When politics and policy clash, politics always win. And in this case, senior diplomat Percy Williamson loses. At odds with Canada's new Minister of Foreign Affairs, George Crowley, Percy draws an overseas assignment as ambassador to Bharalya, a small country in Asia that recently discovered a big cache of oil. When Percy and his wife Marilyn arrive in Bharalya they are quite unprepared for the bizarre experiences they will share and the eccentric people they will meet. There's the king who's addicted to collecting medals from foreign governments, a junior diplomat who impersonates his own foreign minister, a visiting minister caught by the press in a brothel, and a travel-averse diplomat reduced to jelly by his one and only trip outside the capital. Diplomatic conflicts almost turn into wars over golf tournaments, and Percy's and Marilyn's duties include attending flower competitions, Christmas parties, national day celebrations, and events with rented camels. And regularly erupting at the most awkward moments is the dreaded Bharali amoeba, scourge of the diplomatic intestinal tract. But all frivolity is set aside when the government threatens to close down the embassy; the Foreign Service springs into action, with surprising results.

Auszug. � Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

The Ambassador's Camel

Undiplomatic Tales of Embassy LifeBy David Holdsworth

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright � 2010 David Holdsworth
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4502-7663-4

Our Man in Bharalya........................................1Kings and Dragons..........................................7Diplomacy in the Land of Nothing-to-Do.....................17Roll Over, Beethoven.......................................25Sex and Politics...........................................35The Year of the Tourist....................................43Piggy and the Foreign Minister.............................51Potemkin Village...........................................57Swimming with Diplomats....................................65Christmas in Camelot.......................................71Shakespeare Strikes Back...................................77I've Got a Lov-er-ly Bunch of Coconuts.....................83Management by Results......................................87War and Peace..............................................95National Daze..............................................101All's Well that Ends Well..................................109Epilogue...................................................117

Chapter One

Our Man in Bharalya

The foreign minister let out a resounding belch and pressed the button on his intercom. 'Send up Percy,' he barked to the quivering assistant outside his office. 'I have an offer he can't refuse.'

Now, what country was that visiting prime minister from at lunch today anyway, he wondered? I never can remember those foreign names. He was so boring but at least the steak was good. I sure could use a quiet nap with my boots up on the desk right now. But I don't want to miss this meeting with that fancy-pants diplomat with the fancy-pants title: Senior Assistant Deputy Minister for Asia. No sir-ee.

He licked his still-greasy lips with pleasure at the prospect of finally teaching Percy who was boss.

'What are you going to do to this guy, George?' asked Willy, his twenty-something chief of staff.

The minister snapped to attention. In his post-luncheon reverie, he had forgotten the presence of his political adviser. Willy was gazing through the grand floor-to-ceiling windows at the stunning view of the Ottawa River and the Gatineau Hills.

'Have you decided to tell him you're closing down that Asian embassy of his?'

'I'd like to close down the lot of them, for all the good they do me. The problem is, our oil and gas boys in Alberta tell me there's a big drilling contract coming up over there and they want me to avoid making the locals unhappy. No, unfortunately we'll have to keep the embassy open. Just for a little while longer. No, I have a better idea for Percy.'

'Smart move, boss. Never too early to think of financing your next election campaign.'

Ever since becoming Minister of Foreign Affairs of Canada three months ago, George Crowley had been at war with the senior diplomats of his governmental department. He didn't like them, he didn't understand them, and in any event, he was sure they were closet partisans of the Opposition.

He certainly never expected to be in Cabinet, especially on his maiden voyage to Ottawa. But in politics, timing and luck are often more powerful than ability. He was a self-made man who built up a small empire of used car dealerships in rural Manitoba. In his used-car world, he had been absolute monarch. He expected his employees to carry out orders without asking difficult questions. The professionals in his department, on the other hand, insisted it was their duty to advise him what he could or could not do.

'Percy and his gang of so-called experts even have the gall to oppose some of my ideas,' he grumbled. 'Willy, what was wrong with inviting all the Caribbean islands to join Canada? Canadians go there for holidays all the time; that way, they wouldn't need a passport. Or appointing my brother as ambassador to Italy? He loves pizza. Why not? Well, just let them try to stop me after they're posted to Siberia or Timbuktu.'

Just then the door opened and an immaculately dressed diplomat entered and crossed the thick carpet to greet him. 'Good afternoon, Minister,' he began, smiling pleasantly. 'I understand you wanted to see me.'

'I sure do, Percy. Let's sit over there. I have a very important matter to discuss with you.'

* * *

As they moved toward the couch, Willy had a chance to compare the two men. They were roughly the same age, just over fifty, but otherwise could not have been more different.

George looks like a middle-aged prize fighter gone to seed, he thought. Short, bald, and broad in the beam thanks to all those years noshing on hamburgers and fast food. Loves plaid shirts, suspenders, and most of all, straight talk. Successful businessman and big fundraiser for the Party. Only has a diploma from Manitoba Technical High but he made it in life anyway. Percy, on the other hand, looks and sounds like your model ambassador: tall, silver-haired, chiselled features, physically fit. Advanced degrees in economics and international affairs from Harvard and Oxford. Lots of international experience. And smart. Very smart.

Those two are well matched, he decided. This is going to be more a championship prize fight than a simple knockdown by the minister.

From his ringside seat, he imagined an announcer stepping into the centre of a ring and calling out in a nasal twang:

In the bluuuuuue corner, The Minister, heavyweight, face like a punching bag, not too fast on his feet but has a powerful right hook and home advantage. Knows political power and is not afraid to use dirty tricks to win. Inthe rrrrrrrrrrrred corner, The Diplomat, middleweight, twenty three years of senior jobs in Europe, Asia, and Ottawa, very fast on his feet and a survivor of a dozen ministers. The underdog but not to be counted out.

The minister started by softening up his opponent. 'Great to see you, Perce,' he bellowed, slapping him on the back so hard that Willy thought a couple of ribs snapped. 'How's your lovely little wife, Jocelyne, doing?'

'Marilyn, sir.'

'Whatever.'

'Yes, sir.'

'So what are your plans for the future? I expect an experienced guy like you will want to go back abroad at some point. Am I right?'

'Haven't given the matter any real thought,' countered Percy noncommittally, feeling out his opponent's strategy.

The minister continued probing for a while. Then, when Percy dropped his guard for a second by talking about a job at the World Bank he'd like one day, George went for the sucker punch.

'The thing is,' he said, putting his hand on Percy's arm in what under other circumstances would be a gesture of camaraderie, 'there's a little country somewhere out there in Asia that's had a big oil find lately. Damned if I can remember the name, much less pronounce it. Starts with a B, I think. Butane? Banglydish? Something like that. Hell, Percy, do all those countries over there have to start with a B?'

'No, sir.'

'I met their ambassador with you one night at a reception. Talked about his days at McGill. A bit too smart for my taste though.'

'Bharalya, sir. It's a small country bordered by China, Myanmar, and Bangladesh. One end touches the Bay of Bengal, the other the Himalaya Mountains.'

'Could be. Anyway, we need someone...

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