Taking on the Croatian National Team (guest post from Matt)

“Sorry to bother you on a Sunday night,” my boss started apologetically over the phone, “but I’ve been called away to a press conference in London on Wednesday, so I need a replacement for my keynote speech at the Croatian User’s Group meeting on Tuesday night. The audience is a few hundred people. Can you go? I know you’ll be in Milan Tuesday morning, and it’s just across the Adriatic….”

Dubrovnik, Croatia

I was interested. I’d never been to Croatia, and everyone said that it was such a nice place. “So the conference is in Dubrovnik?” I asked hopefully, remembering the photos I’d seen of its broad beaches and ancient city walls.

“No, Pula,” he replied.

“Pula?” I wondered out loud. I’d never heard of it.

“Look into flights, and we’ll make a decision in the morning,” he concluded, “Talk to you then.”

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

Sure enough, there was a place called Pula in Croatia, and it even had an airport. I put the destination into the travel website, and searched for flights from Milan. The first sign of a problem was when it asked whether I wanted a maximum of three connections or four connections. There were no direct, one-stop or even two-stop flights; most options involved an overnight stay along the way.

So I tried other airports. There was one in Rijeka – no better. Zagreb? A 3 ½ hour drive away. Trieste? A two-stop connection followed by a 2-hour drive. There was just no way to fly there in time.

OK, then, how about taking the train? Italy has fast trains, but I soon discovered that they don’t go in the direction of Croatia. I even checked on the ferry from Venice to Pula; not only would it take 8 ½ hours, but it was suspended until next summer.

Milan to Rovinj - 505 Kilometers

So I resorted to a distinctly American approach to the problem: I’d just rent a car and drive. The ever-optimistic Google Maps claimed that I could get to Pula in just over 5 hours. That would be (just) enough time to finish my presentation in Milan and arrive an hour or so ahead of my speech in Croatia.

My European colleagues registered shock and disbelief the next morning when I announced my plan to drive 500 kilometers (325 miles) in an afternoon. They considered it to be a rash and dangerous enterprise, as if I there were roving bandits and booby traps along the way. But I assured them that there was no alternative.

My boss was satisfied. “I’ll have the organizers send you the agenda,” he declared, sealing the deal.

“Could you also send me a copy of your presentation?” I asked.

“I never got a chance to put it together, but I’ll send you the abstract,” he said casually.

Soon afterwards, I received an email with the agenda. As I opened it, I saw that the conference wasn’t in Pula after all; it was in a place called Rovinj. I searched for the name of the venue on the Internet, and up popped a picture of an island. The hotel was offshore, reachable only by a boat that left once an hour. Fortunately, the keynote timeslot was later than I had thought – 8 PM. It would be a cinch to make it in time.

An Afternoon’s Drive

I wrapped up my presentation in Milan right on schedule Tuesday morning, and was on the road at 11:37 AM. The first 3 ½ hours of my trip would be on the Autostrada from Milan to Trieste, where the speed limit is 130 km/h (81 mph). This was also the speed that Google Maps would have used for its calculations, so I’d have to average that to stay on schedule.

Fiat Grande Punto 1.2

Unfortunately, due to the short notice of my trip, Avis had only been able to rent me a small Fiat Punto. I soon learned that at 130 km/h in top gear, its little 1.2 liter engine ran at 4000 RPM. But worse, it didn’t have any cruise control; instead, it had a speed limiting alarm that would sound any time I exceeded 130 km/h. All afternoon, I listened to the pitch of the engine as it whined like a blender set on “liquefy” to keep my speed as best I could between 125 and 129 km/h.

Very few Italians actually drive the speed limit. Italy is not populated with German engineers trying to get within 1/10 of a kilometer per hour of the posted limit, or conservative French civil servants who actually believe in speed limits, or Spaniards who are paranoid of hidden speed cameras. Italian drivers are of two types – those that hurtle forward franticly as if their house is burning down, and those who don’t seem to care whether they ever reach their destination. Both types use turn signals erratically, apparently having been taught that it’s dangerous to reveal your intentions to the enemy. Cars going half the speed limit swerve into the lane in front of others going three times as fast, sandwiching hapless others like me in between.

By the end of the afternoon, I could see the source of my colleagues’ concern. It would have been easier to deal with roving bandits. But by some miracle, I made to Trieste without incident. I wasn’t distracted by the beautiful vistas of the Alps, and I didn’t yield to the temptation to stop to see Verona, Padua or Venice along the way. Soon I was navigating the relatively relaxed roads of Slovenia and Croatia.

I made a wrong turn in Slovenia, and encountered a bridge closure in Croatia, so I just missed the 5:30 PM boat to the hotel. But no worries – the 6:30 PM boat would do fine; and I’d have a little time to finish the presentation while I waited. I selected some of the flashiest animations from our recent global conference that I deemed worthy of a keynote, and walked to the concrete dock at the appointed time for the boat.



Rovinj at Night



I must have looked awkward in my suit among the crowd of German and Croatian tourists. I had time to survey the little harbor, with the picturesque old town on the far side. The town church stood at the top of the hill, illuminated in the dusk. I could also make out the dark silhouettes of islands offshore. Croatia did seem like a nice place.

A Command Performance

The conference host met me at the boat dock of the island. He was obviously relieved to see me. “You can imagine my worry,” he confided.

The island and hotel were both beautiful, and the expansive lobby was filled with people. My host showed me into a long, narrow conference hall. It could have held a few hundred people, but few of the seats were occupied. Another company was presenting a breakout session in Croatian.

Hotel Istra

I assumed that when the keynote slot came, the hall would fill. I counted off the attendees that were already in the room – just over 50. But as I stepped up to the podium, no one else came in. Instead, a few people stood up and walked out.

In all the keynote speeches I’d ever given, from Moscow to Lagos, Oslo and San Francisco, customers have been really interested to hear the latest news from our company. But as I launched into my topic at the Croatian Users Group meeting, supported by all the flashy new animations, even the handful of people who remained seemed distracted. Some were checking their iPhones.

At random intervals, loud whoops, groans and cheers would come from the partition behind me. I was confused and annoyed, but did my best to maintain my composure. When I concluded, the audience clapped politely, then jumped up and raced out of the room.

Congratulations on the Second Goal

My host came up to me afterwards, clearly sensing my perplexity. “We’ve been a bit unlucky tonight,” he said sheepishly. Croatia’s World Cup qualifying football match was moved to 8:00, just when your speech started. So I’m afraid that a lot of people decided to watch that in the lobby rather than attend the keynote.”

Croatia beat Wales 2-0 in their qualifying match. But the team's victory over me was somewhat more lopsided.