One of the big benefits of working in the field of international education is the diverse and interesting group of people you meet.
Of course, this can happen in any occupation but when you travel and live in foreign lands you meet an extraordinary array of individuals that you would not normally cross if you had stayed at home. Zeren Earls comes to my mind today as the New Year approaches.
Zeren was one of a small group of people to establish the First Night movement in Boston in 1976. She was its Executive Director for many years until just recently. First Night is an artistic and cultural celebration held on the day and evening of December 31st. The First Night celebration has spread from Boston to numerous cities around the world. If you live in an urban area, perhaps you will be attending a First Night event today?
I know her, though, from a completely different world. Zeren graduated from a very good private school in Istanbul years before I become its Director in 1992. She went on to become the first Turkish girl to receive a full scholarship from Duke University. Her education took place in the late 1950s and early sixties. This was an extraordinary, almost unbelievable achievement for a Turkish girl some 50 years ago.
In addition to wearing her very significant First Night hat, Zeren served as the chair of a non-profit Board here in the United States whose purpose is to support several prominent bilingual schools and a hospital in Turkey – all of which continue to flourish today. She never forgot her roots in far off Anatolia.
Although I haven’t seen Zeren in a couple of years, I relate this story because I think of the light that one person can bring to so many.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Friday, December 28, 2007
Seasonal Awards ~~ or a Few Destinations if I'm Asked ~~
Without being completely self-serving –after all, one of the purposes of this blog is to write about travel – here are two particular places I enjoyed in 2007… these were all visited in BB-time (before the blog) so you won’t find reference to them in previous posts.
Nicest surprise ? Medellin, Colombia
The former drug capital of the Americas and the city with perhaps the worst reputation is actually quite pleasant and interesting. Nestled in The Aburrá Valley of the northern Andes – in the Colombian province of Antiquia - Medellin has extensive public parks filled with lush landscaping and a profusion of flowers. Indeed, the Festival of the Flowers, so the tourist brochures say, is the most important festival of the region and it takes place every August. Medellin also claims to be the educational capital of Colombia with some 25 colleges and universities.
It is also much, much safer than at the nadir of its reputation twenty years ago - see Business Week's favorable review of Colombia on May 28, 2007.
The defining physical feature of Medellin (besides its verdant mountainous setting) is its metro : apparently one of the world’s longest (at 15 miles from north to south!), cleanist and most efficient. Each station and every metro car is meticulously spotless and trains run every two minutes. I rode it (with my hosts) to the metro-cable branch which rises up as an aerial tramway above the city. What a marvel !
Medellin is also home of the artist Fernando Botero (he of the fat people fame) and the Plazo Botero, naturally displays a large – no pun - selection of his bronze sculptures.
Central Europe’s Best? Krakow, Poland
I was lucky enough to visit Krakow or Cracow in the spring when the nice weather had arrived in southern Poland. Krakow is the ancient capital of this central European country and is home to several leading universities. Luckily, most of the city, like not so distant Prague, was undamaged in WW II which accounts for its overwhelming “old world” charm. Not much has changed in terms of its physical layout since the 14th century.
The old town is truly lovely with its vast central market square, churches (this was home to John Paul II you’ll recall), shops, restaurants and cafes. Wawel Castle overlooks the meandering Vistula River. The old Jewish quarter, the Kazimierz, is being revitalized – no small miracle in this place of heartbreak for the Jewish people.
Krakow is a good jumping off point to explore the Carpathian Mountains which rise up just to the south of the city.
This city is a gem! Interestingly, though, a Pole I’ve met since then at a workshop claims that Wroclaw, the capital of Lower Silesia, is just as beautiful. Now what’s an excuse to get there?
Nicest surprise ? Medellin, Colombia
The former drug capital of the Americas and the city with perhaps the worst reputation is actually quite pleasant and interesting. Nestled in The Aburrá Valley of the northern Andes – in the Colombian province of Antiquia - Medellin has extensive public parks filled with lush landscaping and a profusion of flowers. Indeed, the Festival of the Flowers, so the tourist brochures say, is the most important festival of the region and it takes place every August. Medellin also claims to be the educational capital of Colombia with some 25 colleges and universities.
It is also much, much safer than at the nadir of its reputation twenty years ago - see Business Week's favorable review of Colombia on May 28, 2007.
The defining physical feature of Medellin (besides its verdant mountainous setting) is its metro : apparently one of the world’s longest (at 15 miles from north to south!), cleanist and most efficient. Each station and every metro car is meticulously spotless and trains run every two minutes. I rode it (with my hosts) to the metro-cable branch which rises up as an aerial tramway above the city. What a marvel !
Medellin is also home of the artist Fernando Botero (he of the fat people fame) and the Plazo Botero, naturally displays a large – no pun - selection of his bronze sculptures.
Central Europe’s Best? Krakow, Poland
I was lucky enough to visit Krakow or Cracow in the spring when the nice weather had arrived in southern Poland. Krakow is the ancient capital of this central European country and is home to several leading universities. Luckily, most of the city, like not so distant Prague, was undamaged in WW II which accounts for its overwhelming “old world” charm. Not much has changed in terms of its physical layout since the 14th century.
The old town is truly lovely with its vast central market square, churches (this was home to John Paul II you’ll recall), shops, restaurants and cafes. Wawel Castle overlooks the meandering Vistula River. The old Jewish quarter, the Kazimierz, is being revitalized – no small miracle in this place of heartbreak for the Jewish people.
Krakow is a good jumping off point to explore the Carpathian Mountains which rise up just to the south of the city.
This city is a gem! Interestingly, though, a Pole I’ve met since then at a workshop claims that Wroclaw, the capital of Lower Silesia, is just as beautiful. Now what’s an excuse to get there?
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Seasonal Awards ~~ a Short List ~~
Everyone is giving out awards this time of year or making lists. Here’s a sampling of what you see when you walk past the magazines:
208 places to visit in 2008 – 15 tax tricks your advisor won’t advise – 10 quick meals for granny – 3 poems you wish you had memorized. You get it.
Luckily for you, dear Reader, I’ve misplaced my full list. I was assiduously recording various impressions during the year getting ready for this very moment.
Alas, I think the list is on the back of a hotel bill that I submitted as an expense a few weeks ago. Imagine! My own cherished tally now filed away in an accountant’s office.
I do remember a few – nothing comprehensive here - so let’s get them recorded for posterity:
In the area of travel I’m a contrarian but hats off to the airlines. That’s what you just read. Kudos airlineos. The Clermont Blogger flew 32 flight segments between September and December and with only one delay (Brussels to Madrid, fog over Iberia). Zero lost or delayed bags. No disrespectful flight attendants or rude gate agents.
I know I’m pressing my luck here but a zillion people fly each week and most get to their destination on time. Stop fussing everyone and get over it. And thank you NW, KL and CO.
For the foodies out there - on the fly - try the Oysters Baton Rouge with a glass of white wine at Pappadeaux inside of Houston’s George Bush International Airport. It’s the one place I’d welcome a long delay.
Best hotel meal - the Bavarian plate at the Movenpick Airport Hotel, Munich. On Saturday evenings it’s the roast pork, white sausages, potato dumplings and heaps of sauerkraut. I didn’t say healthiest.
Most un-agreeable breakfast choice- herring in pickle sauce or was it pickles in herring sauce? at 6:35 a.m. in drizzly Antwerp.
Oddest menu translation – dimmed sea bass ... dimmed? – Hotel Principe Felipe, Madrid. Did they mean trimmed? slimmed? damned? Very tasty, though and I assume healthy, too.
Later this week, a few destinations I’d vote for if anyone asked me to make up a list.
208 places to visit in 2008 – 15 tax tricks your advisor won’t advise – 10 quick meals for granny – 3 poems you wish you had memorized. You get it.
Luckily for you, dear Reader, I’ve misplaced my full list. I was assiduously recording various impressions during the year getting ready for this very moment.
Alas, I think the list is on the back of a hotel bill that I submitted as an expense a few weeks ago. Imagine! My own cherished tally now filed away in an accountant’s office.
I do remember a few – nothing comprehensive here - so let’s get them recorded for posterity:
In the area of travel I’m a contrarian but hats off to the airlines. That’s what you just read. Kudos airlineos. The Clermont Blogger flew 32 flight segments between September and December and with only one delay (Brussels to Madrid, fog over Iberia). Zero lost or delayed bags. No disrespectful flight attendants or rude gate agents.
I know I’m pressing my luck here but a zillion people fly each week and most get to their destination on time. Stop fussing everyone and get over it. And thank you NW, KL and CO.
For the foodies out there - on the fly - try the Oysters Baton Rouge with a glass of white wine at Pappadeaux inside of Houston’s George Bush International Airport. It’s the one place I’d welcome a long delay.
Best hotel meal - the Bavarian plate at the Movenpick Airport Hotel, Munich. On Saturday evenings it’s the roast pork, white sausages, potato dumplings and heaps of sauerkraut. I didn’t say healthiest.
Most un-agreeable breakfast choice- herring in pickle sauce or was it pickles in herring sauce? at 6:35 a.m. in drizzly Antwerp.
Oddest menu translation – dimmed sea bass ... dimmed? – Hotel Principe Felipe, Madrid. Did they mean trimmed? slimmed? damned? Very tasty, though and I assume healthy, too.
Later this week, a few destinations I’d vote for if anyone asked me to make up a list.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Winter Soul-stice
It’s been a busy few weeks for those caught up in the business of inspiration, reflection and general navel gazing:
We gave thanks at Thanksgiving.
There followed Hanukkah and the Pearl Harbor Remembrance.
We attended a wedding two weeks ago. My birthday was a few days later.
Our friends in Turkey are celebrating Kurban Bayrami this week (“Eid” for the rest of the Middle East) as they observe the end of Ramadan.
Christmas and New Year’s Day are just around the corner.
Kwanzaa, the pan-African celebration falls in the middle.
Lord (so to speak). How much religious, civic, cultural and personal contemplation can one take in a short period? Wait…. There’s more!
Today is the winter solstice – a celestial celebration marking the passing of autumn and our arrival in Deepest Winter. This is shortest day of the year. In theory a general gloom has descended across the land. Scientists refer to wide spread seasonal affective disorder or SAD where people withdraw into a deep social hole.
Perhaps I should be writing this from northern Alaska? Or better yet on a remote and misty moor in Scotland watching old Macbeth deal with his ugly witches (you do remember this scene, dear Reader?). It’s one of my favorites:
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and howlet's wing,--
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and caldron, bubble.
Cover your heads and hide.
But hold on, dear Reader. The check, please. The reality check. I’m in Florida and the sun is shinning. It’s a near perfect day.
The weather guy on TV made a point of saying twice that there will be a full moon soon – on Christmas Eve no less – a positive omen if there was one.
We have turned the corner on the calendar and light, spring, warmth and hope are ahead.
Ah. One minor problem. I haven’t done any holiday shopping yet. The dreaded mall calls. The crowds, the choices, the frenzy!
Now there’s a blow for optimism.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Write or Wrong*
Funny, how things come your way.
When you create a blog you invariably think about writing. After all, the blog is your personal on-line diary ready for the world to read. You try to get the writing “right” – so to speak.
But sometimes the ideas dry up. Where’s the muse you say?
Then something comes your way.
Two weeks ago, while sipping a bowl of squash soup in a small café in Stowe, Vermont - awaiting a Currier and Ives wedding on a snowy afternoon- I find myself coveting the sports section from the guy next to me, a classic grilled cheese sandwich type. The man is big and burly, wears a hunting jacket and a moose-type flap cap. He has a tiny radio thingy in his ear. Maybe he’s the fire chief?
I have to settle for the paper’s coffee-stained Section D: Living with its headline: Memory garlands and wreaths honor love ones who are absent this holiday. Now that’s an attention getter … how interesting.
Hold on! the slim column on the left hand side - which is easy to miss with the huge green and red wreath drawing in the middle of the page – is about writing.
Am I write or wrong? posits the Burlington Free Press columnist Debbie Salomon.
Ms. Salomon traces her early introduction to writing – no surprise here – through the influence of her mother, a math teacher. Her mom placed 10 new vocabulary words each week on the family fridge which caught Debbie’s eye and young mind. Debbie goes on in the column, “the mathematics of writing involve sentence structure, timing, cadence, repetition, variety and other nuances that add up to style”. Now there’s a lovely turn of words.
She adds this: “writing has assumed a new importance now that the SAT exams include an essay. Suddenly, everybody is organizing words into clear, action-packed sentences that develop a thought from beginning to middle to end.”
So I finish her article and the tasty soup and see the sports section left abandoned by the fire chief. But I’m no longer interested in last night’s basketball scores or the weekend’s football line. The muse has returned in Debbie Salomon and her thoughtful thoughts about writing.
* Am I Write or Wrong by Debbie Salomon
http://www.burlingtonfreepress.com/
When you create a blog you invariably think about writing. After all, the blog is your personal on-line diary ready for the world to read. You try to get the writing “right” – so to speak.
But sometimes the ideas dry up. Where’s the muse you say?
Then something comes your way.
Two weeks ago, while sipping a bowl of squash soup in a small café in Stowe, Vermont - awaiting a Currier and Ives wedding on a snowy afternoon- I find myself coveting the sports section from the guy next to me, a classic grilled cheese sandwich type. The man is big and burly, wears a hunting jacket and a moose-type flap cap. He has a tiny radio thingy in his ear. Maybe he’s the fire chief?
I have to settle for the paper’s coffee-stained Section D: Living with its headline: Memory garlands and wreaths honor love ones who are absent this holiday. Now that’s an attention getter … how interesting.
Hold on! the slim column on the left hand side - which is easy to miss with the huge green and red wreath drawing in the middle of the page – is about writing.
Am I write or wrong? posits the Burlington Free Press columnist Debbie Salomon.
Ms. Salomon traces her early introduction to writing – no surprise here – through the influence of her mother, a math teacher. Her mom placed 10 new vocabulary words each week on the family fridge which caught Debbie’s eye and young mind. Debbie goes on in the column, “the mathematics of writing involve sentence structure, timing, cadence, repetition, variety and other nuances that add up to style”. Now there’s a lovely turn of words.
She adds this: “writing has assumed a new importance now that the SAT exams include an essay. Suddenly, everybody is organizing words into clear, action-packed sentences that develop a thought from beginning to middle to end.”
So I finish her article and the tasty soup and see the sports section left abandoned by the fire chief. But I’m no longer interested in last night’s basketball scores or the weekend’s football line. The muse has returned in Debbie Salomon and her thoughtful thoughts about writing.
* Am I Write or Wrong by Debbie Salomon
http://www.burlingtonfreepress.com/
Monday, December 17, 2007
Bye, Bye Belgium (revisted)!
The Clermont Blog is one step ahead!
If you revisit the November 24, 2007 post Bye, Bye Belgium you'll remember that we commented upon the maladies affecting Europe "capital state" including political, social and linguistic factors.
So - somewhat satisfactorily - we read in this morning's Yahoo! News the following:
New Miss Belgium gets Flemish tongues wagging
2 hours, 43 minutes ago, December 17, 2007
BRUSSELS (AFP) - Belgium's political tensions entered the glamour stakes after it was revealed that the new Miss Belgium does not speak Dutch.
Alizee Poulicek, who comes from the country's French-speaking region, was booed by some of the 4,000 audience when she admitted that she could not understand a question put to her in Dutch at the contest on Saturday night in the main Flemish city of Antwerp.
Poulicek, a 20-year-old language student, speaks French, Czech and English, but Flemish tabloid daily Het Laatste Niuews headlined its Monday edition with: "Miss Belgium does not speak Dutch".
http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20071217/od_afp/belgiumpoliticspeopleoffbeat
Alas, dear Reader. You knew this already from your Clermont Blog
If you revisit the November 24, 2007 post Bye, Bye Belgium you'll remember that we commented upon the maladies affecting Europe "capital state" including political, social and linguistic factors.
So - somewhat satisfactorily - we read in this morning's Yahoo! News the following:
New Miss Belgium gets Flemish tongues wagging
2 hours, 43 minutes ago, December 17, 2007
BRUSSELS (AFP) - Belgium's political tensions entered the glamour stakes after it was revealed that the new Miss Belgium does not speak Dutch.
Alizee Poulicek, who comes from the country's French-speaking region, was booed by some of the 4,000 audience when she admitted that she could not understand a question put to her in Dutch at the contest on Saturday night in the main Flemish city of Antwerp.
Poulicek, a 20-year-old language student, speaks French, Czech and English, but Flemish tabloid daily Het Laatste Niuews headlined its Monday edition with: "Miss Belgium does not speak Dutch".
http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20071217/od_afp/belgiumpoliticspeopleoffbeat
Alas, dear Reader. You knew this already from your Clermont Blog
Friday, December 14, 2007
A Tale of Two Airports
Here’s the scene at Atlanta’s busy airport one afternoon a few weeks ago (and just slightly exaggerated):
To everyone: 3 lines, folks. Not 2! Not 4! 3 lines only for security,
To everyone: laptops out, folks. Jackets and coats come off. No water bottles. Plastics, meds etc. must be in a one quart bag,
To everyone: belts off before you get to the X-ray machine. The big fella there – off with your belt or back to the end of the line,
To the boy with baggy, saggy pants: take those ear-rings off,
To the teenage girl with her headphones plugged in (and can’t hear): your braces will set off the x-ray machine,
To the elderly man with a hearing aid (and can’t hear): take those metal flags off your shirt,
To the guy with the B-for-Boston Red Sox cap: both shoes come off – are you Irish?
To the big, muscular ex-Marine-type carrying several huge bowling balls in a travel bag -supervisor! supervisor!
To everyone – 3 lines, 3 lines, 3 lines, 3 lines, 3 lines!
Here’s the scene at Munich’s busy airport one morning a few weeks ago:
Mostly silence. Some background noise but not much.
Arriving passengers queue up behind the person in front of them (logical, it seems). The security people nod and gesture but do not speak. There are three large TV screens above the lines showing animated characters removing jackets and belts. Several signs with the red diagonal warning symbol are placed along the security area: no weapons, no liquids, no electronic devices.
Everything is so simple. Everyone knows what to do – wordlessly.
To everyone: 3 lines, folks. Not 2! Not 4! 3 lines only for security,
To everyone: laptops out, folks. Jackets and coats come off. No water bottles. Plastics, meds etc. must be in a one quart bag,
To everyone: belts off before you get to the X-ray machine. The big fella there – off with your belt or back to the end of the line,
To the boy with baggy, saggy pants: take those ear-rings off,
To the teenage girl with her headphones plugged in (and can’t hear): your braces will set off the x-ray machine,
To the elderly man with a hearing aid (and can’t hear): take those metal flags off your shirt,
To the guy with the B-for-Boston Red Sox cap: both shoes come off – are you Irish?
To the big, muscular ex-Marine-type carrying several huge bowling balls in a travel bag -supervisor! supervisor!
To everyone – 3 lines, 3 lines, 3 lines, 3 lines, 3 lines!
Here’s the scene at Munich’s busy airport one morning a few weeks ago:
Mostly silence. Some background noise but not much.
Arriving passengers queue up behind the person in front of them (logical, it seems). The security people nod and gesture but do not speak. There are three large TV screens above the lines showing animated characters removing jackets and belts. Several signs with the red diagonal warning symbol are placed along the security area: no weapons, no liquids, no electronic devices.
Everything is so simple. Everyone knows what to do – wordlessly.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Bats, Balls and Goals #3
My mind meanders.
A few weeks ago I wrote with enthusiasm about the Euro-Cup 2008 draw. I was in Europe then and it was all the news although the championship itself won't be played until June.
Now I’m back in the Land of the Bowls – American college football’s long farewell to its autumn season. Why I just read today in the Daily Splash that this coming Bowl Season has 32 games. Growing up in the 1960s it seemed that there were just a few marquee games played between Christmas and New Year's Day. 32!
Anyway, here is the Euro-Cup 2008 draw in its tidy 4 team, 4 division format:
Group A: Swiss, Czech, Portugal and Turkey
Group B: Austria, Croatia, Germany and Poland
Group C: Netherlands, Italy, Romania and France
Group D: Greece, Sweden, Spain and Russia
You don’t have to be a big-time football (soccer) aficionado to see that Group C is the power block. You’ll also note that no team from the British Isles made the cut which is nothing short of scandalous across the big pond. The Greeks won the title in 2004. Can they repeat in 2008? Is it conceivable - how enticing - that they would play Turkey (probably not)? Can little Austria and Switzerland (co-hosts) advance? Probably not.
Here’s what I think. Watch Portugal, Croatia, Romania and Spain.
See you in June.
A few weeks ago I wrote with enthusiasm about the Euro-Cup 2008 draw. I was in Europe then and it was all the news although the championship itself won't be played until June.
Now I’m back in the Land of the Bowls – American college football’s long farewell to its autumn season. Why I just read today in the Daily Splash that this coming Bowl Season has 32 games. Growing up in the 1960s it seemed that there were just a few marquee games played between Christmas and New Year's Day. 32!
Anyway, here is the Euro-Cup 2008 draw in its tidy 4 team, 4 division format:
Group A: Swiss, Czech, Portugal and Turkey
Group B: Austria, Croatia, Germany and Poland
Group C: Netherlands, Italy, Romania and France
Group D: Greece, Sweden, Spain and Russia
You don’t have to be a big-time football (soccer) aficionado to see that Group C is the power block. You’ll also note that no team from the British Isles made the cut which is nothing short of scandalous across the big pond. The Greeks won the title in 2004. Can they repeat in 2008? Is it conceivable - how enticing - that they would play Turkey (probably not)? Can little Austria and Switzerland (co-hosts) advance? Probably not.
Here’s what I think. Watch Portugal, Croatia, Romania and Spain.
See you in June.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
River of Grass
There are several reasons why I like using Ft. Lauderdale airport (FLL).
The airport itself is compact: not 5 minutes from airside to the parking garage. Secondly, the highway to the west coast (and home) begins right at the airport entrance. You literally cannot get lost unless you back out of the rental car space and onto the runway – and then you have another problem.
Here’s the real reason why I like using FLL – not twenty minutes distant the local road gives way to I-75 and ahead as far as you can see is Florida’s vast “River of Grass” - the Everglades. It’s really quite a sight – especially on a clear and cool December afternoon.
The Everglades covers some 2,000 square miles on the lower third of the peninsula down to the Gulf of Mexico. It is a natural fresh-water ecosystem where water moves very slowly through the vast marshes.
Crossing “alligator alley” as it is known locally takes about 2 hours. The highway planners have given drivers ample rest areas to stop and view the open water sloughs and vast sawgrass prairie which extends to the horizon. Look carefully and you can see the beady eyes of alligators. In the steamy summer months you don’t have to look carefully – the big reptiles are everywhere along the (fenced) road.
All is not perfect, though. The Everglades have been badly damaged by Big Agriculture, relentless drainage and poor urban planning. The estimated price tag to repair all this, including the restoration of the Kissimmee River to its natural, meandering state (it was mistakenly straightened years ago by the Army Corp of Engineers) is around $10 - $15 billion. Now there’s an error for the record books.
In the meantime, if you are ever down this way, seeing the River of Grass is a good excuse for using FLL.
The airport itself is compact: not 5 minutes from airside to the parking garage. Secondly, the highway to the west coast (and home) begins right at the airport entrance. You literally cannot get lost unless you back out of the rental car space and onto the runway – and then you have another problem.
Here’s the real reason why I like using FLL – not twenty minutes distant the local road gives way to I-75 and ahead as far as you can see is Florida’s vast “River of Grass” - the Everglades. It’s really quite a sight – especially on a clear and cool December afternoon.
The Everglades covers some 2,000 square miles on the lower third of the peninsula down to the Gulf of Mexico. It is a natural fresh-water ecosystem where water moves very slowly through the vast marshes.
Crossing “alligator alley” as it is known locally takes about 2 hours. The highway planners have given drivers ample rest areas to stop and view the open water sloughs and vast sawgrass prairie which extends to the horizon. Look carefully and you can see the beady eyes of alligators. In the steamy summer months you don’t have to look carefully – the big reptiles are everywhere along the (fenced) road.
All is not perfect, though. The Everglades have been badly damaged by Big Agriculture, relentless drainage and poor urban planning. The estimated price tag to repair all this, including the restoration of the Kissimmee River to its natural, meandering state (it was mistakenly straightened years ago by the Army Corp of Engineers) is around $10 - $15 billion. Now there’s an error for the record books.
In the meantime, if you are ever down this way, seeing the River of Grass is a good excuse for using FLL.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
The Bahamas in 3.6 Hours
I’m sure there is little sympathy out there in the blogosphere for these postings that begin with “ ___ in 3.6 hours”
That quick visit to Napa in October and now the Bahamas on the hop prompted the title.
This is what I wrote two months ago to refresh your memory, dear Reader:
Here’s the good news about my job: I get to travel extensively. Here’s the bad news: often I don’t have time to see anything. Do you know the New York Times travel column “36 Hours”? – a lucky correspondent has a weekend days to visit a place. Well, my version of that would be a column called 3.6 Hours.
Alas, even if I had the time --- one doesn’t “do” the Bahamas so quickly. The brochure in my room attempts to correct some common misconceptions:
1) The Bahamas is an independent country of some 250,000 residents,
2) The Bahamas geographically is comprised of 700 islands and cays in 40 “family” groupings.
It would take weeks to do the archipelago properly and that yacht (there are more boats in Freeport than cars) just outside by the dock would do nicely, thank you. Several million you say?
I’ll pass. Back to work.
That quick visit to Napa in October and now the Bahamas on the hop prompted the title.
This is what I wrote two months ago to refresh your memory, dear Reader:
Here’s the good news about my job: I get to travel extensively. Here’s the bad news: often I don’t have time to see anything. Do you know the New York Times travel column “36 Hours”? – a lucky correspondent has a weekend days to visit a place. Well, my version of that would be a column called 3.6 Hours.
Alas, even if I had the time --- one doesn’t “do” the Bahamas so quickly. The brochure in my room attempts to correct some common misconceptions:
1) The Bahamas is an independent country of some 250,000 residents,
2) The Bahamas geographically is comprised of 700 islands and cays in 40 “family” groupings.
It would take weeks to do the archipelago properly and that yacht (there are more boats in Freeport than cars) just outside by the dock would do nicely, thank you. Several million you say?
I’ll pass. Back to work.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Hurricane Season drifts away (thankfully)
Yesterday marked the official end of the 2007 Atlantic hurricane season, an event much noted here in Florida.
I can’t confirm this but I assume they’ve packed up the red and black warning flags at the National Hurricane Center in Miami and have placed the “gone fishing” sign on the radar screens.
Bars were reportedly full of imbibing Floridians last night celebrating this news (an alternate theory is they were sulking due to the absence of a state team in either the SEC or ACC championship games today).
Luckily we missed the Big Zap this season. Most Floridians are still paying dearly (higher insurance premiums) for the grim 2004 and 2005 hurricane seasons when seven major storms crossed the state.
Hurricanes have an odd fascination (my opinion). Unlike other disasters – earthquakes, tornados or lightning strikes – hurricanes give ample notice of their pending arrival. Many of these big storms hang out in the western Atlantic or Caribbean for days lingering, trying to make up their minds, as though there were some type of nautical “stop” sign holding them back. Think of the music to JAWS being played relentlessly at shopping centers here from June to November …. It’s enough to put anyone on edge.
Hurricane Wilma did a perfect head-fake over Cancun two years ago, looked west... turned east ... and bashed us just as we had become complacent and bored with the 12 day saga of her meandering track. Go figure.
Anyway, amen to the Hurricane Gods and that big Bermuda high-pressure area that kept us safe this season.
I can’t confirm this but I assume they’ve packed up the red and black warning flags at the National Hurricane Center in Miami and have placed the “gone fishing” sign on the radar screens.
Bars were reportedly full of imbibing Floridians last night celebrating this news (an alternate theory is they were sulking due to the absence of a state team in either the SEC or ACC championship games today).
Luckily we missed the Big Zap this season. Most Floridians are still paying dearly (higher insurance premiums) for the grim 2004 and 2005 hurricane seasons when seven major storms crossed the state.
Hurricanes have an odd fascination (my opinion). Unlike other disasters – earthquakes, tornados or lightning strikes – hurricanes give ample notice of their pending arrival. Many of these big storms hang out in the western Atlantic or Caribbean for days lingering, trying to make up their minds, as though there were some type of nautical “stop” sign holding them back. Think of the music to JAWS being played relentlessly at shopping centers here from June to November …. It’s enough to put anyone on edge.
Hurricane Wilma did a perfect head-fake over Cancun two years ago, looked west... turned east ... and bashed us just as we had become complacent and bored with the 12 day saga of her meandering track. Go figure.
Anyway, amen to the Hurricane Gods and that big Bermuda high-pressure area that kept us safe this season.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Bats, Balls and Goals #2
The Clermont stands corrected!
The Lively Albatross from the blogosphere has rightly pointed out that the Toronto Blue Jays played in and won the World Series in 1992 and 1993. And, of course, Toronto is ... just .... outside of the US. Well done... although I think my point is still valid.
It is also great to know that someone is reading your blog.
Let me see if I can do justice by linking or at least leading you to the Lively Albatross (great name by the way):
http://lively-albatross.blogspot.com/
The Lively Albatross from the blogosphere has rightly pointed out that the Toronto Blue Jays played in and won the World Series in 1992 and 1993. And, of course, Toronto is ... just .... outside of the US. Well done... although I think my point is still valid.
It is also great to know that someone is reading your blog.
Let me see if I can do justice by linking or at least leading you to the Lively Albatross (great name by the way):
http://lively-albatross.blogspot.com/
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Bats, Balls and Goals
One of the oddities of the American sports scene (my opinion) is the habit of calling the baseball championship the “World Series.” Let’s see – when was the last time an international team played in this event?
2007 Boston vs. Colorado
1997 Florida vs. Cleveland
1987 Minnesota vs. St. Louis
1977 New York vs. Los Angeles
1967 St. Louis vs. Boston
1957 Milwaukee vs. New York
1947 New York vs. Brooklyn
1937 N.Y. Yankees vs. N.Y. Giants
And so on...
You are sharp, dear Reader. The answer is never before has an international team played in the World Series. So why do we insist on calling it what it is not? Probably “tradition” or simply no one has thought of a better name.
Obviously, this is not important enough to bring to the attention of the presidential candidates’ debate so I’ll drop the topic here and now.
On the other hand, nearly every county in the world gets a shot at soccer’s [football] World Cup - now there's a name - that is contested every four year. The next edition is scheduled for 2010 in South Africa.
On a smaller scale – but no less exciting for football fans – is the Euro 2008 competition that is now underway. Forty-eight countries (this is Europe in the very broad sense from Kazakhstan in the east to Ireland in the west) have just finished the preliminary rounds that began in August 2006. The matches were a Big Deal in Euro-land when I was there earlier this month. If you ever want to blend in while travelling 'round the continent, know what's going on with the various football leagues. Fourteen international teams now remain to kick it out next June for the championship.
The draw for the early rounds in June will happen on December 2nd. Watch this space for another comment about Euro 2008.
2007 Boston vs. Colorado
1997 Florida vs. Cleveland
1987 Minnesota vs. St. Louis
1977 New York vs. Los Angeles
1967 St. Louis vs. Boston
1957 Milwaukee vs. New York
1947 New York vs. Brooklyn
1937 N.Y. Yankees vs. N.Y. Giants
And so on...
You are sharp, dear Reader. The answer is never before has an international team played in the World Series. So why do we insist on calling it what it is not? Probably “tradition” or simply no one has thought of a better name.
Obviously, this is not important enough to bring to the attention of the presidential candidates’ debate so I’ll drop the topic here and now.
On the other hand, nearly every county in the world gets a shot at soccer’s [football] World Cup - now there's a name - that is contested every four year. The next edition is scheduled for 2010 in South Africa.
On a smaller scale – but no less exciting for football fans – is the Euro 2008 competition that is now underway. Forty-eight countries (this is Europe in the very broad sense from Kazakhstan in the east to Ireland in the west) have just finished the preliminary rounds that began in August 2006. The matches were a Big Deal in Euro-land when I was there earlier this month. If you ever want to blend in while travelling 'round the continent, know what's going on with the various football leagues. Fourteen international teams now remain to kick it out next June for the championship.
The draw for the early rounds in June will happen on December 2nd. Watch this space for another comment about Euro 2008.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Euro-Buzz: Bye, Bye Belgium
Stories sometime take on a life of their own.
In September, before I began this blog, I made a visit to some of the international schools in Holland and Belgium where I happened to see the news articles cited below. I was startled to read that a western European country was on the verge of … well… dissolving! Over the past few busy months I haven't had the time to think about this until I returned to Europe two weeks ago. En route from Brussels airport, my taxi driver, with a litle prompting, went into a rant (in guttural Dutch-English) about the lazy Wallonians to the south and how they were wrecking the country. Then, a few nights ago in Madrid, the subject of the Belgium “divorce” surpisingly popped up again during a casual dinner. Here’s a snippet of conversation you would have overheard, dear Reader, had you been there.
Can’t quite place your accent, I said.
Try, she said.
New Orleans, I said.
Try again, she said.
Quebec, I said.
One more, she said.
Paris, I said.
Wrong, she said.
Where, I said.
Belgium, she said.
BELGIUM, I said.
Belgium, she said.
And so Claudet –the wife of someone at the end of the table – told me about growing up in the French- speaking university town of Liège where she and her friends were discouraged from speaking Dutch. She indicated that her elderly parents who still lived there hoped Belgium would be split into two with one part being absorbed by France and the other by Holland. Go figure. Here is what I wrote before I ran into the taxi driver and Claudet:
A confession. I've never taken much of an interest in Belgium. It's my problem, of course, not the locals.
When we lived in neighboring Holland, Belgium was a place to go for a decent lunch (some white asparagus with mussels in wine sauce, perhaps?) or a romantic weekend in the Ardennes.
These pleasantries aside, my general recollection, perhaps unfairly, is a place of drab industrial estates and grey cement factories along side dank shipping canals. The criss-crossing highways seemed to be forever crowded with slow moving trucks. And then there was the rain. Go this way in the drizzle and the signs are in French. Go that way in the downpour and the directions are in Dutch. A cynic (not me) would say Belgium is where you get petrol on the way to Paris. Remember the sixties movie? If It's Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium? You see? It's not just me.
Now I read that Belgium is dying. The local English paper in my hotel writes: Knives come out for Belgium. The noted Economist asks: Is Belgium Necessary? The International Herald Tribune poses the question: Can Belgium Survive?
Yikes! This is like hearing that a long lost friend or distant relative has cancer. When did we last speak to Freddy, dear? He looked so well in 1983. That sort of thing.
What's happening? Well, nothing new really for this unhappy bilingual nation except the problems are getting worse. The linguistic and culture divide (Dutch Flanders in the north and French Wallonia in the south) means separate schools, churches and media. Apparently, the important local parliamentary elections last June were inconclusive so... oops... there is no federal government. Now people on both side of the linguistic divide want to go their own way.
Napoleon Bonaparte met his Waterloo in ....Waterloo ...a village about 10 miles east of Brussels where his illustrious career came to a crashing end.
Is Belgium headed for its own Waterloo?
In September, before I began this blog, I made a visit to some of the international schools in Holland and Belgium where I happened to see the news articles cited below. I was startled to read that a western European country was on the verge of … well… dissolving! Over the past few busy months I haven't had the time to think about this until I returned to Europe two weeks ago. En route from Brussels airport, my taxi driver, with a litle prompting, went into a rant (in guttural Dutch-English) about the lazy Wallonians to the south and how they were wrecking the country. Then, a few nights ago in Madrid, the subject of the Belgium “divorce” surpisingly popped up again during a casual dinner. Here’s a snippet of conversation you would have overheard, dear Reader, had you been there.
Can’t quite place your accent, I said.
Try, she said.
New Orleans, I said.
Try again, she said.
Quebec, I said.
One more, she said.
Paris, I said.
Wrong, she said.
Where, I said.
Belgium, she said.
BELGIUM, I said.
Belgium, she said.
And so Claudet –the wife of someone at the end of the table – told me about growing up in the French- speaking university town of Liège where she and her friends were discouraged from speaking Dutch. She indicated that her elderly parents who still lived there hoped Belgium would be split into two with one part being absorbed by France and the other by Holland. Go figure. Here is what I wrote before I ran into the taxi driver and Claudet:
A confession. I've never taken much of an interest in Belgium. It's my problem, of course, not the locals.
When we lived in neighboring Holland, Belgium was a place to go for a decent lunch (some white asparagus with mussels in wine sauce, perhaps?) or a romantic weekend in the Ardennes.
These pleasantries aside, my general recollection, perhaps unfairly, is a place of drab industrial estates and grey cement factories along side dank shipping canals. The criss-crossing highways seemed to be forever crowded with slow moving trucks. And then there was the rain. Go this way in the drizzle and the signs are in French. Go that way in the downpour and the directions are in Dutch. A cynic (not me) would say Belgium is where you get petrol on the way to Paris. Remember the sixties movie? If It's Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium? You see? It's not just me.
Now I read that Belgium is dying. The local English paper in my hotel writes: Knives come out for Belgium. The noted Economist asks: Is Belgium Necessary? The International Herald Tribune poses the question: Can Belgium Survive?
Yikes! This is like hearing that a long lost friend or distant relative has cancer. When did we last speak to Freddy, dear? He looked so well in 1983. That sort of thing.
What's happening? Well, nothing new really for this unhappy bilingual nation except the problems are getting worse. The linguistic and culture divide (Dutch Flanders in the north and French Wallonia in the south) means separate schools, churches and media. Apparently, the important local parliamentary elections last June were inconclusive so... oops... there is no federal government. Now people on both side of the linguistic divide want to go their own way.
Napoleon Bonaparte met his Waterloo in ....Waterloo ...a village about 10 miles east of Brussels where his illustrious career came to a crashing end.
Is Belgium headed for its own Waterloo?
Monday, November 19, 2007
Euro-Buzz: The Drooping Dollar
Clack, clack, clack.
I’m writing this on the 14:35 intercity train from Amsterdam to Antwerp with stops, as they say, in Leiden, Rotterdam and Dordrecht. At this very moment (clack, clack, clack) we are crossing the Rhine estuary where the big river runs out to the North Sea. A typical November day: rain and fog so I assume there is something out the window.
Unless you’ve been living under a rock or spending all your vacation time at Disneyworld, you'll know that the U.S. dollar is getting hammered against the Euro. Really hammered. Not just on the nightly financial report but in the wallet - my wallet as a matter of fact.
Remember all those little bags of coins you carried when visiting Europe? Dutch guilders, Italian liras, German marks, Spanish pesetas and French francs? Well, just one bag now. The Euro makes traveling around the continent so much easier these days. However, the American traveler needs lots of ‘em. Bags of ‘em. Big bags. A few years ago the Euro was at $0.82 and is now about $1.48. That half bottle of wine at the station (a little tipple is most appropriate on a European train journey) costs $4.25 now instead of $2.50 just a few years ago.
Water, anyone?
I’m writing this on the 14:35 intercity train from Amsterdam to Antwerp with stops, as they say, in Leiden, Rotterdam and Dordrecht. At this very moment (clack, clack, clack) we are crossing the Rhine estuary where the big river runs out to the North Sea. A typical November day: rain and fog so I assume there is something out the window.
Unless you’ve been living under a rock or spending all your vacation time at Disneyworld, you'll know that the U.S. dollar is getting hammered against the Euro. Really hammered. Not just on the nightly financial report but in the wallet - my wallet as a matter of fact.
Remember all those little bags of coins you carried when visiting Europe? Dutch guilders, Italian liras, German marks, Spanish pesetas and French francs? Well, just one bag now. The Euro makes traveling around the continent so much easier these days. However, the American traveler needs lots of ‘em. Bags of ‘em. Big bags. A few years ago the Euro was at $0.82 and is now about $1.48. That half bottle of wine at the station (a little tipple is most appropriate on a European train journey) costs $4.25 now instead of $2.50 just a few years ago.
Water, anyone?
Friday, November 16, 2007
Euro-Buzz: Revisiting The Hague
Few place names around the globe begin with an article.
How do these sound? the Berlin? the Chicago? the Lima? These names might suggest an upscale restaurant or worse - perhaps a seedy bar behind the train station.
Occasionally, when I tell people that I lived in The Hague they give me a funny look. The what? As though it were some sort of rare psychological condition ... rather than a geographical location. Try this: from 1982 to 1993, I lived in The Fog. Ok, John, whatever you say.
Although Amsterdam is the capital of The Netherlands, The Hague is the seat of government. This country is one of just a few you’ll see on the map with two stars in different places and only those who reside locally might understand that little cartographic fact.
The Dutch parliament meets here and the embassies are scattered around town. Naturally, there’s a plethora of international schools to serve this busy community of foreigners and English speaking Dutch students. The Hague is perhaps most famous for the International Court of Justice or World Court, to use another name, which is housed in a formidable building known as the Peace Palace.
Actually, finding The Hague is tricky if you are wandering through this corner of Europe. There is a small downtown which is easy to miss. What gives the place its ambience is the numerous quiet and sedate neighborhoods, many astride canals. There is old Dutch money here, as they say, and it shows.
Between The Hague and the sea is a green zone of parks, woods and lakes. The beach extends for miles up and down the North Sea and there are walking and bike paths along the dunes. It is all very healthy - even in the rain.
If you ever move this way, just remember what the Dutch say:
Work in Rotterdam
Play in Amsterdam
Live in The Hague
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Euro-Buzz: My Albanian Waiter
International schools are sprouting up all over the place, including this backwater of southern Europe. Albania.
Ah. My hosts would be appalled! Let me insert the word "former" before backwater. There we go - including this former backwater of southern Europe.
In case you've forgotten, dear Reader, Albanian suffered a double plague: one of communism and then - total isolation. This was brought on by its xenophobic leader Enver Hohxa. So paranoid was he that Hohxa built, at vast expense to the state's already meager coffers, 750,000 concrete bunkers to ... keep out the hordes (who was trying to get in - anyway)? As a monument to this colossal folly, there is a string of these ugly things out by the new airport.
Many cities in relatively properous eastern Europe (Budapest, Prague, Warsaw) sustain several international schools given the high level of foreign investment, trade and commerce. Now the trickle-down effect is being felt here in Tirana and other Balkan capitals such as Belgrade and Sofia where schools are prospering. Even Pristina and Skopje - arguably places off the beaten path - have schools.
Albania is receiving massive aid from the European Union, the United States and other donor countries. Turkey - long a surrogate father during the Ottoman times - provides fresh vegetables, energy, doctors and teachers. There are several exemplary Turkish sponsored bilingual schools here.
Speaking of languages: Mehmet, my waiter last evening, told me he speaks Albanian (naturally), Italian, Turkish, Greek, some Spanish and a little Russian. Don't you love it? He told me this in perfect English, of course.
Ah. My hosts would be appalled! Let me insert the word "former" before backwater. There we go - including this former backwater of southern Europe.
In case you've forgotten, dear Reader, Albanian suffered a double plague: one of communism and then - total isolation. This was brought on by its xenophobic leader Enver Hohxa. So paranoid was he that Hohxa built, at vast expense to the state's already meager coffers, 750,000 concrete bunkers to ... keep out the hordes (who was trying to get in - anyway)? As a monument to this colossal folly, there is a string of these ugly things out by the new airport.
Many cities in relatively properous eastern Europe (Budapest, Prague, Warsaw) sustain several international schools given the high level of foreign investment, trade and commerce. Now the trickle-down effect is being felt here in Tirana and other Balkan capitals such as Belgrade and Sofia where schools are prospering. Even Pristina and Skopje - arguably places off the beaten path - have schools.
Albania is receiving massive aid from the European Union, the United States and other donor countries. Turkey - long a surrogate father during the Ottoman times - provides fresh vegetables, energy, doctors and teachers. There are several exemplary Turkish sponsored bilingual schools here.
Speaking of languages: Mehmet, my waiter last evening, told me he speaks Albanian (naturally), Italian, Turkish, Greek, some Spanish and a little Russian. Don't you love it? He told me this in perfect English, of course.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Airport Codes
Harley, the scary black cat you met at Halloween, always hides under the bed when he sees the cat-carrier. He doesn't travel well.
I'm getting that way, too. My olive green suitcase - with its bright you'll-never-get-it-off orange security sticker from Warsaw airport - sits empty on the bed awaiting fresh shirts and socks.
Time to roll again. Work beckons. Last week's post can be renamed "islands in a dream."
Here is where I'm going in airport code-speak if you are interested:
RSW -ATL - AMS - MUC - TIA - MUC - AMS - BRU - MAD - ATL - RSW.
MAD, indeed.
These long trips are getting tougher on the body and soul.
I'll try and write from Europe. Let's see if I can find my way to TIA. This will be a first-time visit.
I'm getting that way, too. My olive green suitcase - with its bright you'll-never-get-it-off orange security sticker from Warsaw airport - sits empty on the bed awaiting fresh shirts and socks.
Time to roll again. Work beckons. Last week's post can be renamed "islands in a dream."
Here is where I'm going in airport code-speak if you are interested:
RSW -ATL - AMS - MUC - TIA - MUC - AMS - BRU - MAD - ATL - RSW.
MAD, indeed.
These long trips are getting tougher on the body and soul.
I'll try and write from Europe. Let's see if I can find my way to TIA. This will be a first-time visit.
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Islands in the Stream
On the quiet, dear Reader. A whisper if you will.
Get this. We spent last weekend in St. Barts. No, sir, not the church across town. The island. The little island near Antigua, Montserrat and Guadeloupe. St. Barth. St. Barthelemy to be precise.
The fabled French West Indies. Turquoise waters. Gorgeous, drop-dead National Geographic sunsets. Christopher Columbus. Sir Francis Drake. Pirates! Another tot of rum, matey.
Dream-like we descend onto the little runway. A driver takes us to the end of the island where there is a high hill and atop the hill is a lovely – a very lovely villa. It looks out over a cerulean sea. The view is so wide and deep that it is nearly impossible to discern the horizon. At night tiny lights twinkle out on St. Kitts.
The architect blended the villa into the hill: low, open and airy. A lily pond separates the main house from the bedrooms. The pond is filled with tall green reeds, small floating flowers and orange and black fish – some swimming, others just lurking. The deck is surrounded by yellow buttercup whatnots.
[There is more dear Reader. Bear with me. Today’s post is not about humility].
Mon dieu! The villa comes with a French chef. Presenting… Christine. Our own gourmet magician. A light lunch? There is fresh goat cheese tart or salmon with fenel and pink berries in terrine. But please don’t overdo it as tonight we are having beef in red wine sauce provençal style. Merci, Christine.
If the storm on the first night was memorable, the one on the following evening was biblical. Prospero (nothing original here) would have called it a Tempest. Honestly. Within minutes a light breeze becomes a major gale. Booming claps of THUNDER! Bolts – indeed big bolts – of lightning just beyond the pool. Rain slashing sideways into the villa and out the back (clever architect – that’s why half the villa is open). A few lamps knocked over.
The big storm is cathartic and brings in clear air and a sunny, bright morning. That afternoon we hire a sailing boat for a few hours. Hemingway (thanks for today’s title) may have seen it this way:
From the sea, the island appeared green and fresh and majestic in the afternoon breeze. You could smell the land and see great white gulls circling overhead. The captain’s girl, tanned and with a nice chest, served rum in big cups and told us her father had fled Corsica for Paris many years ago. She tired of the Sorbonne and started sailing first from Cannes and then Amalfi and finally St. Barts-by-the-Sea. She called it that – St. Barts-by-the-Sea as though the place were some cheap resort reached by train from the big city.
Thank you, Papa. Yes, imitation, even a poor effort, is the sincerest form of flattery.
A few postcards home? There’s a good idea. To the poste centrale. Ah. What’s this? Closed on weekends, Mondays and Tuesdays. On Wednesday the postmaster is in St. Eustatius. Open for stamps on alternating Thursdays. Friday is the postmaster’s day to rest.
Old France is alive and well here. Attitude, attitude.
Why complain? This is paradise.
[With very sincere thanks to Mr. Rowdy and Joan for the kind invitation and accompanied by good friends Paul and Denise]
Get this. We spent last weekend in St. Barts. No, sir, not the church across town. The island. The little island near Antigua, Montserrat and Guadeloupe. St. Barth. St. Barthelemy to be precise.
The fabled French West Indies. Turquoise waters. Gorgeous, drop-dead National Geographic sunsets. Christopher Columbus. Sir Francis Drake. Pirates! Another tot of rum, matey.
Dream-like we descend onto the little runway. A driver takes us to the end of the island where there is a high hill and atop the hill is a lovely – a very lovely villa. It looks out over a cerulean sea. The view is so wide and deep that it is nearly impossible to discern the horizon. At night tiny lights twinkle out on St. Kitts.
The architect blended the villa into the hill: low, open and airy. A lily pond separates the main house from the bedrooms. The pond is filled with tall green reeds, small floating flowers and orange and black fish – some swimming, others just lurking. The deck is surrounded by yellow buttercup whatnots.
[There is more dear Reader. Bear with me. Today’s post is not about humility].
Mon dieu! The villa comes with a French chef. Presenting… Christine. Our own gourmet magician. A light lunch? There is fresh goat cheese tart or salmon with fenel and pink berries in terrine. But please don’t overdo it as tonight we are having beef in red wine sauce provençal style. Merci, Christine.
If the storm on the first night was memorable, the one on the following evening was biblical. Prospero (nothing original here) would have called it a Tempest. Honestly. Within minutes a light breeze becomes a major gale. Booming claps of THUNDER! Bolts – indeed big bolts – of lightning just beyond the pool. Rain slashing sideways into the villa and out the back (clever architect – that’s why half the villa is open). A few lamps knocked over.
The big storm is cathartic and brings in clear air and a sunny, bright morning. That afternoon we hire a sailing boat for a few hours. Hemingway (thanks for today’s title) may have seen it this way:
From the sea, the island appeared green and fresh and majestic in the afternoon breeze. You could smell the land and see great white gulls circling overhead. The captain’s girl, tanned and with a nice chest, served rum in big cups and told us her father had fled Corsica for Paris many years ago. She tired of the Sorbonne and started sailing first from Cannes and then Amalfi and finally St. Barts-by-the-Sea. She called it that – St. Barts-by-the-Sea as though the place were some cheap resort reached by train from the big city.
Thank you, Papa. Yes, imitation, even a poor effort, is the sincerest form of flattery.
A few postcards home? There’s a good idea. To the poste centrale. Ah. What’s this? Closed on weekends, Mondays and Tuesdays. On Wednesday the postmaster is in St. Eustatius. Open for stamps on alternating Thursdays. Friday is the postmaster’s day to rest.
Old France is alive and well here. Attitude, attitude.
Why complain? This is paradise.
[With very sincere thanks to Mr. Rowdy and Joan for the kind invitation and accompanied by good friends Paul and Denise]
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Autumnal Observations
What do St. Crispin, Halloween, All-Saints & Souls and Guy Fawkes have in common?
You are close, dear Reader. They are autumnal observations rooted in religion, history, folklore and whatnot.
Crispin and Crispinian were – a long time ago - the Catholic patron saints of tanners and cobblers. Their feast day has traditionally been October 25. However, under Vatican II reforms they were stripped of their day (reasons remain obscure). Ever more broad minded (my opinion) the Anglican Church retains the day as Black Letter Saints Day.
We know St. Crispin (old Shakespearians, at least) from the famous speech in Henry V:
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. (IV, iii)
Today is Halloween. My daughter’s black cat Harley adorns the picture frame this week or at least a replica of him. Harley is so black, scary and mischievous that he’s a natural poster boy for today.
Halloween’s close cousin is All Saints Day – followed by - All Souls Day. The festival of All Saints, also sometimes known as All Hallows or Hallowmas is a feast celebrated near or on the first Sunday after Pentecost in honor of all saints (excepting poor old Chrispian, apparently). All Souls' Day follows to commemorate the faithful dead or departed, as they say.
In keeping this international, let’s not forget our British friends and their excuse for a party next week on Guy Fawkes Day. The good Guy, so to speak, is best known for his involvement in the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. This was an attempt by a group of English conspirators to kill King James I and most of the aristocracy by blowing up the House of Lords.
English school-children hum this little ditty on Guy Fawkes Day:
Remember, remember the fifth of November,
The gunpowder, treason and plot,
I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.
Does anyone have a word for a string of celebrations that fall reasonably close together and have a common theme?
You are close, dear Reader. They are autumnal observations rooted in religion, history, folklore and whatnot.
Crispin and Crispinian were – a long time ago - the Catholic patron saints of tanners and cobblers. Their feast day has traditionally been October 25. However, under Vatican II reforms they were stripped of their day (reasons remain obscure). Ever more broad minded (my opinion) the Anglican Church retains the day as Black Letter Saints Day.
We know St. Crispin (old Shakespearians, at least) from the famous speech in Henry V:
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. (IV, iii)
Today is Halloween. My daughter’s black cat Harley adorns the picture frame this week or at least a replica of him. Harley is so black, scary and mischievous that he’s a natural poster boy for today.
Halloween’s close cousin is All Saints Day – followed by - All Souls Day. The festival of All Saints, also sometimes known as All Hallows or Hallowmas is a feast celebrated near or on the first Sunday after Pentecost in honor of all saints (excepting poor old Chrispian, apparently). All Souls' Day follows to commemorate the faithful dead or departed, as they say.
In keeping this international, let’s not forget our British friends and their excuse for a party next week on Guy Fawkes Day. The good Guy, so to speak, is best known for his involvement in the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. This was an attempt by a group of English conspirators to kill King James I and most of the aristocracy by blowing up the House of Lords.
English school-children hum this little ditty on Guy Fawkes Day:
Remember, remember the fifth of November,
The gunpowder, treason and plot,
I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.
Does anyone have a word for a string of celebrations that fall reasonably close together and have a common theme?
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Watch This Space
Yes, you are correct, dear Reader. This post title is lame.
However, Blogging 101 says to keep posting on a regular basis. It’s not that I’m short of ideas today – I’m just short of time.
Look. Here’s a preview. I’ve invited about a dozen friends and colleagues to be “guest bloggers” during the coming months. That should give you something to look forward to so it’s not just The Clermont “voice” speaking within these pages.
Amen. See you next week.
However, Blogging 101 says to keep posting on a regular basis. It’s not that I’m short of ideas today – I’m just short of time.
Look. Here’s a preview. I’ve invited about a dozen friends and colleagues to be “guest bloggers” during the coming months. That should give you something to look forward to so it’s not just The Clermont “voice” speaking within these pages.
Amen. See you next week.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
United Nations Day
Tomorrow is United Nations Day.
This event was established in 1948 by the United Nations General Assembly to observe the anniversary of the establishment of the Charter of the United Nations. The idea, of course, is to promote understanding of the world’s premier deliberative (and sometimes cooperative) body.
International schools around the world love days like this. Celebrations of this sort reinforce the broad philosophy and mission of most schools. Yes, dear Reader, a sound definition of an “international” school is still forthcoming.
One of the most effective active learning programs for high school students is the mock or model United Nations (MUN). There are scores of MUNs around the world today including the largest and oldest outside of the US - The Hague International Model United Nations or THIMUN. This huge event is co-sponsored by The American School, The British School, The German School and The International School – each in and around The Hague in the Netherlands. Some 3,500 students (mind boggling, really) gather each January to debate world issues. I was there (the American School) for eleven years and watched the incredible enthusiasm generated by this event for our students.
Model Parliament, model Senate and model European Union are similar programs.
Here’s to the United Nations … and the teachers who sponsor these remarkable active learning programs.
This event was established in 1948 by the United Nations General Assembly to observe the anniversary of the establishment of the Charter of the United Nations. The idea, of course, is to promote understanding of the world’s premier deliberative (and sometimes cooperative) body.
International schools around the world love days like this. Celebrations of this sort reinforce the broad philosophy and mission of most schools. Yes, dear Reader, a sound definition of an “international” school is still forthcoming.
One of the most effective active learning programs for high school students is the mock or model United Nations (MUN). There are scores of MUNs around the world today including the largest and oldest outside of the US - The Hague International Model United Nations or THIMUN. This huge event is co-sponsored by The American School, The British School, The German School and The International School – each in and around The Hague in the Netherlands. Some 3,500 students (mind boggling, really) gather each January to debate world issues. I was there (the American School) for eleven years and watched the incredible enthusiasm generated by this event for our students.
Model Parliament, model Senate and model European Union are similar programs.
Here’s to the United Nations … and the teachers who sponsor these remarkable active learning programs.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Napa in 3.6 Hours
Here’s the good news about my job: I get to travel extensively. Here’s the bad news: often I don’t have time to see anything. Do you know the New York Times travel column “36 Hours” - 36 Hours in Barcelona or 36 Hours in Montreal? Some lucky journalist gets a weekend – all 36 hours – to wine, dine and explore.
Well, my version of that would be a column called 3.6 Hours in ... take Napa for an example. I was there this week for a meeting. A long meeting. An interminable meeting which is longer than a long meeting. Didn’t see a thing. However, here is why the trip to Napa is worth a few blogging minutes and a bit of your time, dear Reader.
Regular travelers frequently use “secondary” airports to avoid crowds, rental car queues and unruly bartenders. Here are some examples:
Flying to Boston? Try Providence
Flying to New York? Try Newark
Flying to Washington? Try Baltimore
I took this little gem of a secret to heart when I visited Napa this week.
Flying to San Francisco? Try Oakland (no thanks!)
Flying to Oakland? Try Sacramento (no thanks!)
Flying to Sacramento? Try Reno (bingo! – and with gambling pun included at no extra cost).
Why Reno? Rental cars are still $19 per day (vs. $64 in San Francisco). Cheap food everywhere. My airport hotel in Reno last night (the Peppermill Casino at $79 compliments of Hotels.Com) was the best deal in town. I saved several hundred dollars by avoiding the big California airports.
However, here’s the other reason I chose Reno. To get to Napa I had to drive west. A minor hankering for a journey of sorts. Perhaps following the spirit of the Pony Express? the Cherokee Trail? Too much romanticism for you, Reader? Well then, in our own time, remember Walter O'Malley moving the Brooklyn Dodgers to L.A. in 1958? It runs deep in our American blood, you know.
Westward Ho! Here I go.
The drive out of Reno is pleasant – an hour along side the meandering Truckee. Across the river, trees turn gold and red in the autumn air. The car moves up swiftly past the blue waters of Lake Tahoe. Suddenly, the peaks of the high Sierra Nevada appear. At the very top and with a nod to Lewis and Clark, a vision of the distant Pacific. Thru the open windows, the pine trees seem to whisper – "go west, young man".
Now down through the broad, verdant valleys of central California. Napa beckons. There’s a warm and lazy, late afternoon sun. A vineyard set back in the hills. A cold glass or two of best local chardonnay, if you will. Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath open on the table.
Ah, were it true, dear Reader. But here’s other version.
My ratty little $19 Honda Civic begins to shimmy not twenty minutes out of Reno. The engine strains on the open highway. The lovely mist covering the distant peaks becomes a steady rain. Despite the sharp turns and steep incline, BIG TRUCKS roar past.
At 4,000 feet the rain turns to sleet. At 5,000 feet the sleet turns to snow. More BIG TRUCKS roar past splattering the little car with mush. The wimpy windshield wipers struggle against the oncoming storm. At 7, 239 feet (the BIG TRUCKS roar on) an old and ominous sign declares “crossing the Donner Pass.”
Wait a minute. Wait one minute. The Donner Pass? That rings a distant bell. Grade 11 American history, I’m sure. The Donner Pass? Snow storm? Trouble, very big trouble, don’t you remember?
Dizzy and disoriented I drive off the road into a snowy field. Ahead, a dozen BIG TRUCKS circle, laager-style, around a couple of pathetic $19 rental cars. We’re trapped.
The burly drivers haven’t eaten since Salt Lake City or – even worse – St. Louis. Their bon-fire is fuelled by yesterday’s newspapers, old maps and girlie magazines. A Honda Civic driver is like a morsel of filet mignon to the wild men. It’s 1846 all over again. Trapped in a blizzard and out of food, the desparate pioneers, including George Donner and his brother, turned on one another. Frontier cannibalism in the high passes. I’m going to be a human kebab.
The snow gives way to rain again. The central valley is foggy. Heavy, slow traffic crawls along the busy freeway north of San Francisco. My small Yahoo! map doesn’t show the side road to the hotel. Another hour goes by. I’m lost. I’m tired. Finally, I return to the original exit and there it is – the Marriott. Better to park in the rear, I think, away from the Land Rovers and Volvos.
Well, my version of that would be a column called 3.6 Hours in ... take Napa for an example. I was there this week for a meeting. A long meeting. An interminable meeting which is longer than a long meeting. Didn’t see a thing. However, here is why the trip to Napa is worth a few blogging minutes and a bit of your time, dear Reader.
Regular travelers frequently use “secondary” airports to avoid crowds, rental car queues and unruly bartenders. Here are some examples:
Flying to Boston? Try Providence
Flying to New York? Try Newark
Flying to Washington? Try Baltimore
I took this little gem of a secret to heart when I visited Napa this week.
Flying to San Francisco? Try Oakland (no thanks!)
Flying to Oakland? Try Sacramento (no thanks!)
Flying to Sacramento? Try Reno (bingo! – and with gambling pun included at no extra cost).
Why Reno? Rental cars are still $19 per day (vs. $64 in San Francisco). Cheap food everywhere. My airport hotel in Reno last night (the Peppermill Casino at $79 compliments of Hotels.Com) was the best deal in town. I saved several hundred dollars by avoiding the big California airports.
However, here’s the other reason I chose Reno. To get to Napa I had to drive west. A minor hankering for a journey of sorts. Perhaps following the spirit of the Pony Express? the Cherokee Trail? Too much romanticism for you, Reader? Well then, in our own time, remember Walter O'Malley moving the Brooklyn Dodgers to L.A. in 1958? It runs deep in our American blood, you know.
Westward Ho! Here I go.
The drive out of Reno is pleasant – an hour along side the meandering Truckee. Across the river, trees turn gold and red in the autumn air. The car moves up swiftly past the blue waters of Lake Tahoe. Suddenly, the peaks of the high Sierra Nevada appear. At the very top and with a nod to Lewis and Clark, a vision of the distant Pacific. Thru the open windows, the pine trees seem to whisper – "go west, young man".
Now down through the broad, verdant valleys of central California. Napa beckons. There’s a warm and lazy, late afternoon sun. A vineyard set back in the hills. A cold glass or two of best local chardonnay, if you will. Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath open on the table.
Ah, were it true, dear Reader. But here’s other version.
My ratty little $19 Honda Civic begins to shimmy not twenty minutes out of Reno. The engine strains on the open highway. The lovely mist covering the distant peaks becomes a steady rain. Despite the sharp turns and steep incline, BIG TRUCKS roar past.
At 4,000 feet the rain turns to sleet. At 5,000 feet the sleet turns to snow. More BIG TRUCKS roar past splattering the little car with mush. The wimpy windshield wipers struggle against the oncoming storm. At 7, 239 feet (the BIG TRUCKS roar on) an old and ominous sign declares “crossing the Donner Pass.”
Wait a minute. Wait one minute. The Donner Pass? That rings a distant bell. Grade 11 American history, I’m sure. The Donner Pass? Snow storm? Trouble, very big trouble, don’t you remember?
Dizzy and disoriented I drive off the road into a snowy field. Ahead, a dozen BIG TRUCKS circle, laager-style, around a couple of pathetic $19 rental cars. We’re trapped.
The burly drivers haven’t eaten since Salt Lake City or – even worse – St. Louis. Their bon-fire is fuelled by yesterday’s newspapers, old maps and girlie magazines. A Honda Civic driver is like a morsel of filet mignon to the wild men. It’s 1846 all over again. Trapped in a blizzard and out of food, the desparate pioneers, including George Donner and his brother, turned on one another. Frontier cannibalism in the high passes. I’m going to be a human kebab.
The snow gives way to rain again. The central valley is foggy. Heavy, slow traffic crawls along the busy freeway north of San Francisco. My small Yahoo! map doesn’t show the side road to the hotel. Another hour goes by. I’m lost. I’m tired. Finally, I return to the original exit and there it is – the Marriott. Better to park in the rear, I think, away from the Land Rovers and Volvos.
Monday, October 15, 2007
The Curious Incident of the Dog….
Once a teacher – always a teacher.
Thus, dear Reader, it's time for a pop quiz. Can you complete today’s title? The Curious Incident of the Dog….
Sorry, 30 seconds remaining.
Now if you saw my first post a couple of weeks ago you know I read a book this summer about autism. The remarkable story is entitled Born on a Blue Day by Daniel Tammet.
Well, here is its companion: The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon. The author went on to win the Whitbread Book Award for this clever story of a young autistic boy [Christopher Boone] who has discovered his neighbor’s poodle impaled on a garden fork. Yes, that’s right. Structurally, the story is a “who-dunnit” mystery but it is much more. The book is full of insights into the mind and manners of an autistic. For example, Christopher dislikes the colors yellow and brown, but loves red. He believes that seeing three, four or five red cars in a row means it's a good, or very good day, respectively, while four yellow cars signify a "black" day. The boy has the same "obsessions" for order as Daniel Tammet explains in his story. Extraordinarily interesting.
These two books – each in their own way – make for excellent reading.
Thus, dear Reader, it's time for a pop quiz. Can you complete today’s title? The Curious Incident of the Dog….
Sorry, 30 seconds remaining.
Now if you saw my first post a couple of weeks ago you know I read a book this summer about autism. The remarkable story is entitled Born on a Blue Day by Daniel Tammet.
Well, here is its companion: The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon. The author went on to win the Whitbread Book Award for this clever story of a young autistic boy [Christopher Boone] who has discovered his neighbor’s poodle impaled on a garden fork. Yes, that’s right. Structurally, the story is a “who-dunnit” mystery but it is much more. The book is full of insights into the mind and manners of an autistic. For example, Christopher dislikes the colors yellow and brown, but loves red. He believes that seeing three, four or five red cars in a row means it's a good, or very good day, respectively, while four yellow cars signify a "black" day. The boy has the same "obsessions" for order as Daniel Tammet explains in his story. Extraordinarily interesting.
These two books – each in their own way – make for excellent reading.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Puerto Vallarta
Breaking News:
Technology 1 – Blogger 0
I attempted to post this earlier in the week from the hotel via an external blogger fango-dango. Presto! Nothing. Out she goes into the blogosphere. Anyway, here's what I wrote a few days ago:
Big, blue, billowy pennants snap in the wind along Puerto Vallarta’s seaside promenade.
The signs announce a sailfish and marlin tournament here at the end of the month. Bad timing on my part. Just here for the meeting, thanks.
Conference mode: badge? Yes. Hotel ID bracelet? Yes. Keynote speaker at 9? No – 8:30. My presentation? 10:30 on Wednesday. Room? Girasol 1A. 1A? That’s trouble. Let’s look at the program guide. There’s the Girasol (sunflower). There’s Girasol 1. No 1A. Perhaps a closet? The men’s toilet? How can this be?
Alas, dear Reader, don't panic. There is a 1A ! – small but manageable for the size of audience. Conferences often fly or don’t depending on the layout of the hotel or facility. I'm pleased, though. Enough people found me to fill most of the room (thankfully).
Here’s another thing I learned this summer at tech-camp: unconferences.
An unconference is a gathering where the content of the sessions is created by the participants in an ad-hoc fashion rather than by a single organizer, or group of organizers, in advance. Becoming more popular among the techie-types. I wonder if my good colleagues in this business are ready to try an unconferency approach.
Plane reading – since I’m down Mexico way I’ve brought along Carlos Fuentes’ odd little story (my opinion) called Inez. Two stories in one but tied together at the very end. The strand about the old conductor lusting after the young singer is the more compelling.
Technology 1 – Blogger 0
I attempted to post this earlier in the week from the hotel via an external blogger fango-dango. Presto! Nothing. Out she goes into the blogosphere. Anyway, here's what I wrote a few days ago:
Big, blue, billowy pennants snap in the wind along Puerto Vallarta’s seaside promenade.
The signs announce a sailfish and marlin tournament here at the end of the month. Bad timing on my part. Just here for the meeting, thanks.
Conference mode: badge? Yes. Hotel ID bracelet? Yes. Keynote speaker at 9? No – 8:30. My presentation? 10:30 on Wednesday. Room? Girasol 1A. 1A? That’s trouble. Let’s look at the program guide. There’s the Girasol (sunflower). There’s Girasol 1. No 1A. Perhaps a closet? The men’s toilet? How can this be?
Alas, dear Reader, don't panic. There is a 1A ! – small but manageable for the size of audience. Conferences often fly or don’t depending on the layout of the hotel or facility. I'm pleased, though. Enough people found me to fill most of the room (thankfully).
Here’s another thing I learned this summer at tech-camp: unconferences.
An unconference is a gathering where the content of the sessions is created by the participants in an ad-hoc fashion rather than by a single organizer, or group of organizers, in advance. Becoming more popular among the techie-types. I wonder if my good colleagues in this business are ready to try an unconferency approach.
Plane reading – since I’m down Mexico way I’ve brought along Carlos Fuentes’ odd little story (my opinion) called Inez. Two stories in one but tied together at the very end. The strand about the old conductor lusting after the young singer is the more compelling.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
The international schools map (or what I do)
The world of international education organizes itself into different patterns: geographical mostly but also by nationality type, curriculum design and philosophical bent. It’s all very confusing at first. In fact, after 30 years of working in this area it is still bewildering. Hint- here’s why - the huge proliferation of schools in China and the Middle East and the emerging trend of more and more “national” schools adopting international curricula. There is a blending effect at work.
Put briefly, there is no simple map of the international school world.
A general rule of thumb, dear Reader: any city large enough to sustain international trade, commerce or diplomacy has at least one “international” school. Brussels, at last count, had a dozen. I have to bracket international because a definition is needed…. and that’s another post for another day.
International school people get together regularly at spots around the globe. Tomorrow I head to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico to kick off the autumn conference season. PV, in short-hand, is hosting the annual gathering of the TRI-ASSOCIATION [www.tri-association.org]. This organization supports American-type and other international schools in Mexico, Central America, northern South America and some of the Caribbean islands. My logo map adjacent will not be of much help, I’m afraid.
I’ll write from PV.
Put briefly, there is no simple map of the international school world.
A general rule of thumb, dear Reader: any city large enough to sustain international trade, commerce or diplomacy has at least one “international” school. Brussels, at last count, had a dozen. I have to bracket international because a definition is needed…. and that’s another post for another day.
International school people get together regularly at spots around the globe. Tomorrow I head to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico to kick off the autumn conference season. PV, in short-hand, is hosting the annual gathering of the TRI-ASSOCIATION [www.tri-association.org]. This organization supports American-type and other international schools in Mexico, Central America, northern South America and some of the Caribbean islands. My logo map adjacent will not be of much help, I’m afraid.
I’ll write from PV.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
The webby world and life 2.0
This is what I get for going to tech-camp in July, dear Reader. My own web-log and a blogger address. Actually, sarcasm aside, the Building Learning Communities conference sponsored by the Alan November Group [www.novemberlearning.com] was extraordinary.
Three days of mind-blogging workshop sessions on the emerging technologies. I’ve never been to a conference where the adults, mostly teachers and administrators, were falling over themselves to get into the front row – or at least close to the power strips for their laptops (For the record I was armed with a yellow legal pad circa 1972 as were thankfully a few others –naturally we clustered together at coffee break).
Web 2.0 – School 2.0 and Life 2.0 – refers to the 2nd generation of the internet. The old internet (1990s) was a read only technology. The new web – generation 2.0 – is a read/write web. An interactive technology that our students (world-wide) have already mastered and we need to understand as quickly as possible. Marc Prensky is credited with the terms digital natives (yup – the students) and digital immigrants (right again – us adults). Marc: “Our students have changed radically. Today’s students are no longer the people our educational system was designed to teach”.
Part of the reason for this blog is to force myself to engage in the interactive web. Welcome to the webby world, John.
Here's a good read : WIKINOMICS by Don Tapscott. This book takes Thomas Friedman's bestseller The World is Flat one step further and explains how companies world-wide are using new technologies to solve problems/create products through mass collaboration 24/7 -as they say- anywhere around the globe. Even a non-techie like me can understand Tapscott's thesis.
Three days of mind-blogging workshop sessions on the emerging technologies. I’ve never been to a conference where the adults, mostly teachers and administrators, were falling over themselves to get into the front row – or at least close to the power strips for their laptops (For the record I was armed with a yellow legal pad circa 1972 as were thankfully a few others –naturally we clustered together at coffee break).
Web 2.0 – School 2.0 and Life 2.0 – refers to the 2nd generation of the internet. The old internet (1990s) was a read only technology. The new web – generation 2.0 – is a read/write web. An interactive technology that our students (world-wide) have already mastered and we need to understand as quickly as possible. Marc Prensky is credited with the terms digital natives (yup – the students) and digital immigrants (right again – us adults). Marc: “Our students have changed radically. Today’s students are no longer the people our educational system was designed to teach”.
Part of the reason for this blog is to force myself to engage in the interactive web. Welcome to the webby world, John.
Here's a good read : WIKINOMICS by Don Tapscott. This book takes Thomas Friedman's bestseller The World is Flat one step further and explains how companies world-wide are using new technologies to solve problems/create products through mass collaboration 24/7 -as they say- anywhere around the globe. Even a non-techie like me can understand Tapscott's thesis.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
To the Blogosphere - with haste!
Today is Tuesday, Oct. 2, the 275th day of 2007. As good a day as any to join the blogosphere. This is the tenth month of the year. These are solid numbers.
One of the books I read this summer was Born on a Blue Day by Daniel Tammet, the 27-year-old British autistic savant with Asperger’s syndrome. He had an obsession with numbers and his birthday - January 31st - was a blue number in his remarkably creative mind. For symbolism, I’ll settle for the fact that my blogging life is beginning at the start of the month which will give me, perhaps, some discipline to write on a regular basis.
For someone who is not innately creative, this blog will allow me to share some thoughts and observations. I’m very fortunate in that my job allows me to travel extensively so my posts will alternate between home and away. I work in the field of international education so the “theme” of the blog, if there be one, is learning in a global context. Now there's a big order.
However, dear Reader, allow me to occasionally meander as my mind wanders here and there. To the Blogoshere then - with haste!
One of the books I read this summer was Born on a Blue Day by Daniel Tammet, the 27-year-old British autistic savant with Asperger’s syndrome. He had an obsession with numbers and his birthday - January 31st - was a blue number in his remarkably creative mind. For symbolism, I’ll settle for the fact that my blogging life is beginning at the start of the month which will give me, perhaps, some discipline to write on a regular basis.
For someone who is not innately creative, this blog will allow me to share some thoughts and observations. I’m very fortunate in that my job allows me to travel extensively so my posts will alternate between home and away. I work in the field of international education so the “theme” of the blog, if there be one, is learning in a global context. Now there's a big order.
However, dear Reader, allow me to occasionally meander as my mind wanders here and there. To the Blogoshere then - with haste!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
