Just short of a decade ago I bumped into Peter Sullivan, gave him my email address and asked him to write something for my blog. The blog is no more but I found the piece he sent me. Here it is.
By Peter Sullivan
Davos – There’s a great line in the musical “Chess” about one night in Bangkok and you see an angel or a devil by your side. Well, one night in Davos during the World Economic Forum sees a crowd at your side, from heaven, hell or both.
Take the Thursday night of this year’s Davos. January 24 2008, to be precise.
It was my daughter Helen’s first Davos, my tenth.
“If we start at 6pm, we could crack three to four cocktail parties, even without a badge,” I suggested. Badges are precious, I had one but my daughter, 18-years-old and fresh from finishing matric, did not.
Security in the tiny village of Davos makes the average airport’s irritating attempts look like a gilt-edged invitation to terrorists, but some cocktail parties are open to the host’s “special guests.” Getting Helen in to just one would be a triumph.
Coca-Cola’s big bash was at the unpretentious Morosani Posthotel. It is one of the least guarded on the Esplanade, Davos’ main drag. Plus there was a sneaky back entrance.
Dressed in her beautiful red coat striking against the white snow backdrop, Helen personified the brand’s colour, just by happenstance. She walzed right in, just after security fussed themselves frantic getting Pakistan President Musharraf out.
We grabbed champagne to celebrate (Roederer, not a bad selection, and certainly better for you than the sugar-rich black stuff also on offer) and lifted some great canapés off passing plates.
There was the normal array of smoked salmon, schweinefleis, cheesy bits, cocktail sausages, spring rolls and similar normal four-star hotel fare, all good for gulping, but the big thing was we were in!
The party started fairly crowded at 6.30, and soon became very.
We bumped into Crown Prince Phillipe of Belgium, who we had hosted at The Star in Sauer Street for a breakfast a year or so ago, and then into his beautiful wife, pregnant with her fourth-in-line. He had invited me earlier to the palace in Brussels; she had been in a session I had moderated at lunch that Thursday. We talked about the wonderful introduction given by one speaker, America’s expert on mental health.
He had started his five-minute speaking turn: “I said to my wife, ‘did you ever imagine in your wildest dreams that I would be addressing the wealthiest of the world here in Davos about mental health?’
“My wife replied, ‘my darling, you have never been in my wildest dreams …’.”
Warning: If you are allergic or know that you suffer from an aversion to name-dropping, cease reading immediately, lie down and sip two glasses of champagne. Names will now be dropped faster than plates at a Greek wedding.
Spotted the friendly Haiko Alfeld in the corner, deep in conversation with Coke’s CEO Isdell, and joined them. Isdell is a great guy, tall, South African accent, educated at UCT and now runs Coke worldwide.
Last year he closed Davos 2007 by calling it “the greatest gathering of egos on the planet” and after laughter subsided, said he was looking forward to taking his own large ego back home.
He was hoisting our first cocktail party, so introduced Helen as a gatecrasher, which he enjoyed and welcomed her. Haiko and I agreed he is “one of us” whatever that means. No airs and graces. Good South African.
Time to sneak to the next party – but not before collecting the first goodie of the night, a good looking warm fleece jacket made from nine recycled plastic coke bottles.
Along the snow-lined street down to the Kirchner Museum, where Canada was hosting its traditional party. I had excited fellow Davosers by telling them how Canada supplied five different kinds of salmon, whole enormous fishes, the year before, some of it light pink some blood red, all extraordinarily tasty with brilliant champagne on offer. A party not to be missed!
Fool that I am. Davos is never the same year to year. No salmon. No champagne. Too many people. No atmosphere – like a convention of dentists.
“The museum banned salmon, after last year’s smell,” a functionary confessed conspiratorially in response to my whimpering.
Fairly interesting bunch of goodies at the exit: a beanie, scarf, free CD (marked “special price offer”), sweets made of maple syrup.
“Hey dad,” says Helen, “the scarf matches my sister’s ski suit exactly, with precisely the right orange!” A win for her.
It is now 7.20, time for the big one. Steigenberger Belvedere, five-stars going on six, home to presidents, prime ministers and half the Swiss security establishment during WEF week.
I had an invitation for two to the PriceWatersCoopers party (and another few) but Helen had none. Hurrah -- a special lane created for those with no badges.
Helen joins that queue, produces her passport, but was not on the list of invitees. After agreeing how chaotic invitations to megaparties are in Davos, she gets given a special badge and we are in!
PWC’s party was awesome. Weird people at the entrance dressed in green with water sprite-like spikes coming out of their bodies. Seriously weird.
Fabulous food. Tons of people. Great vibe. Magnificent bubbly, only the best. As Oscar Wilde said: “I am a man of simple tastes, the best will do for me.”
Wish I could remember all the people I met, but my mind started getting a bit hazy, around this time, can’t think why. Perhaps the altitude.
Left Helen there, puffed up by my achievement of sneaking her into three parties, and stumbled to the Nasdaq party, just next door. Bit flat. But the champagne tasted like more. And was given a solar-powered torch on exit. Didn’t work as it was dark.
Now out into the cold, as I had a dinner to attend. It is 8pm already. Waited in the snow for the bus. Then saw the Time magazine party, right across the tar! Hey, I was invited to that.
Popped in, popped into a hug from Yvonne Johnston, head of SA’s International Marketing Council, who insisted I give up clutching my glass of champagne in exchange for a large glass of Meerlust. Everyone very merry. I became even merrier.
Back into the snow, quite late now for my 8pm dinner with the International Media Council and global media governors, but found the same few cold souls still waiting for the bus, which felt good as I had missed nothing.
The bus came right away and took me to the Fluela Hotel, other end of Davos, and with a Michelin starred chef, I was told.
One seat left at main table. Wisely declined that. Two open seats at second table. Took one, and the interestingly named Regula hustled over to whisper I should please keep the seat next to me open.
Klaus Schwab arrived, still head of the whole WEF, and its originator nearly four decades ago, when as a Swiss economics professor he felt Europeans were so far behind American businessmen they should meet to learn something. How it has grown. He made straight for the main table, sensible fellow.
Five minutes later Emma Thompson, actress and Oxford or Cambridge graduate (can’t remember which) arrives. Only one seat left. Next to moi.
As she sat, she started taking her wrap off her shoulders. “Let me help you,” says I, “and take it to the garderobe.”
‘Oh no thanks. Just drape it seductively halfway over my shoulders showing some skin, I’d like to get all these guys going,” she says with a smile.
“Well you’ve certainly got me going.”
“Down boy,” she says, “down.”
All the conversation is off-the-record, mine so far off the record it is not even on the turntable.
Emma is charming. Even though it is off the record, I will tell you that she was rather dismissive of the Hollywood producers gathered there.
“I wrote the script for Pride and Prejudice,” she said “and sent it to three studios. Not one, but two of them, responded by saying it was a great story, and I should think of turning it into a novel …”
My other immediate dinner companions talk about movies all night. One has a long German name with many a “von” this and that in it. He is quiet, intelligent, critical of European filmmakers and especially the European Union representative. I discover only at the end of the dinner that he is an independent director, who made “The Lives of Others,” my favourite film of 2007, about the East German police.
On the other side of Emma is another director, rather gnome-like with a pixie beard, and very self-deprecating.
“I only make documentaries,” he says when I ask about his films.
“Like what?”
“Well I made one called “An Inconvenient Truth,” he says. Mm. What can I say.
Splendid coffee arrives, and superb Swiss chocolates. Can’t remember much about the meal besides Emma, but it was magnificent.
Back into the snow. It is midnight. Time for that nightcap with the dozen Nobel Prizewinners assembled in Davos …
It is morning now, so let me end my one night in Davos. Angels or devils walking with me? Don’t know. Don’t care. I loved them all, and all the world’s problems waited patiently for the next day’s serious sessions.
* Originally published on LinkedIn by Ronald Bartels.
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