Enemy terrritory - from Michigan State University to the University of Michigan

Enemy terrritory - from Michigan State University to the University of Michigan

I have taken the bus to go on a lunch date. 'The Michigan Flyer' (www.michiganflyer.com) links the two University towns of East Lansing and Ann Arbor with Detroit's International Airport.

I'm impressed with the coach. The seating is really comfortable, there's wireless internet, free water, proper seatbelts and the vehicle is so modern that they claim it has almost zero emissions. All good stuff.

I am interested that it is only me that bothers with the seatbelt. The wifi is a bit hit and miss on the journey out, but perfect on the way back. As one student, clearly a regular customer, tells me: 'It sometimes works and it sometimes doesn't'.

The pre-recorded departure announcement is akin to that on an aircraft. 'In the unlikely event of an evacuation...'. The message makes very clear that passengers should restrict their conversations on cellphones to one minute, a request that is repeated on screens throughout the coach.

But there is always one. Not, I hasten to add one of the mainly student passengers, but a middle-aged woman who yaks non-stop for thirty minutes after we set off. She appears oblivious that the two people seated closest to her get so fed up with her that they relocate.

Eventually, I let rip.

She says 'she doesn't care', but at least my reading of her fortune makes her stop her yacking.

I didn't have a car to park, but it's possible to park at the Lansing end for just $2 per day, which seems to me to be a very persuasive argument for not driving all the way to the airport.

Apart from Mrs. Yak, it's a very pleasant 75- minute trip on a lovely sunny spring day and within no time at all, I am with Eve Aronoff at her splendid Frita Batidos restaurant in Ann Arbor. (www.fritabatidos.com).

I first met Eve when on a press trip to the town a couple of years ago. At that time, she ran an upscale restaurant, facing the same frustrations that every chef experiences when trying to cater at a high level. Staff and ingredient costs are too high to make a decent profit from constant 18-hour days.

So Frita Batidos is a very different concept, but it retains Eve's passion about sourcing quality, local, ingredients.

Eve says it's Cuban inspired street food and instructs her kitchen to produce a sample tray from which I can taste a selection of her most popular dishes.

Thus, I am forced to try, for the sole benefit of my audience, a 'Humalupalicious' india pale ale from northern Michigan, which is absolutely splendid. Then, in the interests of research, some crisped plantains with a choice of Cilantro lime salsa or avocado spread. Simply wonderful.

To wash that down, Eve suggests some home-made fresh ginger lime juice. That is truly sensational, although I am not convinced that the idea of serving it in a plastic bag, rather like the one you used to get at a fair with a goldfish swimming around, is the ideal presentation. But I suck it all away through the straw and I never feel anything wriggly pass my lips, so I suppose there is nothing fishy about it after all. It is VERY gingery.

Among the mains I sample is an extremely tasty chorizo Frita, that being a sort of little Cuban burger. When I asked Eve if the chorizo is home made, I am put right back in my box.

'Everything is home made,' I am told. Then a pause. 'Apart from the brioche'.

The Batido, are tropical milkshakes made with fresh fruit. Your researcher tries Coconut cream and passion fruit and, as predicted when the order was taken, is much more attracted to the latter.

The restaurant is pretty minimalistic, with white painted brick walls and large picnic tables at which to sit. Hence, we are joined by a couple of guys, one of whom turns out to be a Cuban. Mr. Martinez doesn't realise at first he is sitting at the owner's table and, without any prompting, he discloses he very much likes what Eve is doing. When he learns he is chatting to the boss, he promises to bring in a Cuban cookbook with some of his own favourite dishes for her to adapt.

What is impressive is the variety of clients. Young and old, casual and city dress, students and business folk, visitor and local. That kind of spread bodes well for future success.

There are a lot of lovely little touches too, coat hooks on the wall near the tables, little bags of limes in string bags and a nice unit of condiments and other necessities at each table.

I'm excited for Eve. She has hit on a pretty innovative concept and I hope that she can package up what she does and make it work in other areas. I want her to bring one to East Lansing, where she was brought up, but her mum and dad, Professors at Michigan State, have put their feet down. Apparently too many decent restaurants in the town have come and gone in recent years for their liking.

Eve and I go on a post-prandial walk round the town and are approached by a black woman looking for somewhere to eat. 'Well there's the sandwich place across the road', Eve says, 'or just round the block is a great place called Frita Batidos'.

I chip in.

'With the best burgers in town', say I.

The lady trots off at pace, while Eve and I hi-five.

Is this blog all about food?

Today, yes.

Jolly nice food too.

All my trip photos to date are at: https://picasaweb.google.com/113030621059953130627/AroundTheWorldIn60DaysBackwardsNorwichToTheUSA?authuser=0&feat=directlink

The American Midwest

I don't know any other part of the States as well as I do Michigan. Bordered by three of the Great Lakes, Michigan, Superior and Huron, it has a special beauty. For someone who has been brought up in cluttered Britain, the space and openness is an absolute joy. Even the little houses seem to be built on plots that would be regarded as suitable for mansions back home; factory units and shopping centres have vast landscaped areas around them with equally vast spreads of concrete oozing in every direction, temples to the greatest of American Gods, the automobile.

I mention this because I have been out on the bike. My host bought it when I was on a visit quite a few years ago, but it seems that it is rarely put through its paces when I am not in residence.

I am, admittedly and unashamedly, a gadget freak, but even I do not have a rechargeable pump to blow up my bike tires! It really does make that job a lot easier.

It's a gorgeous day, with clear blue skies. But there's also an icy blast which appears to be coming from somewhere akin to Alaska.

Some of the local properties are enormous with beautifully landscaped gardens. It appears that the impending Easter weekend has spurred everyone, without exception, into staging a clear up. The whole area is pristine.

I seem to be the only person out on a bike, which is strange as East Lansing is a University town, with a student population approaching 70,000. I have noticed on previous visits that cars seem to have a great respect for cycles, a lot more than they do at home. They wait respectfully at junctions and cross walks, with no obvious sign of impatience; they give you a wide berth when they pass; despite the dominance of the automobile, they seem to recognise your right to be out and about.

I do a bit of shopping at the local Rite Aid, more like a supermarket than a pharmacy, as is the American wont. I marvel at the packs of chocolate treats, many times bigger than anything I have ever seen in Europe.

Coral Gables (www.coralgablesrestaurant.com) is a long-established East Lansing restaurant not far from the Michigan State University Campus, to which I have been many times. Years ago, it was a popular student haunt. Nowadays, it seems that it's the students of the fifties who largely form the clientele, many of whom have reached -and retired from – positions of some authority in the local community. 

As an example, when we arrive for breakfast, several staff members are admiring an enormous luxury car parked right beside the entrance. The Packard was originally produced in Detroit, but hasn't been made since 1958. This eye-turner is owned by the former State Attorney-General, Frank Kelley. Serving for 37 years, Frank has the honour of having been the youngest AND the oldest holder of the post.

The slight twist to the presence of Frank's luxury car is that our server is called Royce.

Apostrophic errors in the menu leap out at me, Martini's being one. But Alex, the owner for over 40 years, promises to remedy the matter at the next reprint. By the time we leave, he has already discussed the nuances of grammar with his front desk manager.

My US bank manager, Kristina, rings me personally with details of how I transfer cash from the UK into my US current account. I can't think of the last time I even had any contact with a bank manager in Great Britain. Our banks have become soulless, call-centre led institutions. I used to know and trust my bank and would always invest where the manager recommended. I am much saddened that this is nowadays, most certainly, not the case. Having explained the simple, online, process, Kristina is astonished to learn that our British banks are not working for five days over a holiday weekend. The transfer is being done by a system called SWIFT.

A misnomer if ever there was.

Interested and involved as I am in theatre, I have, much to my own surprise, not managed to catch what is widely regarded as the best musical ever, Les Miserables. A new, widely-acclaimed, Cameron Mackintosh production, is currently touring the United States and is being staged at Michigan State University's Great Hall. My host was, for many years, executive director for the facility and presented this and many other major shows.

It's rather nice, therefore, to be whisked in through the stage door and taken through the backstage areas before emerging straight into the hospitality area, neatly avoiding people with clipboards and official-looking badges who would have, in any case, 'had our name on the list.'

The show is every bit as wonderful as the hype. The staging, the scenery, the music and the costumes is truly magnificent. It takes several hours after the show to come down from the high and go to bed. Three days later, I am still humming 'Bring him home' and many other tunes.

A very special evening and a bargain at just $80 (£50) for a top-price seat.

My host is out for the evening, so I am left to my own devices to find something to eat. I Google 'East Lansing home-delivery' and order online from a recommended source. Jimmy John's, which impressively lays claim to producing 'The World's Greatest Gourmet Sandwiches'. 

The business has a very user friendly web site, which automatically selects the nearest franchise, sorts out my order online as well as giving me a choice of bread, dressings and extras. It even gives me a choice over how many pieces into which they should cut my giant pickle!

Only ten minutes after my online order is accepted, a package arrives at the door. And very tasty the sandwich turns out to be.

Tom Fredericks, a local attorney, has kindly offered to take me out to his delightful home in Williamston for the afternoon and evening.

I am never sure which of his cars he will be driving; today is is his lovely Cadillac. We stop off for a tasty home-cooked lunch in Ellie's Country Kitchen (www.facebook.com/elliescountrykitchen) before setting off an a tour of the local area by bike. Tom's much-loved Corvette is in a local body shop having had a respray. 

Mechanic Larry is clearly passionate about restoring old vehicles and, as we arrive, is busy hand polishing some of the car's silver trim. Didier, my beloved Citroen 2CV, doesn't quite come out of the same box!

Tom has promised me 'the best steak dinner' and we cycle out of town to Merindorf Meats (www.merindorfmeats.com) where we buy half a cow just for the pair of us, which is then vacuum packed in our choice of yummy-looking marinade.

On the way home, we park our bikes at Gracie's Place, just to quench our thirst with a very tasty (and somewhat heady) pint of locally-produced ale.

After an hour playing lumberjacks in the eight-acre field behind his house, Tom flashes up the outdoor gas barbecue and does indeed produce the most marvellous dinner. The meat is of the absolute highest quality and my knife effortlessly glides through the steak.

I spend the day at the house of my host's brother and his wife in Grand Rapids. I have been charged with sourcing, supplying and installing a new laptop and wireless router in their home. Apart from the purchase costs, no money will change hands for my services. Instead, the lure is devilled eggs, followed by one of Ruth Beachler's delicious home-cooked dinners.

Everybody is a winner. Fred and Ruth can now surf the net from anywhere in their house, while Ken and I are treated to pork chops in a lovely gravy, cheesy potatoes and corn, with jello pudding for afters.

Is this blog all about food?

Well, not totally!

New York to Lansing

I've been sleeping on the biggest air bed I have ever seen. The Queen-Sized aerobed (http://www.aerobed.co.uk ) comes complete with a built in electric pump and blows up to become as high as a normal bed. Sleeping on it reminds me of an experience I had on a water bed in Los Angeles many years ago, over which a veil will have to be drawn!

As always, Shadow is keeping Rich company at his desk, sprawled across the surface, gaining warmth from the lamp. The cat, not Rich.

At Little Neck station, there's a wreath lying between the tracks and wonder whether somebody tragically decided to end their life at the spot.

The journey back to Newark Liberty Airport on the Long Island Rail Road and the New Jersey Transit is uneventful, with escalators and lifts making the transport of luggage remarkably trouble free. How I wish I could say the same about crossing London!

There's a clever system where my NJT rail ticket gains me entrance to the AirTrain monorail, which whisks me very speedily to the terminal building.

There's no separate area as bag-drop as far as I can see for First Class passengers, but there's hardly any queue and the operation is carried out very speedily. The girl even manages to change my seat on my connection from Chicago to Lansing to Economy Plus, something I have been unable to do online. Because of my C-Class round the world ticket, I don't have to pay the $19 supplement and now have a seat which the United blurb says gives me 'Complimentary soft drinks, juices, tea, and freshly brewed coffee'.

The offering in the United Club lounge is pretty spartan, especially as it's lunchtime. Apart from some little portions of cheese, crackers, shortbread and fresh fruit, there's nothing else to eat. It's a huge barn of a place. The area away from the entrance is not busy, so I set up camp in a quiet little corner away from businessmen yacking loudly and incessantly into their mobiles.

When I return with my banana, cheese and crackers, my quiet little corner of a virtually empty part of the lounge has been invaded by a very scruffy individual who is yacking loudly and incessantly into his mobile. Grrrrrrr.

I relocate.

The inbound aircraft from Chicago is an hour late, but catches up almost half of the lost time en-route. The announced 'snack' in First Class on board turns out to be a very nice cold pasta and chicken dish with a fresh fruit platter. In front of me is a VERY loud attorney who clearly wants everyone in the cabin to know just what a hotshot he is.

Thank God for my Sennheiser noise-reducing headphones!

Chicago O'Hare has an odd system, where you need to cross airside in a little shuttle bus to reach your gate, but it's not a problem and I am in position in plenty of time to catch my connection to Lansing.

On board I encounter the rudest flight attendant ever, who barks at me almost before I am settled into 1A 'that bag needs to be in the locker'. Oh dear. My new best friend.

I placate my ire knowing that, as an Economy Plus passenger, I'll soon be enjoying some freshly brewed coffee. But no. When she comes round, it's water or water.

What about the coffee or juice? 'We don't have time on this flight'.

Thanks ma'am.

For the first time in three visits, United Airlines has managed to deliver me and my luggage to Lansing Airport at the same time. Somebody en-route has had a good rummage inside my trolley-bag, hasn't done up the zip, so things are tumbling out. So far, I haven't found anything to be missing, but I am fearful that I will, in the days ahead, go hunting for something that is no longer there.

At Lansing Airport, my old US Navy chum, Ken Beachler, is there to greet me.

I have been to stay with him many times; his delightful property is somewhere I can really relax and feel totally at home.

Tripping over Sunday Brunch

I have received an email telling me that I am officially 'The Tripper of the Week'. For clarification, I refer you to Wikipedia:

Tripping may refer to a psychedelic experience.

Tripping may also refer to:

• Tripping (ice hockey), a penalty infraction
• Tripping (pipe), the act of running or pulling drill pipe into or out of a wellbore on a drilling rig
• "Tripping" (song), from Robbie Williams' albumIntensive Care
• Tripping International, a global network of travelers

Readers may be reassured that I have not been having any psychedelic experience, playing hockey or singing songs, the accolade has been given to me by the latter mentioned San Francisco-based organisation, Tripping International, which puts like minded travellers in touch with each other. This is their revealing interview avec moi:

https://www.tripping.com/blog/blog/2012/03/29/tripper-of-the-week-mike-souter/

It being Sunday, Laura kindly suggests that we go out to Sunday Brunch at the Seven Seas restaurant in Great Neck (www.sevenseasgreatneck.com). It's packed, but people move in and out pretty swiftly and we are given a booth where the occupants have left so recently that the seats are still warm.

There's hardly time to digest the enormous menu, never mind the food, when the server arrives to take the order. I forget that I have to specify which way I want my eggs cooked; the man looks blank when I say brightly 'just on one side' , so Laura translates with a 'sunny side up' which seems to compute.

Laura is amused that I divide my order into sweet and savoury, with eggs, bacon and sausage eaten before the giant pancakes with butter and maple syrup. Apparently that's a very un-American way of doing things!

Even with my healthy appetite, the final pancake defeats me, a bit like Swansea who, as we have been eating, have been on the restaurant's giant TV screens playing against Spurs.

Laura takes me to see 'where the other half live', an upmarket area called Douglas Manor in the next door neighbourhood of Douglaston.

The area is filled with huge colonial-style houses overlooking Little Neck Bay on the northern side of Long Island and including a New York City Park of wetland meadows. We pass the Douglaston Club, housed in the former Van Zandt family home built in 1819. The club boasts Americas Cup yachting and Grand Slam tennis winners amongst its former members.

It's hard to believe that this tranquil scene is still within the New York City boundary and within sight of the Bronx.

Pussies, planes and Premier League

I have never before met a cat who won't drink water out of his bowl until the ripples created by setting the dish down on the floor have completely stopped. 

This is Shadow, a slightly deaf 18-year old New York cat who is the most fussy eater I have ever seen.

For example, he won't eat anything put down by my friend Laura. She can lovingly prepare a meal totally in accord with Shadow's exacting requirements, set it down in front of him, only to find that her best efforts are totally ignored. Shadow just sits there looking at the dish with the body language indicating his displeasure.

Shadow will only eat when Laura's partner Rich performs the ritual. The food has to be mashed up into a fine paste, with the essential vitamins and other medications crushed into a fine powder and thus secreted into the mix. Final touch involves the meal being gently heated in a microwave.

I watch all this happening while we are debating what to do on a rainy day in New York.

Laura suggests a visit to the 'Cradle of Aviation Museum' (www.cradleofaviation.org).

I didn't realise, but Long Island, where I am staying, has always been at the forefront of the development of flying. The flat Hempstead Plains, close to the eastern edge of the Continental US was an ideal base and the area was used for flying even before the first unsuccessful attempt at a transatlantic balloon crossing in 1873.

From Roosevelt field, Lindbergh flew to Paris in 1927 and, only 10 years later, flying boats were operating the first commercial transatlantic service from nearby Port Washington.

Mitchel Field, whose original hangars house the museum, was closed in 1961.

I have been to many such museums over the years but Cradle of Aviation is rather special. The aviation history of the area is very well represented, with some truly splendid examples of early string-bag aircraft up to the most modern jet fighters, manufactured by local company Grumman. It's interesting to note that around 240 companies still operate in Long Island producing parts for aircraft. Grumman developed their business into the space age and the lunar landing module, featured in the museum, is just one of many examples of their work.

Our visit coincided with a model aircraft weekend with some enormous radio controlled planes on display. We spend three hours in the museum and could easily have spent a whole day. 

In the afternoon, I am delighted to discover that Fox Soccer is showing Fulham against Norwich and although the Canaries fought back to reduce the London Club's early two goal lead, it was nice to have a little link with home.

Photos at: https://picasaweb.google.com/113030621059953130627/AroundTheWorldIn60DaysBackwardsNorwichToNewYork?authuser=0&feat=directlink

New Yorkers

I am staying in the New York suburb of Queens with my former BBC colleague, Laura James, and her partner, Rich.

It's a long-established neighbourhood with attractive little wooden houses which have neat gardens and a lot of decking. It could be suburbia almost anywhere, with one notable exception. There can be few countries anywhere in the world who display their patriotism quite as proudly as the Americans. The Stars and Stripes flag flutters proudly outside a very large percentage of the smart little homes.

But I am not quite sure where the residents actually are during the working day. Certainly they don't seem to be running the businesses in the local shopping area. Most everyone seems to be Korean or Chinese and I have great difficulty being understood. Despite knowing how to say 'Hello, how are you' in Cantonese.

I am in search of a micro-sim for my iPad. I will be in the States for three weeks, so a pay as you go card will keep me in touch with emails without switching on the horribly expensive roaming facility on my tablet computer.

I also have to find someone to mend my glasses. I was so tired last night that I fell asleep before removing them. I awoke this morning to discover they'd not taken kindly to being used as a mattress; one of the lenses has become detached from the frame, which has been bent into an unwearable state.

I have a sore ankle and knee so it's a pity that I take the wrong turning and end up walking a mile further than I need. In fact, I seem to be the only one walking; the cars are not hugely sympathetic to their legal obligation to stop.

At the at&t store in Great Neck, Will Chaparro spends an hour trying to get the company's systems to accept me as a new subscriber. But despite Will's best efforts, they are unable to link my US bank debit card with a registered address outside the USA.

I discover that Will is a budding entrepreneur and is keen to take his music business, www.onesoundlabel.com, into Europe. I promise to put him in touch with my chum Russ Kane so they can help each other conquer their respective countries.

Almost next door to at&t is T Mobile, who get me up and running in just a few minutes. But the fantastically patient Trevor Mercer becomes almost demented (and the session takes him long into his lunch break) as a result of the incompetence of his customer service department who seem unable to understand that the registration process for an iPad is rather different to a phone.

After giving up in disgust, hungry Trevor and I repair to nearby Napoli Pizza where I discover that we are 20 minutes late for the 3pm deadline for the lunch special offer. Owner Coop says I have a great Italian accent. I think it's a joke.

But the slices of buffalo chicken and grandma square are each delicious and Trevor's recommendation is well-deserved.

Interestingly, he has no idea of the derivation of his surname and is fascinated when I tell him what a mercer originally did for a living. Somehow I don't think the tradition of taking the name from your occupation will work in the future Trevor T-Mobile doesn't seem to work at all.

I am in search of a Smoking Loon. It's not a chain-smoking idiot, but a really nice Californian wine which Laura has as her 'house wine'.

Stop and Shop supermarket doesn't seem to have it, but I find a lemon, a lime and some tonic to go with my Bombay Sapphire gin. The shop has the biggest boxes of Matzos I have ever seen.

The lady at checkout asks if I have a store card and despite my assurance that I don't, she types in a code and I receive a discount of $2.23 on my $10.51 bill. Well chuffed!

Almost next door I find an optician (Chinese) to mend my glasses and then almost trip over a Chinese-owned wine shop stocking up in advance of their official opening. There are bottles of Smoking Loon in abundance and an extra ten per cent off to mark the opening.

Even the newcomers learn the American way of how to drive business.

Photos at: https://picasaweb.google.com/113030621059953130627/AroundTheWorldIn60DaysBackwardsNorwichToNewYork?authuser=0&feat=directlink

Day One Norwich to New York

Packing for a sixty day trip, especially one that involves many different climates, is always something of a challenge. This one is slightly eased because, in the main, I will be staying with friends, so getting laundry done shouldn't be a huge issue. So I decide to take six days of clothing for hot climates and the same for cold.

Experience has taught me that everything needs to be split between two bags, so that if one goes missing, you always have enough for two or three days. That plan goes awry, of course, if they lose both.

I've got an evening press event to go to in London, so I take the Greater Anglia train from Norwich to the capital. The ticket lady welcomes us aboard the 'National Express Service to London'. Not once, but twice. In her defence, the service has had several re-brands in recent years.

I couldn't find a reasonably priced hotel in the area I needed to be, so I am trialling an apartment. (www.marlinapartments.com). It turns out to be a sensationally equipped palace of a place, 16 floors up, with stunning views of the city and east towards the new Olympic Park. It's a steal at £106 per night, although they take a £200 deposit 'in case of damage' which will, they say, be returned to me in five working days. We shall see.

My evening event is the launch of P&O's 2013 cruise programme, but both P&O's boss, Carol Marlow, and her Cunard equivalent, Peter Shanks, give us presentations.

I am joined by my old broadcasting chum, Russ Kane and we leave for a post-event curry each clutching a heavy goodie bag which will give me a bit of a late night packing challenge.

Russ kindly drives me back home, pops up to my apartment, marvels at the incredible views and agrees that I have indeed found a bargain.

In the morning, the taxi to Paddington gets stuck in traffic and costs me twice as much as the official website suggested it would. Fifty quid doesn't last long in a London black cab.

I catch the efficient and comfortable Heathrow Express which whisks me to the airport in just 15 minutes. Despite my detailed planning, I can't find anywhere in my booking details to tell me which terminal United Airlines is using. As always, I can't make a connection to the on-board wireless internet. The ticket collector looks up a BAA list and informs me confidently it is Terminal One.

So I wait until the end of the line, walk with all my luggage to the end of a long corridor, to discover a sign which greets United passengers for everywhere BUT Newark, which goes from Terminal 4. Aarggghhhh.

Luckily, I have left plenty of time for such eventualities although there is further confusion before check-in when a girl carrying out a ticket pre-check can't seem to understand that, as a holder of a Round the World Ticket, I don't have an actual return portion. Aaaargghhhh.

The plane is full and, although I only take a large briefcase on board, the overhead compartment above my seat is full of crew luggage and the attendant is not at all disposed to render assistance to shuffle things about. Aaarghhhhh.

The aircraft is a pretty old 757-200 which, by modern standards, is cramped and lacks storage space around the seats.

But the food is pretty good; I enjoy the latest Tintin film, which I have been meaning to catch for months and I fall asleep enjoying the music to the surprise hit of 2012, 'The Artist'.

On arrival at Newark, Homeland Security is, as always, slow with tourists. But once all the US Citizens go through their area, it is opened up to allow we aliens through. I just cannot understand why entering the US is always such a pain, especially when, these days, you have to pay to be pre-screened before you even board the aircraft.

Newark Liberty Airport has a splendid monorail 'AirTrain' to link terminals and to take you to the New Jersey Transit and Amtrak station.

$12.50 and 25 minutes later, I change trains at Penn Station for the Long Island Rail Road, feed a further $8.75 into a ticket machine and almost exactly 14 hours after setting off from London, I reach my home for the next six nights.

More photos at: https://picasaweb.google.com/113030621059953130627/AroundTheWorldIn60DaysBackwardsNorwichToNewYork?authuser=0&feat=directlink