Lisboa

 There was little flexibility on the timing of the interview. No flexibility, actually. When I asked them to move to the right a little to accommodate my surgery, they said, "No. Move your surgery." To be fair - I didn't tell them it was surgery. I called it a "medical procedure". But still - not particularly friendly or accomodating. This meant I was traveling before the anesthesia was completely out of my system and my body was still swollen with hormones and inflammation. I hardly recognized myself and my clothes didn't fit properly.

 

I fasted during most of the flight. Drank only water. I wanted to clear as much trouble from my system as possible, so I shut down my digestion. Let the body's own housekeeping service take care of business.

 

I arrived in Lisbon on Sunday night. Taxi to the hotel. It was raining. No problem - I'd brought my rain jacket. I skipped dinner and went for a long walk instead. Three miles to the city center and then back in the rain. It felt good to be back in Europe. The cobbled streets and the gently decaying buildings reminded me of Naples. I felt suddenly warm with homesickness. Glad to walk away from the years of trying to make the business run. Ate a yogurt I'd gotten from the Paris airport to stop the gnawing feeling before I went to bed.

At 4:45 I was awake again and anxiously waiting for the breakfast bar to open.  Felt glad to take down the complete spectrum of indulgences after the long break from food. Donned my running gear and made my first mistake of the trip: I went for a 3 mile jog.

I didn't think it would be a bad idea to get the body moving. But I was in pain during my shower and dressing. Flat-ironed my hair and, uncharacteristically nervous about the day, made it to the lobby well before the 0915 pickup.  

 There were four other candidates for the position. Waiting in the lobby. All men. All older. Canadian, Frenchman, and two Brits. I lack any desire to unsettle other people or play psychological games so I was friendly. Maybe the skirt and heeled shoes were enough to unsettle without any additional effort on my part. Everyone seemed as nervous as I felt. I wonder how badly these men wanted the position. We drove together in a van to the base. Checked documents. Assigned badges.

The test was three hours. Logic games. Numerical and statistical problem-solving using spreadsheets. Qualitative data summaries. Presentation preparations. I hated every second of the damned thing. I don’t like people looking at me and there’s no surer way to be looked at than to take a test. In the end, I think I did fairly well. Maybe better than the other candidates because I know my way around statistics.

 

I’d hoped to meet John during this trip but an e-mail coordination revealed that he was back in the Netherlands. Pity. I like the man. It would have been nice to catch up. I would have liked to meet his wife and children.

Without John to keep me company, I spent time with the other candidates – we went to lunch in a square close to the oceanfront. Bowl of mussels in tomato sauce with bread. Spent the rest of the day wandering around the city with one of the British candidates. Bookstores, souvenir shops, churches, bars, and Christmas markets where we bought gifts for our families. Not a lot of art in the form of paintings, but plenty of ceramic tile: depictions of sardines and swallows. Dinner at a local restaurant where they found my favorite Naples fish (Orata in Italian, Dorado in Portuguese, and Sea Bream in English). Charcoal grilled it to a lovely heat, drenched in olive oil, salt and lemon, and I was in gastronomical heaven.

But my other pain had only increased with the activity. By bedtime, I was hurting. Awakened at 4AM wondering if I’d screwed something up and should go to the hospital. Decided against it. Who knew what the health care system looked like here? How long would it take to be seen? Would it distract me from my interview? Meditated. Tried to sleep in. My interview wasn’t till 2 PM.

Took a taxi to the base. I was early out of fear of lateness. Spent an hour at the officers’ club: not quite on par with those I’ve seen in Africa. But there was a lovely climbing tree growing up the back side. The air was still cool, but warm enough to sit outside with a sweater. I drank water, chamomile tea, and meditated, feeling the breeze brush across my skin and the distracting pain in my abdomen. Then it was time and I walked to the building.

Five men in a large room. All but one in uniform. I relaxed. I know this audience. I am comfortable here. They had questions. Rehearsed questions – for each candidate. I was the last of the day. I decided to make them look at my ideas, not my person. I talked about Freeman Dyson, Iraq, Operation Resolute Support in Afghanistan, about the Boyd Cycle, functions of combat, and the Capability Geodesic. They had set aside 45 minutes for the interview. They were tired, wanted to go home, but they stayed in the room and I entertained them with my ideas for an additional 30 minutes. Who knows what will happen next? I think they will offer me the job.

Back to town to finish some shopping. Hotel, pack bags, called my doctor, and then took a taxi to the emergency room of the local hospital: Hospital di Santa Maria. Tour of the Portuguese health care system. It was difficult, chaotic, the building wasn’t new. But people were kind to me and competent and, tests performed, only asked for 135 Euros.  

I was bleeding, said the English-speaking doctor. Nothing was twisted inside, but the surgery and my subsequent activity had caused internal bruising. That was the pain. Nothing to worry about. I could fly.

It was 2AM by the time I returned to the hotel. Slept for 2 hours before I had to leave for the airport and return home.