Skip to main content

MICE at Apsara Angkor Resort and Conference Center

Photo: Standard room; bath
MICE stands for Meetings, Incentives, Conventions and Exhibitions.
It’s an important industry because MICE visitors are usually on business and often spend more than leisure travelers.
Meetings, incentives, conferences, and exhibitions, or Meetings, Incentives, Conferences, and Events (MICE) is a type of tourism in which large groups, usually planned well in advance, are brought together for a particular purpose.
Meeting – Is a general term indicating the coming together of a number of people in one place, to confer or carry out a particular activity. 
Incentive – Meeting event as part of a programme which is offered to its participants to reward a previous performance.
Conference – Participatory meeting designed for discussion, fact-finding, problem solving and consultation. As compared with a congress, a conference is normally smaller in scale and more select in character – features which tend to facilitate the exchange of information. The term “conference” carries no special connotation as to frequency. Though not inherently limited in time, conferences are usually of limited duration with specific objectives.
Exhibition – Events at which products and services are displayed.
The activities of the Meetings Industry are an increasingly significant element in the future growth of the global economy, an essential part of the spread of knowledge and professional practices and a key factor in building better understanding and relations amongst different regions and cultures.
Specifically, the Meetings Industry is a key component of the knowledge economy, acting as a vehicle for business, professional and academic communities to achieve the interactions required to effect the knowledge transfer, collaboration and information dissemination that is the primary purpose of these events.

Source: theplanner.guru


Video: Apsara Angkor Resort and Conference Center

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Phrases for Public Speakers at Sea

by M. B. Powell We ought, first of all, to note her oceanic eyes flecked with sea wrack. And we should pause to consider the wavy wilderness of her damp hair. I will not dwell on her cheeks ruddy under my thumbstrokes. I will not attempt to explain the shapely abalone shells of her ears. I wish to call your attention to the cunning animal of her mouth, muscular. I wish to say something about the mollusky dark language of her kisses. I am obliged to mention her sudden breasts, breaching, rhythmic. And I am perfectly astounded at her finger charting my lips round her nipple. Here, in this connection, let us notice her nipple against the roof of my mouth. Here, in passing, let us observe ...
2 comments
Read more

Caffeine

Because you do not know me, Francezca, you have every reason to be afraid— afraid because, while you are sleeping, I can be the moon, peeping in from out your window like some lonely lunar voyeur, or some rusty blade or kitchen knife when you feel like ending your life with a quick slash or laceration; because, when you wake up, I can be the toothbrush dangling silently in your bathroom, or the forlorn cotton bud preparing to rid your ears of dust and excessive earwax. This is no time to relax, Francezca— I can be anywhere anytime, anyone and anything you cannot even begin to imagine: the whipped cream on your waffle, the mothballs in your closet, the card tag of your tea bag, the jaundiced shade of moonlight, the moon-cake you hate, the steady staccato of rain, the flush’s fecal fouette, the hair inside your nose, your lip, your mole, black hair and brown irises, white teeth and red gums, your scalp, your skin, even your toenails. What is scary, Francezca, is the fact that you don’t e...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Moonflowers

It's as if the dark, which had before just been context, gave to vulnerability a permission, almost: fleshy saucers of spilled cream, so many parchment fists, unfisting; and now, in pieces, the delicate mask of an indifference offered radically up against what, each time, seems as unthinkable, as unexpected, as when, in the long dream of retraction, that sea that is finally not a sea, but what else to call it, begins again its shifting, and though to every push of the will forward there's something noble—which is to say, something lonely, also—it's too late. Carl Phillips Speak Low Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Post a Comment
Read more