Some chills in Budapest

In Budapest, visiting Benno and passing through on our joint way to Belgrade, I visited a few of my old haunts as well as a few new ones. The foundry museum, not far from Moskva Ter, was a new one, but also not too spectacular, though well set up and, if you’re into casting iron, possibly even interesting.
The caretaker most certainly was rather passionate, talking non stop about iron and steel for several minutes to me, until he realised I really only got half, if that, of what he was saying. He was speaking Hungarian. When he asked what kind of work I did, I said I was a mathematical engineer. I don’t engineer with hands, I said, but with my head.

The Múcsarnok, a museum of modern art on Heroes square, had a reasonably interesting exhibition, Over the Counter, where some 30 eastern European artists presented their views on the switch from communism to market driven economies in post socialist eastern Europe. Though not all works were really directly related to the central theme, they did all focus on post-communist eastern Europe.
Another museum I visited was the Iparmúvészeti múzeum, or the museum of applied arts. The building itself is a stunning example of art nouveau architecture and the museum is known for its interesting exhibitions. This time, however, the steep entrance fee saw me visit two of the exhibitions, one on Hungarian art nouveau furniture designers, which was interesting enough, and one on the Indian dreamtime… except the latter was a collection of mediocre paintings from a Hungarian mother and daughter with Indian, that is, the Asian kind, themes. Quite a disappointment.

One thing which really has changed in the past few years are the awfully nicely renovated streets in several locations around town. One example is the area around Vaci utca, where sidewalks have been removed and the whole street is level, but there are plenty others. The downside of this is that the look and feel of the city is becoming more generic, starting to resemble downtown areas in major cities in, say, Germany or even Holland.

I’ve got mail

Earlier, with some trickery, Thunderbird and an extension not available through the Thunderbird website, I was able to kill a few hours, importing some 2000 emails from the 2002 – 2005 period, into my Gmail account. This should roughly be the three to four years directly prior to me starting to use Gmail.
Can you tell I was bored?

The voice and the verse

Budapest’s Treehugger Dan, a store where you can buy used books, rent bikes, order you coffee in bulk and buy artwork hanging on the walls, also regularly throws events. 
This one brought together Irish musician Niall Connolly, the Irish poet Neil McCarthy and a host of backers, including one gentleman Eric Wilson Harris from Athens, Georgia, (who doesn’t have a website, but does have a semi-famous near-namesake) who did a set, solo. A pity I didn’t catch his name.

The first half of the show saw the poet and Harris do their stuff. The second half saw the three of them with backup band strut theirs.
The first half was most certainly entertaining, the singer mixing plenty of sci-fi themes as well as some existentialist references in his mellow tracks. But it was the second half that was excellent, the group working at its best when all were supporting mister Connolly in his endeavors.

Their currently nearing the end of their world tour. Be quick!

Ye olde comics

I got rid of my comics, both Dutch/Belgian and American. Though many are selling for quite reasonable amounts online, selling them at reasonable prices to those who are selling them for these reasonable prices turns out to be near impossible as there doesn’t really seem to be a market for them. One quote I got for American comics was 5 to 10 CENTS per copy. These are comics that, at the time, that is the late 80s to mid 90s, had a cover price of between 2.50 and 4.00 USD, which would mean significantly higher prices on this side of the pond.

Dutch comics only fair slightly better, most, even hard covers in excellent condition, still go for a relative pittance.

If I had the time, I’d sell my collection either through bol.com, which now, just like Amazon has been doing for years, allows customers to sell their own second hand goods through their site, or the well designed catawiki.nl, where prices are really way to high, meaning it would be easy to undercut the ‘established’ shops.
All I’d need is time. Which I don’t have.

I got rid of my Kuifje (Tin Tin for most) comics, Lucky Luke, Trigie, Storm, both by Don Lawrence, the wonderfully surreal Philemon (visit this fansite to get an idea), my collection of Moebius, the quite funny but aging Vuillemin and a number of individual comics.

American comics I got rid of included Terminator, Aliens, Predator, Lobo and a host of crossovers.

iPad, therefore iAm

Booyeah! Baba has an iPad. And he saw it was good. Even though T-mobile, when the sim card I was given didn't work, didn't even consider helping me out, directing me back to the store where I bought the device. There, we discovered that, at least for using the T-mobile prepaid sim card in an iPad in the Netherlands, you need to set the APN to 'internet' and the username and password to 'tmobile'. It's possible that if you leave your iPad connected to iTunes long enough, it might automatically update the settings, but out of the box it won't work otherwise.

I first virtually flagellated myself for buying a corded Apple keyboard, last year, in stead of a cordless, but I was able to stop the flagellation soon after. I didn't by the cordless because that one is smaller, more compact, and it's nice to be able to type on a full fledged keyboard. Turns out I managed to get my five, or more, year old foldable bluetooth keyboard working with the iPad. It even has a stand, designed for a smartphone, but who cares, which I can use. More booyeah!

I wasn't very happy with the cost of sleeves Apple has on offer. I ended up buying a nice sleeve in the shape of a manilla envelope for 10 euros at the TU Boekhandel Prins, as opposed to the 45 euros, and up, Apple tries to charge its customers. Even more booyeah!

Taking the opportunity of being in town, I scored more noms in the shape of fried, as well as raw, fish and ice cream. Surprised at the  high cost of a cone at possibly one of the Netherlands' best ice cream parlors, van Bokhoven (who don't have a website!), I decided to show them who's boss and try out De Delftse IJssalon (though their official name seems to be IJslokaal l'Acrobaleno), located on the market square. The price turned out to be pretty much the same and it was their whipped cream, not their ice cream which was their best asset. But even that didn't top the whipped cream from van Bokhoven. Though decent, it had a, only slightly, unpleasant aftertaste.
In the last week or so, yet another ice cream parlor opened in Delft, also on the market square. This one called Otelli, it has its ice cream buffet inside the store, which probably means they don't stand a chance in the long run.

Amanda’s parting gift

When I left Chiang Mai, Thailand, last year, at a going away party myself, Todd, Felicia and Ian threw at Chai‘s, Amanda and Steve presented me with an excellent photo album with highlights from the previous two excellent years, cobbled together by Amanda.
This is the digital version of that photo album.

Many of the photos are from the Hash, where Amanda was Hash Flash and from partying, either at Chai’s, The Van, or Tuskers.

The binder has HipHop Bears on its cover, which is typical for east Asian cuteness, required for gifts like these.

I iz in ur city, photographing ur murals

Not being able to get a flight from Ireland to Holland on the same day Niamh was heading for Sierra Leone, I flew to Belgium. First, in order to meet Ismail who was supposed to be in Gent for a one month residency, but that changed last minute, the gig being postponed by a good six weeks.

It meant I now had some time to kill, which I spent collecting a series of new murals and comic strip related art in Brussels, spotted over the last few years by avid posters to the website Brussel stripstad. One night’s stay, though, was enough, after our spending money like water in pricey Ireland.

On the up-and-up, the weather was excellent, almost sweaty. My sole evening in the city, I spent lounging in the Bois de la Cambre, munching snacks, reading my book, playing DS.
And then, the sandwiches. So good… so cheap…

Of course flying into “Brussels South” Charleroi airport, with Ryanair, I discovered things have changed significantly during the eight years, it seems, I hadn’t been.
The old, tiny, terminal no longer is in operation, replaced by a spanking new, lovely, much bigger, but already overly crowded, new terminal on the other site of the airport. When the bus which drove me from the airport to the Charleroi (sud) train station, I almost felt a pang of nostalgia for the times gone by. Now, Charleroi airport is just another medium sized airport amongst many in Europe.
It was my first time getting a proper glimpse of the town, as opposed to driving past it on the highway, and it appears to be more than excellent. A very cool social realist train station, some seemingly defunct heavy industry, an art deco sprinkling and a lovely little canal flowing through the city. I contemplated staying for the afternoon, but realised I had to get my murals in.

Making a run for it

My flight left at the ungodly hour of 745 in the morning. Niamh’s wasn’t much more convenient at 840, but it did allow us to get to the airport together.

However, my flight left over 40 minutes late, while arriving exactly on time. I’m now thinking that yet one more of Ryanair’s tricks is to fake the published departure times so that getting everyone on board on time will be less of a hassle for them.

That said, my check-in was fairly speedy. Niamh’s on BMI, took almost half an hour, just waiting in a queue serviced by one, sometimes two, counters.

A bit of the old in/out

Our last day in Ireland was spent in Dublin. Caroline was so kind as to hand over her single bed for the night and, this being Ireland, we enjoyed some more Guinness as well as G&Ts before nap time arrived. And a welcome fish and chips from a local chipper to offset our last of many Irish drinking nights.
The 6am departure was surprisingly painless.

A new place

In Brussels, I tried out a new place to stay, the rather cheap and clean Hostel Brussels Louise, a bargain at only 15 euros per night. It’s a bit out of the way, on the south side of town and outside the inner ring, but public transport in Brussels is good and a day ticket only costs 4.50, valid for unlimited travel on all public transport.

The dorm, yes, remember, I’m trying to save money after our spending spree, only has four beds, of which only two turned out to be occupied. Woot!
Interestingly, it’s solely run by, what seem to be, English speaking west Africans. And at least one of the occupants is Israeli, set to meat his Mossad general in Tournai in a few days. Odd.

Another surprising thing was that both Dublin and Brussels have implemented the exact same bicycle rental scheme. Even the bikes are the same. All over the downtown area, bikes are available for short term renting, which you can do by swiping your credit card. Charges are low, even free when you return the bike to one of the rental points within 30 minutes.
Ideal for commutes.

Money’s in the bank!

And, at last, my bank felt so kind as to compensate for the fraudulent transactions which I suffered through last year. The sad thing being that someone, somewhere, probably scored a few thousand euros, for free, without repercussions.

Meanwhile, in Wexford

Visiting the family in Kilmore, close to Wexford, it’s Niamh first homecoming in 18 months. The sunniest side of Ireland, as the area is known, felt rather cold and wet, while they’re working on luring tourists with, amongst other things, the Wexford Festival Opera (sic) and the Wexford Strawberry Festival.
On the drive down, slowly, the scenery changed from what reminded me of Scotland to what reminded me of Kent, but most of the trip goes through a green corridor of trees, shielding the lovely scenery from view.

Our first weekend saw all the siblings, a total of no less than six, all visiting for the occasion, with add-ons, partying like everyone was 19 again, in Wexford town, where it was all the rage to slap each other around the face with your own open wallet.
Possibly a local invention, Niamh’s youngest brother Kevin later also introduced me to the terms curious claw, where a tight hug allows your hand to wander around a girl’s side to grope the sideboob, and 2am poaching, where, at the end of a night’s out, the stragglers left on the dance floor are much easier to score.

For the Barrys, it was the first time in years the whole family was together again. Niamh hadn’t been home for 18 months, but hadn’t seen her oldest brother Allan for three years. A family of six, it was quite the happy madhouse.

During our stay, we visited the nearby village of Kilmore Quay, population 400, no less than three times. We had our first and only fish and chips in Ireland there and were mildly entertained by the Kilmore Quay Seafood Festival, which also hosted a strongman competition, which turned out to be a mildly boring affair. Close to the village, you can check out the remains of what might have been a land bridge connecting the village with the Saltee islands, a few kilometers out at sea, called St. Patrick’s Causeway or St. Patrick’s bridge.
However interesting, there’s very little information available online to support this popular claim, the feature possibly simply being a natural formation.

We also imbibed other local culture, experiencing the Bannow Rathangan show, a local agricultural show and for some the highlight of the year, I’m sure, even though, certainly to most people’s chagrin, alcohol was not served. My favorite was the sheep herding competition, though the Wexford dairy and cheese tasting was a very close second.
The bake-offs and challenged talent competitions on photography, flower growing and knitting were slightly less interesting.

And we were keeping ourselves busy, professionally, too! Niamh had to get some vaccines in the nearby town of Waterford, the oldest city in Ireland, founded by the Vikings in 914 AD and now the country’s fifth largest. Surprisingly, it has rather little to offer, besides a few plaques commemorating old buildings no longer there.

Brr brr

Though summer has started, temperatures feel much more winter-like, to the extent where on several days, not evenings(!), we were able to see our breath upon exhaling. I mean, seriously!
That said, we were told several times that this year’s summer is the best in half a decade. OMG.

Apparently, however, the weather is doing wonders for Niamh’s dad vegetable garden. Though his primary business is building furniture, particularly kitchens, his satisfaction seems to come more from perfecting the produce from around the house.

The beauty, or lack thereof, of roaming

In this age of connectivity, you expect cellphone roaming to simply work. And if it doesn’t, but pretends to, you don’t easily find out. It seems that at least some SMSs directed at me never arrived. Including those telling me I had new voice mail messages. Grr grr.

Finding a stiffy next to the Liffey

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In Ireland, Niamh’s friend Caroline picked us up after the bus ride that was Ryanair’s trip from Eindhoven to Dublin. Not only have they succeeded into minimizing the cost of air travel, they also are experts in tagging on all sorts of non standard nonsensical charges, increasing their potential income.
The most annoying is the traveler’s responsibility to print a boarding pass. If you check in without your own printed A4 piece of paper, you have to pay Ryanair 40 euros for the privilege of having one printed for you.
Still, that said, the whole less then very convenient trip still came in at an extremely affordable 41 euros each. So cheap that the hassle can only be a necessary evil.

Besides Caroline, the Sunday afternoon of our arrival also saw many a drunkard on the Luas tram in Dublin. Hello Ireland.

With Niamh having to visit her new employer in the seaside town of Dun Laoghaire (that’s Dun Leary, for you Gaelic-impaired speakers), which turned out to be a fairly boring place, I did manage to secure 3G access through Vodafone for the coming two weeks. I will be able to fuel my addiction.
Also Dublin, though quite lovely when it’s not raining (and it’s a surprisingly dry city) couldn’t excite me as much as it did on my previous visits. Perhaps it’s simply not exotic enough anymore for me. 

Also, it’s definitely a rather expensive city. And there’s quite a bit of poverty. When Niamh, Caroline, who generously offered us her bed while she slept on her smallish couch, and myself had a drink in one of the downtown pubs, no less then 8 individuals asked us for money and/or smokes. Some several times. Africa, what, what?
This week, Europe-wide statistics were released revealing that, overall, Ireland was 30% more expensive than the European average, only Denmark being more pricey.

I did spend half a day in town, being the tourist, visiting the Irish Museum of Modern Art, which I found only so-so, and the Dolls store, a shop selling teddy bears and dolls which also runs a teddy bear clinic, where you can have your favorite teddies fixed up.

Another more pervasive fixture of the Irish shoposphere is the presence of stores pawning eastern European wares, with particularly Polish stores being popular, even though the number of Poles in Ireland could be as little as 1 in 100. Even more obscure, just off Henry street, one store thought it viable to only sell Lithuanian warez.
On the other hand, quite a bit of cheap labor, particularly in the catering industry, at least in Dublin, seems to be staffed by Poles.

And here’s more on said stiffy.

Tourists in Delft

The brochure accompanying visits to the old and new church in Delft comments on the mausoleum of Prince William of Orange, the father of the fatherland who was murdered in the Prinsenhof in Delft: “[The bronze figures on the corners of the prince’s mausoleum] represent the four ideals which predominated in our country from the beginning of the seventeenth century. Freedom of thought, freedom of religion and a system of government without persecution or violence.”

These two sentences define exactly why the Netherlands is such a great country. Or rather, was, though the brochure continues with “Even in later centuries, these values were characteristic of our country”. Be that as it may, this is currently most certainly not the case, with the sad man that is Geert Wilders and the extensive support he received in the most recent elections.

Niamh and I were in Delft, enjoying the excellent weather, visiting some touristy sites as well as eating some excellent foods, including Persian at Coco Bango in The Hague and Surinamese at Warung Mini in Rotterdam.

After nearly breaking a leg in Tanzania, I did manage to get Niamh back on a bike and we cycled all over town, including through the suburb that has all the TU Delft faculties. To my great surprise, the main road going through the area has been taken out, having been replaced by grassy knolls running almost the whole stretch from town, along the campus. In the early summer sun, an extremely pleasant vista.
Also the Delftse Hout has been considerably remapped since the last time I visited.

On our last night, we did the customary drinks at ‘t Klooster, though only three die hards showed up. We had the barman surprise us with beers of his choosing, which resulted in several very strong brews and a broken homecoming. A good thing our flight left rather late the next day.
In fact, having misremembered our departure time, we were extremely early, for a change, allowing us to bask in the sun in front of the Eindhoven airport terminal.
Ryanair is now charging 15 euros for checked in luggage, so we saw most travelers walking around with only hand luggage. Not that Ryanair is flexible with that either, though, allowing a maximum of 10 kilos and only one bag to be taken on board. Then again, this is, in turn, better than Transavia. Though they allow for 20 kilos of checked in luggage, only allowing 5 kilos to be taken on board as hand luggage.
It must be the joys of European low cost air travel.

After our debauchery at ‘t Klooster, a snackattack was in order. We stopped at Alev’s, where Niamh could satisfy her love for kroketten before we shared a recent invention from Rotterdam, the kapsalon. A kapsalon is a layer of chips, fries, a layer of donner meat and a layer of salad, topped with grilled cheese. It was my first time and I was not impressed. Particularly the meat was too dry. Then again, the kapsalon also probably saved me from a nasty hangover the next day.

Free TV for everyone!

Copyright on anything broadcasted on television will be practically pointless in the near future. This, because with enough capacity, everyone will be able to record everything on TV. Every channel, every minute. This is legal, as long as the recorded shows are for personal use only. By storing all shows in perpetuity, everything ever broadcasted will be available to each individual forever.

Of course, every individual storing everything individually would be a extremely inefficient, so what would happen is that each person will only need to express his intention to record everything after which all shows will be available to him from the cloud. At a fee, of course, as it saves the individual from maintaining a sizable storage facility himself. It would be like TiVo on steroids.

Alternatively, but similarly, all TV channels could be recorded by one entity, after which all shows will be made available at a fee.
Sure, the amount of storage required is sizable. Let's say 1000 channels will be tracked. Let's say each hour generates 400MB of video (not HD, but not bad either). That's 1000 channels * 400MB * 24 hours = 10TB, that is, 10 terabyte per day.
This is actually not all that much. For example, online storage facility Mozy in the middle of last year was already storing 15 petabytes. This is roughly 1500 days worth of video from 1000 channels.
This, while Google processes at least 20 petabytes of data… every day.

Storing data on Amazon's S3 service currently costs as little as 5 dollar cents per GB, making the cost of one day of storage a mere 0.05 * 10000 = 500 USD. It shouldn't be too hard to capitalize on these expenses.

Brighton… rocks!

The stark blue sky, the brightly shining sun, the biting cold in the shade. This is Brighton in summer. Or rather, in the weekend directly preceding the advent of summer. But… why?

On our hopskipjump to Sierra Leone, Niamh and I flew through London, which allowed us to stop for the weekend in Brighton, visiting Felicia and Todd, who moved to Brighton from Chiang Mai last year. Due to a small hiccup when booking our tickets from Dar, we had to mismisfortune to not arrive in Heathrow (far from Brighton), but in Gatwick (practically next door).
In between the cosmopolitans traveling from the US and going to south east Asia, Geneva and Tanzania, we were able to appreciate the exvcellentness of the couple’s couch, just inside the Hove boundaries, separating the town from Brighton. Todd, looking for gifts for Pascal, who’s still mastering the wild life in Chiang Mai, ended up with a t-shirt that said “Hove, actually”.

As said, the weather was gorgeous, but fresh, in my mind almost as cold as when I was here last time, though Felicia debunked that myth quickly. Still, it felt as cold, even though it was now several months later in the year.
Waiting on a train to whisk us off to Brighton, the breeze was chilly, while most of the chickies were showing way too much leg, myself getting goosebumps in their stead. But while waiting, we also were accosted by three dressed up ladies, huge hats and all, on their way to the races at Ascot. 

On our last day, already after both Todd and Felicia had departed for sunnier climes, Niamh and I visited The Pavilion, enjoying an excellent audio tour of the premises. Built by the future King George the fourth from the late 1700s onwards, the structure is mostly built in the style called Chinoise, though on the outside it reminds the visitor of a building straight from the videogame The Prince of Persia.
The exhibition and tour were livened up by Clare Twomey, who was authorised to glorify the show with hundreds of black clay-baked butterflies. This, through the museumaker program.

A lot of our time was spent eating, drinking and shopping. Just walking down the Brighton highstreet felt, after a year in Africa, like walking around in Paradise. And the sun not setting until very late in the day was almost magical, or at least very disorienting. It’s quite amazing how one forgets these experiences. That is, not intellectually, but how they are actually experienced.
It meant we stayed out, though indoors, as we are really no longer built for the cold, till late, before having the intention to continue drinking back home, though each evening realising we were totally knackered after a full day’s out.

Sunday afternoon was spent over a Sunday roast. As British as it gets, perhaps. And Saturday afternoon a superb fish and chips was had at The Master Mariner, in the Brighton Marina.
And so many nice beers.

My biggest surprise was being reminded again at how affordable it is to shop, here. Down Church street, Brighton’s main shopping alley, many restaurants offer all you can eat buffets for 6 or 7 pounds. Our Sunday roast was 8, we had superb pizzas for 6 to 8 and our masterful fish and chips was around 8 pounds as well.
Even at Gatwick, we snacked on hummus and Scotch eggs, the latter to which I was first introduced in Zambia, where I figured their abysmal taste was due to the local cuisine, though I realise now they are simply horrible, for a mere 2.30 pounds.

To compare, four boiled eggs on Bongoyo were sold for 5000 Tsh, around 2.50 pounds. Good meals at Le Corsica went for 20.000, around 10 pounds and even a, though nice, burger, chips and milkshake at Best Bite still cost the equivalent of some 5 pounds. And this in a place where day laborers make less than 2 pounds per day.

Of course, in Brighton, costs are incurred elsewhere. Housing, for example, is pricey, though the apartment in Dar in which I rented a room was making the owner a cool 1300 USD per month. Even in Brighton you can get something decent for juice like that.

Niamh was creaming over the many really cheap deals on clothes. It’s hard to get nice and good clothing in sub Saharan Africa, outside of South Africa, and in the latter, prices aren’t too low anyhow.

The man on the street

I satisfied my inner dancer and did two rounds of DDR on the pier. We were proper tourists by, besides enjoying the Pavilion, also finding ourselves on the Volks train, which at some point in history had its rails completely under water, ferrying between the two piers of Brighton, and now runs between the one remaining pier and the Marina.
There, or rather, between the Marina and the pier, a narrow greenzone is used by the city’s younger population to fuck at will, us finding heaps, well, proverbially, of used condoms, used packets of lubricants, dirty underwear and whatnot.
The man in the street clearly also needs to be satisfied.

Unfortunately, the week before our arrival saw the Brighton naked bikeride in which Todd managed to participate. It would have been an excellent epilogue to our homecoming tour.

Convenience

At Gatwick airport, the condom dispensers in the bathrooms also sold herbal Viagra, just as, later, the dispenser in the bathroom of The Bank, in Dublin.

I must be on my way

In August, I’m leaving for YAFUAC, Yet Another Fucked Up African Country. This time, it’s Sierra Leone, which, according to the most recent human development index (HDI) listing, ranks 180th out of 182 countries measured, with only Niger and Afghanistan ranking lower. Of course, the country suffered from a civil war and, of course, is very rich in minerals and, particularly, diamonds, being amongst the top 10 diamond producing nations worldwide. In late 2009, an oilfield was discovered of the coast, meaning, most likely, many more years of tight government control and enrichment of the few at the cost of the many.
In 2009, Sierra Leone was ranked as having the 115th least-free press in the world. On the upside, the website for the Sierra Leone embassy in Belgium is simple but nice, though not conclusive as to visa requirements.

The civil war, which roughly ran through the 1990s, cost the lives of a relatively small amount of 50000 people, 5000 per year. Some calculations based on numbers from the CIA world factbook, reveal that the infant mortality rate stands at about 16000 babies per year. And also a relatively small 3300 peeps die each year from HIV/AIDS, with a fairly low prevalence rate of an estimated 1.7%, comparable to that of Thailand.

However, only a third of the adult population is literate, while the University of Sierra Leone, founded as Fourah Bay College in 1827 is said to be the oldest university in western Africa. Also, the first printing press in Africa printed its pages in Sierra Leone at the start of the 19th century.

Niamh is going to work for GOAL, who, rather, ehm, interestingly, call their employees GOALies and an “agency dedicated to alleviating the suffering of the poorest of the poor”. So, indeed, what better a place to be in than Sierra Leone.
Niamh will be the GOAL’s Monitoring and Evaluation adviser for the country.

Pics

I figured that the number of photos stored on Flickr on a particular country is a measurement for how popular a tourist destination that particular country is. Then, you could compare this with the estimated number of tourists per country per year for the most recent year estimated and calculate their ratios.

Here are a few countries for which I did these calculations.

 Photos on Flickr (a)Number of tourists per year (b)b / a
Central African Republic4,0498,0001.98
Ivory Coast15,078180,00011.94
Sierra Leone27,50940,0001.45
Ghana200,417584,0002.91
Laos512,989236,0000.46
Tanzania517,088566,0001.09
Morocco844,0235,843,0006.92
Egypt1,476,0058,244,0005.59
Thailand3,542,59311,737,0003.31
France7,406,33176,001,00010.26

The above implies that France and Ivory Coast are much less photogenic than Laos or Tanzania, as the number of photos on Flickr per tourist is higher for Laos and Tanzania than it is for France and Ivory Coast. Whether that’s really true is something else, as I suspect that there’s another factor which influences the number of uploads to Flickr for a particular country. Any ideas?

Sure, I could write a quick script that would get these stats for all countries of the world, but I’m lazy.

Decompression

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Last Tuesday, Niamh had her last day at work and showed up in Dar the next. With only a three hour delay on the 2.5 hour flight, I suppose it could have been worse, though the delay could at least have been announced at the airport, to avoid me having to wait in limbo.

What followed was a week of entertainment, perhaps in part to compensate for the 100 USD the Irish have to pay to get into the country. That is, we had to get our money’s worth.

We spent three days on or near the water. One on south beach, at Mikadi, one on Bongoyo and one, with housemates David and Magda, on their boat just off the coast of Bongoyo.
There, some 30 meters out from the shore, we snorkeled, investigating a shipwreck lounging just under the surface. A spooky experience, the first time the broken hull shows up in front of your submerged face.

Earlier, on the Monday, Niamh mused me into winning the quiz for the second time, after her presence inspired me when she was here last time. This time, though, a drink-off wasn’t necessary as the straight win saw us far ahead of the competition.

As far as culinary experiences go, we weren’t shortchanged, visiting Le Corsica, the Badminton Club, Fairy Delights, Best Bite, but missing out on Chef’s pride.

My brilliant divorce

What a poster claimed to be Katy’s 60th performance in Dar is a one-woman one-act piece directed by Phyllis CraunSelka. The show, at Dar’s Little Theater, comes with a three course meal and cheap drinks in a setting resembling a quirky cafe. The play is rather English oriented and a few of the references even passed me by and, as with Tuesday’s performance, the audience was exclusively white. Spoiler ahead.

In the 90-minute or so play, Katy’s, at least, middle aged character reveals her experiences and feelings after her long term husband reveals he’s divorcing her, leaving her for what turns out to be a series of Pretty Young Things. With their daughter leaving the house, she’s left with only the daughter’s dog and a three year story of dealing with the separation.

Katy started off the evening in a mood that suggested she was still trying to find her footing. As it was the third show in as many days. I’d expected she would have ironed this out by now.
That said, after the first ten minutes or so, she properly slipped into the role and put down a very decent, occasionally rather good, performance.

Production quality could have been better, with the sound and light men, or man, making small and unnecessary mistakes too often.
The story, being a mix of comedy and drama, was a lovely sometimes bitter sometimes sweet little tale. Though, with the whole story being told retrospectively, the main character already knowing the rather positive ending, the tale could have been more expansive, both in its dramatic and its comedic aspects.

Hot wax pussi cats

Besides the rather popular Irish pub, O’Willies, there’s also an, at least as popular, English pub, the George and Dragon. The latter, with its small studio at the back, regularly stages theater shows. This week, it’s Amanda Ford‘s last show in Dar, which she wrote, stars in and directed and subsequently will try to get published.
Amanda, I’m told, has been in Dar for four years and, so it seems, wanted to end it with a bit of a bang, creating this double entendre as a closing piece for her presence in the heart of peace. Spoiler ahead.

Three women, the management of an NGO running a cat shelter, are organizing a fund raiser to finance a Bollywood version of the musical Cats. The short play, a mere thirty minutes long, spans a period of no more than two hours just shortly before the fundraiser, where internal politics are played out in the hotel’s elevator, in between arrival, a visit to a beauty parlor, where vaginas will be waxed, and the start of the event.

The play is quite clever but has a rather abrupt ending which doesn’t fit with the pace of the rest of the play. The actual ending is no surprise, as it’s implicitly hinted at earlier on in the story. Not that this is a problem, though it does require the ending to be more than just an unexpected revelation. And it’s that attempt at trying to be a bit more which feels out of place.
Besides the fund raiser, a new president for the organization will also be voted in and the seemingly meek secretary ends up with the post, through a bit of cunning. This is revealed to the players at the end of the play, after which the two lead women nearly throw a fit and the secretary reveals herself as a smart cookie with thus far hidden ulterior motives. It’s the style of this revelation which feels out of place.

The author and director plays one of the two more prominent roles, the other being done by Louise Forster. But it’s the supporting performance, by Sophie Buckman, which feels the most natural.

The show had several sponsors and proceeds went to MBINTI training center for fistula girls, which added a new verb to my active vocabulary.
A raffle was held where the three winning prizes were crates of beer. I had come to the George and Dragon on my bike, so I’m also kind of glad I didn’t have to lug a whole crate back.

A weekend of good food

Friday night started with dinner at Le Corsica, the excellent northern Mediterranean restaurant right next door to where I live. Saturday morning followed with a very nice brunch at Epi d’or. Sunday morning saw a superb brunch at Saffron followed by an excellent dinner and drinks at Campbed‘s campsite.
And tonight, with some luck, Banzai will host the hash, following it up with a sushi dinner.

Books

I’ve been sending my books into the wild using Bookcrossing for quite a few years now. When it was launched, Bookcrossing was innovative. Not that it no longer is, but the website has really aged over the last few years. A good thing that, only very recently, they started seriously upgrading the interface, even though RSS feeds and an API are still lacking.
The more recently launched aNobii is very pretty and has a basic API and the more Spartan LibraryThing is complemented by a very nice API, but neither incorporate the Bookcrossing concept. Then there’s a favorite of mine, OpenLibrary, but their objective isn’t to bring book owners together, but to extensively list all books of the world.

What I would want is an easy way to tie together the books on my website with a social service like aNobii, giving visitors of my site access to reviews by others and linking my library on the social service to the reviews on my site. And I want this through matching the ISBN numbers of the books, where the service then needs to be able to aggregate all different versions of the same book.

Eurovision Song Contest 2010

Easily the most entertaining Eurovision I’ve ever seen with a host of excellent singles. I seriously enjoyed Lena’s winning single. Sure, she’s very cute (and only 19), but it was also a very cute song. But hers wasn’t the only one. The caucasian countries’ entries I enjoyed, as I did Iceland’s and a few others. But what was it with Denmark scoring so well? It was one of the poorer performances.

Lena, after partaking in the national songcontest is rising quickly to stardom. She had three entries in the national final and set a record in her home country by debuting all three songs in the top five of the German singles chart. “Satellite”, the song with which she won Eurovision, debuted at number one in Germany, and has been certified triple gold since. Interestingly, she is the granddaughter of the West German ambassador to the Soviet Union in Moscow for most of the 1980s.
This month, Meyer-Landrut released her first album, My Cassette Player, which debuted at number one in the German albums chart.
Talk about an impressive start.

Also, how could both France and the UK send in such crappy submissions? How reasonable is it that they are automatically selected for next year’s event? And why did Ireland score so badly? Sure, this Niamh wasn’t the looker many other countries sent in, but it was a rather enjoyable performance.

Several Dutchies told me the entry from the Netherlands was horrible. Instead, it was hilarious. The writer, Pierre Kartner, seems to have deployed quite a bit of tongue in cheekness. It’s a pity they didn’t make it to the final. Impressively, Father Abraham, which is his stage name, has written no less than 1600 songs.
Similarly, my favorite entry of them all was Lithuania. We watched streaming video from the Eurovision website and it’s quite amazing that, here in Dar, using publicly accessible (but not free) wifi hotspots, the connection was good enough for long enough for us to get our fix. Lithuania didn’t make it to the finals, but we saw half the second semi final, in which Lithuania was the first to go on stage. Indeed, Lithuania also didn’t make it to the finals.

But the main reason why this was the best Eurovision ever was the way in which the producers integrated events and families from around Europe. Many european cities saw outdoor showings of the event to which, during the show, occasionally the focus switched. But the best were families from all over Europe who were plugged in through webcam.
Then, during the break between performances and the end of the vote, a choreographed song saw everyone, a bunch of people at the venue, those watching at these outdoor events and the families with their webcams, break out in synchronized dancing. Hilarious and fantastic!

The Dar goat races and TEDxDAR

One of probably the conceptually more weirder events you could think of are the annual Dar es Salaam goat races. Sadly, in reality, they’re not that obscure, the event primarily being a family affair, a social get together, if nothing else. Sure, there’s a series of goats, racing, but most of the day is spent on more regular social activities.

This year, there were a total of seven races. Major sponsors, such as Vodafone or Kilimanjaro sponsoring the races, with smaller sponsors sponsoring the individual goats with, then, prize money to be won on each race. Much of the money, however, goes to charity, with last year the event making a cool 62 million shillings, about 34.000 euros in today’s money.

I assumed the whole event, now in its tenth year, was some type of spoof on horse races like the one at Ascot in the UK or otherwise the Durban July, but, having done some research, it’s possible the whole thing is part of some obscure Anglo-Saxon heritage thing, as there are also goat races in Kampala, the US and Bundarra, in New South Wales, Australia, to name but a few.
In Kampala, apparently, the first goat races were held in 1993, derived from a Zimbabwean pig race spectacle.

What is quite funny is that the goats don’t really race. The cluster of 10, or so, goats is pushed forwards by two guys carrying a log, a few centimeters of the ground, just below the goats’ bums. The goats then scuttle forward, having nowhere to go but ahead, for two rounds around the smallish circuit.
Occasionally, after a race, a few of the goats escape, or rather, are not cared about, and start hobbling around the circuit in search for some good grass.

What’s probably the best bit, is that, each race, the exact same goats run the course, but dressed up differently.

The chairman of the first goat races was photographer Paul Hicks, who also started the Wonder Welders, where physically disabled individuals make arts and crafts.

TED

TED (Technology, Entertainment, Design) is a U.S. non-profit, best known for its conferences, with amongst their speakers the likes of Bill Clinton, Peter Gabriel, Jane Goodall and many more.
Speakers have an 18 minute limit and attendees pay very steep fees to participate, currently 6000 dollars per year, even though many of the TED talks are available for free online.

TEDx is a program that enables local communities such as schools, businesses, libraries, neighborhoods or just groups of friends to organize, design and host their own independent, TED-like events, that is, having interesting speakers speak about interesting things.
The day of the goat races also saw TEDxDAR happen at the Dar es Salaam International Academy, and I obviously wanted to attend. With, as it turned out, room for perhaps 150 attendees, it was a rather small affair, with lots of decent food, though a rather dry breakfast. And all free, thanks to sponsors such as Twaweza, the organization I’m currently doing work for, Push and many others.

Organizing the conference seemed the prerogative of the Juma family, with four of the six members of “The TEDxDAR team” being a Juma. Whether this worked in favor of the conference or not is hard to say, but there was certainly room for improvement.
For sure, it’s commendable that these guys, apparently 8 months ago, started to work on getting the bits and peaces pieces, that is, sponsors, speakers and logistics, together to get this off the ground, because who else would have actually done it, right? But, at the same time, having three grammatical errors on the first powerpoint slide of the day is just sloppy. And not mentioning the topics of the individual sessions except their titles and their speakers’ bios is something that could be improved on next time. Related, the organizers were threatening to not let participants back into the event if they would leave halfway, citing the ‘overwhelming’ number of interested individuals, but no doubt being in fear of losing all participants to the real major event of the day, the Dar goat races. While this simply could have been avoided if the session topics would have been made available in more detail and registration on a per session basis would have been possible.
Incidentally, what I thought the best speaker of the day, Young Kimaro, obliquely commented on this by saying that Tanzanians should look at the quality of service they provide to those around them, whether from a professional, governmental or social perspective, and increase it by focusing on their clients, customers, and listening to their wishes and needs, putting the customer at the center of their work.
On the other hand, my expectations were just clearly too high. And, indeed, expecting something similar to the actual TED conferences in Dar es Salaam would really be too much to ask for.

Most of the speakers weren’t covering too visionary or groundbreaking topics and some were downright mediocre, which was made clear by the first of three recorded talks from other TED conferences which were displayed on a big screen, where the Ghanaian economist George Ayittey showed both flamboyance and depth.
Unfortunately, because I visited the goat races halfway through and because the organizers moved the schedule around, I missed half of Rakesh Rajani‘s talk, which, at least the part I saw, seemed nice enough, though perhaps a bit pretentious (poor choice of word, but already out there, the web is unforgiving) ambitious, as the title of his talk was Development is failing miserably lessons from 9 villages in Tanzania, which feels like a lot of ground to cover in 18 minutes.
Because of my extracurricular activities, I also missed the recorded talk by Elizabeth Pisani, author of The Wisdom of Whores. But that one is also online, I suppose with thanks to those TED attendees who fork out 6000 dollars per year.

Not a great session, but great images were presented by Mejah Mbuya, who showed excellent line drawings of Dar street scenes by Sarah Markes. He also explained the source of the name Dalla Dalla, the local name for public transport busses, here in Dar
In 1985, the public transport system in Dar was privatized and the busses plying their routes introduced. At the time, a ride on the bus was 5 shilling, then the equivalent of… one dollar.
Incidentally, one dollar now buys you around 1500 shilling.

The event came with no less than three themes; in-between places, what would Nyerere do? and hadithi zetu, which means our story.
The latter is, of course, so vague that you can fit everything into it. The only speaker whom explicitly picked one of the other themes to talk about was Vicensia Shule, who’s recorded talk was shown on the big screen as she couldn’t attend. PIcking the theme of what would Nyerere do?, she glorified the man quite a bit as well as presenting herself as if she was some elderly States(wo)man. Nyerere, of course, was the first president of Tanzania.
Her video was recorded inside a room which looked out onto what seemed to be the Radio City Music Hall in New York.

The organizers were Tanzanian, but of Indian heritage, calling themselves third culture kids which Wikipedia defines as “someone who, as a child, has spent a significant period of time in one or more culture(s) other than his or her own, thus integrating elements of those cultures and their own birth culture, into a third culture”, which is just a fancy way of saying second generation immigrants. (And, yes, America and other countries heavily dependent on immigration are then, by extension are third culture countries.)

The speakers, every single one of them, had a very strong international connection, Maya Wegerif almost being an exception, only having been born in South Africa, seemingly having little connection to any European or American country.

And, indeed, the audience was a very poor reflection of the ethnic makeup of Tanzania.

All in all, it’s good to see events like this happening in Dar and I’d be looking forward to the next installment if I’d still be based in Dar, but there is enough room for improvement. TED talks often leave the spectators wowed. That didn’t even nearly happen here.
All the more… interesting… that on Twitter, twits were calling TEDxDAR the bomb, the best event I have been to this year, very good and saying things like my life its not gonna b the same again because of the conference.
Again, setting up the conference was commendable, but the above comments sound more politically correct than anything else.

Bingo

And there was more. On Friday night, the Alliance Francaise was having live reggae. Charging 5000 a pop, almost no one showed up, which was excellent. They even postponed the start time from 7pm to 9pm, in the hope they could entertain more peeps. Which was a good thing, as we only showed up around 830.
The music was followed by games of bingo at the next door Indian eatery inside a sizable courtyard, where whole families were happily scratching away over the numbers being called out, every 15 minutes or so scuttling back indoors to get out of the sudden and short lived showers.

Apple Mail bug: chopping up long strings

For a client, I recently converted their build-by-hand electronic newsletter to one that’s automatically generated based on stories picked from the last few weeks. Handy, because the newsletter is now created much quicker, even though the editor has less control over the look and feel.

The first week the mailing was sent out, all was well, or rather, seemed to be well. Then, the second week, in the test newsletter which was sent out, the client noticed that, at seemingly random points inside the mailing, spaces had been added. Not too much of an issue, though annoying, if this happened inside a piece of text, but as this was an HTML mailing, rather annoying when this actually happened inside a piece of code.
This, of course, because it had the potential of breaking the HTML.

Before finalizing my work, I had of course extensively tested my new creation and found all to be well. The problem, as it turned out, was only replicable on Apple Mail. That’s no less than 10% of email clients, so serious stuff.
Totally baffled, after more testing, I initially gave up, after making very sure that the HTML used for the newsletter validated nicely and there really was nothing that I, or the system, was doing wrong.

Then, today, a week after the issue was discovered, I had a brainfart. Though the spaces appeared to be put in at random, there seemed to be some method to the madness. Which made me think of… string length.

And, indeed, it seems that Apple Mail can’t properly deal with HTML mail where the HTML is formed by long strings. I chopped up the original HTML, myself, putting in multiple line breaks and, voila, Apple Mail no longer coughed up any hairballs.

Is this the way to Bagamoyo

The weekend was spent trying (and succeeding) to get to and from Bagamoyo. The Dar Hash, once a year, organizes the Bagamoyo relay, where teams of 10 to 15 have their members run, cycle or walk individual portions of the journey from Dar es Salaam to the former capital.
This year, four teams participated, so with the hashers and their dependents, a long train of mostly 4x4s made its way this Saturday, through dirt and other backroads, over the 80km or so zigzagging journey to the village of Bagamoyo.

I was assigned a cycling leg in the early morning, the first leg, starting at 630, as well as the first running leg after lunch, which saw me struggle in the smoldering heat, shortly after too big a lunch.

In the end, ‘my’ team, the Candy Fundis, led by the RA Candy Warrior, came in third, taking about six and a half hours to travel the distance. The winners, the Tiny Trotters battled it out with the Wet Dream Team, who both took a mere five and a half hours to cover the same.

When I wasn’t cycling or running, I was sharing a ride with a mom of two, who’s kids occasionally trotted along. At some point, when she was running her leg and I was driving the car with the kids in the back, the youngest, a four year old girl, asked me “can you rape my butt”. Obviously startled, even though this is the hash, some questioning and verbal prodding later, revealed that the actual question was “can you break my bottle”. Those four year olds!
She had lost her chewing gum inside the water bottle she was drinking from.

In the evening, the party involved skits and singing, including a belly dance routine choreographed by Candy Blower, Candyman’s wife, which saw Candyman in the actual belly dancing outfit and the rest of us bumbling along.
Such fun!

I thought about bringing my camera, but decided I didn’t want the responsibility of enjoying myself while also taking loads of pictures and worrying about my camera when not carrying it. I figured loads of people would be taking pictures anyway.
True, the latter, but it’s to be seen whether many of these photos will show up online.

I staid in exactly the same hut Niamh and I were in back in March, over at the Bagamoyo beach resort.

Biking, bussing and commenting

I wasn’t feeling too great yesterday (and no, for once that was not because of a hangover), which resulted in me missing today’s Dar es Salaam Cycle Caravan 2010, organized by UWABA, which seeks to promote cycling as an alternative to more typical forms of urban transport here in Dar, while highlighting the relative challenges of cycling in this metropole.
For one, I’ve so far been hit a handful of times, by cars, on the roads of the city. Nothing major, but still.

What’s funny is that UWABA chose to highlight their pleas on the quietest of moments; downtown on a Sunday morning at 8am…

Brrr brrr

Dar is significantly fresher than when I left it. Not too unpleasant, although it also means I now shower in lukewarm water instead of cold.

Public transport

Dar has reasonably effective and reasonably well organized public transport. Buses, though often overcrowded, run the length and breadth of the city. Buses are color coded and carry the names of their starting and end points.
A pity no map of all the routes exists. Oh wait, once it did.

One of my colleagues at Twaweza mentioned that, once, she had seen a paper based map of the bus lines crisscrossing the city, but that it had disappeared into obscurity.

Now, my new housemate Leslie managed to somehow get hold of a copy. It was put together by Celtel, what is now operating as Zain, a Kuwait-based cellphone group operating in some 25 countries.
Interestingly, though about 60% of Zain’s customers are currently in Africa, the continent contributes only 15% to the group’s net profit.

The map is not totally accurate, though. There’s one line which both stops right at the airport and right infront of my house here. Extremely convenient, as the line avoids the city center, but not on the map.

Comments

In other news, I made some tweaks to my website. For one, I moved old comments to the Disqus commenting system. This required some investigation. First to find keys, with which Mikkel Hoegh helped, and then the DISQUS API wrapper by Rob Loach, followed by some tweaking around with the RESTful API Disqus provides and some help from the Disqus Google group.

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