I am sitting here thinking to myself “stupid book review” but of course I only do it for myself. I brought a small pile of books on this trip, and the first one I picked up to read was “The Piano Shop on the Left Bank” (Thad Carhart). It’s not very long (compared with some of the others I brought), not very heavy, and not very intimidating considering that I haven’t actually read a book in months.
My mother says that Carhart took piano lessons from our family piano teacher and friend, Marilynn Rowland. The book is nicely written and to story very sweet, but there is nothing powerful about it. A middle-aged man with 2 small children develops a friendship with Parisien used-piano dealer, and re-discovers his childhood love of the piano. But I never fell in love with it, not even for a minute, though it was pleasant enough company for a while. As usual, here are a few of my favorite quotes from the book:
“I can still remember asking Miss Pemberton, plainly and naively, why I had to play Beethoven etude for others when I had mastered it to her satisfaction and had already become tired of it.
“’Music isn’t music unless we share it with others,’ she told me, but even then that sentiment seemed unsatisfactory to me.” (pg 59-60)
It’s a bit like the old tree falling in the forest question or Sex and the City’s variation: is cheating cheating if you don’t get caught? If you play music because you love to play music, what difference does it make if anyone else enjoys it? What difference does it make if a tree falls in the forest or not? Why would you say you aren’t going to sleep with other people if you have every intention of doing so? I mean, it would be wrong to schedule a concert and then refuse to play for the people who have arrived to hear you, but if you never schedule the concert, I agree with Carhart, no harm no foul.
But I think his teacher was trying to expand his horizons. He might have loved playing for others. However, generally, it works better for people to do things that they actually want to do.
“I hadn’t considered the suite, as the French put it, the follow-through to circumstances and events that lends life its air at once poignant and meaningful.” (pg 73)
“He would say in mock self-deprecation, “je ne suis qu’un bricoleur” (“I am only a handyman.”), but the born tinkerer’s love of a challenge gleamed in his eyes as he said it.
“Press key, hear sound: the fundamentals are simple but the particulars very quickly become complicated.” (pg 76)
“Luc and I virtually never asked about each other’s personal lives, although details occasionally came out as we talked. This was understood as respect rather than lack of interest, a sometimes surprising notion for an American used to divulging of facts and the urgent expectation of intimacy in new relationships.” (pg 84)
“’The interesting thing is that it’s not just pianists or even musicians who attend them (master classes). Everyone goes – writers, painters, people from the community – lots of people who don’t know anything particular about music. He (Gyorgy Sebok) teaches piano, yes, but at the same time he manages to teach something profound about life.’” (pg 216)
“’…one of the most prestigious grandes ecoles in France; only the smartest are admitted. And do you know what the French say about it? A polytechnicien knows everything, but nothing else.’” (pg 220)
“The most difficult aspect of a master class, Sebok said, is trying to get the student to an emptiness, to a still point, where he can truly hear what he is doing. ‘It’s not an absence, it’s an emptiness, and that is sometimes subtle point to grasp for a young person.’ For him, music had to flow out of the pianist, and in order for that to happen there had to be a quiet center.
“….
“Sebok continually made clear from his own example that there is no perfection, there is only a lifelong process of making music; once technique and commitment have been suitably mastered, you have to decide for yourself on the right interpretation. It is a complex message.” (pg 223)
This final quote is the perfect end to my list of quotes, as it describes a philosophy I believe. I remember Barbara Kingsolover (or was it Anne Lamotte?) saying that every time she opens one of her own books, she sees things she wants to change about it. The revisions are endless, and yet at the same time they must end in order for the book to be shared. What’s different about music is that it only happens in an instant while the words of a book lie on its pages until the book turns to dirt.
Relationships, likewise, are never perfect, but every minute that you share together becomes part of your history, part of your life, part of you. Carolyn pointed out in her comment a few weeks back that the relationship IS the destination. I don’t actually agree with that (tho she may be more of an expert than I). I believe something more like life is a journey and there actually never is any destination, only a series of milestones. Or, in the words of the great Janis Joplin (Ball and Chain), “I mean, if you got a cat for one day, man I mean, if you, say, say, if you want a cat for 365 days, right You ain't got him for 365 days, you got him for one day, man. Well I tell you that one day, man, better be your life, man. Because, you know, you can say, oh man, you can cry about the other 364, man, but you're gonna lose that one day, man, and that's all you've got. You gotta call that love, man. That's what it is, man. If you got it today you don't want it tomorrow, man, 'cause you don't need it, 'cause as a matter of fact, as we discovered in the train, tomorrow never happens, man. It's all the same fucking day, man.”
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Update: week of August 16
Phew! So, I returned to Paris for 4 days of class. They put me back in the intermediate class where I had been before with the same teacher, Stephanie. This week, Stephanie had an assistant, a young woman whose name I never quite caught. She was pretty and nice, though not quite as pretty and nice as Stephanie. Stephanie is also a singer, creating very dramatic scenes on the stages of basement bars and clubs in central Paris. This means that she was fundamentally a performer, a nice quality in a teacher. The teaching philosophy at L'Atelier 9 is that students should never use dictionaries, but instead teachers act out the words that students don’t know. They believe that this will help us remember. So, Stephanie has performed for us extensive skits to show, for example, how one rendre visits a person (ah! Mon Coeur! – You don’t want a person circulating thru your blood stream as would happen if you visitered them), and in that case I actually do remember that the only thing you visiter is a place.
The assistant had none of these qualities. She was queit and for some reason her form of controlling the classroom was just annoying when Stephanie’s inspired devotion (in me anyway). I think that before a person can have a position of power over another person, they must earn that person's respect and admiration. I don’t know how one does that, but that’s what you need to do. The bottom line is that Stephanie is a really good teacher and this young woman was not. It makes me wonder if all teachers everywhere should be required to first be performing artists. The good news, for those of us who wish to learn, is that there are lots of teaching positions and very few are able to make a living performing.
The class included a middle-aged Dutch couple, 2 young Danish girls, a New Yorker (30?) with a penchant for performing himself and a French girlfriend, a young Australian girl, and an older Canadian woman. It was full. I realized, once again, that what I enjoy most is being with a group of people, working together. Stephanie is spending the month of September in Brazil, and I was relieved to learn that this assistant lady would not be her replacement.
The first couple days I was sure I was the strongest in the class. I understood more than the others and was able to ramble on and express myself with relative fluidity. However, by the third day I had had it. French? Ha! I could barely speak English anymore. I slept longer and longer and felt more and more exhausted. After that short experience, I am a little worried about how the first 2 weeks in September will go (when I am in class for 2 5-day weeks straight thru), but thankfully, with the company of my friend Jennifer.
Jennifer lives in Paris with her husband and 8-year old daughter. She’s officially become an immigrant mother, as her daughter Nell translates for her (after only one year) like the Chinese mothers and their children in San Francisco. On Tuesday, my first full day back in Paris and class, Jennifer and I met for lunch in front of the Pompidou Centre at 2 PM. There was a restaurant she wanted to show me (that was closed but Eric and I tried it the following week, more on that later). Maybe we would see an exhibition of some kind.
We ended up just having lunch at another, unremarkable restaurant. She has a really interesting theory about accents. Have you noticed that French people and English people say the word “France” in roughly the same way (considering the vowel sound at least)? Have you noticed that when you heard German’s speaking from far away, it sounds a whole lot like English? And of course everyone knows that American was almost German speaking at one point, it just ended up English instead. So, Jennifer’s theory is that the reason the American accent is different than the English is due to the influence of the many many German settlers there.
Another highlight of the week included dinner with Muriel in the Oberkampf neighborhood. We found a “traditional Parisien bistro” and ate on the sidewalk. It turns out she has a twin brother who works for the same company, and we had a very interesting conversation about competitiveness between siblings and how it influences are lives. We also talked out relationship patterns among siblings and their differences or similarities. As an example of how Muriel is different from her brother, she mentioned that he likes to talk about events and she likes to talk about feelings. Aside from the obvious gender stereotype at play there, as our conversation about feelings continued, I couldn’t help but noticed that what she said about herself was true.
I made yet another Mexican dinner for Mido and JP on Friday night, with the compulsory way too much food, but I think it was successful. Then Saturday arrived, and so did Eric, and I moved to stay at Muriel’s bc she had gone to Egypt to scuba dive in the Red Sea.
The assistant had none of these qualities. She was queit and for some reason her form of controlling the classroom was just annoying when Stephanie’s inspired devotion (in me anyway). I think that before a person can have a position of power over another person, they must earn that person's respect and admiration. I don’t know how one does that, but that’s what you need to do. The bottom line is that Stephanie is a really good teacher and this young woman was not. It makes me wonder if all teachers everywhere should be required to first be performing artists. The good news, for those of us who wish to learn, is that there are lots of teaching positions and very few are able to make a living performing.
The class included a middle-aged Dutch couple, 2 young Danish girls, a New Yorker (30?) with a penchant for performing himself and a French girlfriend, a young Australian girl, and an older Canadian woman. It was full. I realized, once again, that what I enjoy most is being with a group of people, working together. Stephanie is spending the month of September in Brazil, and I was relieved to learn that this assistant lady would not be her replacement.
The first couple days I was sure I was the strongest in the class. I understood more than the others and was able to ramble on and express myself with relative fluidity. However, by the third day I had had it. French? Ha! I could barely speak English anymore. I slept longer and longer and felt more and more exhausted. After that short experience, I am a little worried about how the first 2 weeks in September will go (when I am in class for 2 5-day weeks straight thru), but thankfully, with the company of my friend Jennifer.
Jennifer lives in Paris with her husband and 8-year old daughter. She’s officially become an immigrant mother, as her daughter Nell translates for her (after only one year) like the Chinese mothers and their children in San Francisco. On Tuesday, my first full day back in Paris and class, Jennifer and I met for lunch in front of the Pompidou Centre at 2 PM. There was a restaurant she wanted to show me (that was closed but Eric and I tried it the following week, more on that later). Maybe we would see an exhibition of some kind.
We ended up just having lunch at another, unremarkable restaurant. She has a really interesting theory about accents. Have you noticed that French people and English people say the word “France” in roughly the same way (considering the vowel sound at least)? Have you noticed that when you heard German’s speaking from far away, it sounds a whole lot like English? And of course everyone knows that American was almost German speaking at one point, it just ended up English instead. So, Jennifer’s theory is that the reason the American accent is different than the English is due to the influence of the many many German settlers there.
Another highlight of the week included dinner with Muriel in the Oberkampf neighborhood. We found a “traditional Parisien bistro” and ate on the sidewalk. It turns out she has a twin brother who works for the same company, and we had a very interesting conversation about competitiveness between siblings and how it influences are lives. We also talked out relationship patterns among siblings and their differences or similarities. As an example of how Muriel is different from her brother, she mentioned that he likes to talk about events and she likes to talk about feelings. Aside from the obvious gender stereotype at play there, as our conversation about feelings continued, I couldn’t help but noticed that what she said about herself was true.
I made yet another Mexican dinner for Mido and JP on Friday night, with the compulsory way too much food, but I think it was successful. Then Saturday arrived, and so did Eric, and I moved to stay at Muriel’s bc she had gone to Egypt to scuba dive in the Red Sea.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Thoughts on writing
So, I am here at my mother and John’s house, and my idea is that I am trying to help her work on her book. Of course, it is virtually impossible to get her to do anything at all (sound like someone else you know?), and all I end up doing in nagging her as she moves the fresh bread from one end of the kitchen counter to the other again and looks around for the phone number of someone I have never heard of before. I think to keep me quiet for a while, she has given me a copy of a chapter of the book that she finished some time ago (in an attempt to make me think she is actually working).
It’s a chapter I have read before and every time I find it completely emotionally devastating. I am about 10 pages into the 16-page chapter, and I have stopped to take a break. I just re-read my last blog entry (the one about the last time I was here 2 weeks ago) before posting it, and I realized that there’s a strange reflectivity in both of our writing. We talk to the reader. We try to guess what the reader is thinking.
A few years ago, I formed a writing group on Craigslist. It comprised 3 other women. It’s not important for me to characterize each of them, but one wrote fascinating memoirs about her adventures traveling. They were always skillfully crafted, always had a strong narrative, always followed a traditional storyline structure, and these were freewrites (when you compose for a given period of time without stopping or editing yourself and then read it aloud to the group, who is forbidden from giving any criticism other than perhaps mentioning if they like something in particular). Once, in celebration of our one-year anniversary, we exchanged works in progress. I don’t think this one woman had anything to submit, but she did have a whole lot to say about everyone else’s work. She commented on the fact that I like to address my reader directly, ask them questions, speculate about what they are thinking; she found it too aggressive, too direct. She wanted to read a nice easy little story with complete emotional disclosure. She didn’t want to be engaged in a conversation with the text.
The group fizzled out after that. I think we wanted different things. I didn’t want to be a leader. I didn’t want to hear what they thought about my writing (random people from CL have much less clout with me than my own friends and family, go figure). I think next time I will either charge money to coordinate a group or find a way to be clearer about my desired structure.
I guess that’s it for now. I have 6 more pages to read. That is, I have 6 more pages of conversation with my mother on paper before she wakes up from her nap.
It’s a chapter I have read before and every time I find it completely emotionally devastating. I am about 10 pages into the 16-page chapter, and I have stopped to take a break. I just re-read my last blog entry (the one about the last time I was here 2 weeks ago) before posting it, and I realized that there’s a strange reflectivity in both of our writing. We talk to the reader. We try to guess what the reader is thinking.
A few years ago, I formed a writing group on Craigslist. It comprised 3 other women. It’s not important for me to characterize each of them, but one wrote fascinating memoirs about her adventures traveling. They were always skillfully crafted, always had a strong narrative, always followed a traditional storyline structure, and these were freewrites (when you compose for a given period of time without stopping or editing yourself and then read it aloud to the group, who is forbidden from giving any criticism other than perhaps mentioning if they like something in particular). Once, in celebration of our one-year anniversary, we exchanged works in progress. I don’t think this one woman had anything to submit, but she did have a whole lot to say about everyone else’s work. She commented on the fact that I like to address my reader directly, ask them questions, speculate about what they are thinking; she found it too aggressive, too direct. She wanted to read a nice easy little story with complete emotional disclosure. She didn’t want to be engaged in a conversation with the text.
The group fizzled out after that. I think we wanted different things. I didn’t want to be a leader. I didn’t want to hear what they thought about my writing (random people from CL have much less clout with me than my own friends and family, go figure). I think next time I will either charge money to coordinate a group or find a way to be clearer about my desired structure.
I guess that’s it for now. I have 6 more pages to read. That is, I have 6 more pages of conversation with my mother on paper before she wakes up from her nap.
Update: week of August 11
It’s been a nearly 3 weeks since my last update, so I guess that just means my work is cut out for me. The bad news is that that usually means that all the color and light is drained out of my descriptions as they have become distant and therefore just a list of events.
Back in Paris after my adventures on the train, I did very little. Part of the problem is that there isn’t an extra key to the downstairs lock at Mido and JP’s Montreuil apartment, which means that every time I leave I have to wait outside until someone lets me in again. It has never taken more than 15 minutes, but this very lazy person uses that inconvenience as an excuse to never leave the apartment. If you think about it, there are 9 floors with probably an average of 3 apartments on each floor (a max of 4). So, let’s say that 4 individual people live on each floor (it’s probably much more); 4*9=36 people coming and going, and many of them are bound not to have standard schedules. Granted, it’s August in France, meaning that two thirds of them are on vacation in the country. So, 12 people, maybe 4 of who do not work 9-5, each making an average of 2 trips out and back per day (assumed based on nothing at all). That’s 16 door openings over 8 hours (9 to 5), indicating that either my calculations are wrong or I have been very lucky never to have waited more than 15 minutes.
Yes, it’s these sorts of calculations that are exactly why you read my blog. (Assuming anyone is out there at all. Hello?) But the good news is that, having realized that being busy keeps me happy, I was only there for 2 days that time around. My mother was just arriving back from Bali, where she caught a bad cold and broke 2 of her ribs, so I gave her 24 hours of sleep it off, and then went to the heartland for a short visit.
Monday, August 15 is bank holiday in France, which meant that I had an extra day to kill before starting French class again. How do you call that when your time is such a burden on you? There must be a word. There are so many things in life I want to do, and at the same time I am racking my brain to think of them, and doing the same things over and over, and not leaving apartments…. It’s a matter of organization. I need to look at the big picture and work from that in order to determine how to spend each morning. I want to create huge amazing works of art, but I don’t have a room of my own or any physical materials. I want to see Brittany and Poland and New Zealand and Laos, but I don’t like to travel alone and I don’t like to travel. (In the words of the great David Byrne “I am tired of traveling, I want to be somewhere.”)
You read over and over that the thing that makes life worth living is relationships. That’s what all the wise thoughtful people say on their deathbeds. (I have also heard eat more chocolate.) My mother said yesterday that someone famous (Aldus Huxley) said that kindness is the only think that matters in life. Anyway, I buy it, lock, stock and barrel. But (sorry, there is a but) how do you know which relationships to invest in? By the way they feel about you? By how you feel about them? By who they influence you to be? By who you can influence them to be? By what is easy? By social expectations? To make other people happy?
Sure, it’s easy enough to be kind to bank tellers and telemarketers and people you pass on the sidewalk. Of course, it is important to invest in your family; you are stuck with them after all, so you might as well make the most out of it. People are like gardens and the more you put in the more you get out… if the soil is any good that is. So, first you have to check the soil. I guess the reason I am off on this crazy mixed-up tangent is that I opened a file I have on this computer called “notes for the blog”, and it includes a list of ideas I wanted to talk about, and one of them is “choosing your partner for love”…. I have read entire books on the nature of love, and I have no idea what it is. Did I know something last January 30 when I typed up this list that I have now forgotten? Can I blame it on the season? Maybe, in the words of the great George Michael, I “just gotta have Faith, Faith, Faith.”
Where was I? Oh, at my parents’ place in the French heartland, where we did very little (my mother was sick, you know). We had kir by the river. I think I went for a long walk on Sunday. My datebook says that John and I went for a short bike ride on Monday before I left on the slow train. I’m allergic to their house (I think it may be the bedding) and I took an allergy pill on Sunday that almost killed me (drowsiness). It’s strange but I usually go thru life forgetting that I have allergies, until I visit my mother or someone with cats. I could barely put myself on the train back to Paris, slept most of the way, and woke up the next morning with a terrible hangover from it. It felt like there was a brick in my head.
Before that near-fatal error, we tried to go to this new restaurant in Saint Savin, but they were full (reservations on this fine bank holiday). So, instead we had a picnic of magnificent baked goods by the river (that town also has a wonderful bakery). With them, we drank one of the fine bottles of wine I bought in Italy with Adam and Liz, a light bubbly thing perfect for a lunchtime picnic.
Back in Paris after my adventures on the train, I did very little. Part of the problem is that there isn’t an extra key to the downstairs lock at Mido and JP’s Montreuil apartment, which means that every time I leave I have to wait outside until someone lets me in again. It has never taken more than 15 minutes, but this very lazy person uses that inconvenience as an excuse to never leave the apartment. If you think about it, there are 9 floors with probably an average of 3 apartments on each floor (a max of 4). So, let’s say that 4 individual people live on each floor (it’s probably much more); 4*9=36 people coming and going, and many of them are bound not to have standard schedules. Granted, it’s August in France, meaning that two thirds of them are on vacation in the country. So, 12 people, maybe 4 of who do not work 9-5, each making an average of 2 trips out and back per day (assumed based on nothing at all). That’s 16 door openings over 8 hours (9 to 5), indicating that either my calculations are wrong or I have been very lucky never to have waited more than 15 minutes.
Yes, it’s these sorts of calculations that are exactly why you read my blog. (Assuming anyone is out there at all. Hello?) But the good news is that, having realized that being busy keeps me happy, I was only there for 2 days that time around. My mother was just arriving back from Bali, where she caught a bad cold and broke 2 of her ribs, so I gave her 24 hours of sleep it off, and then went to the heartland for a short visit.
Monday, August 15 is bank holiday in France, which meant that I had an extra day to kill before starting French class again. How do you call that when your time is such a burden on you? There must be a word. There are so many things in life I want to do, and at the same time I am racking my brain to think of them, and doing the same things over and over, and not leaving apartments…. It’s a matter of organization. I need to look at the big picture and work from that in order to determine how to spend each morning. I want to create huge amazing works of art, but I don’t have a room of my own or any physical materials. I want to see Brittany and Poland and New Zealand and Laos, but I don’t like to travel alone and I don’t like to travel. (In the words of the great David Byrne “I am tired of traveling, I want to be somewhere.”)
You read over and over that the thing that makes life worth living is relationships. That’s what all the wise thoughtful people say on their deathbeds. (I have also heard eat more chocolate.) My mother said yesterday that someone famous (Aldus Huxley) said that kindness is the only think that matters in life. Anyway, I buy it, lock, stock and barrel. But (sorry, there is a but) how do you know which relationships to invest in? By the way they feel about you? By how you feel about them? By who they influence you to be? By who you can influence them to be? By what is easy? By social expectations? To make other people happy?
Sure, it’s easy enough to be kind to bank tellers and telemarketers and people you pass on the sidewalk. Of course, it is important to invest in your family; you are stuck with them after all, so you might as well make the most out of it. People are like gardens and the more you put in the more you get out… if the soil is any good that is. So, first you have to check the soil. I guess the reason I am off on this crazy mixed-up tangent is that I opened a file I have on this computer called “notes for the blog”, and it includes a list of ideas I wanted to talk about, and one of them is “choosing your partner for love”…. I have read entire books on the nature of love, and I have no idea what it is. Did I know something last January 30 when I typed up this list that I have now forgotten? Can I blame it on the season? Maybe, in the words of the great George Michael, I “just gotta have Faith, Faith, Faith.”
Where was I? Oh, at my parents’ place in the French heartland, where we did very little (my mother was sick, you know). We had kir by the river. I think I went for a long walk on Sunday. My datebook says that John and I went for a short bike ride on Monday before I left on the slow train. I’m allergic to their house (I think it may be the bedding) and I took an allergy pill on Sunday that almost killed me (drowsiness). It’s strange but I usually go thru life forgetting that I have allergies, until I visit my mother or someone with cats. I could barely put myself on the train back to Paris, slept most of the way, and woke up the next morning with a terrible hangover from it. It felt like there was a brick in my head.
Before that near-fatal error, we tried to go to this new restaurant in Saint Savin, but they were full (reservations on this fine bank holiday). So, instead we had a picnic of magnificent baked goods by the river (that town also has a wonderful bakery). With them, we drank one of the fine bottles of wine I bought in Italy with Adam and Liz, a light bubbly thing perfect for a lunchtime picnic.
Monday, August 29, 2005
NYT article on buying property in Paris
On June 23, 2005, the NYT published an article on Americans buying apartments in Paris. While it included a lot of interesting and possibly important information, the references listed are below for my (and possibly your) future reference (feel free to add others in the comments sections if you know any):
* parisrealestatefinders.com
* abkaska.com -- finds and develops Paris property for Americans (and provides 2-year warrantees)
* Michele Imhoff, a French Banker who helps Americans (since 1991) with one or more account(s) at the Banque Transatlantic, 202-429-1909
* abodesabroad.net
* frenchpropertyinsider.com
* parisrealestatefinders.com
* abkaska.com -- finds and develops Paris property for Americans (and provides 2-year warrantees)
* Michele Imhoff, a French Banker who helps Americans (since 1991) with one or more account(s) at the Banque Transatlantic, 202-429-1909
* abodesabroad.net
* frenchpropertyinsider.com
Friday, August 12, 2005
photos of my trip
I uploaded photos in case you are interested:
http://amazon.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=ksr0nbj.1rlnmp9f&x=1&y=m86eje
http://amazon.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=ksr0nbj.1rlnmp9f&x=1&y=m86eje
Bike Powers PCs in Africa
Way better than nuclear for everyone.... Phew!
Bike Powers PCs in Africa
Former Silicon Valley execs bring cheap computing to remote African villages.
August 11, 2005
With help from former Silicon Valley execs, villagers in remote hamlets in Africa lacking power and phone lines are now making calls over VoIP, receiving voicemail, and sending email. The only hitch? Users must pedal on a stationary bike hooked up to a generator to get computer time.
Getting these hard-to-reach spots connected 21st century-style is the work of Inveneo, a San Francisco-based nonprofit started by a team of ex-tech industry workers. The outfit was started last year by Robert Marsh, a former entrepreneur and manager with more than 25 years of tech experience under his belt at companies including Innovwave and Document Tech.
The group's solution, to use a Silicon Valley buzzword, is the special bike that powers a computer system using Linux open source to give villagers access to basic computing, Internet, email, and VoIP.
Inveneo's first installations were in Uganda and the organization hopes to extend to villages in South Africa, Algeria, and Rwanda.
"Access to power is the big thing in villages," said Mr. Marsh. "Mostly, finding a source of power is the biggest roadblock toward having basic computing or phone facilities. We had to develop a solution that was not only low-cost but also sustainable."
Searching for an answer took Mr. Marsh on travels through Indonesia, India, and Cambodia, which is where he ultimately found the design he was looking for: A modified stationary bike that generates enough power to keep a computing system humming. Just 15 minutes of pedaling creates enough power for an hour of usage on the VoIP phone, said Mr. Marsh.
Solar Power Booster
If the heat's too intense for pedaling, Inveneo has come up with an alternative power source. A solar panel integrated into the system allows for longer periods of power with less effort.
"The whole system is very power-efficient," said Mr. Marsh. "The bike-powered batteries can be used as a backup since not everyone can pedal for too long."
Inveneo put together the rest of the system with simple hardware found at any computer store. Overall, the system has three major components: the solar- or bike-powered communication station, which is connected to a PC and a telephone; a hub that acts as the PBX (Private Branch Exchange) and Internet gateway; and a Wi-Fi relay station.
The PBX allows for free calls among connected villages. Every user is provided with a voicemail box to receive messages. Each also gets access to applications like word processing, spreadsheets, email, instant messaging, and file-sharing.
The entire system costs around $1,800 including the solar panel, which is the single most expensive component. Using Linux and Asterisk, an open-source telephony switching software, has helped keep the costs down and make the system rugged, said Mr. Marsh.
Plans to Expand
In western Uganda, Inveneo has already delivered the first bike-powered Linux PC and VoIP system to cover five villages. It hopes to extend the project to 25 villages in the Bukuuku sub-county over the next year.
Ultimately, the plan is to integrate the bike-powered communication systems into projects in areas where relief or developmental agencies already have a presence.
The U.K. relief organization, Action Aid, is Inveneo's big client now but Mr. Marsh said the team is talking to other organizations in Indonesia to create partnerships.
Funding for Inveneo comes from its founders and the company is staffed by volunteers. Eventually, Mr. Marsh hopes to get grants from the United Nations or the U.S. government to support his work.
Although Inveneo is a nonprofit, Mr. Marsh plans to spin off a commercial subsidiary in a few years to generate revenue and profits that could help the company do more research and expand further.
"In some countries, we can license the system to small entrepreneurs and create businesses that can generate profits by offering basic services," he said. "So we will eventually think of having a commercial subsidiary."
© 1993-2005 Red Herring, Inc. All rights reserved.
Bike Powers PCs in Africa
Former Silicon Valley execs bring cheap computing to remote African villages.
August 11, 2005
With help from former Silicon Valley execs, villagers in remote hamlets in Africa lacking power and phone lines are now making calls over VoIP, receiving voicemail, and sending email. The only hitch? Users must pedal on a stationary bike hooked up to a generator to get computer time.
Getting these hard-to-reach spots connected 21st century-style is the work of Inveneo, a San Francisco-based nonprofit started by a team of ex-tech industry workers. The outfit was started last year by Robert Marsh, a former entrepreneur and manager with more than 25 years of tech experience under his belt at companies including Innovwave and Document Tech.
The group's solution, to use a Silicon Valley buzzword, is the special bike that powers a computer system using Linux open source to give villagers access to basic computing, Internet, email, and VoIP.
Inveneo's first installations were in Uganda and the organization hopes to extend to villages in South Africa, Algeria, and Rwanda.
"Access to power is the big thing in villages," said Mr. Marsh. "Mostly, finding a source of power is the biggest roadblock toward having basic computing or phone facilities. We had to develop a solution that was not only low-cost but also sustainable."
Searching for an answer took Mr. Marsh on travels through Indonesia, India, and Cambodia, which is where he ultimately found the design he was looking for: A modified stationary bike that generates enough power to keep a computing system humming. Just 15 minutes of pedaling creates enough power for an hour of usage on the VoIP phone, said Mr. Marsh.
Solar Power Booster
If the heat's too intense for pedaling, Inveneo has come up with an alternative power source. A solar panel integrated into the system allows for longer periods of power with less effort.
"The whole system is very power-efficient," said Mr. Marsh. "The bike-powered batteries can be used as a backup since not everyone can pedal for too long."
Inveneo put together the rest of the system with simple hardware found at any computer store. Overall, the system has three major components: the solar- or bike-powered communication station, which is connected to a PC and a telephone; a hub that acts as the PBX (Private Branch Exchange) and Internet gateway; and a Wi-Fi relay station.
The PBX allows for free calls among connected villages. Every user is provided with a voicemail box to receive messages. Each also gets access to applications like word processing, spreadsheets, email, instant messaging, and file-sharing.
The entire system costs around $1,800 including the solar panel, which is the single most expensive component. Using Linux and Asterisk, an open-source telephony switching software, has helped keep the costs down and make the system rugged, said Mr. Marsh.
Plans to Expand
In western Uganda, Inveneo has already delivered the first bike-powered Linux PC and VoIP system to cover five villages. It hopes to extend the project to 25 villages in the Bukuuku sub-county over the next year.
Ultimately, the plan is to integrate the bike-powered communication systems into projects in areas where relief or developmental agencies already have a presence.
The U.K. relief organization, Action Aid, is Inveneo's big client now but Mr. Marsh said the team is talking to other organizations in Indonesia to create partnerships.
Funding for Inveneo comes from its founders and the company is staffed by volunteers. Eventually, Mr. Marsh hopes to get grants from the United Nations or the U.S. government to support his work.
Although Inveneo is a nonprofit, Mr. Marsh plans to spin off a commercial subsidiary in a few years to generate revenue and profits that could help the company do more research and expand further.
"In some countries, we can license the system to small entrepreneurs and create businesses that can generate profits by offering basic services," he said. "So we will eventually think of having a commercial subsidiary."
© 1993-2005 Red Herring, Inc. All rights reserved.
Rentabike in Lyon, France
I keep forgetting that I should blog these really interesting articles....
Rentabike moves up a gear from curiosity to runaway success
Jon Henley in Paris
Friday August 12, 2005
The Guardian
http://www.guardian.co.uk/france/story/0,11882,1547732,00.html
The French are not short of groundbreaking cheap and efficient public transport. But now the Paris Metro and the high-speed TGV have a more humble, although no less hi-tech, equal - the Lyon rentabike.
Less than three months after its launch, the city's Vélo'v scheme, reportedly the largest of its kind in the world, is a runaway success. "Very quickly, we've moved from being a curiosity to a genuine new urban transport mode," said Gilles Vesco of the city council.
Some 15,000 Lyonnais are now registered users, and the 24-hour scheme's 1,500 sturdy silver-and-red bikes - which have three gears, a handlebar basket and a lock - are detached from their 100-odd computerised racks on average 6.5 times each a day. And this is just the beginning: by 2007, there should be 4,000 cycles and up to 400 racks in the city - which is one roughly every 300 metres.
Collective bike schemes started in the 1960s with the free "white bikes" of Amsterdam and Copenhagen, schemes which laboured under the hippy-era illusion that most users would be public-spirited enough to return bikes after use. They were not.
The Lyon scheme adopts a system pioneered, on a much smaller scale, in Vienna and incorporates strong incentives not to abscond. Users must register in advance so that their personal details are on record, and they are then issued with a security code and a prepaid card, which they can top up at each rack's computer terminal.
"Our success reflects a cultural shift that you could call collective individualism," Mr Vesco told the daily Libération. "Everyone chooses their own destination, route and timetable, but they use a collective means of transport."
But Mr Vesco is most proud of the fact that, among the scheme's many foreign admirers, the most enthusiastic has been Amsterdam, bicycling capital of the world.
Vélo'v is, apparently, a simple system to use, and is also cheap. With the prepaid card, which costs one euro for a week and five euros for a year, rental costs one euro an hour, with the first half-hour free.
In practice, that means borrowing a bike is as good as free, since 90% of all Vélo'v journeys last less than 30 minutes. It is funded by JC Decaux, the billboard multinational, which agreed to launch and operate the bike scheme in part-exchange for the right to sell advertising space on the city's bus and tram shelters.
The company refuses to say how much it has invested in the Vélo'v scheme, which employs some 30 staff.
Each time a bike is returned to a rack the brakes, tyre pressure, gears and lights are digitally checked and the results sent to the control centre; any malfunction means the bike is not offered for rent.
There have been a few teething problems. Some racks are used far more than others, leading to shortages in the most popular spots, despite a computerised warning system that alerts the control centre. But users can consult every Vélo'v terminal to find out which nearby rack has bikes, and soon bigger racks will be built where needed.
Rentabike moves up a gear from curiosity to runaway success
Jon Henley in Paris
Friday August 12, 2005
The Guardian
http://www.guardian.co.uk/france/story/0,11882,1547732,00.html
The French are not short of groundbreaking cheap and efficient public transport. But now the Paris Metro and the high-speed TGV have a more humble, although no less hi-tech, equal - the Lyon rentabike.
Less than three months after its launch, the city's Vélo'v scheme, reportedly the largest of its kind in the world, is a runaway success. "Very quickly, we've moved from being a curiosity to a genuine new urban transport mode," said Gilles Vesco of the city council.
Some 15,000 Lyonnais are now registered users, and the 24-hour scheme's 1,500 sturdy silver-and-red bikes - which have three gears, a handlebar basket and a lock - are detached from their 100-odd computerised racks on average 6.5 times each a day. And this is just the beginning: by 2007, there should be 4,000 cycles and up to 400 racks in the city - which is one roughly every 300 metres.
Collective bike schemes started in the 1960s with the free "white bikes" of Amsterdam and Copenhagen, schemes which laboured under the hippy-era illusion that most users would be public-spirited enough to return bikes after use. They were not.
The Lyon scheme adopts a system pioneered, on a much smaller scale, in Vienna and incorporates strong incentives not to abscond. Users must register in advance so that their personal details are on record, and they are then issued with a security code and a prepaid card, which they can top up at each rack's computer terminal.
"Our success reflects a cultural shift that you could call collective individualism," Mr Vesco told the daily Libération. "Everyone chooses their own destination, route and timetable, but they use a collective means of transport."
But Mr Vesco is most proud of the fact that, among the scheme's many foreign admirers, the most enthusiastic has been Amsterdam, bicycling capital of the world.
Vélo'v is, apparently, a simple system to use, and is also cheap. With the prepaid card, which costs one euro for a week and five euros for a year, rental costs one euro an hour, with the first half-hour free.
In practice, that means borrowing a bike is as good as free, since 90% of all Vélo'v journeys last less than 30 minutes. It is funded by JC Decaux, the billboard multinational, which agreed to launch and operate the bike scheme in part-exchange for the right to sell advertising space on the city's bus and tram shelters.
The company refuses to say how much it has invested in the Vélo'v scheme, which employs some 30 staff.
Each time a bike is returned to a rack the brakes, tyre pressure, gears and lights are digitally checked and the results sent to the control centre; any malfunction means the bike is not offered for rent.
There have been a few teething problems. Some racks are used far more than others, leading to shortages in the most popular spots, despite a computerised warning system that alerts the control centre. But users can consult every Vélo'v terminal to find out which nearby rack has bikes, and soon bigger racks will be built where needed.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Journey to Paris
I'm back in Mido and JP's Montreuil apartment to my enormous relief. On Monday, I went to the French train web site and reserved a bed without incident on the overnight train between Pordenone and Paris for Wednesday night. But I wasn't sure if I would be able to pick up the ticket at an Italian station and there wouldn't be time for them to mail it; so, I never made the purchase. I was going to try to get the ticket at the station ahead of time but it just never happened. The site quoted me the price of 125 euros.
Fast forward to Wednesday, Adam drops me off at the train station on his way to his guitar lessons 1.5 hours before my train leaves for Milan (connecting to the TGV to Paris). The woman at the counter speaks a little English, but she tells me, thru repeated asking, that I cannot get a train to Paris for 3 days. All the trains are full. Does that sound right to you? It sure didn't to me! If this had happened a year ago, I would have been a blubbering crying fool out on the sidewalk, but it appears that I have changed. She said the only way to go is to fly and she flapped her little hands like a bird. I feel land locked, but I also don't really believe her. So, I ask, can I get on the train and sleep in the hallway? While I don't think she understood me, she stuck with her favorite word: no. I called Adam and Liz, not sure what to do.... Anyway, eventually, I bought a ticket to Milan anyway (21 euros) and hopped on the train.
Nearly 4 hours later, I arrived at the huge Milan train station. (The last time I was there it was after 2 weeks alone in Katriona's lovely Rome apartment. I remember drinking an espresso at a cafe table in the station and promising myself that I will never travel alone again.) I had 30 minutes to get a ticket to Paris and get on the train. But of course, it is 11 PM and no one is selling any tickets. I finally find a woman giving train information, who speaks neither English nor French, but I manage to ask my question and she manages to tell me that I must buy the ticket on the train.
The train is leaving in 10 minutes when the screen finally lets us know which platform it will be on. So, I go there and ask the first train guy "Can I buy a ticket on the train?" and he says almost exactly what the woman in Pordenone said, "The train is full. No, you cannot sleep in the train hallway." But I am persistent and he says I should ask other train guy (what are they called?). There is also a young man with a ticket for 310 euros that he is not going to use. I offer him 40, bc that is how much cash I believe I have on me, and he of course says no. I ask literally 6 different train guys, each giving me the same answer until one says, "yes, I have space." I am stunned to silence. "But this is first class. It will cost you 100 euros." No problem, do you take credit cards? "No, cash only, and there is no time for you to got the bank machine." ...I think for a moment. Will you take other currency? dollars? Yes, he will take dollars. Got to #11. So, I do.
But the thing I remember is that I have like 60 dollars and like 40 euros, which does not equal 100 euros. I am hoping he will take pity on me and not ask for anything inappropriate instead. #11 is in a very funky 1st class compartment with liquid stains on the beds and a broken window shade. Two big guys join me in the compartment, and at first that makes me nervous, but then I decide that they are harmless. They don't speak English, but we communicate in French and one of them keeps correcting my speech. They fold their bed back into chairs and sit next to each other, resting. I lie down in my area and hope for sleep.
Maybe 45 minutes later, the train has left the station, and the train guy pops his head in and immediately scolds them in English, "No, this compartment is only for women" and takes them away bringing back with him a small, scared but also rather wild looking woman dressed in a tiny lace tank top, transparent mesh thong underwear that show above her jeans and big spiky belt, pointy spiked heals, and a raspy smoker's voice (with which she only speaks French). He is gone another "2 minutes", and then takes my passport. This makes me worried that he won't give it back if I don't have the money, so I tell him that I want to pay now instead of later. I open my money belt, and much to my surprise I have 75 euros in there. While he tells me that I must give him 130 dollars, he accepts 60 dollars and 50 euros. Phew!
Me and this little woman set up our beds (the guy had to bring us sheets) and have pleasant conversation. She doesn't correct me. During the night, she startles a few times and asks me over and over "t'a ferme la porte?" did you lock the door? which I did, but at the same time I did not think it is critical.
I slept badly and the train was an hour late arriving in Paris, but the good news is that I arrived, survived and saved a total of 5 euro in the process. I am almost afraid to start thinking that I led a charmed life, but so many things have gone my way lately. I can only imagine that I am charmed or perhaps that if you just insist that things work out, they can surprise you and... work out.
Fast forward to Wednesday, Adam drops me off at the train station on his way to his guitar lessons 1.5 hours before my train leaves for Milan (connecting to the TGV to Paris). The woman at the counter speaks a little English, but she tells me, thru repeated asking, that I cannot get a train to Paris for 3 days. All the trains are full. Does that sound right to you? It sure didn't to me! If this had happened a year ago, I would have been a blubbering crying fool out on the sidewalk, but it appears that I have changed. She said the only way to go is to fly and she flapped her little hands like a bird. I feel land locked, but I also don't really believe her. So, I ask, can I get on the train and sleep in the hallway? While I don't think she understood me, she stuck with her favorite word: no. I called Adam and Liz, not sure what to do.... Anyway, eventually, I bought a ticket to Milan anyway (21 euros) and hopped on the train.
Nearly 4 hours later, I arrived at the huge Milan train station. (The last time I was there it was after 2 weeks alone in Katriona's lovely Rome apartment. I remember drinking an espresso at a cafe table in the station and promising myself that I will never travel alone again.) I had 30 minutes to get a ticket to Paris and get on the train. But of course, it is 11 PM and no one is selling any tickets. I finally find a woman giving train information, who speaks neither English nor French, but I manage to ask my question and she manages to tell me that I must buy the ticket on the train.
The train is leaving in 10 minutes when the screen finally lets us know which platform it will be on. So, I go there and ask the first train guy "Can I buy a ticket on the train?" and he says almost exactly what the woman in Pordenone said, "The train is full. No, you cannot sleep in the train hallway." But I am persistent and he says I should ask other train guy (what are they called?). There is also a young man with a ticket for 310 euros that he is not going to use. I offer him 40, bc that is how much cash I believe I have on me, and he of course says no. I ask literally 6 different train guys, each giving me the same answer until one says, "yes, I have space." I am stunned to silence. "But this is first class. It will cost you 100 euros." No problem, do you take credit cards? "No, cash only, and there is no time for you to got the bank machine." ...I think for a moment. Will you take other currency? dollars? Yes, he will take dollars. Got to #11. So, I do.
But the thing I remember is that I have like 60 dollars and like 40 euros, which does not equal 100 euros. I am hoping he will take pity on me and not ask for anything inappropriate instead. #11 is in a very funky 1st class compartment with liquid stains on the beds and a broken window shade. Two big guys join me in the compartment, and at first that makes me nervous, but then I decide that they are harmless. They don't speak English, but we communicate in French and one of them keeps correcting my speech. They fold their bed back into chairs and sit next to each other, resting. I lie down in my area and hope for sleep.
Maybe 45 minutes later, the train has left the station, and the train guy pops his head in and immediately scolds them in English, "No, this compartment is only for women" and takes them away bringing back with him a small, scared but also rather wild looking woman dressed in a tiny lace tank top, transparent mesh thong underwear that show above her jeans and big spiky belt, pointy spiked heals, and a raspy smoker's voice (with which she only speaks French). He is gone another "2 minutes", and then takes my passport. This makes me worried that he won't give it back if I don't have the money, so I tell him that I want to pay now instead of later. I open my money belt, and much to my surprise I have 75 euros in there. While he tells me that I must give him 130 dollars, he accepts 60 dollars and 50 euros. Phew!
Me and this little woman set up our beds (the guy had to bring us sheets) and have pleasant conversation. She doesn't correct me. During the night, she startles a few times and asks me over and over "t'a ferme la porte?" did you lock the door? which I did, but at the same time I did not think it is critical.
I slept badly and the train was an hour late arriving in Paris, but the good news is that I arrived, survived and saved a total of 5 euro in the process. I am almost afraid to start thinking that I led a charmed life, but so many things have gone my way lately. I can only imagine that I am charmed or perhaps that if you just insist that things work out, they can surprise you and... work out.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Back in the USSR, um, I mean Western Europe
I've made it back to western Europe, and it does feel different despite my earlier claims that Slovenia is not really eastern Europe. I was wrong -- my observations were compared with Hungary which most certainly is eastern Europe. But anyway, I am at the home for my former classmate and co-worker, Adam Leigland and his lovely wife and fellow transportation professional, Liz Berdugo. They live here in a small bedroom community near Pordenone in northern Italy. He works at the nearby US military base as a project manager/engineer and she does freelance engineering, is releasing a new line of environmentally-sustainable-fabric clothing, and is writing several novels in her "spare" time.
I slept for another 10 hours last night. Eric says there must be a study showing that constant low-grade stress, like that from traveling, causes one to need significantly more sleep. I did notice that Kaori, after 2 months of traveling alone and having to speak a foreign language all the time, was sleeping like 12 hours a night. I have been fighting a cold for almost a week, which is probably also related. There are also 2 cats in the house....
I am actually amazed that I made it. After lugging my SUB (sport utility backpack, that can roll over any terrain) to the bus station, it turned out I had misread the bus schedule and ended up catching a bus that arrived at the train station in Trieste at exactly the same time that the train for Pordenone left. Fortunately, the bus was 10 minutes early and well went swimmingly. Italy always amazes me when the trains run on time and the buses are early. I guess there are real advantages to low-expectations. They can even make you happy. Adam picked up at the train station right on time in his new SUV. Then we had a lovely dinner of salad (you don't get many veggies while traveling, so this really was a treat) on the patio. Adam had Italian class, but afterwards we all went for gelato, which was yummy and rich and not too sweet. They kept speaking to the people at the ice cream place in Italian and the people kept replying in English. Liz and Adam wondered, how do they know that we are American? (Could it be the hiking boots and fleece?)
The night before last I went to see Monster in Law, with JLo, Jane Fonda, and that guy from Alias. I laughed out loud several times, cried at the end, and left with a smile on my face but I can't really recommend it. I think JLo actually can act, and it was good to see Jane again, but there was nothing interesting or thought provoking about the story. Alas!
When you go to the movies in Slovenia, your seat is assigned with the purchase of your ticket. What I didn't understand when asked where I wanted to sit was which part of the floor plan was the front. All the seats at the back were sold, and thinking that the front is more desirable, I assumed that that was the front. So, my assigned seat was surrounded by groups of teenagers in the third row from the back -- not my preference as all. Once the theater darkened, I moved to sit completely alone in the third row from the front. Don't teenagers in the states prefer to sit in the front?
What I like about sitting at the front of the theater is that the experience is as intense as possible. I mean, I have a big TV at home, and I can lie on my couch and watch it. (I used to have it connected to the stereo, but that changed for reasons not worth going into. Speaking of which, is this paragraph or blog for that matter really worth going into?? Anyway...) So, when I go to the movies I hold my fingers up a foot or so in front of my face to make sure that the screen is significantly bigger proportionally than my TV at home. If not, I might as well have rented a movie.
Afterwards I had a glass of wine at this cafe I went to like twice a day while in Koper. It was right across from the Palace, which is the "most magnificent site in Koper", and on the town square, also in a nice building with a good sized front porch area, and very pleasant. Yesterday morning they played Stairway to Heaven in Gregorian Chanting while I drank my tea. I have nothing really to say about it, but I wanted to describe it a little.
Because of the rain and the bad weather, I don't have much of interest to report. But catch me if you can once I am back in Paris....
I slept for another 10 hours last night. Eric says there must be a study showing that constant low-grade stress, like that from traveling, causes one to need significantly more sleep. I did notice that Kaori, after 2 months of traveling alone and having to speak a foreign language all the time, was sleeping like 12 hours a night. I have been fighting a cold for almost a week, which is probably also related. There are also 2 cats in the house....
I am actually amazed that I made it. After lugging my SUB (sport utility backpack, that can roll over any terrain) to the bus station, it turned out I had misread the bus schedule and ended up catching a bus that arrived at the train station in Trieste at exactly the same time that the train for Pordenone left. Fortunately, the bus was 10 minutes early and well went swimmingly. Italy always amazes me when the trains run on time and the buses are early. I guess there are real advantages to low-expectations. They can even make you happy. Adam picked up at the train station right on time in his new SUV. Then we had a lovely dinner of salad (you don't get many veggies while traveling, so this really was a treat) on the patio. Adam had Italian class, but afterwards we all went for gelato, which was yummy and rich and not too sweet. They kept speaking to the people at the ice cream place in Italian and the people kept replying in English. Liz and Adam wondered, how do they know that we are American? (Could it be the hiking boots and fleece?)
The night before last I went to see Monster in Law, with JLo, Jane Fonda, and that guy from Alias. I laughed out loud several times, cried at the end, and left with a smile on my face but I can't really recommend it. I think JLo actually can act, and it was good to see Jane again, but there was nothing interesting or thought provoking about the story. Alas!
When you go to the movies in Slovenia, your seat is assigned with the purchase of your ticket. What I didn't understand when asked where I wanted to sit was which part of the floor plan was the front. All the seats at the back were sold, and thinking that the front is more desirable, I assumed that that was the front. So, my assigned seat was surrounded by groups of teenagers in the third row from the back -- not my preference as all. Once the theater darkened, I moved to sit completely alone in the third row from the front. Don't teenagers in the states prefer to sit in the front?
What I like about sitting at the front of the theater is that the experience is as intense as possible. I mean, I have a big TV at home, and I can lie on my couch and watch it. (I used to have it connected to the stereo, but that changed for reasons not worth going into. Speaking of which, is this paragraph or blog for that matter really worth going into?? Anyway...) So, when I go to the movies I hold my fingers up a foot or so in front of my face to make sure that the screen is significantly bigger proportionally than my TV at home. If not, I might as well have rented a movie.
Afterwards I had a glass of wine at this cafe I went to like twice a day while in Koper. It was right across from the Palace, which is the "most magnificent site in Koper", and on the town square, also in a nice building with a good sized front porch area, and very pleasant. Yesterday morning they played Stairway to Heaven in Gregorian Chanting while I drank my tea. I have nothing really to say about it, but I wanted to describe it a little.
Because of the rain and the bad weather, I don't have much of interest to report. But catch me if you can once I am back in Paris....
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Notes from Koper, not underground
It's been seriously raining most of the day, so much so that it is actually unpleasant to be outside. But now I am at the computer for a little while, and maybe that made it stop. Ah life. I waited like 1.5 hours for the computer, while this guy was using it who claims he didn't know I was waiting, but the fun part was that I spent a good bit of that time trying to communicate with this Spanish guy about transportation planning.
His English was very limited. I mean, it is better than my Spanish, but really only just. I think if I studied Spanish for like 2 days, we might be at the same level. So, we were talking and really trying, and he asked me about the conference I was going to in Swisse, Walk 21. Now, the concept of pedestrian planning is difficult to explain to native English speakers who don't know what it is, so you can imagine how fun this was. I was drawing pictures of roads and with and without traffic calming installations. He drew a picture of his town and explained to me that the road was very congested bc everyone who lives there drives from the same town to the same factory for work on the same road. Yes, he agreed that they should take the bus, but they drive anyway. It was really fun to promote this kind of consciousness (I really did think I saw the proverbial light bulb go on) and also to help someone with their English (he helped me a little with my Spanish as well, but he has kind of a strange accent, so I didn't understand him very well and frankly was afraid to speak Spanish like him).
He used to study computers but he no like. He only likes to travel. I hear this sort of thing a lot, and I think how lucky I am that I love all the things I do AND I don't like to travel all that much. (I just like to be different places sometimes to force myself out of my frequent ruts.)
Yesterday I road the bus (more than 2 hours in congestion to travel like 20 km -- no joke) to Piran for the day. It's a cute town, I can I see how it would be an incredibly pleasant place to vacation for a few days. It's a little pointy town with tiny narrow streets, tall buildings, and swimmable ocean on 2 sides of the acute triangle of its shape. Koper has a circular central area, also with these cute little streets, tall buildings, and the occasional park space. But both Piran and Koper are cities nearly ruined by the car. Their narrow streets and central squares are blocked by cars. Car noises bounce off the stone buildings, becoming louder. There isn't anywhere for the exhaust to go.
But the sea water felt like velvet to my lower legs and hands. I stood in it for a bit while listening to the David Sedaris stories that Matt loaded on my ipod. Now that I am traveling alone again, I am listening to the ipod all the time and so loving it. This part of the country is completely different than the Alps. The stone is almost a white sandy color, and everything is made out of it. The earth a warm brown. The trees are low and dark, juniper, pine or olive. It's dry dry dry and looks like Italy, except it isn't. But this velvety water is shockingly clear and warm.
I had an early dinner last night at a seaside restaurant of fried calamari and salad and a glass of dry white wine. I don't know if I should blame the wine or not, but I was passed out before 10 PM, sleeping long and hard and waking up at 8 this morning.
Oh, so, the other thing I was frustrated about the last time was trying to find a way from Koper to Adam's place in Italy. The bus web site was telling me I needed to go back to Ljubljana, when I know I am like 10 km from Italy now, and that I had to leave at 5 AM to get their at 11 AM, which is too early bc they work and can't be getting me at the station midday.
All those problems are solved. I am not going to Verona bc the opera schedule doesn't suit me, the hostels appear to be full, and I am just plain finished with this travelling nonsense. I want to go "home" to Paris and the nutella crepe and wait for Eric. So, after Adam's, I have reserved a night train directly from there to Paris, and I am really looking forward to it.
Speaking of chocolate, I don't think I have mentioned how sophisticated my pain au chocolat homing device appears to have become. In the Budapest train station I randomly pointed at a pastry. It might have been empty. It might even have been savory. I had no idea what to expect, but I needed to spend the rest of my Hungarian change. Low and Behold, and much to my surprise, it contained chocolate. Hurray!
I have loads of notes in my journal to type up at some point, but now just doesn't feel like the right time. I also have to finish typing up my notes from the conference bf I go to the next one, but there will be time in Paris for all that. I am just not in the mood. I think the rain has stopped.
His English was very limited. I mean, it is better than my Spanish, but really only just. I think if I studied Spanish for like 2 days, we might be at the same level. So, we were talking and really trying, and he asked me about the conference I was going to in Swisse, Walk 21. Now, the concept of pedestrian planning is difficult to explain to native English speakers who don't know what it is, so you can imagine how fun this was. I was drawing pictures of roads and with and without traffic calming installations. He drew a picture of his town and explained to me that the road was very congested bc everyone who lives there drives from the same town to the same factory for work on the same road. Yes, he agreed that they should take the bus, but they drive anyway. It was really fun to promote this kind of consciousness (I really did think I saw the proverbial light bulb go on) and also to help someone with their English (he helped me a little with my Spanish as well, but he has kind of a strange accent, so I didn't understand him very well and frankly was afraid to speak Spanish like him).
He used to study computers but he no like. He only likes to travel. I hear this sort of thing a lot, and I think how lucky I am that I love all the things I do AND I don't like to travel all that much. (I just like to be different places sometimes to force myself out of my frequent ruts.)
Yesterday I road the bus (more than 2 hours in congestion to travel like 20 km -- no joke) to Piran for the day. It's a cute town, I can I see how it would be an incredibly pleasant place to vacation for a few days. It's a little pointy town with tiny narrow streets, tall buildings, and swimmable ocean on 2 sides of the acute triangle of its shape. Koper has a circular central area, also with these cute little streets, tall buildings, and the occasional park space. But both Piran and Koper are cities nearly ruined by the car. Their narrow streets and central squares are blocked by cars. Car noises bounce off the stone buildings, becoming louder. There isn't anywhere for the exhaust to go.
But the sea water felt like velvet to my lower legs and hands. I stood in it for a bit while listening to the David Sedaris stories that Matt loaded on my ipod. Now that I am traveling alone again, I am listening to the ipod all the time and so loving it. This part of the country is completely different than the Alps. The stone is almost a white sandy color, and everything is made out of it. The earth a warm brown. The trees are low and dark, juniper, pine or olive. It's dry dry dry and looks like Italy, except it isn't. But this velvety water is shockingly clear and warm.
I had an early dinner last night at a seaside restaurant of fried calamari and salad and a glass of dry white wine. I don't know if I should blame the wine or not, but I was passed out before 10 PM, sleeping long and hard and waking up at 8 this morning.
Oh, so, the other thing I was frustrated about the last time was trying to find a way from Koper to Adam's place in Italy. The bus web site was telling me I needed to go back to Ljubljana, when I know I am like 10 km from Italy now, and that I had to leave at 5 AM to get their at 11 AM, which is too early bc they work and can't be getting me at the station midday.
All those problems are solved. I am not going to Verona bc the opera schedule doesn't suit me, the hostels appear to be full, and I am just plain finished with this travelling nonsense. I want to go "home" to Paris and the nutella crepe and wait for Eric. So, after Adam's, I have reserved a night train directly from there to Paris, and I am really looking forward to it.
Speaking of chocolate, I don't think I have mentioned how sophisticated my pain au chocolat homing device appears to have become. In the Budapest train station I randomly pointed at a pastry. It might have been empty. It might even have been savory. I had no idea what to expect, but I needed to spend the rest of my Hungarian change. Low and Behold, and much to my surprise, it contained chocolate. Hurray!
I have loads of notes in my journal to type up at some point, but now just doesn't feel like the right time. I also have to finish typing up my notes from the conference bf I go to the next one, but there will be time in Paris for all that. I am just not in the mood. I think the rain has stopped.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Bicycling makes me happy.
At the moment I am incredibly frustrated bc
1) I can't seem to be able to book a hostel in Verona for next week.
2) the only opera playing in Verona isn't until next Friday, the 12th, which is longer than I wanted to stay there.
3) There aren't any cheap flights available back to Paris.
4) There isn't a convenient train between Pordenone (where Adam Leigland lives) or Verona for less than a gazillion dollars. And it is more expensive to travel after the opera than before.
Maybe everything will look sunnier tomorrow or something or I will think of some other way to do it. But what I really wanted to tell you about was my wonderful day moutain biking in the Bohinj valley.
This bike I rented was total crap. The front shifter didn't work at all, the crank was totally wobbly and needed replacing, the seat was trying to circumsize me, and the frame was too small for mine. That still being the case, we biked all thru the valley, thru farms and creeks and woods and got all muddy and lost and then found ourselves again, and it totally rocked. It's so green and lush and these mountains rise up abruptly into a state of barren, rocky, snow-covered-ness. I mean, it looked a little like beautiful countryside anywhere in Europe. Geraniums poured out of the window boxes in A-framed-type houses. Trust me, it's pretty. But it was also stunning in its own special way.
After we returned the crap bikes, we took a little swim in the lake, which was really cold, but clear and blue and full of fish, and washed the mud off of our pant legs. Karolina wanted to follow that adventure with some kayaking, but that was a bit too ambitious for me. Anyway, it never happened. Now I am starving and looking forward to a well-earned dinner. Hurray!
1) I can't seem to be able to book a hostel in Verona for next week.
2) the only opera playing in Verona isn't until next Friday, the 12th, which is longer than I wanted to stay there.
3) There aren't any cheap flights available back to Paris.
4) There isn't a convenient train between Pordenone (where Adam Leigland lives) or Verona for less than a gazillion dollars. And it is more expensive to travel after the opera than before.
Maybe everything will look sunnier tomorrow or something or I will think of some other way to do it. But what I really wanted to tell you about was my wonderful day moutain biking in the Bohinj valley.
This bike I rented was total crap. The front shifter didn't work at all, the crank was totally wobbly and needed replacing, the seat was trying to circumsize me, and the frame was too small for mine. That still being the case, we biked all thru the valley, thru farms and creeks and woods and got all muddy and lost and then found ourselves again, and it totally rocked. It's so green and lush and these mountains rise up abruptly into a state of barren, rocky, snow-covered-ness. I mean, it looked a little like beautiful countryside anywhere in Europe. Geraniums poured out of the window boxes in A-framed-type houses. Trust me, it's pretty. But it was also stunning in its own special way.
After we returned the crap bikes, we took a little swim in the lake, which was really cold, but clear and blue and full of fish, and washed the mud off of our pant legs. Karolina wanted to follow that adventure with some kayaking, but that was a bit too ambitious for me. Anyway, it never happened. Now I am starving and looking forward to a well-earned dinner. Hurray!
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
A few more random thoughts
Kaori said that when you have trouble sleeping, it means you need more sunlight. I always thought it meant that you need more exercise. But in the end, these 2 end up being the same thing. I usually exercise outside, afterall.
I never described Bastille Day with Gitte in Paris. It's kind of too late, but I do want to say that fire works are so much better when they are framed around a great piece of architecture like the Eiffel Tower. It also provides opportunities for the addition of light shows against the structure.
Everyone who has even been dependent on Muni (San Francisco's public transportation system) is familiar with the truism of waiting for the bus: the longer you wait the more committed you become to using that particular mode (as opposed to a taxi or walking, for example). The bus is both inexpensive and realitively quick, once it arrives and if you have already waited a long time you become invested in those benefits. And of course walking is only faster if you start right away and not if first you wait for 20 minutes. You with me?
So, the other month, Eric was talking about a friend of his who had been with the same woman for like 12 years and how this guy said that he didn't think he could ever get used to another woman if, god forbid, something happened to this one. This got me to thinking about how the waiting for the bus truism (is there a better word to call that?) applies to relationships. Eric was quick to point out that there is a different between being used to someone and this, but I am not sure. Do you think that the longer you do any one thing, like being with a person, waiting for a transportation mode, or working in a certain field, the more committed you become to it?
Put like that, I think the bus thing is more complicated bc when you are waiting for it, it isn't there. So, maybe a better way to think about is, the longer you spend preparing for some particular event (like a bus, a PhD, or True Love) the more committed you become to that thing and the less likely you are to sell out and marry a stock broker who will buy you a big rock. If this is true, it is kind of about personal belief systems and self-assigned identity (ie, "I am going to be a professior").
I never described Bastille Day with Gitte in Paris. It's kind of too late, but I do want to say that fire works are so much better when they are framed around a great piece of architecture like the Eiffel Tower. It also provides opportunities for the addition of light shows against the structure.
Everyone who has even been dependent on Muni (San Francisco's public transportation system) is familiar with the truism of waiting for the bus: the longer you wait the more committed you become to using that particular mode (as opposed to a taxi or walking, for example). The bus is both inexpensive and realitively quick, once it arrives and if you have already waited a long time you become invested in those benefits. And of course walking is only faster if you start right away and not if first you wait for 20 minutes. You with me?
So, the other month, Eric was talking about a friend of his who had been with the same woman for like 12 years and how this guy said that he didn't think he could ever get used to another woman if, god forbid, something happened to this one. This got me to thinking about how the waiting for the bus truism (is there a better word to call that?) applies to relationships. Eric was quick to point out that there is a different between being used to someone and this, but I am not sure. Do you think that the longer you do any one thing, like being with a person, waiting for a transportation mode, or working in a certain field, the more committed you become to it?
Put like that, I think the bus thing is more complicated bc when you are waiting for it, it isn't there. So, maybe a better way to think about is, the longer you spend preparing for some particular event (like a bus, a PhD, or True Love) the more committed you become to that thing and the less likely you are to sell out and marry a stock broker who will buy you a big rock. If this is true, it is kind of about personal belief systems and self-assigned identity (ie, "I am going to be a professior").
What else happened in Ljubljiana
After my last post on Ljubljiana, I had an did the boat tour of the city and then had an ice cream sunday for dinner. Here is what I learned on the boat tour:
* in the middle ages, it was thought that water was bad for the skin so people stopped washing, which put the washing houses out of business and also caused disease all over Europe.
* the town square is not a square any more -- it is a wide street with parking....
* in the 15th C, the jews were forced out of Ljub by the city government. Now there are about 200 jews in Slovenia, and most people are roman catholic.
* Ljubljiana means flood in latin. Now the marshes are drained but the city originally was placed on river marshes.
* there is an open air library by the side of the river where anyone can go an read a book. it's a new project (started last year), and very cute.
* the Tripple Bridge is the only bridge in the world with trees growing on it. (is this true? I remember Grayson's friend Chris Kent putting trees on the Bay Bridge as one design idea.)
* the oldest known wheel was found in the marshes outside Ljub.
* in the middle ages, it was thought that water was bad for the skin so people stopped washing, which put the washing houses out of business and also caused disease all over Europe.
* the town square is not a square any more -- it is a wide street with parking....
* in the 15th C, the jews were forced out of Ljub by the city government. Now there are about 200 jews in Slovenia, and most people are roman catholic.
* Ljubljiana means flood in latin. Now the marshes are drained but the city originally was placed on river marshes.
* there is an open air library by the side of the river where anyone can go an read a book. it's a new project (started last year), and very cute.
* the Tripple Bridge is the only bridge in the world with trees growing on it. (is this true? I remember Grayson's friend Chris Kent putting trees on the Bay Bridge as one design idea.)
* the oldest known wheel was found in the marshes outside Ljub.
Bled, Bohinj, swans and gorges
It's pouring rain here in Bohinj and not only is there nothing much to do, there isn't even really in indoor space to be or a sidewalk to walk on. I wrote in my journal earlier today... "... we're sitting in a patio restaurant under huge umbrellas that the water sprinkles around the edges of. The mountains rise up, covered in dark green trees, from the lake and the water is a clear light blue. I see fish. I wonder if it is even more beautiful today in the rain, shrouded in rain clouds, than on a clear day." We watch people, little families, paddling around the lake under the rain in canoes and kayaks. Karolina wanted to do that too, but I think I and the literally pouring rain discouraged her a little.
So, yes, we found each other again. While we had both said to meet in the city center, she decided it made more sense to wait at the bus station. But I checked at the bus station. We figured out much later, that she had actually been waiting at some random bus stop, where it would never have occurred to me to check. But we found each other again when I was walking around the lake and I saw Bruno and Mario swimming naked in the lake. (Actually, Mario was clothed and on the shore, but Bruno was naked, which was a little disturbing.)
But between that time and my last entry I wandered around the town of Bled and then went for a swim in the lake. There was also an open water swimming race, which I accidentally almost got in the way of. The water was lovely and the place I swam included a water slide. So, I and about 15 little children ran up the stairs and then slide down the slide over and over creating a trail of little wet pitter pattering feet.
For no particular reason I decided to go for a walk after my swim and that's when I found the Italians. Karolina was walking around the lake with this Slovenian man we are hoping she will someday marry who she had met in Ljubljiana.
So, they checked into the hostel and then we all went out for pizza.
The next day we all took the short hike up to the castle on top of the hill overlooking the lake. It would be a lovely place to live, but now it includes an exhibition on its own history and various other gimmicks like a cellar where you bottle your own wine and an artist studio where they sell color photocopies as if they are originals.
Bruno, Mario, and Karolina left for more remote places, and I spent my afternoon rafting. A couple of gorgeous blond English girls befriended me so that I wasn't completely alone and the other people on our 8-person raft included 3 Dutch swimmers from the previous days open water race. The river was tame, and the tour was definitely a packaged deal as our guide intentionally made us run into rocks and tried to get us the tip the boat over at one point, just for the excitement. We went down the rider with a group of about 10 rafts -- they must be making a killing. We also "body surfed" and swam alongside the raft for a while too. At the end there was a point where we were programmed to jump off a bridge 3 m above the river, but I just couldn't make myself get back in that freezing cold water again (even with a wet suit), plus I was worried about losing one of my (disposable) contacts like I almost did the previous day, but the bottom line is that I wimped out.
After that I walked around the lake (6 km), which was so pretty. One of my favorite things about it was these 2 baby swans that swam around with their mother. They are so awkward and while they swim fine, the don't walk fine, and when eating the glass they just had to lie down and bc their legs aren't strong enough to hold them up. I took about 12 pictures of them.
The next morning (yesterday) I took a hike out to the gorge, which was also very beautiful and I took about 30 photos, and then the bus to Bohinj. Karolina send me directions to the guest house that lacked a name, street name, or number, but I managed to find it by knocking on ever door along the street where it probably was (there's really only one street). The place is run by a little old lady with greasy hair and dirty finger nails who also has a farm (really, it is a farm -- there are chicken and a barn full of hay in the adjacent building). I saw her raising a big pile of hay to the upper part of the barn using a rope and pully. It's 11 euro a night (about $13) which makes it even OK that it's raining.
While I was away from the group Karolina and the Italians fell out, it appears bc she wouldn't sleep with Bruno, and they are ignoring me as well for some reason. It's fine with me, but I think she's a bit upset. You know, macho Italians and all.
So, yes, we found each other again. While we had both said to meet in the city center, she decided it made more sense to wait at the bus station. But I checked at the bus station. We figured out much later, that she had actually been waiting at some random bus stop, where it would never have occurred to me to check. But we found each other again when I was walking around the lake and I saw Bruno and Mario swimming naked in the lake. (Actually, Mario was clothed and on the shore, but Bruno was naked, which was a little disturbing.)
But between that time and my last entry I wandered around the town of Bled and then went for a swim in the lake. There was also an open water swimming race, which I accidentally almost got in the way of. The water was lovely and the place I swam included a water slide. So, I and about 15 little children ran up the stairs and then slide down the slide over and over creating a trail of little wet pitter pattering feet.
For no particular reason I decided to go for a walk after my swim and that's when I found the Italians. Karolina was walking around the lake with this Slovenian man we are hoping she will someday marry who she had met in Ljubljiana.
So, they checked into the hostel and then we all went out for pizza.
The next day we all took the short hike up to the castle on top of the hill overlooking the lake. It would be a lovely place to live, but now it includes an exhibition on its own history and various other gimmicks like a cellar where you bottle your own wine and an artist studio where they sell color photocopies as if they are originals.
Bruno, Mario, and Karolina left for more remote places, and I spent my afternoon rafting. A couple of gorgeous blond English girls befriended me so that I wasn't completely alone and the other people on our 8-person raft included 3 Dutch swimmers from the previous days open water race. The river was tame, and the tour was definitely a packaged deal as our guide intentionally made us run into rocks and tried to get us the tip the boat over at one point, just for the excitement. We went down the rider with a group of about 10 rafts -- they must be making a killing. We also "body surfed" and swam alongside the raft for a while too. At the end there was a point where we were programmed to jump off a bridge 3 m above the river, but I just couldn't make myself get back in that freezing cold water again (even with a wet suit), plus I was worried about losing one of my (disposable) contacts like I almost did the previous day, but the bottom line is that I wimped out.
After that I walked around the lake (6 km), which was so pretty. One of my favorite things about it was these 2 baby swans that swam around with their mother. They are so awkward and while they swim fine, the don't walk fine, and when eating the glass they just had to lie down and bc their legs aren't strong enough to hold them up. I took about 12 pictures of them.
The next morning (yesterday) I took a hike out to the gorge, which was also very beautiful and I took about 30 photos, and then the bus to Bohinj. Karolina send me directions to the guest house that lacked a name, street name, or number, but I managed to find it by knocking on ever door along the street where it probably was (there's really only one street). The place is run by a little old lady with greasy hair and dirty finger nails who also has a farm (really, it is a farm -- there are chicken and a barn full of hay in the adjacent building). I saw her raising a big pile of hay to the upper part of the barn using a rope and pully. It's 11 euro a night (about $13) which makes it even OK that it's raining.
While I was away from the group Karolina and the Italians fell out, it appears bc she wouldn't sleep with Bruno, and they are ignoring me as well for some reason. It's fine with me, but I think she's a bit upset. You know, macho Italians and all.
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