it’s capturing a lot more clickstream data on you.

…What About Yours?

The whole “Big Brother” aspect of this has been commented on numerous times in the past. Sure, it’s frightening, but I think it’s tied up in the new reality of our online world. Is the fact that it sits in the hands of a private corporation any more troubling than the huge amount of personal information that sits in government files? Theoretically, we have democratic recourse with the government, but we all know how much weight that holds. Take some comfort in the fact that Google, with all its billions and resources, has exactly 1.5 people working in its sales and market research department (although I’m hearing rumors of a new addition). For the foreseeable future, Google might have a frightening amount of data, but it doesn’t have anyone with the time to look at it.
Read more: http://www.mediapost.com/publications/article/45508/dear-google-search-history.html#ixzz2ZoaFoUTS