Archives for February 2005
Sensible security
[Rant starts]
If I were a terrorist bent on causing havoc in the US it wouldn’t be that difficult if I tried hard enough and hadn’t been spied on. I wouldn’t need to build a dirty bomb or set my foot on fire. I’d just throw trouble out with the trash. Let me explain.
In an overhaul of security since 9/11 (or 11/9 as it should be properly called) the Federal Government fired the private contractors handling aviation security and set up the TSA. Airlines computers randomly select passengers for ‘extra’ screening by marking their boarding card SSSS. Now, if I were a terrorist and that came up on my boarding card perhaps I’d miss my flight or change my shoes and throw the gun in the bin before going through security.
Try and enter any attraction in Washington DC and you’ll have your bags x-rayed by an overweight security guard. I nearly got into trouble for taking a picture of the Capitol that included a police officer (right, just before he opened his door and shouted at me). The Washington Monument is closed off whilst security improvements are made, campaigners narrowly preventing a moat being dug around the base.
Meanwhile, trash cans remain on every street corner and in public buildings. Now, I think the US could learn something from the UK or Spain. I’m not saying we’re better than the US, but that we are more experienced at being bombed.
In London Victoria Station, February 18 1991, 1 person was killed and 50 injured when an IRA bomb exploded in a rubbish bin on the passenger concourse. (Coincidentally the platform where the Rainham train arrives.) Use London Transport today and you’ll never find a rubbish bin, which partly explains why Tube trains are such a mess. But you can get into most Government offices without a cavity search and watch parliament without a letter from your MP.
My advice to the US Government: cut back on the heavy handed security and lose the trash cans. Maybe spend some of the money saved on improving international relations – maybe send Chirac a Big Mac voucher – or put it towards reducing that budget defecit.
[Rant ends]
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Istanbul
Forecast snow of 8″ here in Washington and my flight to Chicago has been cancelled so time for me to tell you about my weekend in Istanbul. I’ve also put many (many) of the choicest photos here.
For years and years I have dreamed of the wonders of the Turkish bath; for years and years I have promised myself that I would yet enjoy one… while I drowsed and dreamed, or contentedly gazed at the rich hangings of the apartment, the soft carpets, the sumptuous furniture, the pictures, and drank delicious coffee…in tranquil repose, lulled by sensuous odors from unseen censers… the music of fountains that counterfeited the pattering of summer rain. That was the picture, just as I got it from incendiary books of travel. It was a poor, miserable imposture…
[About] the world-renowned Turkish coffee poets have sung so rapturously for many generations, and I seized upon it as the last hope that was left of my old dreams of Eastern luxury. It was another fraud…Here endeth … my dream
In 1869 Mark Twain published ‘The Innocents Abroad’, an acerbic account of his travels through Europe and the Middle East. He was not a fan of Istanbul, recounting a series of historical ‘frauds’ that marred his trip and left him disappointed. I consider myself a reasonably savvy traveller, on the look out for scams and cons and seeking to soak up the city rather than just visit the guide book attractions. But in Istanbul we were done over, not by any particular individual but by the tourist industry as a whole. I have to agree with Twain about the city’s frauds and disappointments. Yet ultimately the city redeemed itself and we had a good trip.
My geeky reading of Flyertalk had taught me that I could start a British Airways round the world ticket, in business class, from Istanbul for not much more than a regular economy ticket straight to New Zealand*. With a cheap flight to Istanbul, my warped logic made it seem good value for money, especially as it meant I could visit lots more places during my mini retirement whilst living up to my travel snob self image. Add to that a chance to take my mum for a few days away and some mother-son bonding, and we had a plan.
I’d been to Turkey before but only on a last minute package holiday to a small town on the Turquoise Coast (just next to where Father Christmas was born, apparently). In my imagination Istanbul was an exotic city of oriental art, a myriad maze of alleys populated by Arab hawkers and women behind veils, under a searing sun. Like Cairo but with more water. It’s renowned as the bridge between Europe and Asia, the gateway to the Black Sea and Odessa, and I was looking forward to a brief encounter with this land of strong coffee and deep skin exfoliation.
So it was a bit of a surprise when our final approach to Istanbul airport was held off for ten minutes whilst the runway was cleared of snow. Turns out that it snows every year on the Bospherous, the first of my illusions to be shattered. Maybe I should have worn sensible footwear. Tan leather doesn’t cope with snow too well.
Our driver whisked us down the coast road past the old city walls and the twinkling lights of a hundred freighters to our hotel in the old town near the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sofia. Another recommendation I’d found on the internet, the Empress Zoe is a friendly place in a building full of character. The rooms, reached by a spiral staircase rising from the foundations of a fifteenth century hamam, each have a unique character. Mine was like a coffin: the bed was surrounded on three sides by dark wood and there was no TV. However, there was a window with a view down to the Bospherous so I knew I wasn’t dead quite yet.
But I was dead to the world when I was woken around five next morning by the sound of the Imam mumbling the Koran to his neighbours. It was an early reminder that Turkey is very much an Islamic country, despite having its feet in Christian Europe – something that will doubtless become increasingly controversial as Turkey’s negotiations for entry into the EU continue.
Istanbul is not as I expected. It’s a refined blend of Europe and Asia, by which I mean that the streets are a combination of statuesque architecture and concrete horrors, much like Paris or London, whilst the skyline is peppered with minarets and an occasional spire. It’s hard to overstate just how many mosques fill the skies. Even in the suburbs, the streetscape is dominated by towers, each peppered with large tinny speakers. Picture the Beastie Boys played through the doors of an unrefined Ford Fiesta and you can imagine how they sound at the call to prayer. (Perhaps an unsuitable similie). The juxtaposition of these regular Islamic broadcasts with European-style streets is at first jarring but soon ignored.
The skies had cleared by the morning and the snow lay roundabout, deep and crisp and even. We strolled up to the Blue Mosque and played dodge the tour group, before finding a quiet spot to the side of the building, broken only by the sound of half tonne blocks of snow and ice falling off the roof. Wandering the streets we passed the site of Roman chariot racing, now a roundabout, appropriate given Turkish driving; explored the banks of the Bospherous; and headed up to the Grand Bazaar.
In the Bazaar bored shopkeepers made half hearted attempts to pull us in with the lure of gold or antique carpets, but the lack of tourists dulled their fervour. At this time of year the market was the opposite of bustling (unbustled?) and we made a safe exit after one circuit. The quantity was astounding but the quality harder to judge. It left this heathen unexcited, the whole experience not unlike a trip to Bluewater without the chavs and 13,000 parking spaces.
We’d escaped the Bazaar unscathed but as the weather closed in we became easier prey for the tourist machine. After a walk (or rather slide) back to the hotel we headed out to find some dinner. The friendly barman in the hotel had recommended a place where a friend of his was chef, of course, but the paucity of decent restaurants in the area made us set out in search of it. We got lost, and ended up wandering the old town and discounting the few restaurants we passed. In desperation we passed somewhere bright and inviting and walked inside, even though all the other guests were also lost tourists.
Needless to say, the food was international, bland, tasteless and rather expensive. Stranded by the fast falling snow we couldn’t escape the English-speaking bubble and had to give in to mediocrity. It was a big disappointment.
Not as big a disappointment as my trip to the hamam next day, however. Like Twain I’d imagined a Turkish bath to involve a vigourous scrub with a rough mitten, followed by a violent massage, a rinse and a long soak in the steam room. It’s what the Time Out guidebook promised, and even recommended a couple of places to go to.
I found the small decrepit building near our hotel and walked inside. Being men-only (all hamams are single sex), the changing rooms had only large glass windows looking out onto the entrance hall. Not what I’d expected, but I was prepared to be a man about it all and got changed into a towel, dragging on a pair of overused flip-flops. I’d paid extra for the massage and was apprehensive yet curious about the how it would work out (no funny business of course!).
The bloke who’d taken my money at the door, a wiry guy in his fifties, appeared a few minutes later with a fag in his mouth and a tattered wrap around his waist. He motioned for me to lie on a hot slab and pulled out what looked like a crocheted tea towel, a bar of soap and a bottle of Badedas shampoo. After throwing hot water on me, there was a quick scrub with the flannel, a rinse of the hair, the most ineffectual massage I’ve ever had – just rubbing my arms and legs twice, not even massaging.
And that was it.
That’s not a Turkish bath! To deepen the wound, the steam room had little steam and was almost too cold to sit in. I’d been a muppet tourist again, royally done over, and there was no way I could resolve it as I didn’t speak the language and wouldn’t know what to say anyway. I left after a reasonable period of time – no chance I was going to lose face in front of these other men – got dressed and went to pay up.
‘Bakseesh’ demanded the ‘masseur’/receptionist. Bugger off, more like. He didn’t get a tip.
Despite these miserable tourist experiences, we did lots of good things too. Taking a ferry across the Bospherous from Europe to have a cup of coffee in Asia blows this geographer’s mind. Visiting the Rami Cock Museum of Industry (might have got the spelling a bit wrong there) was fascinating, all sorts of technological gems that even my mum enjoyed. Touring the Topkapi Palace, admiring both the gratuitous crown jewels and the ice-covered bushes. And finally getting a cab out of the old town and up to Taksim, Istanbul’s west end, for an excellent meal of Turkish meze and a stroll along the lively streets of the city where Istanbullers strutted their stuff and did a little late night shopping. Of course, we stopped to buy Turkish delight.
Istanbul stands out as a diverse and exciting city, where European and Asian cultures blend rather than clash. Walking down the street one passes a broad mixture of heights, shapes, faces and skin colours. Many of the women are stunning. It’s Upper Tooting writ large.
Although I’d like to return in the summer when the city spills out onto the waterfront and comes to life, I’m glad that we went in the quiet season both to see the city under snow and to experience the sights without the crowds. By the end of our trip my shoes had been ruined but it was worth it for the chance to explore this city that spans two continents. I’ll be back (if only because I have a return ticket!).
*NB Refers to ticket price from London to Queenstown with travel starting before mid-March, in case anyone says ‘but I’ve seen flights to Australia for £500 quid’. Yes, I know, I looked for them but they started too late.
(PS Promise the rest of the entries won’t be this long)
On tour
With my round the world ticket I could take up to 20 flights within a complex set of fare rules, and with careful planning I could earn enough ‘points’ to guarantee access to the airport lounges until mid-2007. Quite useful, and good for a snob like me.
This is where I admit that to achieve this target and save on a night’s hotel I took a rather circuitous route to Washington DC.
I flew from London…
…to Chicago…
…through Denver…
(where the transit station looks like an Aztec temple for no obvious reason)
…on through Los Angeles…
…and Dallas-Forth Worth, before finally arriving in Washington DC (look at those chins! That’s airline food).
Five flights and 8130 miles in a day.
And add that to my day trip to Abu Dhabi – well, I used to enjoy flying but I’ve gone off it a bit now.
Let’s never talk about this again.
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First, FIRST
Sometimes it takes me by surprise to arrive in a foreign country. Whaddya know, I’m in the USA, and I didn’t really expect it. Hard to explain but here I am, in Chicago.
Due to an unintentional error by British Airways I ended up in first class (or, as they like to call it, FIRST). I’m glad I didn’t pay for it because it’s not ‘all that’. The seat is bigger but it’s still only a seat, and the cheese is the same as the one I bought from Waitrose. I think business class is worth it when it’s a good value ticket as it means more space to stretch out that economy and a more enjoyable flight. But the front of the plane is not that much different. In fact, the only really good thing was this (4.5MB download), just like Star Trek.
I am a travel snob but not a complete idiot with my money. I will never mention first class again.
I’ve been keeping my last empty page in my passport for the Australian Visa, since it’s nearly full and I think I need a blank space for the sticker. Expected a queue at immigration but was first in line, which was good, but very very annoyingly the agent found that one page and stuck a little stamp in it. This is not cool, and I (seriously) think I might have to get a new passport to get the Australian visa. Worry about that when I get there.
Off to Washington DC the long way. Don’t worry, I shan’t be reporting on every single part of the travel!
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If you like a man in uniform…
The marvellous modern day adventurer Alex Mira has recently been in the heart of Colombia. His travel updates are always entertaining and very well written, but I particularly liked this section in his Bogota report:
Colombia is a great and fascinating diverse place to be enjoyed, and also, a very affordable country compared to others in the Continent. Furthermore, for those of you who like women, no doubt, Colombian women are possibly the most beautiful ones in the World, and for those into men, I will say that the strong and imposing military presence everywhere makes this country not just safer but overwhelmingly sexy.
Which is accompanied by this picture of Alex and three soldiers.
Oy! Salut and forze el canute, my friend.
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Baby name, baby cheeks
On a less whiney note, here’s a fun little thing to spend a couple of minutes with (java required). It tracks the popularity of baby names over the past century: although only US data are shown, there are clear similarities with the UK. Fascinating to see how popularity is cyclical.
Also good to know how common my friends are 
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A question of degree
This month’s Wired carries an article supporting the growth of nuclear energy as a preferred solution to global warming. Pragmatically there is a lot to be said in favour of this and much of its critique of renewable energy sources is valid. But it is undermined by the dismissive approach to improving energy efficiency; worsened by the implication that the US is no worse than other countries in the developed world.
The average American sends nearly half a ton of carbon spewing into the atmosphere every month. Europe and Japan are a little more economical, but even the most remote forest-burning peasants happily do their part
Hold on! This really gets my goat. Little in my first year at university sticks in my mind apart from the fact that the US alone used one-quarter of the world’s oil in the 1980s. Roughly 6% of the earth’s population consuming more than 25% of its energy resources.
But the world has moved on in the past twenty years, in particular Asia has boomed, new sources of energy have been introduced. Is America still the world’s number one or are my prejudices misplaced? Let’s look at the data. The World Resources Institute has some very useful independent data that enables international comparisons.
A naive glance at the data may support Wired’s argument. CDIAC reports that in 1998 ‘North America’ produced 5,915m metric tonnes of CO2 compared with ‘Europe’ at 5,829m. Pretty close, huh?
However, let’s look at CO2 emissions per capita (source International Energy Agency, metric tonnes pc, 2001; these figures are closely paralled by other sources):
» North America 19.4; Europe 8.3; Asia 2.1
That puts North America at more than double Europe and more than nine times Asia. To be fair, these regions can be mask large differences, so perhaps better to look at individual countries:
» USA 19.8; Germany 10.5; UK 9.4; Japan 9.3; France 6.3; Switzerland 6.3; China 2.4
Clear cut evidence that the US leads Europe and Japan on pollution, it seems. (Australia is the closest non-oil producing country to the US, at 18.1mtpc, followed by Canada at 16.5).
If we look at CO2 emissions relative to $GDP PPP there is less difference between countries, but this does not detract from the developed world’s dirty dominance. Yes, Europeans generate far more atmospheric pollution than the developing world (and as a car driver and international jet traveller I’m worse than most). Yet look at gasoline pricing, relentless devlopment of air conditioned bubbles in inhospitable climates, energy inefficiency and a notably careless attitude towards the environment: the USA is the world’s biggest polluter and it’s wrong of a respectable publication to fuel the myth that Americans are no worse than the rest of us.
And if we really have to build new nuclear power plants, let’s stick more of them in Australia. It’s one of the biggest polluters and acres of open space.
Housekeeping
In retrospect it would have been easier to call the company and the website different names (surprisingly, the website came first). But I didn’t. So some housekeeping is in order as I’m trying to present both a professional image to prospective clients, and a personal image to friends and family. Therefore the Abajo homepage now presents two choices.
Follow this link for a holding page for Abajo Ltd. It’s only temporary so no heckling, please.
The blog itself now has a home at www.abajo.co.uk/downandout.php but everything else remains the same, including the RSS feed.
I promise something (anything!) more interesting in my next post.
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Tickets booked
Inspired by the words of William Shatner (I kid you not), I’ve finally sorted out my tickets for going down to New Zealand, the long way. Here’s the itinerary:
IST-LON-AUH-LON-DFW-CUN-DFW-DCA-ORD//SFO-LAX-SYD-AKL//
ZQN-CHC-SYD-BNE-HKG-CMB-HKG-LON-IST
That’s a total of nineteen flights (since I could have had anything between 3 and 20 for the same price). It’s an impressive book of tickets.
It also explains why I’m, um, writing this in Abu Dhabi airport.
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Cows and global warming
I’m getting a little obsessed with global warming news stories, especially with last week’s climate change conference in Exeter which warned that risks are “more serious than previously thought”. (How can that be?)
Timely, then, to see a report has been published about the pollution caused by Californian cows. Although it’s about atmospheric pollution rather than global warming per se, there are links to climate change.
California’s San Joaquin Valley has some of the worst air pollution in the country, according to the EPA. The Air Resources Board believes that has as much to do with the region’s 1.7 million dairy cows as it does with its 26 million registered vehicles.
An argument for state-sponsored vegetarianism?
