There were many holiday greetings and messages that arrived over the last few days. But this one from Louis a fellow burner and an annual visitor to and denizen of Black Rock City gently touched my heart.

Dear Members of the Tribe, the Clan, The Family, The Extended Family:

Happy Solstice!

This has been an amazing year !!!

Filled with wonder and discovery !!!

Filled with love and friendship !!!

Filled with conflict and the ability to sit with it !!

Filled with events that require more energy to negotiate and navigate !

Filled with new love and transformed love, growing friendships and continuing friendships and friendship that span almost an entire life ….

and for all the above I am grateful

I am connected to all of you as I am connected to all things

I wish you all safe journeys whilst you follow your path

I wish you love & light

I wish you joy & wonder

I wish eternal curiosity

I wish you gentleness and firmness in all things

I wish you intentionality & will

I wish you strength & courage

I wish you quietness & stillness

I wish a rich tapestry upon to weave your life story

I wish you a smorgasbord of experiential delights

I wish for you what you want for yourself…..

With love & gratitude

Louis

Zambia - South Luangwa National Park

I am at the Mfuwe lodge set in the middle of the South Luangwa national park in Zambia. There are no fences around the lodge. The chalet I am staying in is on a oxbow lagoon. Just outside there is a herd of ten elephants noisily splashing around. A small family of Warthogs are getting out of the way with three tiny babies scampering behind their parents, unaware that they could be squished by the elephants. A wild buffalo got stuck in the mud earlier and the herd abandoned it to die haplessly. The guides told us that hyenas and lions would set upon the easy prey later that night and we would have to deal with the rotten smell of a carcass. But then these are the rules of the jungle. A mother baboon and its baby have occupied my patio and are looking intently through the screen mesh at what I am doing, cocking their head curiously at the unfamiliar strains of Bob Dylan from my laptop wailing,

“Windows were shakin' all night in my dreams

Everything was exactly the way that it seems

Woke up this morning and I looked at the same old page

Same ol' rat race

Life in the same ol' cage.”

Assorted clusters of grazing herbivores - Impalas, Zebras, Waterbucks, Kudus, Pukus, Vervet monkeys, and Baboons are walking the dry lagoon bed to the wet patch in the middle having a drink or grazing on the few patches of green. The only part of the lagoon that has deep water has been colonized by a large group of hippos who have marginalized the crocodiles to the edge of the water. The hippos seem to fear no one and grunt threateningly most of the day and night. The animals walk freely around the lodge between the chalets. A certain herd of elephants is particularly fond of the mangoes from the mango tree in the courtyard next to the bar. It is an astonishing sight to see wild elephants walk through the building, stopping at the reception, sniffing at the strange smells from the vodka bottles in the bar before heading off to the tree. The lodge staff escort me between my chalet and the main lodge which reminds me that this is the wild, these animals roam free, and I am caged in my room or in my safari jeep.

Yesterday evening I saw a herds of elephants gather in a very organized fashion on the edge of the Luangwa river where they meet up every night. Once the herd was about 160 strong they crossed the river in several groups led by a senior matriarch. Upon crossing to the other side they dispersed into their respective family units to wreak havoc on the villages outside the park and eat up the mangoes and other crops the Chewa, Bemba, and Kunda tribes grow. Patson, our guide, tells us that they show up at his village every night and it is a complete nuisance. In the morning they make the trip back. They collect as a large group at a crossing point, make the crossing and then disperse again. Their social organization and intelligence demonstrated through this daily behavior is astonishing.

All this is a remarkable sight for a city dweller. To understand how to deal with wild animals if I encounter one on my way to grab dinner at the restaurant I refer my Lonely Planet guide to Southern Africa and it has this advice among much other useful information, "If a Rhino charges and you cant immediately climb a tree, then face the charge and step to one side at the last moment in bullfight style." The other guests in the lodge include a mining rights lawyer from Canada, a health care accountant from Belgium, and Brazilian couple who work in the Zambian copper mining industry. I spend the afternoon running little video clips in my head of Rhinos charging and how each one of them would do the clever sidestep maneuver as perfectly as the Lonely Planet guide suggests.

Iceland
Exotic Foods, Human Migration

Food is great way to experience any place you travel to. But Icelandic specialties will require Viking like courage and a suspension of your sense of smell. The most stomach churning is Hákarl – putrefied shark meat buried underground for upto six months. The stench can be unbearable – like ammonia – and the after taste requires to be washed down with Brennivín, sledgehammer schnapps made from potatoes and flavored with caraway. Someone long ago discovered that certain shark meat could not be eaten fresh and decided to bury it in sand, let it decompose, and try it again six months later. How human beings research these things is a great mystery to me. Then there is bl?ðmör, sheep’s blood pudding packed in suet and sewn up in the sheep’s stomach. And finally Svið, singed sheep’s head, sawn in two, boiled, and eaten fresh or pickled. The king of Icelandic gastronomic adventures is Sursadir hrutspungar, pickled Ram’s testicles. All of a sudden you feel grateful for the great invasion by Macdonalds, Pizza Hut, and Subway.

Human migration is always fascinating. Seeing people living in a context completely different from their usual one is always intriguing. As the editors of Lonely Planet are fond of saying, “Ever since our first, faltering, upright steps, humankind has traveled. Everywhere is migration, exploration, pursuit. Terrible things have been caused by this restlessness, but it is also the source of much that is extraordinary and wonderful.”

It is this great migration that brought the Celtics and Norse settlers including the Vikings to Iceland in the first place nearly 1400 years ago. And they continue to come from as far away as America, Mexico, Thailand, Pakistan, and Tibet.

Shalimar is a small restaurant in downtown Reykjavik run by a Pakistani couple. The three person staff consisted of an Icelandic waitress, Tse-Wang from Tibet, and a waitress presumably of North African origin. Tse-Wang is a fascinating case of this migration. Originally from the remote, landlocked, Himalayan country of Tibet he was driven out from his land and forced to live as a refugee in India. Now one of only four Tibetans in Iceland, he goes to college here, learns Icelandic, and tells me that he occasionally feels lonely and isolated from a larger Tibetan community. We banter about the Dalai Lama and the Kalachakra sermon, one of the most elaborate rituals of Mahayana Buddhism. The one ironic parallel is that he once lived in country that has the nickname of “roof of the world” and he now lives in another that also feels like the roof of the world given how close Iceland is to the North Pole. Similar fascinating tales pour out from the Polish, Portuguese, Chinese, Indians, Germans, and other nationalities I meet in Iceland. Each tale of migration unique in its own way – Kathleen the German nanny who has traveled through Mongolia, Febian the Frenchman who works on a chicken farm and wants to be a monk, Marco the Portuguese who along with his father and sister work on the Karunjukkar hydroelectric project.

The world is a breathtakingly big place. Iceland in particular is imbued with special magic. Pick up your bags and go.

Iceland - When economics meets environment
Karahnjukar Hydro Electric Project

In Iceland it is easy to be environmentally correct. The country has a small population, large tracts of uninhabited land, almost no polluting industry, and the ability to live off geothermal and hydroelectric power without using fossil fuels except for automobiles. The lack of natural resources also means that there is very little to export except for products that come out of the ample surrounding ocean. You cant export hydro-electricity if you are an island nation. The next best option is to bring in industries that are thirsty for electricity. That has set economics and environmental issues on a collision course like everywhere else in the world. The Karanjukkar hydroelectric project is building a dam across two glacial rivers Jokulsao a Dal and Jukulsa i Fljotsdal flooding a remote part of the already remote Eastern Highlands. The power from the project will be used exclusively by the American aluminum company Alcoa in nearby Reydarfjordur creating jobs in an economically deprived area dependent mostly on fishing. The week before I got there angry environmentalists had camped out near the site and chained themselves to the construction equipment to protest the dam.

I cannot comment on the issues as I had not researched them. But to my untrained eye it looked like in the barren, desolate, cold, windswept, mountain side and valley that was being flooded there was really no life to protect – no trees, no animals, no plants, not even grass, or birds. The nearby town of Reydarfjordur, population 650, could do well with the 1000 new jobs expected to be created.

The dam is being constructed by the Italian company Impreglio and we are guests of some engineers working on the project. It is the fourth largest, earth fill dam in the world, possibly at the highest elevation, and definitely the one closest to the north pole. Nothing screams globalization like what I see here. The project site is one of the most remote, desolate, barren, and inhospitable work locations I have been to. All of a sudden it has created a new reverence inside of me every time I flick a light switch because I realize that someone gave a big chunk of their working life, living on a harsh project site to pipe electricity into my house. Toiling away on the project site are professionals from 43 countries. In the club house and dining halls I hear Icelandic, English, Italian, Chinese, Portuguese, Hindi, Urdu, Russian, Spanish, Arabic, French, Nepali, Malayalam. To my delight there is even a Malayalam speaking procurement specialist called Babu from the Indian town of Trissur where my parents live. We unleash verbal volleys in the machine gun style rapid fire exchange of our mother tongue. “Babu, ivade vannu yetra kallum aayi?”

During a visit to the restricted construction site I stand in awe outside the cavernous water intake tunnel. The tunnel will be submerged below the waters and carry massive quantities of water down a 500 foot drop to the bottom of the mountain that will power the giant turbines. Emerging out of the tunnel driving various kinds of earth moving equipment in an ant like fashion are workers of various nationalities, a lot of them Chinese. I am told that there are over 300 Chinese working on this project. Given the number of hydro-electric projects in China it is one of the best sources of skilled workers experienced in operating complex dam construction equipment such as tunnel boring machines. The Chinese ambassador to the region is visiting the project site to acknowledge their contribution and the Chinese flag is flying on the flag mast outside the dining hall. I had always imagined the Chinese economic power to mean simple things like the toys in Toy’R Us to be manufactured in Guangdong or the washing machines in Circuit City to come from Shenzhen. In more complex examples it meant to me that US Government bonds are being increasingly held by Chinese investors and that the Baltic Shipping Index is at an all time high because the Chinese are buying up all available shipping capacity. But this is stretching the limits of my imagination. Globalization is at work in remote eastern Iceland highlands unseen by the editors of The Economist and the Wall Street Journal. Chinese labor working for an Italian company is generating Icelandic electricity to fuel an American aluminum plant to boost the Icelandic economy. This would make the editor of Mother Jones spill his coffee in outrage.

To beat the loneliness and monotony of the project site the project team has found interesting deviations. The Indians, Pakistanis, and the Nepalese have a cricket club and I am invited to join a game. It is a surreal sight to be playing cricket at 10PM at night under the artic sun, in the shadow of a glacier, in cold windswept conditions, close to the artic circle. The founders of the game had intended the game to be played during the English summer wearing white flannels on a grassy field with a break for tea. Later they exported the game to their warm tropical colonies. But Wisden would never have thought that the sounds of “Howzaat” would be heard near the north pole.



Late at night, after a post-game chat session with some of the cricket players, I am trying to find my way to the guest rooms reserved for us in one of the living quarters, I stumble across a raging party. The gym where I had exercised earlier is now the scene of strobe lights and dance music. The people working on the project are kicking up a fuss on the dance floor. Two young men, who look to me of Latin American extraction and in their twenties stop to chat with me. They tell me that the party is hopping but there are not enough girls to dance with. Apparently, they had invited the “Sodexho girls” – the Icelandic girls who work for the catering and cleaning services contractor Sodexho on the project site. But most of them did not show up. I reassure them that some problems are universal. Their friends attending parties at the Copacabana in New York city or the Velvet Lounge in San Francisco would be bemoaning similar gender ratios at their parties. I encourage them to get back on the dance floor and work their salsa, mergengue magic.

(photo credit: Iceland Tourist Board, Linknot.com)

Iceland - Fire and Ice
Volcanoes, Glaciers, Farms

The power of nature and the magnificence of a land being actively shaped is most visible to me as I circle the island along the ring road, leaving from Reykjavik and driving along the south coast from west to east.

Driving past the moody volcano Hekla, ‘the hooded’, almost always shrouded in clouds and the horse-breeding area of Hella we are headed to Fellsmork. Sigurlaug “Silla” Gudmundsdottir, a friend of Pramod’s has invited us to stay in her summer house. Tucked away in beautiful settings around the island these are popular getaways for all Icelanders. Silla’s summer house is a cozy wooden cabin tucked into a fold on a mountain side. It is off the grid and has no electricity, running water, or telephone. The soft light of Icelandic candles adds to the soothing effect although the artic summer nights don’t need me to light them till close to midnight. Looking out of the bedroom window you can see the giant Myrdalsjokull, Iceland’s fourth largest icecap. Tongues of ice extend down from the glacier and the melt water streams converge into a roaring river to the right of the cabin. From the living room I look out to a vast glacial pain, flat as a pancake, fringed by a black sandy beach deposited by volcanic activity in the past. Just beyond sit the icy cold waters of the North Atlantic ocean with a jelly like constituency. And in the middle of the flat plains is a small mountain shaped like a loaf of bread sitting all by itself. It makes you scratch your head wondering what geological activity could have caused this formation. I conclude that one of the lesser gods must have been hurrying back from the grocery store when he dropped a loaf of bread which fell to the earth and turned to stone.

As we drive into south eastern Iceland the next day the most dominant geographic feature is the Vatnajokull icecap on the left. It is the third largest in the world after Antarctica and Greenland. Huge glacier tongues reach menacingly down the steep-sided valleys towards the sea. The road winds its way through a sandur - flat sandy plains of glacial deposits. The most dramatic of these is the Skeidararsandur that stretches some 25 miles between icecap and ocean from Nupustadur to Oraefi. The scene is one of a flat deposit of black volcanic gravel, sand, and silt, fierce winds, and fast flowing glacial rivers the color of beer. Travelers on bicycles pedal furiously across the bleak stretch to getaway before the winds whip up a stinging cloud of talcum powder like sand dust. The Sandurs are a result of Jokulhlaup – glacial floods. The Vatanajokull icecap actually sits on top of an active volcano, Grimsvatn, and acts as a tight lid. Occasionally Grimsvatn erupts in anger as it did in 1996 shooting a six mile column of steam. The ice began to melt creating a massive lake trapped under the icecap. Scientists waited with bated breath. Over a month after the eruption had started, the trapped lake lifted the entire icecap, peered out from below towards the faraway ocean, and drained in a massive Jokulhalup releasing 3000 billion cubic feet of water in just a few hours. A river, five times the volume of the Amazon, flowed towards the Atlantic ocean dragging with it icebergs the size of multi-storey buildings, snapping bridges and roads along the way like matchsticks. It was Iceland’s natural fire and ice show at its best.

Things are a lot mellow now as we approach a bend in the ring road and see luminous blue icebergs floating in a lake right next to the highway in Jokulsarlon (Glacial River Lagoon). The lagoon is a crammed with icebergs with interesting shapes creating an arctic scene. It is a breathtaking scene that has also drawn James Bond to film “Die Another Day” and Angelina Jolie to film, “Lara Croft: Tomb Raider”.

Iceland can also present a stark scene with almost no trees anywhere. It is so bereft of trees that when I drive past Hallormsstadur what I see is a small collection of native trees – dwarf birch, mountain ash, and Alaskan poplars - reminding me of the wooded area behind my old house in North Carolina. I am told that this is the Icelandic forest. Icelanders flock here over the weekends, to camp in a quiet forest and throw raucous parties in the night.


The best person to tell me about Iceland’s lack of trees is Haraldour “Hallie” Antonson. Hallie is Pramod’s landlord and neighbor who has invited us to visit his farm house in Lambleikstadir near Hopn. He used to work in a soil conservation and tree planting program for the forestry commission and now spends his retired life during the summer months on the farm raising horses. Hallie walks me through his farm with his sheep dog Loki sniffing my travel worn shoes picking up foreign scents. The horses look at us briefly with a snobbish half-interest before going back to their grazing. The grandkids Karin, Byarki, and Egitl are building a house and campfire under the watchful eye of their German nanny Kathleen who speaks no Icelandic. But that is no hurdle for the kids who communicate naturally and un-selfconsciously as children do and get what they want. Kathleen, herself is a well worn traveler, who although in her 20s tells me tales from Mongolia, the Trans-Siberian express, riding in army trucks across Afghanistan, and biking down the ring road of Iceland.

The Sagas record that when Iceland was discovered it was covered by trees from seas to the mountains. If that were indeed true the early inhabitants did a pretty efficient job cutting down the trees for fuel and allowing their sheep to finish up by devouring young shoots. Hallie explains to me that sheep are super efficient destroyers of vegetation, if grazing is not managed, chewing plants and young shoots down to the roots and leaving the underlying soil vulnerable to erosion by water and fierce winds. Once the top soil is blown away it is almost impossible to restart vegetation. The reforestation program has been quite successful and new clumps of trees are beginning to dot the country. I explain to Hallie proudly that my grandfather was a rice farmer in a village called Chittliencherri in Southern India although his total landholding was the size of a couple of football fields. I ask Hallie about the size of his farm and he waves to the distance towards the Vatanajokull icecap where his farm ends. I had read that the lack of humidity in the Icelandic air makes everything much closer than it is. I realize with a gasp that Hallie’s farm which has four adults and three children is about the size of my home village Chittilencherri itself where 20,000 people live and farm. Standing on a mound we spot a group of sheep grazing in the distance that had strayed over from the neighboring farm. “Woof, woof “ barks Hallie pointing them out to Loki. “Woof, woof” responds Loki excitedly as he spots the sheep. Curling himself into a tight ball, he explodes into a charging, sprint towards the sheep. From a mile away they smell danger and scatter clumsily in different directions towards their farm in a fine demonstration of sheep dog skills. “Yau (yes), Yau”, Hallie,acknowledges proudly.

(Photo credits: Iceland Tourism Board)

Iceland - Sticker stock in Reykjavik and touring the Golden Circle.

Why everything is so expensive and how Icelanders manage to live here is not so clear. Of course island nations from Tahiti to Iceland have to deal with importing most everything from somewhere else. Other than fishing, some cattle raising, and plenty of energy from geothermal and hydroelectric sources Iceland has to depend on other countries from produce to cars and computers. Add a hefty 25% tax on goods and cost of living can be frightfully high stripping clean your precious US dollar travel budget.

My simple comparative economic analysis makes it all very clear. A no frills meal at Shalimar, a down to earth, Indian-Pakistani restaurant costs $100 for three. A similar dinner at the Shalimar in downtown San Francisco (same name, similar food, similar ambience, similar Pakistani owners) would cost $45. As the average price for a gallon of gas in the US crossed $2.20 it set off a flurry of angst ridden calls on radio talk shows. In Iceland I pumped gas for $6.43 a gallon. I checked out the most trusted of benchmarks that The Economist uses everywhere in the world – the health-unconscious Big Mac. The MacDonald’s in Palo Alto, California serves it up for $2.90. The MacDonald’s in Aukereryi, Iceland will hit you for $7.40.

So how do Icelanders cope on what looks to me like modest salaries I ask many people. The explanations I get leave me unconvinced. Many people live off two or more jobs. Living off credit cars and other forms of debt are common. That sounds like a reasonable short term solution. I am baffled about how this model has been sustained over the years.

The economy is tiny, compact, and quaint. The Iceland Stock Exchange trades 15 stocks, Market capitalization is at $22 billion thanks to a threefold rise in three years making it one of the hottest but mite-sized markets in Europe. The market rose a stunning 58% in 2004 alone. Nevertheless the market is thin with seven companies accounting for 71% of the total equity trading last year. The big three – Iceland’s three largest banks – alone have assets three times the GDP of the country and account for two-thirds of market capitalization.

What makes Iceland really, really interesting lies outside Reykjavik and its stock exchange. Pramod and Aroma, an Indian family living in Iceland indulge me by driving full circle around the island over a few days. I have never met them before and only had a few email exchanges after an introduction through a mutual acquaintance. Their hospitality for a complete stranger leaves me very touched. Their Icelandic friends in turn extend their hospitality by inviting us to stay in their homes, summer houses, farms, and guest rooms. Add to that the delight of a precocious five year old called Vibhu with intelligent questions and jokes delivered fluently in three languages – English, Malayalam, and Icelandic – and I had the trip of a lifetime. By the end I am chanting nursery rhymes in Icelandic, “Ullen, Thullen, Thol, Pike, Pane, Gol…..”

Iceland and Greenland urgently require a name swap. Iceland is actually quite green with endless rolling hills and green plains. Greenland, as I flew over it, looked formidable and forbidden with its huge desolate snow plain, scarred by mighty glaciers, massive icebergs creaking in the ocean, and soaring snow covered peaks. Although massive compared to Iceland the frozen plains of Greenland are a land of snow and silence and home to only 56,000 people and some polar bears, reindeer, and artic foxes.

Iceland also needs a giant construction sign over it. Sitting on top of active volcanoes and geothermal hotspots, you almost want to check the weather report before venturing out in case your day is interrupted by rattling earth, stampeding lava, or showering ash. As recent as 1963 a volcano erupted in the waters off Iceland. TV cameras hovered overhead and people around the globe watched in fascination on television the creation of a brand new island called Surtsey named after the Norse God Surtur who has the duty of setting fire to the earth at the end of the world.

Vestmannaeyjar (the Westman Islands) is one of the friendliest places in Iceland due to its relative isolation; Vestmanaeyjar was hosting an annual festival the weekend I arrived in Iceland. The festival sounded like a cross between Burning Man and the Bonnaroo festival. One night in 1973, a volcano erupted on the island spewing 30 million tones of lava over the town of Heimaey. TV viewers around the world watched the chillingly compelling and morbidly fascinating footage of residents fleeing their homes against a background of angry, boiling lava.

Most visitors to Iceland will experience its natural beauty as they drive around the golden circle close to Reykjavik. Just outside the airport the Hitaveita Sudurnesja geothermal plant uses superheated water pulled out from a over a mile below to produce electricity. The water is then piped into one of Iceland’s most visited attractions – The Blue Lagoon. Throngs of tourists bob around in the waters wearing masks of silica. The eponymous lake gets its name because of its surreal pearly blue glow under a hazy, steamy pall created by the steam rising from the piping hot water into the frigid air. At Thingvellir, you can see the 2.5 mile gap between the European and North America tectonic plates. The gap is widening by about two inches each year as America and Europe drift away from each other tearing apart the heart of Iceland. Pingvellir is also the site of the Althingi, the Viking parliament from 930 AD. The Vikings had a fairly, sophisticated parliamentary process for far-flung settlements that gathered here once a year to settle disputes and ratify laws. Even as the rest of us were still clubbing each other to death over issues like “your cow strayed into my pasture”.

A little beyond is the community of Geyser with the original Geysir discovered in 1294 that can spout scalding hot water 250 feet. Every other Geysir in the world derives its name from the original one here. Alas, Geysir stopped spouting in the 60s after being bunged in by rock, dirt, and soap tossed in by tourists trying to set it off. Now it only comes to life after an earthquake and so the last spout off was in 2000. But right next to it is the little cousin Strokkur (the churn) which erupts faithfully every 10 minutes as the geothermally superheated water and steam trapped in a fissure and seeking an escape blasts out the cooler water on top shooting up about a 100 feet. The Golden Circle rounds off at Gullfoss, Iceland’s most photographed waterfall, where the Hvitao (white) river tumbles 90 feet into a steep canyon kicking up a fuss and lots of spray creating shimmering rainbows over the gorge. The falls almost disappeared in the 1920s when the Government accepted a proposal from investors to dam the river for a hydroelectric project. The landowner Tomas Tomasson refused to sell and his daughter Sigridur Tomasdottir walked all the way to the capital in protest and threatened to throw herself into the falls. The Government ignored her anyway and approved the project. Sigridour stayed dry on the side of the waterfall. The investors defaulted on the lease. The Government canceled the project. Where environmental activism did not triumph basic economics did – no pay, no way. The laws of economics are immutable even in Iceland, even if they are inconvenient.

Iceland – Small place, Big Soul

Iceland is a small pace with a big soul. It is designed to startle you all the time. Driving out of Keflavik airport you pass a barren lava field that looks like a lunar landscape. Steam hisses out from geothermal springs underground reminding you that this is a land forged literally out of fire and ice. It is also frightfully expensive and can suck up your devalued dollars out of your wallet like an industrial vacuum cleaner. A 20 minute cab ride from the airport to the center of Reykjavik the capital will set you back $150. Dotted by steaming lava fields, icecaps, glaciers, hot pools, and geysers, the Icelandic landscape has an elemental rawness that makes you aware of the awesome creative power of the earth. Reykjavik, the northernmost capital in the world has a raging nightlife earning it the title of the coolest capital of Europe

Iceland has always held a fascination for me. Tom Clynes had written in the National Geographic about a dramatically lit, ghost-brown place, peppered with lava flows and geysers, populated by farmer-poets and fair beauties. He called it the last great wilderness in Europe with no castles or palaces.

But Icelanders have a strong sense of history and myth woven through the Icelandic sagas. Written by anonymous authors between 1200 and 1400AD, these stories are a mix of real life incidents and glorious exaggerations, that Icelanders use as a key to comprehending their extraordinary environment, their countrymen, and themselves. The sagas are all wild eyed tales of Viking valor and treachery, love and destroyed hopes, soaring heroes and brutal violence. Romantic, fairly tales they are not. Impossible epics of gore, grit, and greatness they are. The Grettis Saga, for example, is the tale of a superhuman outlaw, Grettir the strong, who was on the run for 20 years. Armed with a sword and reciting poetry he roamed the land, plundering travelers, helping widows, and had an occasional tryst with saucy farm girls and the daughters of a giant. In one episode he has an argument with a farmhand named Skeggi which ends when Grettir strikes Skeggi with Skeggi’s own axe through to his brain. He finally holes up on the tallest peak on Dragney island and lives there for several years. The saga ends when local farmers who wanted him to leave storm his hut and with Grettir’s own sword cut off his head

With only 270,000 inhabitants – less than a third of the population of San Francisco living on an island the size of Kentucky - Iceland has emerged as a high-tech welfare state with one of the highest standards of living in the world. Iceland sits remote and mysterious just a few hundred meters south of the Arctic Circle. The sun never sets in the summer and people live in daylight for 24 hours. During winter there is almost no sun and most of the day seems like night. When he is told to get ready for bed, a common question I hear from Vibhu, my host’s five year old is. “Is it night or day?” As far as he can tell, it is bright outside, and he could be out there still playing with Hringur, Byarki, and Ulli.

Reykjavik is small, compact, and very walkable. Modern buildings with interesting architecture live in peace with clapboard house that feature colored tin roofs. Although a small town by world standards and a teeming metropolis compared to other Icelandic towns (Akureyri, the next biggest has 15,000 people) it is packed with restaurants, cafes, museums, theaters, and music venues. The feel is that of an upbeat, fashionable, expensive, youth-oriented small city with a vibrant, art, culture, and music scene.

Reykjavik has an ultra-trendy club scene earning itself titles like the capital of cool and the hippest city on the planet. The nightlife rages mostly around Laugavegur street. On Friday and Saturday nights all the impossibly good looking people in Scandinavia seem to have received the big summons for The Runtur, the great Icelandic pub crawl where party goers go from club to club with names like NASA, Pravda, and Hverfisbarinn progressively getting louder and less inhibited. The Sun is a natural ally. Even at 3AM, Laugavegur street can feel like an Icelandic Times square on New Year’s eve. Why go home yet because the Sun has not set for three months now?

Every Icelander you meet in a bar seems to either perform in a band, writes songs, or is otherwise connected to poetry, writing, or art. Iceland publishes the greatest number of books per capita in the world. And this is the land that gave birth to Bjork, Sugarcubes and Quarashi.

Plaxo

I have been using a free software and service called Plaxo (www.plaxo.com) and would strongly recommend it. The concept behind Plaxo is elegantly simple. How do you keep your address book with hundreds of contacts current as people change homes, jobs, emails, and phones. Plaxo has a simple solution. It keeps your address book current using a simple process. If the other person is a Plaxo member then everytime he or she updates his address Plaxo will automatically update your addressbook. For all others Plaxo makes it simple to send an email whenever you choose to saying very simply," This is my latest contact information, Here is the contact information I have for you in my address book, can you confirm or update this". Any changes made by the other person is automatically inserted into your address book.

There are several features that Plaxo offers. The one I like best is their address book optimizer which does an intelligent scan of your address book and identify duplicates which you can then get rid of. This service has an annual fee of $29.95. But the clever way in which it cleans up your address book and the time you save makes it worth it.

The New iMac G5 and the Mac Mini



Walter Mossberg, who covers personal technology for the WSJ is probably the most influential tech journalist in America today. On Wed, he wrote that he has been receiving emails from his readers asking if they should switch from Windows to the Mac and he feels that this is now an attractive and affordable option. He claims this is the best personal computer he has every worked on, the price point is right, and the security is excellent. No viruses or adware. See one of his articles below. He has been saying this for a while and prompted my switch.


http://ptech.wsj.com/ptech.html

Jan 20, 2005

With New Mac Mini, Apple Makes Switching Attractive, Affordable
By WALTER S. MOSSBERG

If my e-mail from readers is any indication, more Windows users are thinking of switching to Apple Computer's Macintosh models than at any time in a decade. A significant minority of Windows users are so fed up with battling viruses and spyware, or so impressed with Apple's iPod music players, that they are seriously tempted to jump to the Mac.
But some are put off by Apple's prices. The widely praised iMac G5 starts at $1,299. And the lowest-priced Mac, the eMac model, is $799. When you compare them with truly comparable Windows machines, their prices are competitive. But they look very high compared with the cheapest Windows machines, which are under $500.

So, this weekend, Apple will start selling its lowest-priced Mac ever, a tiny but full-featured desktop computer called the Mac mini, priced at just $499. But there is a catch. The mini doesn't include a monitor, keyboard or mouse. Apple says it was designed to work with the monitors, keyboards and mice from Windows PCs that it assumes switchers already own.
I've been testing the Mac mini under just that scenario for several days, and it does indeed work, quite well. I connected a mini to a Dell flat-panel screen and a Hewlett-Packard keyboard and mouse, all about three years old. The little Mac fired up and worked perfectly at every task I threw at it.

The mini comes with Apple's older G4 processor, which in some ways beats the Celeron processors used in low-end Windows PCs. It has 256 megabytes of memory; a 40-gigabyte hard disk; a video card with 32 megabytes of video memory; an Ethernet networking port; and a DVD drive that can also burn CDs. It also comes with Apple's superb suite of multimedia programs, called iLife.
In addition, the mini comes with Apple's latest operating system, called Panther, which has so far never been attacked by a successful virus and has been plagued with little or no known spyware.

All of this is packed into one of the tiniest cases I've ever seen on a desktop computer. The Mac mini is just 6.5 inches square and 2 inches high.
Before going into the details of my mini tests, let's talk about price. Even at $499, the mini isn't as cheap as the cheapest Windows PC. Dell is selling a model for $399, including a 17-inch monitor, keyboard and mouse.

The Dell has less usable memory than the mini, and it can't burn CDs. It also has only a 90-day warranty, instead of the mini's one-year warranty. But you can add CD burning, a one-year warranty and extra memory for $115, or a total of $514.
Second, for many switchers, the mini will cost more than its $499 base price. I recommend doubling the memory to 512 megabytes, which adds $75 (I suggest doing the same thing with a Windows PC). And because the mini has only two USB ports, which will be filled by a Windows keyboard and mouse, I recommend buying something called a USB hub, which adds extra ports so you can plug in a printer or other USB gear. Such a hub costs about $20, so that brings the minimum cost for a mini to $594.
I also suggest adding stereo speakers to the mini, in place of its small internal speaker. You can use the speakers from your existing Windows PC, but if you need to buy them, they cost about $30. That would bring the price to $624.

For some switchers, the costs won't end there. If your old Windows PC is a laptop, or if you want to keep it intact, or if its keyboard and mouse are an older type that doesn't use USB connectors, you may need to buy a monitor, keyboard and mouse for your mini.
A low-end TV-type 17-inch monitor runs about $160, and a USB keyboard and mouse can be found for about $29. These three items add about $189 to the cost, bringing our notional mini setup to $813.

In my tests, the mini did very well. I plugged it into my cable modem, and within minutes I was on the Web and sending and receiving e-mail.
I copied hundreds of songs, hundreds of pictures and dozens of Microsoft Word and Adobe PDF documents to the mini from my Windows PC. The mini's built-in programs played the music and displayed the photos and PDF files swiftly and perfectly. I burned CDs and played DVDs with no problems.

The Word documents also opened perfectly in the mini's rudimentary built-in word processor. However, if you are going to use a lot of Microsoft Office documents on the mini, or any Mac, I recommend getting Microsoft Office for the Mac, which can be bought for as little as $150. I tried Office on the mini, and it ran fine.

There were a few downsides. The mini is generally quiet, but its combination DVD player/CD burner makes a lot of noise. You can't place anything on top of the mini or the DVD drive could jam. And, with a Windows keyboard, some Apple keyboard features aren't available, such as volume and brightness controls.

Overall, the Mac mini is a good choice for Windows users on a budget who are tempted to switch. It's not a technological breakthrough, but it may just be one of Apple's smartest business moves.
Write to Walter S. Mossberg at mossberg@wsj.com

The Travel Book
A Journey Through Every Country In The World
Lonely Planet



"The World is a book and those who do not travel read only a page" - St. Augustine

If you are looking for a good gift this season especially for someone who is a world traveler then you may want to take a look at Lonely Planet's fascinating pictorial book. Recently published, it is titled "The Travel Book - A Journey Through Every Country In the World""

Consisting of 444 pages, 1200 images, 230 countries, and weighing nearly 4 lbs it is one complete and fascinating picture of our lonely planet.

As the flap jacket says - Ever since our first, faltering, upright steps, humankind has traveled. Everywhere is migration, exploration, pursuit. Terrible things have been caused by this restlessness, but it is also the source of much that is extraordinary and wonderful. This book seeks to inspire the right kind of travel in today's world, through a definitive expression of its promiscuous diversity and difference. The world is a breathtakingly big place, and this book has attempted to capture the spirit and magic of every single country. It shows the slice of life in every corner of the globe, and all points in between.

The world is viewed in a pleasing kind of egalitarianism- USA and UK get the same two pages with half a dozen pictures and a block of text as does Cote D'Ivoire and Togo. The book starts off in an A to Z format from Afghanistan, Albania, and Algeria and painstakingly works its way to Zambia and Zimbabwe. There is a sense of wonder as dramatically different countries follow each other. Belgium after Belarus, Martinique after Marshall Islands, Tuvalu after Turks & Caicos, Virgin Island after Vietnam. Countries are mysteriously handcuffed through history and heritage that now links their names through the English alphabet barely hiding a deeper connection shared by humans. The images are haunting - Gitaga dancers leaping in the air, volcanic plugs in Rumsiki, herders following a flock of sheep in Cotopaxi, donkeys picking their way down cobble steps on Santorini, and a bejeweled Bedouin girl smiling beneath a florid headscarf.

I flipped through the pages excitedly, stopping at some of the countries I had been to - Australia, Czech Republic, French Polynesia, Gambia, Israel, Malaysia, Mongolia, Vatican City.............and flagging the places I want to go to- Argentina, Bhutan, Dominican Republic, Iceland, Panama, Tibet, Turkey, Tuvalu, Vanauatu...........

Traveling with respect, curiosity, and a sense of humor is a satisfying and liberating pleasure. So travel more, travel well, travel safely. Wander around the planet or at least the pages of this book. Lose your way and find yourself some place else.

The books costs $US 39.99 but you can find it at Amazon for $23.99

A Classroom on Top of the World


We paused to catch our breath and looked at the majestic sight in front of us. Mount Kangchenjunga, at 28,168 feet the third highest mountain on the planet, towered above us. The bright sunshine glistened off the icy slopes of this Himalayan skyscraper. A plume of mist rose from the top of the peak and was swiftly carried away by the ferocious wind. Suddenly the radio crackled to life: "We are on top of Go-Cha La pass and will start our descent shortly." The message was from five team members who had reached the high point of some 17,000 feet beneath the shear south face of Kangchenjunga. Cheers broke out among the remainder of our trekking party of eighteen.

Supported by a staff of Sherpas and porters and a herd of yak, Wharton Leadership Ventures had brought a group of MBA students and alumni and several participants from the Wharton Executive Education programs to the Indian state of Sikkim in the Eastern Himalayas. Now in its fifth year, our trek had earlier been slated to reach the lower slopes of Mount Everest in Nepal. But due to the sometimes violent unrest in Nepal this year, the trek had been redirected to the slopes around India's towering colossus of Kangchenjunga.

The trek's lofty goals were in keeping with the heights we were scaling. Leadership is a capacity that draws on all aspects of an individual and an organization. Developing a vision, articulating it, and inspiring others to achieve it require not only careful analysis and technical knowledge but also a sense for what is important for the organization and for the people in and around it. We knew that mastering these abilities is a lifelong endeavor, and this leadership trek promised an opportunity to continue our leadership development, exercise our body, cross-train our mind, and reflect on our leadership future amongst the awe-inspiring peaks of the Himalayas.

Teaching leadership in a classroom is challenging enough. But how on earth do you teach leadership by shifting the classroom to a remote mountain landscape reached only by days of international flights and treacherous road travel?

Our trek started at Yuksam, a tiny Himalayan village at a height of 6,800 feet, passed through dense pine and rhododendron forests to Alpine meadows above the tree line and finally to a point where there was no e-mail, no electricity, no plumbing, no human settlements, no plant or animal life -- just a vast cold emptiness on a glacial moraine with some of the most remote, desolate vistas I have ever seen.

Within hours of hitting the trail it was clear that our trekkers came with varied backgrounds and abilities. Lindsay Patrick, who had grown up in the Canadian Rockies and captained the Wharton women's soccer team, scampered up the steep slopes and slithered down snowy stretches like a mountain goat. I by contrast had grown up a few hundred miles north of the equator and had not seen snow till I was in my thirties.

Our second night's campsite was the windswept plateau of Dzongri at an altitude of 13,200 feet. Lynne Dant, a marketing manager for a specialty chemicals company, and Eric Byrne, a software consultant, were anxiously anticipated the evening as this would be the first time that they had ever camped in the great outdoors. They were shocked as we neared the campsite when we were hit with a fierce Himalayan ice storm that rattled even our experienced guides. The wind howled and thunder cracked all night and into the following day, blanketing our tents and the landscape with layers of hail and snow.

As the storm continued through another night, we began to face a critical decision: whether to stay put until the weather abated, or to push higher in the storm. The snow-covered trail ahead initially dropped more than 1,000 feet into a river gorge, and then back up the other side onto a treacherous boulder field. We had no idea how slippery and dangerous the descent and subsequent ascent would be. Some of us urged that we remain at Dzongri until the storm abated, while others were eager to go. Everybody weighed in with their opinions, and the collective will came to point toward climbing higher despite the conditions. This turned out to be an excellent decision, as the sun emerged several hours later to melt the new snow and reveal an array of spectacular peaks soaring above us.



Several nights later we readied for a 3 am departure for the high pass of Go-Cha La. Our trip physician, Brad Reinke, warned us to pay close attention to any signs of altitude sickness once we ascended over 15,000 feet. A trip leader added in no uncertain terms that while going up was voluntary, getting back was mandatory. As we climbed up, each of us had to continually assess how we felt, how much higher we could ascend, and how much reserve remained for getting back down. We knew that the latter would be critical not only for own well being but also for the safety and success of the entire team.




Most of the team made it to the Go-Cha La point at 16,700 feet, and five pushed all the way up to Go-Cha La pass at 17,000 feet. Lynn Dant and I had set our own personal "Go-Cha La" of reaching at least 16,000 feet, and we succeeded in climbing higher than that and getting a magnificent up close view of Kangchenjunga before our inner voices said that was enough. With our type A personalities it was hard to say "no" to going all the way to the top. But we had to make a sensible call to leave ourselves with enough reserves to descend safely and not jeopardize the rest of the team. It proved a personal leadership moment.

(Original article in the Wharton Leadership Digest. See the 5th article from the top)


Photos from the Himalayas

Two months ago I became an American citizen in a moving ceremony and thus participating in a 200 plus year experiment in freedom and the pursuit of liberty and happiness. A close friend Suku wrote this article when he witnessed his brother go through the ceremony earlier.

On Becoming American
Sukumar Ramanathan
Oct 24th, 1996



There are fifteen hundred people crowding the Masonic Auditorium on California Street in San Francisco this autumn afternoon, about to become freshly minted citizens. There were eleven hundred others on this morning in late 1996, eleven hundred who raised their right hands and said seven sentences and just like that, a breath of air, went from being Cambodian and Irish and Ethiopian to becoming American.

I am not yet one of the fifteen hundred. Instead, I sit with my sister-in-law and her mother as my brother, the younger of the two Ramanathan boys, embarks on the momentous journey. Around us are people from every corner of the world: a shy Vietnamese couple who can't seem to stop beaming; a Russian grandmother who stumbles as she walks towards her seat; a strong Haitian man, deep ebony skin, in a fine tan suit; a large Mexican family, four children, mother in a bright floral dress. There are Poles and Uzbeks and Chinese here who have been imagining this day all their lives. And between themselves the people speak urgently, in Farsi and Spanish and Czech, admonishing their children and posing for group photographs and asking for advice on filling out the voter registration form. The best Sunday suits are on display here. Brightly shined shoes and crisply ironed sleeves, and skirts in every color you can imagine.

For many, this is the day of days, as important to them as the day they graduated school or uttered their vows of marriage. This is the culmination of years of sacrifice and effort, of the pain of leaving behind their home and family, of struggling in a new land where language and culture are perplexing, of endless lines in endless consulates with plastic pouches full of forms that say I-94, H-1, J-1, Resident Alien. After this day, they will have the same blue passport as everybody else. They will fill out the same tax forms as their neighbors and be able to vote for the same candidates. There is so much joy and hope and optimism in this auditorium that it makes me blink back tears.

The United States awes me in its ability to fashion an American out of any person that it takes in. I am still at a loss when asked to picture a typical American. The term encompasses for me the Lebanese owner whose gyro shop I haunted in Chapel Hill, the Russian scientist that I assisted at Kodak Labs, the Indian that I worked for in marketing at Sun Microsystems, and the Costa Rican who runs the cash register at my cafeteria. But Rasoul wasn't Lebanese, he was American. He collected vintage Fords and had pictures of JFK on his wall. Sergei could talk for hours about the music of Leonard Bernstein. Deepak is more fluent in the American idiom than his native Tamil. And Jader served in the US Special Forces in Panama for three years. In facial features, accent and heritage, not one of them should be American. But each of them, in his own unique fashion, is.

I can imagine a Chinese citizen. He looks Chinese. And a French citizen is French from her language to her sense of style. But American? I have no idea. What connects Arnold Schwarzenegger to Professor Chandrasekhar? What is common between Monica Seles and Amy Tan? Mario Cuomo and Wayne Huizenga? What is it about this singular country that gives it the ability to take Jewish prisoners of conscience and Taiwanese students,Swiss nannies and Vietnamese boat people, Australian tycoons and Cuban balseras, and out of this jumbled polyglot stew, fashion human beings that you instantly recognize as American?

America is the only country I know of that defines it's citizenry not by race or creed but as the embodiment of an idea. The idea of the primacy of the individual and of the attendant rights and responsibilities. Try arguing for equality in Malaysia if you aren't Moslem. Or publishing a newsletter of ideas in Singapore if those ideas happen to be at odds with those of the government. It is then that you truly appreciate the American experiment.

I once spent an entire morning in Washington in the museum that houses the Declaration of Independence. There is something that is both shocking and inspirational about a document that dares to hold some truths to be self-evident. About a charter that believes that one of the inalienable rights of a human being is the pursuit of happiness. That contains instructions for its own destruction should it fail to meet its goals.

The other document that I hold in reverence is the U.S Constitution. Imagine. A group of contentious politicians gathered more than two hundred years ago on a steamy Philadelphia summer to draft a mission statement for the ages. This short document has since guided the affairs of over two hundred million people over two centuries, through a Civil War that almost rent the Union, through a catastrophic global economic depression, through two World Wars, the assassination of four heads of state and the resignation of one. And it has had to be amended a grand total of only twenty-six times.

I see a country based on ideals, not on circumstance of birth or religion. This is the siren call that has brought in Irish potato farmers and Chinese railroad workers, Italian bakers and German scientists, Hungarian code-breakers and Cambodian grocers, Indian engineers and Salvadoran restarauteurs. It doesn't matter where you came from or what you came with. What are you capable of becoming? I know of no other country that gives you such a fair shake.

This spring, I would sometimes hear the speeches of Pat Buchanan on my car radio, and fume silently. Not because I would be one of the aliens that he directs his tirades at but because he chooses to ignore the history of this country. He was schooled at Gonzaga High and studied at the finest institutions of higher education that the U.S has to offer. Is this what the Jesuit priests taught in his classroom? Where is his optimism, his imagination?

But there is strength even in that conflict of ideas. Buchanan is voicing his opinion, much different from mine. Both of us are exercising a guaranteed right. I believe as strongly in diversity as he thinks that the current rate of immigration will lead to economic catastrophe. It is a wondrous nation indeed that allows us both our forum, just as it grants the freedom of public opinion to Howard Stern, Ellen Goodman, David Dukes, the Reverend Al Sharpton or the Freemen.

We all rise to our feet. The San Mateo High School Honor Guard marches in and presents the colors. On either side of the judge, there slowly unfurls the Stars and Stripes and the flag of the California Republic. Mohammed Samini, a lawyer from Iran, leads the oath of allegiance in a tremulous voice. Fifteeen hundred voices resonate with his. The judge smiles and says, "Welcome, citizens of America". The clapping that follows rises in waves to the roof.

As the throng leaves the auditorium, many more family members and friends descend to greet the new citizens with hugs. Everyone seems to be smiling. Camcorders record every movement and the continuous flash of cameras is dizzying. We pose self-consciously, taking photographs of each other to commemorate this precious moment. Then we ask others to take pictures of us all.

We scatter outside onto the shiny mosaic floor of the foyer, among us the newest ensigns of a two hundred and twenty year old experiment in governance.

Sean O'Casey.
Olga Rachevsky.
Thanh Vo.
Ramon Guittirez.
Jaikumar Ramanathan.
*-*-*

Remembering September 11, 2001

This week marks the first anniversary of the terrorist attacks in New York and Washington on September 11, 2001. As I pause to reflect on the events that have unfolded since then I am struck, both by the human ability to cope with almost any crisis and the seeming inability to learn in certain areas. On the one hand the tales of heroism by families that lost a loved one and the people who reached out to help are inspirational. On the other hand I wonder what is it about human beings that gives us this capacity to create anger and hate against another human being that is externally different from us and wants us to destroy the other person. On many levels human being over the years have demonstrated the tremendous capability to learn and deal with nature, the physical world, diseases etc. Otherwise we would not be flying in airplanes, reading this blog, or working on the 100th floor of office buildings. But when it comes to the futility of a cycle of hatred and violence we seem unable to draw any lessons.

Last year in the days following the September 11 attacks I sent the email below to some friends.
My friends Maureen, Hal, and I just came back from a very moving gathering in downtown Palo Alto near Stanford University. It was an interfaith gathering of human beings in support of Peace, Justice, and Healing organized by the First Presbyterian Church of Palo Alto in an open air plaza in the middle of the downtown area. There were about 400 people. It was organized as a prayer meeting and started off with a Muslim Cleric reciting verses from the Koran, followed by Catholic Priests, Buddhist ministers, Jewish Rabbi, Quakers, Mormon Clerics, representatives from the Bahai faith, Black Baptist ministers, and a number of varied faiths from all around the San Francisco bay area. The message throughout the evening was one of love, peace, tolerance, compassion, forgiveness, and healing. Joan Baez was there and led us all in song in her beautiful voice. It was a small enough gathering that I was able to go up to her and give her a hug and thank her for helping us with the healing process. But I was too emotional and was barely able to say much between the tears. She just gave me another hug and said we all need this healing process. Her niece also sang another song in a beautiful voice that shows much promise.

There were Arab-Americans and Muslim women with their head covered in the gathering. A Lebanese-Palestinian- American spoke and talked about all the terrorism and mayhem he had witnessed growing up and how he loved this country for accepting him . They are all struggling with the pain like everyone else. In fact when a Muslim cleric or speaker spoke or led us in prayer the applause was the loudest. Clearly the message from the people present was that we need to
get through this together and not turn against each other. People held hands, hugged each other, sang together, and wept openly. It was a moving
ceremony. I wept several times as did my friends who were with me all of us of different ethnic heritages.

It has been an emotionally exhausting week for all of us. I have wept a few times through the week. I think I am grieving for many things - at the immediate loss, destruction, and displacement in NY/DC. I am also grieving for the loss of a free and trusting way of life. I am grieving at the fear of the unimaginable limits of evil that human beings can go to. I am grieving at our inability to comprehend both the scale of what happened and why people do what they just did.

Everyday on my way to work I go through a list of ten different things that I am grateful for. A different list for each day. On many days a fact that made the list was the fact that we live in a time of such peace and prosperity. The second was that we live in such a multi-cultural world united in many ways while at the same
time celebrating our diversity. I think I am grieving because I am frightened that this may change.

My hope is that there will be lots of love, patience, and healing around the world over the next several months. On the one hand we have to create a
world where these events don't happen while at the same time we don't lose the above things I am grateful for. We have to preserve this beautiful world
we know because we borrowed it from our children.
-------------------------------------
(In June 2001, I was in the mountains of Colorado rafting rivers and climbing mountains as part of an outward bound course. Tom Peterson was one of the people with me during this program. Tom wrote the thought provoking article below shortly after September 11, 2001)

I have a two year old child. Two. The age where they say 'I'm two my next birthday" and hold up any number of fingers not understanding age or the
fact that the next birthday they speak of has long since past. She is now laying on my lap, in my arms, head folded forward and eyes closed. She
sleeps.

I lean forward and push the fine blond hair from her temple and rest my lips there long enough to feel the warmth of her soul and I know I am on
the kissing spot and that is what I do. Not once or twice or even three times but more as my eyes peer out the window and thoughts of the world
swirl and I think if I were to die this would certainly be a wonderful way to go. With that I look at her and I wonder what would become of her or
would she perish with me. Would that be better?

I just finished reading an email written to the perpetrators of the horrendous crime that has turned our world and knocked it off the axis we
are so familiar and comfortable with. Things are turning a bit differently now and no one has yet learned to walk on this platform which spins beneath
our feet differently than it once did. There is talk of love and hatred, each side calling one another a coward. Each speaks of God as if he is the
captain of one team and not the other and each side claims him. They don't know much about us, we not much about them. They hate us. We don't know
enough about them to have had thoughts one way or the other nor did we really care but now we hate them- whoever they are.

I look at my daughter and I think that in this country she could grow to be a Muslim. Certainly she was born into and being raised as a Christian but
in this country people end up making decisions as to how they will lead their own lives. So I wonder what benefit is it to perform such acts and
plant a seed deep within her that shall possibly create an enemy with both knowledge and hatred of them when in fact she could choose to follow that
faith some day. But this coin is not unlike any other which has another side.

We are hated. Hated by a people who have had countless bombs dropped from their sky for countless reasons killing innocent people and babies- such as
the one I am holding both in my arms and my heart. Are those parents who lost children and children who lost parents different than I or my child?
Do I understand what it is like to live day by day fearing attacks?

We have now tasted the acid of such an event. We are now starting to live a similar kind of life were we fear such things as getting on a plane for
vacation, attending an event like those which draw large crowds to football and baseball games where we watch multimillionaires play a sport.
I dare say we have a long way to go before we are as steeled to it as they and are able to walk down a street as the gunfire is chatting with such
predictability that newscasters have no problem capturing it for us to see from the comfort of our homes.

Cowards- they to us, we to them. They willing to train for years to meet their ends and give their lives in fighting their fight against a
super-power- cowards? We, willing to openly march in with the might a world power holds to protect our soil and freedom- cowards? I think not in
either case and what difference does it make anyway. Is it just another reason for one to condone a planned offensive or defensive move?

Who is right, who is wrong- both sides know the answer and that is why we are about to go to war. It is always the other side and both sides now
have enough hurt and pain to prove it and to march.

What should we do? I do not know. There is fear, there is doubt, there is questioning. Each one of us will sort through these things and come to our
own opinion and those will be debated as time goes on and in the days to come. But now I must trust in our leaders and support them. As the debates
commence, we must continue to be unified as there is no real answer- right or wrong. There is only action and reaction, circumstance and response,
cause and affect. We debate the lessons of history and disagree, how do we know the results of todays actions upon tomorrow? We can only go
forward and hope as going forward in a straight line offers more predictable consequences than stumbling all about.

One thing is for sure, though, it cannot happen again. The pain, the damage, the suffering, the agony. It is just too devastating. It just
cannot happen again- not just here but anywhere. Not by any group or to any group. So I guess we need to do it again- just one last time: just like Grandpa did and great grandpa and those before him.

As I lay my daughter down I look at the peacefulness there before me and I know that all children are like this where-ever they call home. And I
realize that seeds are being planted in these children both here and afar to hate. Those seeds will germinate, they will sprout and my daughter
will be hated by those she does not know and it is also possible she may well learn to hate those who do not know her.

With this in mind I lean over and place my lips to her kissing spot and hope for the best for all. The peace and tranquility in planting that kiss
and feeling the warmth of her soul through my lips cause me to think if I were to die this would certainly be a wonderful way to go.

'TERENCE, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
It gives a chap the belly-ache.
The cow, the old cow, she is dead;
It sleeps well, the horned head:
We poor lads, 'tis our turn now
To hear such tunes as killed the cow.
Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme
Your friends to death before their time
Moping melancholy mad:
Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.'

Why, if 'tis dancing you would be,
There's brisker pipes than poetry.
Say, for what were hop-yards meant,
Or why was Burton built on Trent?
Oh many a peer of England brews
Livelier liquor than the Muse,
And malt does more than Milton can
To justify God's ways to man.
Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think:
Look into the pewter pot
To see the world as the world's not.
And faith, 'tis pleasant till 'tis past:
The mischief is that 'twill not last.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie God knows where,
And carried half way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a sterling lad;
And down in lovely muck I've lain,
Happy till I woke again.
Then I saw the morning sky:
Heigho, the tale was all a lie;
The world, it was the old world yet,
I was I, my things were wet,
And nothing now remained to do
But begin the game anew.

Therefore, since the world has still
Much good, but much less good than ill,
And while the sun and moon endure
Luck's a chance, but trouble's sure,
I'd face it as a wise man would,
And train for ill and not for good.
'Tis true, the stuff I bring for sale
Is not so brisk a brew as ale:
Out of a stem that scored the hand
I wrung it in a weary land.
But take it: if the smack is sour,
The better for the embittered hour;
It should do good to heart and head
When your soul is in my soul's stead;
And I will friend you, if I may,
In the dark and cloudy day.

There was a king reigned in the East:
There, when kings will sit to feast,
They get their fill before they think
With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.
He gathered all the springs to birth
From the many-venomed earth;
First a little, thence to more,
He sampled all her killing store;
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
Sate the king when healths went round.
They put arsenic in his meat
And stared aghast to watch him eat;
They poured strychnine in his cup
And shook to see him drink it up:
They shook, they stared as white's their shirt:
Them it was their poison hurt.
--I tell the tale that I heard told.
Mithridates, he died old.

A. E. Housman (1859-1936).

I was getting ready for a musical treat this Wednesday when my current favorite band The Counting Crows would open for a former favorite band The Who at my favorite outdoor concert venue The Shoreline Amphitheater in Mountain View.

But earlier today John Entwistle bassist and founding member of The Who was found dead in his room at the Hard Rock hotel and casino in Las Vegas, victim of a heart attack. He was 57. The Who were to start their summer tour through the US tomorrow with the first concert at the Hard Rock hotel.

Entwistle, was known for his stoically self controlled presence on stage while his hyperkinetic bandmates wreaked havoc around him. Their stage antics were infamous: Townsend's had his frantic windmills and stage jumps, Moon's was a wild animal behind the drum kits, Daltrey spun the microphone and sprinted all over the stage, while the impassive Entwistle surveyed it all. At the end of a set, no instrument was safe. During a concert at Britain's Rikki Tik Club in 1966, Townshend whacked Entwistle in the head with his guitar; the following year, as the band ended a performance Moon detonated an explosive that destroyed his drum set, shocked the audience and detonated Townshend's eardrums.

Entwistle outranked Paul McCartney, Led Zeppelin's John Paul Jones and Cream's Jack Bruce as Guitar Magazine's "Bassist of the Millennium."

So just for tonite let The Who rock on your stereo with Behind Blue Eyes, Babba O' Riley, and I Can See For Miles.

Fragile

If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one
Drying in the colour of the evening sun
Tomorrow’s rain will wash the stains away
But something in our minds will always stay

Perhaps this final act was meant
To clinch a lifetime’s argument
That nothing comes from violence
And nothing ever could
For all those born beneath an angry star
Lest we forget how fragile we are

On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star. Like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are How fragile we are

---Sting in "all this time" which he recorded on Sept 11, 2001.

As troubling news of violence continues to come in from around the world - violence at a personal level, community level, and at a national level - I sometimes despair if we are incapable of learning from 5000 years of human history that nothing comes from violence and how fragile we really are as human beings. But then I continue to dream on as a hopeless romantic that we will heal as people and come together in one spirit on this lonely planet we live on.

I first came across BLOGs in an article by Chris Taylor in TIME (Feb 11,2002). Four months later, I was sitting in a train station in Hong Kong, when I came across another article in TIME that mentioned how BLOGS were spreading like wildfire across the web. I knew then that I would be hooked before long.

This then is my BLOG, a vehicle for me to share with friends and interested travelers through this planet the richness of life on our lonely planet as I experience it.

I just returned from a three month trip through India, Singapore, Hong Kong, and Australia. During this trip I joined a group from The Wharton School of Business, University of Pennsylvania on a trek to Kanchenchunga in Sikkim in the Eastern Himalayas. The trek was part of a leadership program led by Wharton Professor Mike Useem and took us to 17,000 feet in the neighborhood of Kanchenchunga which at 28,168 feet is the third highest peak in the world.
More details of the trek...
Photos from the trek....

During the trip I also finished reading a fascinating book, "Dot.con, The Greatest Story Ever Sold" by John Cassidy, a staff writer at the New Yorker. In a lively and entertaining narrative, Cassidy describes the creation, inflation, and deflation of the Internet bubble. In a well researched account, full of interesting anecdotes, the book takes you through a history of the nationwide epizootic that was fed fuel by entrepreneurs, venture capitalists, investment bankers, the financial press, the fed, and the investing public.