Commuting around London can be a nightmare. The last couple weeks have been just dreadful for getting from home to work, as well as for family weekend outings. My standard commute on the Tube, London's subway system, is to take the Jubilee Line from St. John's Wood to Green Park and depending on the weather for walking and waiting for the train it ranges from 30-40 minutes door-to-door. Not bad - unless something breaks down. The Jubilee line, which runs through the tony suburbs of north London is recognized as the most reliable Tube line in the system, supposedly for its well-heeled and politically connected clientele, but of late service has been remarkably spotty.
On four occasions in the past week I (or we) have had to abort half-taken trips (i.e., get out of a train, resurface to street level, and find an alternative route - all after having paid the "discount" rate of $4 for a one-way trip that regular travelers get through an Oyster Card.) Last weekend, we took the kids to Tower Bridge (a la "London Bridges Falling Down...") and made a bona fide effort to take cheaper, faster public transportion. Both going and coming, the Tube didn't get us there (different stories each way, but same result). Annoying not only for the $16 in aborted one-ways for the adults nor merely the fact that many older Tube stations have neither lifts nor escalators so we had to carry the stroller with Sarah in it up and down stairs that would make Escher dizzy, but also because in both directions we ended up taking taxis, which all in cost us another $80. During the week, on two occasions I needed to get out of the Tube station and find a taxi, no easy task when hundreds of others are attempting the same.
Today's mishap was based on the naive attempt to cut my losses and take the bus that runs along the western edge of SJW (n.b., the SJW Tube is a fifteen minute walk to the eastern edge of the neighborhood) and ultimately puts me down in Hyde Park Circle, from where I can take the pleasant stroll through Green Park next to Buckingham Palace and end up at the west end of Pall Mall. (Fellow cartophiles might want to triangulate all this through this site.) Alas, every bus was jam packed. I was told that the Bakerloo line (another Tube line 10 minutes down the road) shut down and commuters were scrambling for transport. I waited 30 minutes for a bus to come that had any capacity for additional riders. As they say, the road to hell (which very well might be Edgeware Road) is paved with good intentions. Today it took only an hour or so to get to work. My "record" so far from last week is 1hr 45min. Really, not so bad to go all of 3 miles. I could run to work, run back home, and back again to work in less time. (Don't email me with the obvious question. Not really in the mood.)
The irony of this London mess is not lost on me. I just scribbled the other day about the tortuous commute through Mumbai, and while the situation here at home ain't that, it's not worlds apart either. Despite the disparity of wealth and development of infrastructure (I didn't even write the other day about the busiest commuter train in the world - one train line in Mumbai that carries ~ 6 million people per day), this most cosmopolitan of cities confronts some of the very same road, train, and airport bottlenecks found in the poorest of metropolises.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
9:10 to Zuma
One of the unexpected pleasantries of the new year already has been the steady stream of visits to London by some of our Chicago-based colleagues. We do a fair amount of business in Europe, including the UK, so guys from MAS have been passing through town. This week, Marty and Karl graced our doorstep and after we all slid down the dinosaur's back, we were able to convene for a late dinner at one of my favorite restaurants in the world, Zuma. We couldn't get a reservation until "half 9" as they say around these parts, and leaving the house for dinner a few minutes after 9pm is a bit late imho. But not surprisingly, even on a Monday night, the place was packed. The scene is great, but the food is even better. It's a Japanese restaurant that's not only expert at sushi but has superb grilled meats, including chicken wings with lime and salt.
Zuma is hardly a hidden gem, but it's Nobu in this town that gets all the headlines. Indeed, I recently saw an article ranking Nobu (the one off Park Lane, not Berkeley Square) as one of the top 20 restaurants in the world. What a joke. Nobu is without question the most overrated restaurant I've ever come across. It's fine, really, but with food that's not as good as Zuma or my hometown favorite, Japonais, and service and prices that are ruder and higher, respectively, in a city replete with expensive snobby places, Nobu gets a big thumbs down from me.
Speaking of thumbs, two big ones up for my favorite rental of the year thus far - 3:10 to Yuma (come on, did you think this post's title was an accident?). The movie starts slow (as all good Westerns do), but ends up weaving together both action and a morality tale, all beautifully filmed in the Arizona desert. Russell Crowe is such a presence on the screen, but what made this film special was Christian Bale, who held his own throughout. I will watch this one again. Then again, I'll likely watch Escape from New York again, so don't necessarily believe the hype.
Zuma is hardly a hidden gem, but it's Nobu in this town that gets all the headlines. Indeed, I recently saw an article ranking Nobu (the one off Park Lane, not Berkeley Square) as one of the top 20 restaurants in the world. What a joke. Nobu is without question the most overrated restaurant I've ever come across. It's fine, really, but with food that's not as good as Zuma or my hometown favorite, Japonais, and service and prices that are ruder and higher, respectively, in a city replete with expensive snobby places, Nobu gets a big thumbs down from me.
Speaking of thumbs, two big ones up for my favorite rental of the year thus far - 3:10 to Yuma (come on, did you think this post's title was an accident?). The movie starts slow (as all good Westerns do), but ends up weaving together both action and a morality tale, all beautifully filmed in the Arizona desert. Russell Crowe is such a presence on the screen, but what made this film special was Christian Bale, who held his own throughout. I will watch this one again. Then again, I'll likely watch Escape from New York again, so don't necessarily believe the hype.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Mumbai
It’s not so difficult to spot the abject poverty that Mumbai (Bombay to you old school types) is well known for. Indeed, there’s a slum right at the end of the main runway of the international airport. As we cut through the yellowish-stained skies and set down on the tarmac, we basically strafed a large shanty town and then rode alongside several other patches of them situated intermittently along the path.
Mumbai sits on the western coast of India, along the Arabian sea. It is a series of seven islands, but as much land has been reclaimed over the years, it’s now basically one tear drop-shaped peninsula. It grows narrower as you drive south from the airport to south Bombay, where the business district is located and where I stayed for three days to conduct research for work.
The drive from the airport to the hotel was one of the most eye-opening urban experiences I’ve ever had. It’s a somewhat legendary drive, as many before me have commented that navigating nearly the entire length of the city exposes you to much of what it has to offer. Which is largely unfortunate. There are true slums along the way, tin roof shacks with emaciated Indians clearly living in filth. It’s not as if we drove so close that I could make any genuine observations, but we were in eyeshot of Dhavari, Asia’s largest slum estimated at 500,000 inhabitants and the world’s second largest behind one in Brazil. (For shock, despair, and some good Marxist sociology, check out Mike Davis’ Planet of Slums. It goes into detail on the nature and scope of emerging market slum proliferation in the context of globalization. There's a cottage industry now in academia devoted to analyzing slums.)
Almost as shocking was that the slums didn’t stand in that stark of a contrast to the rest of Mumbai’s urban landscape. This city of, say, 20 million people (I was given estimates ranging between 15mm and 26mm, so let’s make it a round number) is an endless strip of dilapidated buildings, even in the “good” neighborhoods. The common apartment buildings frequently had crumbling terraces and piles of rubble in the courtyard. Laundry lines were strung everywhere. Sidewalks teemed with people, including many who appeared to be hovering near a shack that I presume was home. This went on for miles. It wasn’t rare to see people washing clothes right on the curb. It’s all a somewhat nauseating spectacle to behold from behind the tinted windows of an air-cooled Mercedes.
Onwards, I guess. Or so to try. This was not a short drive. On a Sunday afternoon, it took 45 minutes to travel maybe 8 miles, but my driver, Prashant (a Hindu who married a Catholic, distrusts Muslims especially Pakistanis, started driving at a young age as the oldest son of a paralytic father and hopes to have his own aquarium business some day - yes, we chatted like old girlfriends the whole way) said that during business hours the trip takes about 2 hours. I loved his enthusiasm for how quickly we were progressing – a comment he made as we sat in four “lanes” of standstill traffic.
I stayed at the Oberoi, what many consider to be south Bombay's nicest hotel. It was indeed nice and did have some good restaurants (I recommend the kebabs at Kandahar and the spicy tuna rolls at Tiffin), but no more so than the O’Hare Marriot or the like. I was told that the city is in a massive hotel room shortage. In an area known as the "Manhattan of Mumbai" there are just three international business travel hotels.
The hotel sits right across the street from a long promenade right along on the sea, so by mid-afternoon on Sunday, after I had gotten settled in and took a few deep breaths, I set out on the tiniest of adventures. I wouldn't typically call crossing the street an adventure, but it certainly had an extreme sport-quality to it. Not just then but over the three days in town I managed to dodge some combination of cars, buses, motorcycles, auto-rickshaws, scooters, other pedestrians, and the occasional mangy dog. The cows and I got along because they didn't move much. If there's a crosswalk in south Mumbai, I didn't see one.
I did cross that street, however, and managed to catch much of the sunset over the Arabian Sea that evening. It was a sight to behold. Just beautiful it was, and having never been to that part of the world it was not hard to let your mind wander to what a large, overwhelming experience this all can be. Smack in the middle of one of the world's true megalopolises - think about it, 20 million people in one city - with the Persian Gulf and east Africa very far off in the distance, I lost track of time for a bit as that fuzzy tangerine ball carved its way down through the hazy, polluted sky.
Snap to. The promenade went along for miles and the road along the huge bay in the part of town is called the Queen's Necklace for the lights that line it at night. In fact, they do twinkle brightly and form something that nicely fits the title. (One of several interpretations I've read for "Bombay" is "good bay.") I didn't stray far at first, staying more or less across the street from the hotel. Not moving much put a bullseye on my back for everyone selling crap (I was in fact the only white face out of hundreds in that one block) and my one attempt to escape along the promenade accidently put me right on the set of Bollywood movie being filmed right there. Aside from the annoying production assistant with his cheap headset and bad attitude, it was neat to come across it as Bombay's Hollywood ("Bollywood") makes more movies than anywhere else in the world, including its namesake town. An unexpected tourist moment.
Feeling like I was on a roll, I decided to push my luck and go through town a bit to visit the Gateway of India, a monument built in 1927 to commemorate the 1911 visit of King George and Queen Mary. It was one of the last landmark visits of British royalty before independence in 1947. I had the bellhop at the hotel get me a cab - there were about 40 of them right there but I prefered to get some quality control. So the guy blew his whistle, the cab drove up, and I was on my way....
I never imagined what the combination of urine and jasmine would smell like, but I'm pretty sure what wafted into my nostrils when I slid onto the cab's greasy vinyl back seat was exactly that. My new friend Raju insisted on air conditioning thinking that was what I wanted, so the closed windows were not helping matters.
Onwards, I guess. With the A/C on full blast, this cab's engine stalled at every stop light and at full acceleration I don't think we could've outpaced a late-model Toro lawnwower. But Raju motored on and basically drove me around for a while through that part of town, waiting at stops while I'd get out and snoop around. The Gateway of India was modeled after l'Arc de Triomphe, so desipte its large size it was still a smaller than the original and thus had an unintended kitsch element to it. The plaza around this site - arguably Mumbai's most noteworthy tourist attraction - was jammed with 1000s of people enjoying the warm night air. It was indeed a nice night, but even at this tourist destination I couldn't help but feel like an alien. The status of the plaza added to the disconcert as most of it was under construction, with rubble throughout. Like the others, I was stepping on and around piles of broken rocks to get my 360 degree view of the monument. The crowd was overwhelming.
As promised, Raju was waiting for me and we hurled ourselves back into the traffic, largely formless with the exception that most (not all) vehicles do adhere to driving on the correct (in this British system, left) side of the road. Dogs do seem to get a pass from even that. Raju showed me around the neighborhood and along one commercial boulevard I eyeballed a gift shop that ended up being quite nice. In fact, a picture of Bill Clinton buying something there was framed on the wall, so at least I knew I was in good company. Raju was intent on driving me around for hours, but I wanted to call it a night, despite having already become somewhat inured to the urine/jasmine aroma. I insisted at one point that we open the windows, which not only solved the obvious olfactory problem but unlocked some horsepower for us to really menace other cars and pedestrians. After 1.5 hours the meter read 154 rupees (~ $4) and when I tipped the extra 46, Raju was a happy camper. India's GDP per capita is around $1000 so a few extra bucks there mean a hell of a lot more to them to me. (Yes, I should have tipped more, but in my own defense I only had left 500 Rs notes and I really didn't want to give a 300% gratuity.)
Work on Monday and Tuesday had its highlights as well. The Manhattan of Mumbai was in or near the same neighborhood I'd been riding around the night before, so it's not as if there was a quiet alcove of nice buildings and roads that I hadn't noticed. Most shocking was the dilapidated state of every office building I entered. Strangely, a number of the internal offices themselves were nicely appointed, but the external edifices all shared a Beirut circa-1982 feel about them. Mumbai's infrastructure is unbelievably bad.
The work itself was fascinating and a heck of a lot of fun. I met with nearly all of the major hedge funds in town. Through those meetings I was able to further develop my understanding of India, a country of 1.1 billion people growing at more than 9% per year. Its development alongside China's represents an unprecedented historical and socioeconomic event. In India, more than 50% of the population is under 25 years old and what we'll see over the next generation is the emergence of the largest consumer class in the history of mankind. Hundreds of millions of people will grow into their 30s and 40s while growing their wealth and buying power. It's hard to imagine what that will look like twenty years hence. Needless to say, all of the managers I met were long-term bulls on India, not only for the demographic story but for infrastructure as well. The fact that much of Mumbai looks like it should be razed and rebuilt is a small but telling indication of what remains to be done there. The Indian government puts out 5 year plans and its current one earmarks nearly $500 billion dollars in expenditures on roads, ports, airports, water and power utilities, and so forth. The next 5 year plan, due in 2012, is expected to earmark ~ $1 trillion. It's just too big to fully fathom.
What was so interesting for me to see was the energy and enthusiasm that so many people had for India and its promise. One of the managers I spent time with both formally and over dinner grew up there. His father was raised on the streets but this person managed to attend both school and college and is now extremely successful. Over dinner at a popular seafood restaurant called Trishna, I got to hear parts of the tale and also enjoy a wonderful meal. Among other things we ate a fish call pom fret (seasoned with tumeric and pepper), which I believe is only caught around India, Sri Lanka, Malaysia and other corners of the Indian sea. We also had white salmon, which I had never heard of before. The meal peaked with whole crabs covered in a "butter garlic" sauce that was just outstanding. All was served with warm, soft naan and ice-cold Kingfisher beers.
Paradoxically and sadly, one of the newest concentrations of mega-wealth in the world is in Mumbai but it's also one of the poorest places on earth. (A New York Times article from last year gives a powerful summary of the dichotomy.) Indeed, while I did not witness the "haves" living opulently (though of course there are some that do) they certainly have so much more than the millions of slum dwellers and "regular" poor. Some I spoke to paid lip service to wanting to right-size the imbalance, but it's hard to imagine what can materially change things in the years to come. After this experience, I do expect that I'll return to India again, hopefully to other cities and regions as well. It will be fascinating to see how this amazing, shocking, puzzling, depressing, and uplifting country evolves.
Namaste.
Mumbai sits on the western coast of India, along the Arabian sea. It is a series of seven islands, but as much land has been reclaimed over the years, it’s now basically one tear drop-shaped peninsula. It grows narrower as you drive south from the airport to south Bombay, where the business district is located and where I stayed for three days to conduct research for work.
The drive from the airport to the hotel was one of the most eye-opening urban experiences I’ve ever had. It’s a somewhat legendary drive, as many before me have commented that navigating nearly the entire length of the city exposes you to much of what it has to offer. Which is largely unfortunate. There are true slums along the way, tin roof shacks with emaciated Indians clearly living in filth. It’s not as if we drove so close that I could make any genuine observations, but we were in eyeshot of Dhavari, Asia’s largest slum estimated at 500,000 inhabitants and the world’s second largest behind one in Brazil. (For shock, despair, and some good Marxist sociology, check out Mike Davis’ Planet of Slums. It goes into detail on the nature and scope of emerging market slum proliferation in the context of globalization. There's a cottage industry now in academia devoted to analyzing slums.)
Almost as shocking was that the slums didn’t stand in that stark of a contrast to the rest of Mumbai’s urban landscape. This city of, say, 20 million people (I was given estimates ranging between 15mm and 26mm, so let’s make it a round number) is an endless strip of dilapidated buildings, even in the “good” neighborhoods. The common apartment buildings frequently had crumbling terraces and piles of rubble in the courtyard. Laundry lines were strung everywhere. Sidewalks teemed with people, including many who appeared to be hovering near a shack that I presume was home. This went on for miles. It wasn’t rare to see people washing clothes right on the curb. It’s all a somewhat nauseating spectacle to behold from behind the tinted windows of an air-cooled Mercedes.
Onwards, I guess. Or so to try. This was not a short drive. On a Sunday afternoon, it took 45 minutes to travel maybe 8 miles, but my driver, Prashant (a Hindu who married a Catholic, distrusts Muslims especially Pakistanis, started driving at a young age as the oldest son of a paralytic father and hopes to have his own aquarium business some day - yes, we chatted like old girlfriends the whole way) said that during business hours the trip takes about 2 hours. I loved his enthusiasm for how quickly we were progressing – a comment he made as we sat in four “lanes” of standstill traffic.
I stayed at the Oberoi, what many consider to be south Bombay's nicest hotel. It was indeed nice and did have some good restaurants (I recommend the kebabs at Kandahar and the spicy tuna rolls at Tiffin), but no more so than the O’Hare Marriot or the like. I was told that the city is in a massive hotel room shortage. In an area known as the "Manhattan of Mumbai" there are just three international business travel hotels.
The hotel sits right across the street from a long promenade right along on the sea, so by mid-afternoon on Sunday, after I had gotten settled in and took a few deep breaths, I set out on the tiniest of adventures. I wouldn't typically call crossing the street an adventure, but it certainly had an extreme sport-quality to it. Not just then but over the three days in town I managed to dodge some combination of cars, buses, motorcycles, auto-rickshaws, scooters, other pedestrians, and the occasional mangy dog. The cows and I got along because they didn't move much. If there's a crosswalk in south Mumbai, I didn't see one.
I did cross that street, however, and managed to catch much of the sunset over the Arabian Sea that evening. It was a sight to behold. Just beautiful it was, and having never been to that part of the world it was not hard to let your mind wander to what a large, overwhelming experience this all can be. Smack in the middle of one of the world's true megalopolises - think about it, 20 million people in one city - with the Persian Gulf and east Africa very far off in the distance, I lost track of time for a bit as that fuzzy tangerine ball carved its way down through the hazy, polluted sky.
Snap to. The promenade went along for miles and the road along the huge bay in the part of town is called the Queen's Necklace for the lights that line it at night. In fact, they do twinkle brightly and form something that nicely fits the title. (One of several interpretations I've read for "Bombay" is "good bay.") I didn't stray far at first, staying more or less across the street from the hotel. Not moving much put a bullseye on my back for everyone selling crap (I was in fact the only white face out of hundreds in that one block) and my one attempt to escape along the promenade accidently put me right on the set of Bollywood movie being filmed right there. Aside from the annoying production assistant with his cheap headset and bad attitude, it was neat to come across it as Bombay's Hollywood ("Bollywood") makes more movies than anywhere else in the world, including its namesake town. An unexpected tourist moment.
Feeling like I was on a roll, I decided to push my luck and go through town a bit to visit the Gateway of India, a monument built in 1927 to commemorate the 1911 visit of King George and Queen Mary. It was one of the last landmark visits of British royalty before independence in 1947. I had the bellhop at the hotel get me a cab - there were about 40 of them right there but I prefered to get some quality control. So the guy blew his whistle, the cab drove up, and I was on my way....
I never imagined what the combination of urine and jasmine would smell like, but I'm pretty sure what wafted into my nostrils when I slid onto the cab's greasy vinyl back seat was exactly that. My new friend Raju insisted on air conditioning thinking that was what I wanted, so the closed windows were not helping matters.
Onwards, I guess. With the A/C on full blast, this cab's engine stalled at every stop light and at full acceleration I don't think we could've outpaced a late-model Toro lawnwower. But Raju motored on and basically drove me around for a while through that part of town, waiting at stops while I'd get out and snoop around. The Gateway of India was modeled after l'Arc de Triomphe, so desipte its large size it was still a smaller than the original and thus had an unintended kitsch element to it. The plaza around this site - arguably Mumbai's most noteworthy tourist attraction - was jammed with 1000s of people enjoying the warm night air. It was indeed a nice night, but even at this tourist destination I couldn't help but feel like an alien. The status of the plaza added to the disconcert as most of it was under construction, with rubble throughout. Like the others, I was stepping on and around piles of broken rocks to get my 360 degree view of the monument. The crowd was overwhelming.
As promised, Raju was waiting for me and we hurled ourselves back into the traffic, largely formless with the exception that most (not all) vehicles do adhere to driving on the correct (in this British system, left) side of the road. Dogs do seem to get a pass from even that. Raju showed me around the neighborhood and along one commercial boulevard I eyeballed a gift shop that ended up being quite nice. In fact, a picture of Bill Clinton buying something there was framed on the wall, so at least I knew I was in good company. Raju was intent on driving me around for hours, but I wanted to call it a night, despite having already become somewhat inured to the urine/jasmine aroma. I insisted at one point that we open the windows, which not only solved the obvious olfactory problem but unlocked some horsepower for us to really menace other cars and pedestrians. After 1.5 hours the meter read 154 rupees (~ $4) and when I tipped the extra 46, Raju was a happy camper. India's GDP per capita is around $1000 so a few extra bucks there mean a hell of a lot more to them to me. (Yes, I should have tipped more, but in my own defense I only had left 500 Rs notes and I really didn't want to give a 300% gratuity.)
Work on Monday and Tuesday had its highlights as well. The Manhattan of Mumbai was in or near the same neighborhood I'd been riding around the night before, so it's not as if there was a quiet alcove of nice buildings and roads that I hadn't noticed. Most shocking was the dilapidated state of every office building I entered. Strangely, a number of the internal offices themselves were nicely appointed, but the external edifices all shared a Beirut circa-1982 feel about them. Mumbai's infrastructure is unbelievably bad.
The work itself was fascinating and a heck of a lot of fun. I met with nearly all of the major hedge funds in town. Through those meetings I was able to further develop my understanding of India, a country of 1.1 billion people growing at more than 9% per year. Its development alongside China's represents an unprecedented historical and socioeconomic event. In India, more than 50% of the population is under 25 years old and what we'll see over the next generation is the emergence of the largest consumer class in the history of mankind. Hundreds of millions of people will grow into their 30s and 40s while growing their wealth and buying power. It's hard to imagine what that will look like twenty years hence. Needless to say, all of the managers I met were long-term bulls on India, not only for the demographic story but for infrastructure as well. The fact that much of Mumbai looks like it should be razed and rebuilt is a small but telling indication of what remains to be done there. The Indian government puts out 5 year plans and its current one earmarks nearly $500 billion dollars in expenditures on roads, ports, airports, water and power utilities, and so forth. The next 5 year plan, due in 2012, is expected to earmark ~ $1 trillion. It's just too big to fully fathom.
What was so interesting for me to see was the energy and enthusiasm that so many people had for India and its promise. One of the managers I spent time with both formally and over dinner grew up there. His father was raised on the streets but this person managed to attend both school and college and is now extremely successful. Over dinner at a popular seafood restaurant called Trishna, I got to hear parts of the tale and also enjoy a wonderful meal. Among other things we ate a fish call pom fret (seasoned with tumeric and pepper), which I believe is only caught around India, Sri Lanka, Malaysia and other corners of the Indian sea. We also had white salmon, which I had never heard of before. The meal peaked with whole crabs covered in a "butter garlic" sauce that was just outstanding. All was served with warm, soft naan and ice-cold Kingfisher beers.
Paradoxically and sadly, one of the newest concentrations of mega-wealth in the world is in Mumbai but it's also one of the poorest places on earth. (A New York Times article from last year gives a powerful summary of the dichotomy.) Indeed, while I did not witness the "haves" living opulently (though of course there are some that do) they certainly have so much more than the millions of slum dwellers and "regular" poor. Some I spoke to paid lip service to wanting to right-size the imbalance, but it's hard to imagine what can materially change things in the years to come. After this experience, I do expect that I'll return to India again, hopefully to other cities and regions as well. It will be fascinating to see how this amazing, shocking, puzzling, depressing, and uplifting country evolves.
Namaste.
Happy 2008!
Break’s over. Over the past month I’ve been away from the computer a fair bit, traveling with Tracy and kids to Chicago and Arizona, and already traveling abroad for work. I’d been meaning to call many of you while back in the States so as to take advantage of the time zone overlap. Alas, I basically made no calls and barely ran any of the errands I was hoping to (a certain wife of mine, however, managed to fill several extra suitcases for London with relatively cheap Nordstrom’s loot). Oh well - we'll be back in the summer....
Most importantly, to friends and family alike, have a healthy and happy new year. I hope it’s a good one. Now let’s get ready to blog!
Most importantly, to friends and family alike, have a healthy and happy new year. I hope it’s a good one. Now let’s get ready to blog!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)