One of the best articles on employee training and feedback. It challenges much of what we are taught by various “gurus” and what many companies implement in their corporate processes. It offers a fresh perspective on what happens within teams and with individuals. Interestingly, I have personally discovered and applied some of these principles intuitively, even when they contradicted official doctrine.
Let’s set aside the serious topics for now and talk about something even more serious—have you mastered driving in Cyprus or not?
You’ve probably become a full-fledged Cypriot driver if the following statements apply to you.
You never use your indicator—unless you accidentally hit the lever.
The “Stop” sign is just a variation of a “Yield” sign to you.
You’re convinced the stop line at intersections is supposed to be behind your car.
You’re convinced that you’ve done ‘everything possible’ to give way to the car on the main road if you pull out directly in front of it, blocking at least half of the lane, but most importantly — you STOPPED to let it pass (even though it’s now impossible for anyone to get through because of you).
You never slow down or check for other vehicles when entering a main road.
When turning right from a side road, you calmly pull out into the center, blocking the way for everyone coming from the right (remember — it’s LEFT-HAND driving, like in the UK). And those who had to stop because of you DON’T GET ANNOYED!
You know for sure that a red traffic light means “you can go if you really need to.” Even if the police are nearby.
You calmly drive through a red pedestrian light (not at an intersection, but specifically for pedestrian crossings) if the pedestrian has already crossed or there’s no one at all. Just like the previous situation — even if the police are nearby.
You park your car in any available space, whether it’s a street corner, a sidewalk, the opposite lane, or two spaces at once — after all, your car just looks better taking up both spots.
You feel entirely entitled to stop right in the middle of the road if you spot a friend driving toward you. Of course, you’ll chat through the open windows for a good 5-10 minutes. The cars behind you? Well, meeting a friend is far more important!
Double solid line? What’s that? You can’t cross it? Oh, come on! See, even the police officer stopped to let me through!
You’re sure that moving at 5 cm per second at an intersection doesn’t count as actual movement, and therefore allows you to turn even on a red light.
You can comfortably block someone else’s car without leaving your phone number. And if someone blocks your car, you would never bother calling the large number displayed under their windshield.
You never pay at a paid parking spot using a parking meter.
You consider it normal to leave your car parked all day during summer with the windows open for ventilation. Sometimes, you even leave the keys in the ignition, just in case your car might block someone from exiting.
If you need to get out of your car, you abruptly swing open the door without checking the mirrors to see if someone is coming from behind.
In heavy rain on the highway, you turn on your hazard lights, drastically reduce your speed, or even stop completely by the side of the road.
You don’t care about scratches and dents on your car. And if you happened to bump or scratch someone else’s car? Well, even less so!
You have a perfect sense of timing and confidently maintain the necessary 0.1-second interval before honking at the car in front of you, signaling that the light turned green 0.1 seconds ago.
You know that if you honk long enough at cars stuck in traffic or behind an obstacle, either the obstacle will magically vanish, or the cars in front will disappear into thin air.
You always talk on the phone while driving. Always! Without it, the car just doesn’t run as smoothly.
If you ever get the feeling that you might be doing something wrong (whether while driving or parking), simply turning on your hazard lights instantly absolves you of all responsibility.
I’m sure there’s more to add… I’ll keep working on it myself, or maybe I’ll update it with suggestions from the comments.
Working in an international company, I’ve experienced cultural differences firsthand between various nationalities. A year ago, I wrote a review of The Culture Map, a book I constantly recommend to colleagues. However, this topic is so broad and fascinating that it keeps resurfacing, especially as the understanding of these differences allows me to notice them in the behavior of those around me almost daily.
Today, I’d like to delve deeper into differences in trust and loyalty. Instead of comparing everyone, let’s focus on the typical American and the typical Russian. By “Russians,” I mean people from the former USSR, as this is how we are often viewed abroad. Of course, this is a diverse mix, and we’re not all the same (for example, I can clearly see differences between Russians and Belarusians, and within Russia itself, there are plenty of distinctions due to the sheer size of the country).
I’m currently reading the book The Design of Everyday Things, where the author touches on the topic of cultural differences that influence our perception of objects and our experience interacting with them. In my work, I’ve had the opportunity to travel extensively in recent years, and I’ve personally experienced many of these differences. The subject is broad, so today I’ll focus on a few specific aspects.
To start, many of us know that different countries have right-hand and left-hand driving. I’ve already mentioned my experience driving in Cyprus, which was interesting for someone used to driving on the other side of the road. Even now, I still occasionally look in the wrong direction when crossing the street, and the bus doors being on the opposite side still catch me off guard.
But today, I want to talk about electricity and household switches. You’d think there wouldn’t be much variation here—after all, there’s “on” and there’s “off.” How much could this change? Well, it turns out that how “on” and “off” is done can differ quite a bit.
First, let’s take a step back and talk about electricity in general. Those of us born in the USSR are used to two-pin sockets with 220V (Yes, there were industrial sockets too, but here I’m talking about household use.) Even modern European plugs, with their thicker prongs, appeared later in common use and caused some difficulty at first, as they wouldn’t fit in the smaller holes of older sockets.
However, the diversity worldwide is much broader, and travelers who don’t think about it might find themselves surprised—ranging from “couldn’t charge my phone” to “completely fried it.” There are numerous types of electrical sockets used around the world, as highlighted in a post by Sergey Dolya:
The world doesn’t just have a variety of plugs and sockets, but also different voltages in outlets across countries. If you plug a European device that expects 220V into a 110V American socket, most of the time, the worst that happens is it won’t work. However, going the other way—connecting a 110V device to a 220V socket—can easily destroy the equipment if it’s not designed to handle multiple voltages. For instance, some of my American colleagues once burned out five (!) Xbox power adapters before realizing that the loud pop and smoke each time they plugged it in was not normal!
If you’re interested in the historical reasons behind this variety and how global standardization efforts have evolved, you can read more about it on Wikipedia.
That’s why it’s always a good idea to check if you’ll need a power adapter when traveling to a new country. In most large hotels, you can usually ask for one at the front desk.
Now, back to the topic of switches. I can immediately think of three types: European, British, and American. They all essentially do the same thing—they switch between two states: on and off. There are also more exotic dimmer switches, which allow you to control the light’s intensity, but let’s leave those out for now.
So, what are the differences?
British and American switches are fairly typical. Whether you’re in a hotel or an apartment, the switches tend to be consistent within the country. British switches tend to be small and angular, while American switches are often small levers. However, the functionality remains the same.
A typical American switchA typical British switch, here it’s a double one
Alright, to be fair, there are other options out there, but the ones I’ve described are the most common, which is why I refer to them as traditional.
At the same time, within the European group, there’s a huge variety of switch designs. It’s still possible to find switches similar to British ones. In fact, many of them were quite common in the USSR, just a little bigger in size. However, in the last few decades, the standard switch in Europe is typically a large button set in a square frame. Often, you’ll see two rectangular buttons in the same form factor. Manufacturers frequently play around with the colors and framing of these switches. On the other hand, I’ve noticed far less variety in American and British designs. Personally, I prefer European switches: they look more aesthetically pleasing and are more practical in everyday use. If your hands are full and you need to hit the switch with your shoulder or hip, European switches are larger, easier to hit, and have a softer action, requiring less effort to press.
Here’s an example of European switches from Legrand
But beyond light switches, there’s also a significant difference when it comes to power outlets. In European and American outlets, they are always live—plug in your device, and it starts working immediately. In British outlets, however, there’s always a switch that allows you to turn the outlet on or off. You can tell if it’s on by the red stripe at the top of the switch: if you see it, the outlet is on; if not, it’s off.
This difference fundamentally changes user behavior: if you need to disconnect a device from power, you don’t need to pull the plug out of the socket; you just flick the switch. This is probably a better approach overall since it reduces wear and tear on the plug, the socket, and the cord, minimizing the chances of damage. However, this feature never really caught on in the U.S. or most of Europe.
Two British power sockets with switches, showing the red markers at the top to indicate that the sockets are live (receiving current)
As you can see, even in something as simple and familiar as turning on lights or powering devices, different countries have gone down entirely different paths. Some countries have inherited their standards from others (for example, Cyprus uses British-style outlets, likely a remnant of British rule over the island).
There are actually quite a few such differences if you start paying attention to them. Feel free to share if you know of any more!
I haven’t written in a long time, and there were objective reasons for that. At the same time, my wife has been insisting for a while now that I simply must write about childbirth, as a male perspective on this topic is somehow more valuable than a female one. Well, the stars have aligned, and I’ve become a father once again, so all the impressions and experiences are very fresh.
As you may know, I’m practically a heroic father, as I now have five children. The first three were born in Minsk, Belarus, and the last two — in Lefkosia, Cyprus. Each time, I did my best to be as present at the births as possible (to the extent allowed by medical practices). So, I have plenty to compare. I’ll try to describe the whole nine-month process. I should clarify that our experience is based on private clinics. Some aspects will surely differ in public hospitals.
Right now, under my windows, public school teachers in Cyprus are protesting. The picture above isn’t from this protest; it’s from the website www.parikiaki.com, where they covered the teacher protests in 2013.
I haven’t conducted any journalistic investigations, just observing the situation through the news and what some local acquaintances have said. So, I’ll share how I see it, without claiming complete accuracy.
First, just a few facts about schools. Being a teacher in Cyprus is very prestigious and lucrative. Teachers in public schools earn MORE than teachers in private schools. To secure a position in a public school, you have to wait in line with other hopefuls. I don’t know the exact details, but one of my acquaintances has been waiting in such a queue for about 20 years. Yes, you read that right, about twenty years! And this person holds a fairly high-ranking position as a department head at a private British school.
About a year ago, I asked on my Facebook about a song that had a big influence during childhood or adolescence. The question wasn’t about what you were listening to, but what became your anthem or influenced you in some way.
For example, I was a fan of “Laskoviy May,” and I had all their albums on cassette (my wife still loves to remind me of this fact). But after them, I switched to the band “Kino,” and it was their song that helped me in life for a long time, specifically the words “You must be strong,” etc.
But today, I started thinking about something else. We live, we grow, and we listen to different music for different reasons. Sometimes we just like the melody, sometimes the lyrics. Even now, in most songs, I perceive the voice and lyrics more as another instrument in the song. For me, the melody is more important than the words.
However, there are still songs where it’s the lyrics that truly stand out. My example is Pink’s song “Dear Mr. President.”
And even more rarely, the lyrics not only stand out on their own but also deeply resonate with your mood and sense of self during a particular life period. Recently, for me, this song unexpectedly became Pavel Volya’s “Mama, We Are All Getting Older.” Before this song, I didn’t even know Volya wrote and performed music.
Here’s the song on YouTube, though this is a slower version performed with “Gorod 312,” while I prefer the more energetic solo version. But the music video was only made for the joint version:
I’d like to talk about award ceremonies in Cyprus. Perhaps this isn’t exclusive to Cyprus, but in Belarus, for example, there was much less of it.
It seems that, in general, people in Cyprus really love different award ceremonies. It’s always a very important event, and everyone is invited well in advance. A whole occasion, so to speak.
But it all starts with the arrival time. If, for example, the ceremony is scheduled for 6 PM, that means that at 6, only a few idiots like yourself will be there. The majority (sometimes including the organizers) will start showing up over the next half hour.
Then come the obligatory opening speeches from 3 to 5 organizers. Roughly half an hour, just to keep it brief. In the best case, it’s in English or both languages. In the worst case for non-locals — only in Greek.
And only after that do the actual awards begin. There can be up to 300 awardees (as in the Kangourou competition). If the organizers are “weak,” they call up 4-5 people at a time. If they are strong in spirit, they call them one by one, along with speeches about why each person is being recognized.
So the whole procedure lasts several hours, during which you’ll see your child on stage for maybe a minute. The rest of the time, you’re just sitting and waiting.
Personally, after the second time, I swore off going to such ceremonies. My daughters also ask for permission to skip them. And I understand them.
I just started Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy by Telltale. I can’t say much about the story yet since I’ve only played for about 15 minutes, but the character designs… I’ve never seen the original comics and only know the characters from the two movies. So, naturally, I’m comparing the game to those movie versions. I don’t know why they chose not to replicate the cinematic appearances, but visually, almost all of them fall VERY short compared to the beloved movie versions. Maybe except for Groot and Rocket, who don’t look that different—it would be hard to mess them up. What bothers me the most is Drax—he’s so “flat” and unmemorable. It’s unclear why they didn’t just go with the movie designs. I assume it was too expensive (though in Game of Thrones, they managed to closely mirror the TV actors). I’ll probably keep playing the game, but there’s definitely some disappointment from unmet expectations.
Amazon, with its Kindle platform, has done a tremendous job in promoting eBooks. Unlike physical books, the production cost of an eBook can essentially be considered zero. Why? Because it’s created once and then requires no additional resources (while each copy of a physical book uses paper and ink at the very least). After that, you can sell 10 copies or a million without incurring any further direct costs.
That’s why I’ve always said that selling eBooks is, in many ways, selling air. And it’s for this reason that the pricing model for them is so intriguing. Typically, the price is comparable to that of the equivalent paperback book. After that, various local factors come into play: who the publisher is, how well-known the author is, which country the book is being sold in, and so on.
The approach to selling eBooks also differs from country to country. Just recently, writer Alexey Pehov mentioned that in Germany, eBooks might be released before the printed version, with similar pricing, and publishers there don’t believe it impacts print sales. In Russia, however, it’s the opposite: there’s always talk that releasing an eBook “kills” print sales (although I’ve never seen direct proof of this). As a result, sometimes you have to wait several weeks, or even months, for the eBook version to come out after the print release.
But yesterday, I discovered that even within the same book, prices can vary. This came as a surprise to me, and I found out quite unexpectedly.
I decided to buy the Kindle version of a book on Amazon. I found it, saw the price—$6.13. I noticed I was browsing anonymously, so I logged into my account. And then, surprise! The price for the same book was now $6.30. Let me emphasize—it was the exact same eBook!
The difference wasn’t huge, but it piqued my interest. So, I tried searching for the same book anonymously, accessing the site via a VPN from different regions. From Russia, the price was also $6.30, but when I accessed the store as if from Chicago, USA, the price nearly doubled to around $12.
I did some research online and found that I’m not the only one who has noticed this discrepancy. However, Amazon doesn’t comment on the situation. Judging by posts, sometimes their support team even shuts down such inquiries with a note saying, “case closed” (which I find odd, as my experience with Amazon’s customer service has always been great—they’re usually very customer-oriented).
Some speculate that this might be related to local taxes or other factors (similar to how Steam now includes VAT for purchases from Russia). But this explanation seems unclear, especially given my own experience: I checked the book price from Cyprus while browsing anonymously, then logged into my account again from Cyprus—and the price changed. Yet, there’s no clear link between an Amazon account and a specific country (there’s a billing address, and I have several cards linked, so it’s unclear how they choose). And in Russia, where VAT is now applied, the price was the same.
So, this is just another example of a strange and still unclear approach to pricing for a digital product.