Well, for a conference it was par for the course.  The exhibition table stands right next to the coffee table, so half the delegates queued in front of our microscope for their coffee, and by the end of the day, a third of our brochures was gone.  An unrealistic linear extrapolation would have all our brochures gone by the end of the third day, but I think the lure of the beach will be too strong for many a delegate. 

Unfortunately, most people just took brochures and left no means to contact them, which means a significantly reduced chance at something coming of this contact.  That said, at least we’re getting our name out to folks who, for the most part, have never heard of us. 

During the sessions, nothing happens at the booth, except that the registration gals start talking to you.  It goes something like this (my thoughts in italics):

“Hi Stephan!”
“Hi?!”  How the – oh, right, I’m wearing a badge.
“Where are you from?”
“Switzerland.”
“Switzerland?”
“Switzerland.”  Better draw the Chinese characters for Switzerland – I’m not sure she knows what I’m talking about.
“Yes, yes, I know, Switzerland.”  I guess she did know.
“I have a friend in Switzerland.”  Oh no.  Not that one.  I feel like a Canadian.
“There must be too much snow in Switzerland.” 
“No, where I’m from, there’s no snow.  It’s only cold.”
“Really?”

Later, in the afternoon, it continues:

“May I have your e-mail address?”  How can I say no?  I can’t, can I?
“Here,” I say, and hand her my business card with a look of bewilderment.  “Do you want to visit Switzerland?”
“Yes, my friend say is very beautiful country.”  The unanswerable statement.
I nod and say something non-committal like “I like living there.” 

One of the guys on staff is wearing a T-shirt with a droopy peace sign and the lettering beneath:
Dieu est amour
Il dio è amore
The label of the shirt said Révolution Française.

I went for an early lunch with the thought of being around when the delegates go for lunch break.  I only got in because the conference manager showed up and told the hotel staff it was okay for me to go early.  I’d almost finished eating when a Chinese delegate stood up form his table, placed his soup next to me and sat down, introducing himself.  So I gave him my business card and made a little smalltalk before extricating myself.  I needn’t have.  On the way to our booth I think I met the better part of the delegates walking toward the food.  I spent a very quiet lunch break. 

After the second coffee break we took down our booth.  At least we could store our goods in the secretariat room, because I didn’t want to lug the heavy suitcase across 300 meters of flagstone again.  It was half past five, and I hoped I could get a swim in one of the fancy pools, but I had in mind that they closed at 7:30 pm, which turned out to be wrong.  6:00 pm is the cut-off.  So, unless the show is super-slow, no pool for me. 

I went for dinner at the bar, once I found out that I could order sandwiches there.  When I asked what kind of sandwiches were available, the young lady called across the bar to her colleague, who said “beef sanwich an ke-rab sanwich,” as far as I understood.  “Crab?” I asked, making the Japanese sign for crab, two hands like scissors.  “Huh-rab,” he said, mimicking my scissors. 
“I’ll have crab, then!” I said, which had her call her colleague over.  He explained again.  “We have beef sanwich and horizon sanwich.” 
“What’s in Horizon?”
He ran off a list of ingredients that ran far too long, and I ordered the beef sandwich, with soda water. 
The sandwich came with fries and just barely enough ketchup.  After the fries, i realized that I had no napkin, and raised my hand.  The girl came over. 
“Excuse me,” I said.
“Yesyou.”  Odd, but never mind, just keep on going, Stephan. 
“Could I have a napkin, please?”
She laughed and turned to get one, and suddenly it clicked.  It wasn’t “yesyou,” it was “tisyou.”

After dinner I took a few pictures of the pool and of a gecko that got lost in my room.  Here are two:

The pool by night, one second exposure, handheld.

The gecko, and a corner that avoided the cleaning lady.