“Stop fondling me, or else the airline will be liable!”

Once in a while I encounter cases in my studies that are so bizarre that they must be mentioned. If not to educate, then at least it will entertain.

Imagine the following situation. You are onboard a long trans-Pacific flight, and the cabin lights are dimmed, as most passengers are lying asleep. You are next to the window, which on most long-haul economy class planes effectively means you are ‘hemmed in’ by two other strangers. You doze off. Then, suddenly, you feel something wriggling in your pants. You open your eyes, and see that the passenger next to you has extended his (or her) naughty hand down to fondle you. You turn your body away, causing the unwelcome hand to withdraw, and continue to sleep, only to wake up moments later to see that the naughty passenger simply has not lost interest in your underpants. You leap across the two passengers to freedom, and inform the flight attendant. The dirty perv is apprehended upon arrival. You sue the airline for personal injury.

And you win. Big time.

As twisted as this may be, there is no need to imagine, because this is exactly what happened in Wallace v Korean Air (US Appeals 2^nd Circuit, 2000). The poor Ms. Wallace woke to find that dirty Mr Park had “unbuckled her belt, unzipped and unbuttoned her jean shorts, and placed his hands into her underpants to fondle her”. The most bizarre fact was perhaps not the sexual predation—however undesirable it is and may have been—but that Ms. Wallace brought the case not against the sex offender, but against the airline.

She did so under the Warsaw Convention—that long-winded text printed on the back of airline tickets—which limits liability for personal injury or death to US$75,000 in the event of an “accident”. But Ms. Wallace actually managed to make the Appeal Court in the US find that the airline is liable for the unsavoury actions of dirty Mr. Park, because “the lights were turned down and the sexual predator was left unsupervised in the dark”. The court called what happened “an unexpected or unusual event”, and therefore the law which normally deals with a serious air crash or aerial accident on an international flight would apply.

It is of course not wrong that Ms. Wallace should get her right, and that she is indeed entitled to compensation for the emotional discomfort she may have endured. But do use the Warsaw Convention, which was drafted to deal with more ‘serious’ aviation accidents undermines the law and opens it up to abuse. Luckily, it seems like this peculiar case and peculiar facts are one off, and probably will not be repeated.

But the consequences of Ms. Wallace’s victory are mind boggling. Basically the case implied that airlines has a duty to know who is a sexual predator, and that the inflight steward(ess) should regularly patrol the aisles with a flashlight to see if there are any unwanted hands extended down unwanted pants.

Besides the regular security questions on whether anyone has tampered with your luggage, perhaps the next time you board the plane,the checkin people will ask you if you are a sexual predator, or whether you would mind sitting next to one.

I will be looking forward to my next flight…

In between

Despite the noise of the morning traffic, the racket of passing monster trucks, and the sirens of emergency services, it was a long and welcome chat on the phone. Thanks to my friend who called to check up on how I was doing, for an hour or so I felt less alone and more comfortable being here. We exchanged laughs, as I excitedly told her about my new apartment and how eager I was to move into my very first home of my own. She shared my happiness, and felt my anxieties about being here and having to start life all over again. It felt good to know that someone cares so much. Though she was far away, she was in fact so very close.

I guess in all the excitement about coming to Canada, I completely forgot how much I dislike the dirt and din of big cities. Or perhaps it just takes some getting used to, especially coming from a quiet little village like The Hague, where two pedals away I could always easily escape into the recluse of the forest. Like in my undergrad days in London, my new university is right in the heart of Montreal, situated in the shadow of skyscrapers and the city’s highest hill. In fact, there is even an metro station named after my university, which I guess is something to be proud of. Then again, it feels strange that once you step outside of the classroom, you are again in the bustle and hustle of city life.

I checked out of the hostel I have been staying in for the last five days. Originally I was supposed to move into the new apartment in the morning, but the old tenant was still there, so my landlord told me to wait till the evening. Since I could not do anything, I headed to the law library for the first time. A pretty building, right opposite my institute, five floors, and actually not all that big, especially considering it is the library that supports probably (one of ) the best law school in Canada. I was one of the very few people in the library, especially given that it was a Saturday, and that school had just begun. I sat down, and for the next hours till dusk fell, I worked on a paper that I am working on together with friends I met during the summer school in Barcelona.

Outside, for the first time since I arrived in Canada, it began to rain. The sky had been heavy and dense the whole day, and finally it started to pour. The city took on a whole new coat in the dampness, and even the skyscrapers in the background seemed to have their usual proud towering postures dampened.

I moved the remaining of my luggage to a temporary apartment that my landlord had given to me before I moved into my own one. I called him, just to ask what the situation is, and then came the bad news.

The apartment I had liked since I stepped into it is not going to be available. Apparently, the girl who is staying there changed her mind and does not want to move anymore. What is more, she is actually someone who special needs, which means it will take a lot of effort for her to move house, especially since special appliances that cater for her will have to be fitted, and this cannot just happen within a day or so. According to the landlord, she threw a fit, and was very difficult to deal with. And the landlord sounded really apologetic, and offered to give me another apartment that is in better condition.

What was I to say? To be honest, I was not sure what to believe, but then again, I did not have it in me to say that my needs for the apartment that I liked so much would come before a girl with special needs. I mean, I can only imagine how tough it must be for her to be living on her own, let alone have to be forced to move in a sudden notice. Of course, I was extremely disappointed, and have been feeling pretty upset since I heard the news.

But then again… it is just an apartment, right?

Settling down

(My first steps on Canadian soil...in my beloved Birkenstocks!!)

My fourth night in Canada, and slowly I think I am getting used to it. The street signs and language people speak are French, but then the kind of run-down alleyways next to towering skyscrapers are so typically North American. It still seems odd that I am here now, whereas a few days ago I was still cycling on my bike towards the beach. Big difference here though, it is 30C every day. At least for now, because it is “false advertising” for the real weather, as a lecturer put it.

Yesterday I had a chat with the director of Institute I’m studying in, and he again said that they were delighted to have me, saying that someone with my kind of “caliber” comes “highly recommended”. I modestly thanked him (again) for giving me this wonderful opportunity and the position as a fellow with a generous scholarship. Of course, part of my duties as a fellow of the Institute would be to “give back to the community”, so I will be involved in some extra curricular work. The weather in winter will keep me indoors most of the time anyways, I was assured.

I was actually feeling pretty deflated the first few days… I mean, I know no one, I am a complete stranger in a foreign country, and going from place to place looking for an apartment. Everything I saw was old or really expensive, especially in the so-called McGill Ghetto next to campus. Luckily, the lady bank clerk I met a few days ago managed to track down an apartment for me, and I went to see it this morning.

I was already impressed as soon as I opened the door. There are actually two apartments, one on the second floor, and one in the basement. The former one looks a bit older, and some places were peeling, whereas the one in the basement was restored brand new, and had a better separation of space. Though it is in the basement, and though I have this impression that it would be damp and dark down there, it was nothing like that. Very bright and airy, and the flooring, kitchen, as well as bathtub are all brand new. I did not have to think twice, especially after all the really rubbish and expensive places I had seen in the past few days! And best of all, just around the corner is a metro station, and it takes only around 15minutes for me to get to university. Lots of grocery stores and restaurants nearby, making it very convenient. And another bonus of the apartment is: it is in an area called Monk. So I will hopefully be more spiritual and at ease living in my new home.

The landlord is such a great and trusting person—none of that guarantor hassle or need to pay the first and previous month’s rent as a guarantee as some people have asked me to do. He did not even ask for a deposit, but just said I could move my things in right away. To him, he would rather have a trustworthy and honest tenant (like me!) than leave the apartment empty or let it be taken by drug-addicts or people with very low incomes. And he really is a reasonable person, who seems to have the tenants’ interests in mind. I signed the lease, and after that, he even offered to drive me to Ikea to look at furniture.

When I go to the big furniture store, I realised I did not have much money on me because especially since I am still waiting for my scholarship to appear… so, my bed and table and chairs for my humble abode will have to wait for a while…

But at least, finally after all this time longing for freedom and independence, as of tomorrow, I have a lovely place I can call my own. And this will really be a first.

Househunting

I am a getting anxious and desparate. Been searching for a place for two days, and there is nothing that I like. If a place is not too expensive, then the place is too far, or much too dirty and run-down. So I have been walking around the city, back and forth, going from apartment to apartment, hoping something good would show up.

And everytime I leave an aparment, I feel so deflated, because I have to continue looking. It is really exhausting, especially since I have not done any work for my studies yet, and nor did I have the time to buy books for what I need to read.

So as I came home again late at night, I felt really heavy with tension and stress. Every day I do not find an apartment I must pay a lot for my hostel, and I simply cannot keep on this for long. And living in a hostel means that I must eat out, which also costs a lot of money.... not only that, I feel so unhealthy, as if I do not get enough vegetables and nutrients whenever I eat out... so there seems to be a viscious cycle of despair, which all comes back to the fact that I STILL DO NOT HAVE A PLACE TO STAY...

Despite all these misfortunes, I did have some good fortune today. So I went to open a bank account, and this Asian lady helped me. When she asked for my ID, I gave her my passport, and she flipped through it, and was especially interested in the fact that I had many visas to Taiwan.

"So you go to Taiwan often, I see", she said.
"Yes, because my family lives there. And I was born there."
"Oh, me too!"

Turns out, the lady has been in Canada for 12 years, and also came as a young student, and has since been working at the bank. We started talking in Mandarin, and she was not only helpful in opening the bank account, she even showed me some places to look for an apartment, and offered to help if I need anything. This was a really welcome show of support, and made me feel all the less alone in this big, big city....

First day

I wandered around the unfamiliar streets of the city, cars, horns and sirens whizzing past, now and then the sound of chatter and laughter would pass me by. The sky darkened, and night had fallen. I was surrounded by tall steel and glass buildings, and suddenly it felt pretty lonely in the big city.

I guess the feeling is magnified with the fact that I was tired from having woken up at around 6 in the morning, and have been running around non-stop since then. First in search of an apartment, which still is as desperate as ever, and then going to class and having to wait a long time to be registered as a student. What made it worse was to hear that if by the end of the month I still do not have my student visa done, I will be deregistered and barred from attending class…

Earlier, I had gotten up early to go see an apartment with the lady at the hostel reception. She drove me there, and it took only 10 minutes with the car. For the first time, I could see how it was to go from the city into suburbia, and see that transition from crowded and busy sidewalks to white picket fences and mowed lawns. It was a very quiet residential area, and the apartment is huge, with two bedrooms, one living room, a kitchen and bathroom—all for around CA$600 only. But, later I found out if I were to commute, it would take me around 40 minutes to get to university, and I would much rather live nearby where I study, so I could blend more into the student life.

I treated the lady to some breakfast, for she had been so kind to offer her help in my house hunting. As we chatted, she mentioned something that struck me. She said that she was helping me because I was Asian, and if it were anyone else, then she would rather not extend a helping hand. Perhaps this is because of her divorce from a (white) local, whom she does not much of an opinion of. But then when it came to giving me advice on where to look for places to stay, she actually said that certain areas have a lot of Indians, and told me to avoid that. So much for the exciting multiculturalism and mix of peoples and languages, from Arabs to Europeans, from Jews to Muslims, from Chinese to Vietnamese, that I had encountered on the streets in the very short amount of time I have been in Canada.

I made my way back into the city on the metro. It rode on rubber wheels, like the ones in Paris, and soon I arrived at McGill, and it took sometime to find my way in the underground complex that lay under the main streets of Montreal. Riding the escalator to street level, I was again submerged under the shadows of tall towers housing many important banks and businesses. Then, at the end of the broad street, was an arched column, behind which scores of old building sheltered amid trees.

This was the McGill Campus, and I wandered inside, passing by countless other students on their way to class. Everyone dressed so informally in sandals and shorts, while I felt a little out of place in my white shirt and long dark trousers. It felt peculiar to be in a campus, the kind of place I have seen so many times in American movies, but never before experienced or seen. My first university was merely two buildings in central London, which housed a total of less than 3000 students. McGill was simply a giant, in terms of its student body and the scale of its campus.

I stumbled into my first class, and already a few classmates had sat down. They were pretty friendly, at least the first impression, and we briefly chit chatted. There were only around 15 students, all with diverse educational and professional backgrounds, and each from different countries, which should make the class really interesting. One thing that bound us together was our shared interest in and acceptance at perhaps the foremost institute for the study of air and space law.

The first three hours of lectures was intense, though the professor is really good. After a light-hearted introduction to the institute and to the staff, in the following hours we were bombarded with information on the intricacies of international air carrier liability. All I could think of was whether my long delay and missed flight the day before had anything to do with what we were learning about.

After the lecture, everyone seemed to just vanish somehow, which was a real shame. I was soon left wandering around the campus on my own, and it felt a bit disorientating, as everything was so big and there were so many people and buildings.

I only hope time will make me more familiar with the people and all these stranges sights and places...

Departing for Montreal

The plane rocked and rolled. Not the kind of experience you would like to have at 3000m above the ground, not when visibility was almost zero, and when the windows are constantly being lashed by large needles of rain. The cabin jolted, and one could almost hear a silent sigh of prayers as the little Lufthansa A320 attempted to break through the storm. Thick clouds, swirling and dense with turbulence. Thunder and lightning, and horrendous vibrations.

It was a relief to see the ground, which neared and neared until finally the wheels slammed onto the runway. Grind, screech, halt. Huge splashes of water flew off of the wing tip, as the engines powered reverse. Touchdown at Frankfurt Airport, an hour behind schedule.

The stewardess announced the gate numbers of connecting flights, and mentioned that the flight bound for Montreal was still at the Gate B46. I looked out of the window, and indeed saw the Air Canada Boeing 777-300 standing still at the gate. Peculiar, though, that the skybridge had already been withdrawn, and all the usual gathering of baggage carts and ground personnel were nowhere to be seen.

I stepped out into the rain, as my mind raced to be at the gate. But when you are in a hurry, everything seems to slow you down. Frankfurt this morning suffered sudden severe storms, and many planes like ours were told to circle the skies slowly to stall for time and for a landing slot. And due to the congested traffic, instead of being docked to a gate, our plane had been diverted to the tarmac, and we needed to be bussed to the terminal, which lost a good quarter of an hour. Once inside the terminal, I ran, and ran, following the arrows to the correct gate.

But it was empty. The display which would normally show the flight number and destination was blank. I looked outside the window, and saw the elongated Boeing 777, equipped with two of the most powerful Rolls Royce jet engines in the world, slowly pull away. It is bad enough to watch the train pull away from the platform, but when it is your connecting flight to another country, that is a whole different matter. My heart sunk, as I wondered how long I will have to be stuck at the airport. I was exhausted from the one hour sleep I got last night, and from having to wake up at half past three in the morning, but at that moment, watching the plane that I was supposed to be sitting on turn its back on me, I felt sick.

Deflated I dragged myself and my backpack to the ticket counter. A wait of almost an hour later, there seemed hope. I could be rebooked on a flight to Montreal, via Boston, the counter lady said. But I dreaded going through the US—with all its draconian security measures and baggage checks. There was another option, and that was through Paris, though it would mean a total waiting time of around six hours. Anything seemed better than not being able to arrive on time for my first day of classes tomorrow, so I took what was offered.

Who would have thought, or even imagined, that a simple trip to Montreal would take me through two different countries, with three different flights. But Paris was a welcome stopover, for it was the capital of the French-speaking world, while Montreal, my final destination, is labelled the second largest French-speaking city in the world (at least according to my trusted companion Lonely Planet). There is some meaning in everything I guess. And perhaps life is telling me to start refreshing my rusty French.

Outside, the sky is clear, as the Air France Boeing 747-400 soars towards the Arctic Circle, ready to curve down to Montreal. My journey to Canada is almost at an end. But a new life is just about to begin.

Pre-departure

A new world is about to open before me in just a few hours.

In the final hours in the Netherlands, I went to the beach, the same beach I have strolled down when I was sad, when I was tense, when I was feeling inspired. The seagulls called out and sailed on the rough seas. A strong wind blew, and I clung onto my clothes. The sea and its saltiness on my lips.

I was not alone. Next to me was a dear friend, guide, and support. Someone who has given me many valuable lessons, someone who has been there when I was lonely and down. The skies flashed, and it began to rain.

Drizzle at first, but then it stormed. On the final night in the Netherlands, I sat in my friends apartment, and listened to the rain fall on the window over a hot cup of tea and homemade cookies. The air filled with the delicious scent of cooking and homeliness, and temporarily I thought about how I will miss such company when I leave.

The rain has since died, the wind since calmed. Outside a starry night, soon to turn into bright morning. This final night in the Netherlands, my suitcase packed, my clothes for the long flight westward folded and waiting to be worn.

A journey is about to begin... my life is given a new opportunity, one that I still have to discover and learn about.

Home again

I spread out my arms, and felt like I was soaring! High, flying adored, on my bike I have missed much in the past two months. The sea fell on my lips, and air wafted through my hair. A kind of freedom and relief rarely felt, yet whenever felt rejuvenates. Speed flew past my ears with the wind, as I pedalled swiftly through the night. A cool breeze, a starry night, the night before my last day in the Netherlands.

It felt a bit strange to be home again, even stranger with the knowledge that within the next 24 hours I will be packing up and leaving again. Home had somehow become a sort of stop-over, between one destination and another, from one place in life to another. Ironic, since home is supposed to be a place you return to after a long journey and rest. But there is no rest for me, not now.

My cat greeted me at the door as I entered. She sat and watched me, turned her head sideways, adorably as if to say that she recognised me, but that it has been much too long. Yet, the two months in Barcelona was just the beginning. Coming Monday will be the start of a new era in my life, a real move out of the house I have been living in, or at least been going back to, for the past ten years.

It is with strange feelings that I now sit in my own room, knowing that the day after tomorrow this room will no longer be my room, but just a room like so many I have, or am about to, grace.

Goodbye Barcelona

The final few hours, in Barcelona. My home for the last two months, my home for the Summer of 2008. And now so soon, it all seems to come to an end.

So much has happened in the past few weeks, in so little time, that I wish I could try to capture it all in words. Now I am about to leave with mixed feelings. Exhausted most of all, but at the same time overjoyed that I have graduated from a highly-respected University. Tired most of all, but at the same time anxious what ample opportunities in the great wide space out there.

Barcelona, thank you for the great times, the moments of tension, the moments of laughter, friendship, and harwork. Thank you for the beauty in your narrow alleyways, for the beauty of your citylife, and for the excitement and liveliness you have brought into our lives.



BARCELONA

Barcelona Barcelona
Barcelona Barcelona
Viva

I had this perfect dream
-Un sueño me envolvió
This dream was me and you
-Tal vez estás aquí
I want all the world to see
-Un instinto me guiaba
A miracle sensation
My guide and inspiration
Now my dream is slowly coming true

The wind is a gentle breeze
-Él me hablo de ti
The bells are ringing out
-El canto vuela
They're calling us together
Guiding us forever
Wish my dream would never go away

Barcelona - It was the first time that we met
Barcelona - How can I forget
The moment that you stepped into the room you took my breath away
Barcelona - La música vibró
Barcelona - Y ella nos unió
And if God willing we will meet again someday

Let the songs begin
-Déjalo nacer
Let the music play
-Ahhhhhhhh...
Make the voices sing
-Nace un gran amor
Start the celebration
-Ven a mí
And cry
-Grita
Come alive
-Vive
And shake the foundations from the skies
Ah,Ah,Shaking all our lives

Barcelona - Such a beautiful horizon
Barcelona - Like a jewel in the sun
Por ti seré gaviota de tu bella mar
Barcelona - Suenan las campanas
Barcelona - Abre tus puertas al mundo
If God is willing
-If God is willing
If God is willing
Friends until the end
Viva - Barcelona

Hours before the presentation

In a few hours, it will all be almost over. A presentation still needs to be done, but at least the vast majority of deadlines, assignments, assessments and lectures are all over. A sigh of relief, but not just yet.

It is interesting in a group of people how quickly you see people's true nature. Though we are supposed to be in a group project, it appears to be always the same people who show up at meetings, the same people who go to bed late, and always the same people who do the writing, the administrative work, and who try to get everyone else organised! And I happen to be one of these people.

Not that I am complaining, but sometimes you ask yourself and wonder: where are all the rest? Why are they not involved? Why do they get the same assessment as me, when they have done almost nothing at all?

I do enjoy what I have been doing for the past few weeks. We are involved in such a historic prjoect that could potentially change the way the world thinks about space activities. I mean this is why I chose this project, and why I volunteer myself to do whatever I can to make it however better it can be. Because I believe in space, and its ability to bring people together. When we humankind discover what possibilities are out there that overshadow the pettiness of nationalism, greed, indifference and intolerance, then we will realise that we need unity, peace and understanding of one another. In space, we realise how lonely we are, and realise the ugliness of our small feuds and discontents.

Tomorrow, the project will be presented and delivered, and it will be over for us. But a new age has just begun. If not, then at least for me.

Politicisation of flags

I am not really sure how I got embroiled in a political conflict, here at tmy summer school of space studies. I am at an institution founded on top-class education based on international exchange and intercultural understanding. But somehow the issue of my Taiwanese nationality has become an issue of debate. Unhappily so.

It all began as we were entering our final preparation stage for the report due next week. Historically, because the team compiling the report consists of dozens of people from all over the world, the tradition is that on the back cover there is a list of names, with next to the names the flag of the country where the person comes from. There have been incidences where people who have two nationalities have two flags next to their name.

So I do have dual-nationality, and like everyone who has the right to have both his/her country represented, I asked the person responsible for designing the cover to include the Dutch and Taiwanese flag.

Then came the email. From a fellow Chinese student who protested against the inclusion of Taiwan or the Taiwan flag in the flag. As if echoing the speech of an official from the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs, this issue (before I realised it became an issue at all!) became labelled as a "serious matter".

So I took steps to stop things going any further. Believe me, the last thing I want is to be in the middle of a debate about sovereignty and never-ending "Taiwan-is-a-part-of-China" claim. It is simply futile and does not get anywhere. I wrote a very diplomatic and carefully phrased email to our programme director, requesting that he clarify the issue, and I cc-ed the email to people in our team, thinking they should be informed about the latest development in this very unpredicted protest from our Chinese colleague(s).

Hours later, I was spoken to by the chair. Though it was right to refer the matter to the director, and though the Chinese student had no right to decide what goes in or out of the final group report, it was a terrible mistake for me to cc the email to everyone. It was escalating things further, and putting the matter on the public forum, I was told.

I came away from that meeting somewhat disheartened. I am not sure what I had done to provoke anything, and if I did do anything (like write that email and send it to everyone) then it was only because I wanted the input from a neutral party with the authority to decide on such matters of controversy. And somehow the issue has come back to bite me, and I've made a number of people irritated.

It is funny.... even at an academic institution of learning and international cooperation, that politics can raise its ugly head and wreak discord and sow upset. All because of a flag... all because certain people cannot tolerate dissent or another opinion, and feels the need to shoot down all semblances of what has so often been labelled "splitting the Motherland" or "subversion".

And all I wanted was to be represented. All what I wanted was to be represented fully like everyone else has a right to. I am Taiwanese and Dutch, and those are my identities, those are the cultures and countries that have shaped me. Am I to deny that because someone else protests?

Once again, the politicization of everyday mundane things unveals its ugliness.

Go Andorra

I guess my friends and I were just fed up. Fed up with meetings that last hours but do not really get anywhere. Fed up with having to sacrfice Saturdays and Sundays to have discussions and work almost constantly day and night. Of course we all know that the project we are involved in is extremely important, and may even have an impact on the future of space activities, but we all needed a break!

So we silently sneaked out of our dorms on Sunday morning, and headed quickly towards the bus station. We booked a place, and the bus to get there, within an hour or so of deciding that we should take a short trip to get away from it all. Andorra awaited.

The bus journey to the mini-state lodged between France and Spain was uneventful, mostly because we were all dead-exhausted from lack of sleep and overload of work in the past few days. The day earlier, we had spent almost ten hours of non-stop meetings, and tensions between certain people in the group were running high. It was somewhat unpleasant to be there, and I could feel people getting really stressed and demotivated. So I slept almost the complete three hour journey from Barcelona to Andorra, only waking up at times to catch a glimpse of the scenery outside.

Mountains, blue water reflecting the sky, majestic rock formations, wooded landscapes... Catalunya is really such a diverse and magical land, with such much to explore and discover. It seemed like every turn of the bus revealed a new lands waiting to be discovered, towering tops of mountains, blended with gorgeous valleys and plains. Eventually, we arrived in Andorra, crossing the border with ease, and we were in another country.

The main city is located between soaring mountains in a way that it sometimes felt claustrophobic. There are only a few streets, and the main avenue was a shoppers paradise, filled with designer clothes, cheap electronics and ridiculously cheap cigarettes and liquer, because Andorra is a low-tax heaven. Most of the cars were Spanish or French, which shows how popular the country is. I felt a bit trapped, and wanted to get away into nature, but I didn't have much of a chance.

But it was nice to be with two people I could get to know better, and I think a shared experience like a road-trip, especially when sharing a room when the snore of another is so very close, really brings people together. We walked around the shops somewhat, and even had a chance to climb up half the mountain. Most relaxing of all was enjoying a long, long soak in the local thermal spa, which softened our bones and muscles after the past eight weeks of intense work and stress. I slept so surprisingly well, and did not get up until half an hour or so before we had to check out of the room!

I felt refreshed and rejuvenated returning to my little room in the middle of the heat of Barcelona. And I felt a little guilty too, especially since most of the group of people I'm doing this project with were here, slaving away... But sometimes you just need to get away to get some perspective. And get away to be free.

Game on!

Have you seen the latest Coca Cola cans? It bears the Olympic rings, and printed on one side are the Chinese characters for the world’s favourite soft drink. Another example of how the world has become drunk with the Beijing Olympics.

But have you read the latest reports of crackdowns on Free Tibet supporters just moments after Mr. Bush called upon China to reform, or the wave of bombings and deaths in the Uighur province of Western China? And do you know about the ‘unexplained’ disappearances of Chinese democracy activists, or the clean-up operation to rid the streets of Beijing of beggars, prostitutes and other ‘unwanteds’? Amid the pictures and broadcasts of the and glitz of the Opening Ceremony in Beijing is the sad overshadowing of China’s continuing violation of fundamental human rights. Sad states of affairs, which the International Olympic Committee (IOC) or leaders like Mr. Sarkozy would sooner want to forget.

Sports should not be mixed with politics, as the IOC has repeated told the rest of the world. But wait… how could the IOC take a very political decision to ban (then) Apartheid South Africa from the Olympic Games, yet fail so miserably to voice its opinion on the human rights situation in one of the biggest violator of human rights in the world today? Sure, sports has nothing to do with politics. Hitler would today scoff at this, for he had successfully shown off the new prowess of Nazi Germany during the 1936 Olympics, while openly hiding the effects of anti-Semitic laws, and discrimination against homosexuals and other races. And why is Taiwan not allowed to compete under its own name, but must be repeatedly degraded and humiliated under the title of “Chinese Taipei”? And if sports had nothing to do with politics, then why did 61 States boycott the 1980 Moscow Olympics after the Russian invasion of Afghanistan?

The Olympic Games is being openly used by the Chinese Communist Party to justify and legalise its oppressive regime in China. It is being used to trump the Party’s successes, and sideline the internal pressures of an increasingly unequal society, and the rampant practices of corrupt officials. The Games are openly being promoted as China’s “coming out party”, after which China can join the world as a responsible and equal power. Yet, no State in the world deserves any respect or recognition as a world power, however virulent its economic might is, when it does not respect the fundamental freedoms and basic human rights of its own people.

“From the outset, Chinese leaders saw the games as a chance to boost China's image, to redefine it as a worthy, humane global partner - and not a menacing behemoth. Ordinary Chinese thought it a ripe opportunity to mark the tremendous strides made in casting off poverty and totalitarianism and building the fourth-largest economy in the space of a generation.

In their bid for the Olympics seven years ago, Beijing officials said the games would increase interaction with the international community and spur improvements in human rights and media freedom. The Chinese government called on party image-makers to devise ways to appeal to foreigners and on officials to stoke popular enthusiasm at home. "Integrate with the world" became a catch-phrase.”

Yet, various independent human rights and press monitoring organisations have observed a noticeable decline in freedoms in the run-up to the Games.

Reporters Without Borders writes:

“When the International Olympic Committee assigned the 2008 summer Olympic Games to Beijing on 13 July 2001, the Chinese police were intensifying a crackdown on subversive elements, including Internet users and journalists. Seven years later, nothing has changed. But despite the absence of any significant progress in free speech and human rights in China, the IOC’s members continue to turn a deaf ear to repeated appeals from international organisations that condemn the scale of the repression.

[…]The repression of journalists and cyber-dissidents has not let up in the past seven years. Everything suggests that it is going to continue. The IOC has given the Chinese government a job that it is going to carry out with zeal - the job of “organising secure Olympic Games.” For the government, this means more arrests of dissidents, more censorship and no social protest movements.”

And Human Rights Watch comments:

“The Chinese government and the International Olympic Committee have had seven years to deliver on their pledges that these games would further human rights. Instead, the Beijing Games have prompted a rollback in some of the most basic rights enshrined in China’s constitution and international law”

I was strongly opposed to the awarding of the Olympics to China back in 2001. I have repeatedly expressed disbelief in the fact that the IOC can overlook the bids of world-class cities like Paris, Osaka and Toronto in favour of China’s severely polluted capital Beijing. It was simply self-delusion then to believe that the Olympics would improve, or change in any shape or form to say the least, the human rights situation in China. In fact, the Olympics were awarded based on the promise that China would commit to improving the fundamental freedoms of its people, yet seven years on, the country is just as, if not in some ways even more repressive, as ever.

And so Amnesty International reports solemnly a few days earlier that:

“In fact, the crackdown on human rights defenders, journalists and lawyers has intensified because Beijing is hosting the Olympics. The authorities have stepped up repression of dissident voices in their efforts to present an image of “stability” and “harmony” to the outside world. This has resulted in the detention and imprisonment of those who wish to draw attention to the other side of the picture, which includes human rights violations perpetrated in preparation for the Games.

[…] However, the IOC has shown a reluctance to follow up on such statements and speak out on human rights in the context of the preparations for the Games in a more specific, consistent and forceful way. Amnesty International believes it is not appropriate to publicly refer to progress in certain areas, while ignoring a marked deterioration in others. […]

The IOC’s diplomatic, non-public approach on human rights cases and issues does not appear to have yielded significant results. International pressure from other governments for human rights reform has also been insufficient, sending a message that it is acceptable for a government to host the Olympic Games in an atmosphere characterised by repression and persecution. The danger now becomes that after the Olympic Games these patterns of serious human rights violations may continue or intensify with even less attention paid by the international community than has been the case so far.”

In the light of the glorious and wonderful Games in Beijing, here is the “Top Ten List of Possible New Events the Chinese Might Want to Include in the XXIX Olympiad”:

10. Synchronized Waterboarding.

9. The Barbed-Wire High Hurdles.

8. The Tibetan Monk Toss.

7. Starving Doberman Obstacle Relay.

6. Speed Wheezing.

5. The Re-Education Spiky Bamboo Pit Leap.

4. The Beach Border Minefield Crawl.

3. The Twelve-Year-Old Factory Worker Pee Hold Marathon.

2. Rhythmic Baton.

1. The Baby-Girl Bayonet Stack.

Game on.

Oppression, crackdown, arrests and silencing media: 1
Openness, basic liberties and press freedom: 0

Space geeks

I don't think I have ever been with a bunch of people and felt comfortable making space jokes, or talking loudly about warp drive and Star Trek-isms. And yet here I am, in Barcelona, with a hundred or so people who share a passion and interest with me about space, and the opportunities and visions that are out there beyond our little blue planet. It feels good to somehow find a belonging...

After a long week of many nights sleeping only two or three hours, after working on assignments and deadlines and attending lectures at the same time, finally it was a two day weekend where we have no activities planned! So I slept in today, and got up close to eleven, and headed to the city centre with some friends. We had breakfast in the central market, and I was in fruit heaven with all these delicious (and cheap!!) berries and melons and kiwis and exotic tropical fruits. Later we wandered aimlessly through the little alleyways of the old town, getting lost, and enjoying the fact that we had time on our hands and did not have to worry or think about being there at this minute or that minute.

In the evening we went out to the movies. I had heard good reviews about Pixar/Disney's latest animation Wall.E, but I was pleasantly surprised how sweet and education the movie was. There is not much conversation, and the protagonist is a rusty old recycling robot whose lines consist of 'beeps' and high pitched squeals. But Disney magic does it again, by capturing the very human soul and essence and putting it in the most unliekly characters, taking them through ups and downs, and resolving their despairs with a sweet release.

There is a lot to be learnt in Wall.E. The waste of the human species, the eventual doom and self-destructive path we are going down at this very moment. Funnily enough, the most human character was not the people in the movie, but two robots that you learn to love and love to learn from. And there were a lot of insider jokes and anedotes about space and space travel that made it the more special, especially since all I have been doing is space, space, space in the past five weeks! I left the movie theatre, feeling light and amused, and as we made the journey home, we joked and laughed at the things that only we space-geeks would understand and appreciate.

It felt good.

One small step...

First I was afraid. I was petrified. The water was deep, blue, but calm like a mirror, save for the splashes made by my fellow 'astronauts' testing their gears. I have swam in pools many, many times, but never with a ten kilo tank on my back, never with a mask, and never with regulator in my mouth. I bit on the plastic tightly, and tried to slowly adjust to breathing with my mouth. Pigeons dabbed their little feet along the side of the pool, as they drank and watched.

I had signed up for a programme in space studies, but who could have imagined that it would eventually lead to scuba-diving. As part of a departmental activity (might I add, the greatest and most exciting of all...) the whole class got to experience first-hand what it probably feels like doing an Extra Vehicular Activity . Diving under water you can simulate similar conditions that exist in the micro-gravity vacuum atmosphere of outer space, which includes difficulty in moving, slowed response time, the obstacle of having to breathe through an artificial environment, as well as impaired communication with your team members.

Our mission was to first have a crash course in diving, whereby we learned the basics of breathing through our mouths, deflating and inflating the vest to sink or rise, and also some basic hand signals so that we may communicate with others underwater. The extended mission was to repair a mock of the Hubble Space Telescope... actually nothing more than two bouys anchored at a depth of 5 metres, with various (re)movable bolts and devices and mock-up parts we needed to replace. Sounds easy, but add the above all the water of an Olympic-sized diving pool, as well as the excitment of being monitored throughout on our performance and teamwork. The pressure was not just that of all the water weighing down on you. And imagine what it must be like for the real astronauts that have to perform vital space walks... that deathly vastness of space around them, the deep emptiness beneath their feet, and the potential risks of long exposure to cosmic radiation or a tear in their suits...

Getting the scuba-diving gear on was easy. The difficulty was mastering it, and doing so underwater. You must learn to be 'one' with the equipment, as it is the thing that will keep you breathing and moving, and which you will need to get to the safety of the surface. I inhaled and exhaled hard through my mouth at first, feeling my lungs gasp as if I could not get air, and my mouth dry up with every breath I took and gave. My feet felt heavy and clumsy with the fins on them, and only after a series of trial-and-errors did I manage to get to grips on how to manouvre.

I choked a number of times, and felt my mouth become numb with the breathing and clenched teeth. But despite setbacks that made me just want to give up and get onshore, I was determined to prove to myself somehow that I could do this. So slowly I sank, and afraid too. Moments earlier, a classmate had to resurface quickly because the pressure at a depth underwater was simply unbearable for his ears, and it felt like his head was going to explode. Imagine flying for many hours, and then having to descend to the surface. That horrible stinging sensation and pain in the inner ear is caused by the sudden changes in atmospheric pressure, and this problem is experienced by divers too. The trick is to breathe out while holding your nose, so that you 'blow out' the inner ear. As I slowly sank, I held my nose a couple of times and blew, blew, and blew again. After a series of 'pops', my ears were adjusting to the denser atmosphere, and so it was safe to continue. I heaved and sighed at accomplishing the first daunting task, and looked up at all that water above my head. The sun's rays were bent and distorted, but was a constant reminder of the world I had descended from. Big clear bubbles brushed against my goggles as they vented out of my mouth each time I exhaled. My teeth remained tightly clenched, so much so it hurt my jaw, a little afraid that if I lost my regulator, I would start to panic. And the worst thing you can do at such depths is to panic! I watched my breath, in and out, in and out, the way I had leant in meditation. And after a while, the breathing just seemed to take on a life and regularity of its own... in and out, in and out...

My three teammates and I proceeded to our target, and began our clearly outlined tasks. One person maintained the protocol, while another held onto a bag containing tools. One person wore big gloves to work on the exterior bolts, while I wore thin gloves to do the more detailed work. We worked together, as a team, perhaps bonded together by a common anxiety at first, but also by the fact that we had a mission to accomplish. Occassionally we gave one another a signal to communicate how we were doing, and those dozen or so minutes underwater went by quickly. When one person had difficulty with a task, the others would spring in to assist.

My main task was to unscrew a tight bolt and fix a wooden chip on one of the buoys. I held the wrench, but it was hard to turn with the viscosity of the water at such depths. And I made a terribly stupid mistake of actually tightening the bolt first instead of loosening it. I realised soon enough that focusing on the task assigned made me forget that I was even underwater, and forget all the discomforts of breathing through my mouth or difficulties in moving in water.

Slowly, I surfaced. And this was a crucial part that I much feared. Earlier our lecturers had reminded us of the potential lethal risks of surfacing too fast and holding your breath. Air in the lungs can expands as you rise in depth, and if you suddenly surface quickly, the expansion can be so great that you can rupture your lungs! I dreaded at the image of my lungs bursting inside me like a balloon. So I did what we had been briefed to do, and that was rise slowly from the bottom, and at the same time breathing out the air in the lungs. Bubbles escaped my mouth, and rose mesmorisingly to the surface. Soon enough, I also bubbled to the surface, face full of excitement, and mind full of joy and pride that we had accomplished our mission successfully as a team.

One small step for David... and the sky looked especially beautiful and blue.

Dutch Culture Night!

I had around four hours of sleep every night in the last week or so. First was the exam on Monday, which I spent almost the whole day Sunday studying for. Then came the whirlwind trip to Madrid, which lasted not even 3 days, of which we had probably around 6 hours of free time. Then, after returing to Barcelona, classes resumed again, and there was an assignment due, another deadline looming close, and then there was a culture night presentation I had to prepare for. During lectures in the daytime, I would so tiredly just doze off to sleep. How very embarassing, but I am really so exhausted.

Anyways, I guess things turned out well in the end. Because we all come from different parts of the world, representatives of each country is asked to present something special about their own culture and country. And the Netherlands happened to be tonight. In the midst of all this chaose, with some others I went to the supermarket and bought some food and drinks for the group. It was hilarious, as we wandered around the corridors of the supermarket picking out anything and everything slightly related to the Netherlands... chunks of Dutch cheese, readymade pancakes, kegs of Heineken and Grolsch beer, and bottles of wine. In the end we bought 30litres of beer and close to 40litres of wine. So last night I had so much beer on the floor of my room it was difficult to even enter. And the funny thing is: I hate beer!



Finally tonight was the night... Together with the other Dutch person in the group, we made a great 15 minute presentation with videofootages, pictures and lots of interesting facts about the Netherlands. I think we did a great job, especially given it was done inside this sacred chapel crowded with close to two hundred people, in an unbearable evening heat with no breeze. Yes, the wonderful student residence that we have just moved into is not the ideal place for a bunch of rowdy international students. But somehow we managed to pull things off, and tell people a bit about the country we come from... not just the softdrugs, legalised prostitution and same-sex marriage... but also a bit about the famous Dutch people throughout history, as well as the great strides the Dutch have made in space exploration.

I guess walking around in an orange shirt, with the Dutch flag around me, I can be proud too.




Arriving in the Netherlands

Prostitution in the Red Light District


Flower auction



Finding life on Mars

Study! Study!

OK... almost eight hours before the big exam. And I'm sitting here thinking to myself how they expect us to memorise all this... 'stuff' that we learnt in the past four weeks in 63 (and possibly more) lectures ?

I have gone through most of my notes, but there is still a pile I need to read through, and I feel like I have already forgotten what I read before. The last time I did an exam was more than a year ago, and somehow I feel so un-motivated to study. Especially the topics about engineering and business I seem to have an aversion for... and when you're not really interested, you are less inclined to remember...

All I can think of is that by this time tomorrow, we'll all be in Madrid. That's something to look forward and work towards...

Gay Circus

Enough was enough, and I left. I have been locked inside for the whole day, trying to cram 63 lectures from the last four weeks into my brain in preparation for the four hour exam on Monday morning. It was enough, and I had to go do something else!

Anyways, a few days ago I saw this brochure advertising that the circus was in town. Not just any circus, but the Gay Circus! What immediately attracted me (besides the halfnaked people) was the following:

In the same way we can talk about the existence of a pop, rock o hippie culture, there is also a gay culture. We identify certain colors, music, lifestyle, mentality, amusement as genuinely gay. Only this would be reason enough for staging a show.

But Gay Circus goes beyond. Very often the circus has translated the partner dance to the trapeze, acrobatics or contortion. We frequently attend to circus performances that present a love story as the common thread of the show… but this is always between people of different sex! The acts in Gay Circus shows with pride homosexual love with the hope that one day future generations will be able to attend a “conventional” circus and find there, with normality, acts that now belong to Gay Circus.

Barcelona is probably the most 'openly gay' city I have ever been... surprising, since the vast majority of the country is devoutly Catholic. Men walk around holding hands, girls kiss on the streets in public, and nobody blinks or stares. And coincidentally the (Gay) Eurogames is being held here this weekend, so on the metro were these butch-looking women with short dyed hair, next to well-trimmed and sophisticated gay men.

You do not see something like this in the Netherlands, despite the fact the Netherlands was the first country in the world to 'legalise' gay marriage. It makes me wonder, how can the Netherlands still claim to be a liberal country when gay people walking hand in hand in the street are beaten up regularly? And today I just read that the Amsterdam Gay Pride this week will be "toned down", because the mayor is scared of offending the Muslim population... Talk about the progressiveness of the Christian right wing.

Anyways... at first, I weighed the options of whether I should go or not... On the one hand, the exam will be an assessment of my learning in the past few weeks, but on the other hand, I really have not been doing much 'fun' lately besides go to lectures and seminars....And though studying is important, eventually this afternoon I got so fed up of studying I just put on my clothes and headed down to the beach where the big tent was set up.

I would have told other people where I was going, were it not for the fact that most people were buried deep in their books and notes. Plus, the idea of a circus full of gay men and lesbians may not be everyone's idea of entertainment.

And it was an amazing experience, of lights, movingly choreographed music, and artfully crafted by sturdy muscles and trained athletes, fully displaying the imaginative and inspiring ways to portray the endurance and beauty of the human body. It was a display of open human sensuality between men and men, women and women, something I have never seen so openly and closely before. When you see what wonderful art these men and women can create with their bodies, you cannot but be proud. Suddenly the kissing straight couple in the corner became the minority, and it was somehow comforting to be part of the majority.

Well, it would have been nicer to have someone next to me besides couples that snuggled up together as they enjoyed the spectacle before us.

Exhausted

Almost one month into the course, and I feel exhausted already. The constant and daily barrage of information, facts and lectures that we are exposed to, and then herded off to seminars and extra curricular events. All in the name of knowledge, which I cannot deny is a bad thing and I really am learning so much news that I never knew before, but then there does not seem to be time to rest, time to breathe.

Mum left Europe today. I called her just before she boarded her flight, the long, long journey home. I think it is easier to say goodbye on the phone... you don't have the urge to run after the plane, or to watch as the shadow of the person disappears into the distance. It is just a voice on the phone, which cuts off after the connection dies. But being easier does not make it easy.

When I sleep, my brain often does not. And my brain seems to often drift off into different places. A psychic once said that my soul drifts away every time I sleep. Which may be true, since I feel tired, even though I sleep for a long time. So, early this evening, I lay in bed to take a little nap in order to regain strength for another group meeting, I had a nightmare.

I saw mum's face, and she was smiling... but then her hair had fallen, and she was almost bald... The fake hair on her head did not sit right, and underneath that fakeness were the thin and fragile strands of her original hair... no longer the shiny black that smelt good when I drew close... but grayish, listless and thin. Mum looked tired, though she was smiling...

It was a powerful image, and so very painful too... Of course I wish it will not be a premonition, and by all the faith I have, I hope that mum will be safe and happy and healthy... But seeing that image made me literally shock awake. I lay in bed, grimaced in pain, and closed my eyes, wishing that the image would quickly go away....

I wish I could share it with someone.

But surrounding this lonely island is a vast, open sea.

Paris, je t'aime

It was nice to get away for a little while. And even nicer to see mum again before she leaves Europe, because who knows when or where I will see her again.

So we agreed to meet, and this time of all places in Paris. I made sure I arrived earlier than mum, so that I would be able to greet her at the train station as she got off the train. And greet her I did, with a big hug. It has been a week since I last saw her, and the time between seeing one another will only grow after this encounter.

No matter, as our two days together just started. But then again, looking back the time went by all too fast. We made our way to Musee d'Orsay, a luxuriously decorated former train station, which today houses magnificent marble scultures and the great works of Impressionist painter like van Gogh and Monet. I was dead exhausted, after having to wake up at 5am earlier that morning to catch my flight, so at one point when I sat down to rest, I actually dozed off in front of the portrait of a courtesan...



Paris is such a romantic city, whatever the season, and whatever the reason you visit it. This must have been my fourth or fifth trip... I guess I lost count since every time is a different experience altogether. So rich in history, and all around are sturdy blocks of 19th Century buildings with artfully decorated windows and balconies that align the Parisian bolevards and squares. And that mighty Seine flows throw the city, dividing it into two, in a city that is made of more than a dozen arrondisements, each with its own charateristic, each with a story to tell, and each with alleyways and parks waiting to be discovered. Underground is a whole network of tunnels, alive with the sound of grinding metal, as trains snake rapidly from one station to another to bring people of all backgrounds and cultures to their destinations. And the food... simply exquisite find cuisine, unparelled elsewhere in Europe, in bistros and brasseries overlooking the bustle of passerbys on the busy pavement of a crowded street.

Two days is just not enough for Paris, and is certainly not enough to enjoy the company of mum again. Early this morning, I took her to the station to bid her farewell. It was hard to see that train door close, and to see only a faint image of mum through the darkened window. The train departed, and pulled away slowly at first, then as if mercilessly, quickened its pace as it sped out of the station. Left behind are the family and friends, some still waving at the train in the distance, others trudging slowly home. I was one of the latter.

I had a number of hours to spare before my flight in the afternoon, so I headed for the Imax theatre to catch an episode on of the Alpes. They say when you are emotional, anything can make you teary. And so it was with this documentary on the epic journey of a mountaineer who sets out to conquer the mountain where his father lost his life decades ago. When he finaly made it up that mountain, despite all the odds of the bitter cold, of the steep and treacherous heights and falls, I could not but cry, especially as Queen's "Who wants to live forever" played lowly in the background, while before me the white snowy landscape of awing towering mountains stood.

Weekend in Barcelona

We sat down at a table, just the three of us. The sunset over the coast, while in the distance mountains stretch along the shoreline into the horizon, coloured by the reddish glow of dusk, shimmering in the blue Medditerean below. We sat and chatted with one another, as the feast of seafood and Catalan delicaies was being prepared. Rare are the occassions when we are together, and rarer still it will become as we each go our separate ways. Dad has certainly already departed, and hence the empty fourth chair at the table.


...I glance over at the empty chair, and realise for the second time in as many days how much I miss dad. It was a subtle realisation, and though he has been gone for almost six months now, somehow the fact is really dawning on me that he no longer will return. And that is an empty and worrying thought... I looked at mum and brother, and treasured those passing moments we are still together, sitting so close to one another, sharing a meal. How we have all grown... how we have all changed!


There is a reason, I guss, behind these nostalgic sentiments has a reason.
Over the weekend, mum and brother popped over to Barcelona for a short visit, taking advantage of the fact that I will be here in the six weeks to come. For me, it was a welcome change of routine from the daily lectures and busy programmes that have been lined up, and at last I could get a good opportunity to really see the city, and all the beauty and excitement it has to offer.
The shopping did not really interest me. It was the architecture, the unique modernist movement that has made such an impact on Barcelona's cityscape and skyline that drew me in. They say every city has been scultured by artists, and certainly the likes of Picasso and Gaudi, to name but a few, are those whose names will be engraved in the buildings and public arts they have crafted with their ingenious imagination and extraordinary perception of reality beyond the conventional. Admitted, I may not always understand or see what they wanted to protray, but the colours, the wild shapes and unrestricted use of curves and lines without regard for symmetry or esthetic balance, pushes the limit of art to a level that makes one wonder and think about the reality of existence.


But Barcelona has many faces, and the old and gothic also had its magical lure. Its narrow alleyways and cobble-stone lanes hide mysterious history waiting to be told, it seemed. I wandered the streets, losing myself in admiring the sculptures of carefully crafted adornements to buildings, fine testament to the wealth and significance that the Catalonians place on art and culture. Every now and now, another piece of the city's history as a trading post and crossroad of migrating populations is revealed, behind closed curtains, in the stained windows, and in the architectural styles that range from the local to the exotic.

From the top of Montjuic, one has a wide view of the city. A buzzling sprawl of life and energy at my feet, with towering in the distance spires of Gaudi's Sagrada Familia in vast contrast to the Torre Agbar, the doned spherical roof of which is the latest addition to the city's ever changing and ever-growing skyline. The Old City is said to be the oldest and biggest medieval town in Europe, whereas a few blocks down is the revitalised development area of the marina, where modern malls and yacht yards attract buzz with tourists. The beaches along Barcelona's coastline seem to add vigour to an already vibrant city... not only in the crowds of people that sunbathe there daily but also in the way the remnants of the 1992 Olympics has transformed the beach boulevard into an exciting area for recreation and leisure, day or night.

It was in sharing all these with family that I realise how different it is from sharing it with friends. There is an unspeakable bond that cannot be described, that cannot be altered, or denied. And, at the end of the day, there are so many memories that are shared, and that make one another laugh and think back when shared. Over sumptuous meals of tapas, paella, and doses of sangria, we enjoyed one another's company....

....company that was only too short, and went by too soon.

Sitges

Finally, a break.

After the first week of lectures, I think all of us are just exhausted and have gone overload with information and notes about the philosophy and romantiscism behind space exploration, limitations on technology transfers and the inticacies of why the sky is blue when the sun is brightest. Whoever thought the two months in Spain would be a breeze must think again. Lectures daily from 9am to (at least) 6pm, the swerltering heat, and who-know-what they are feeding us at the student cafeteria. But I'm in the sun, having some fun, and having this wonderful opportunity to meet over 100 people from all over the world... some (or perhaps most!!) of whom share this rare passion for Star Trek, and are not ashamed to say it!

To be honest, I have not been able to do much sightseeing since I got here. So imagine my relief when we were 'let go' to enjoy ourselves on Saturday afternoon. I quickly left the campus buildings, and left the group of people behind, and went out by myself. As exciting and necessary socialising can be, it can also be extremely tiring having to introduce yourself and tell al about your life and background twenty times a day.

I headed to downtown and treated myself to tapas (Spanish aperatifs)... mussels with french fries, mushrooms with garlic and parsley, and a light salad of octapus, squid, shrimp and egg. The portions were not very big, so I guess that's why I had ice cream straight afterwards. I rarely eat so well by myself, but I guess being generous to myself would not hurt.... besides, my two months here is all expenses paid, so why not enjoy a little, live a little?

I strolled down the touristic areas, the sun beating down on me. Something about this city fills it with life and colours that are very different from the gray tones of the Netherlands. I feel comfortable here... a kind of comfort that is somewhat similar to Asia; and the temperatures and traffic chaos are not much different either. But shopping and bourgeios boutiques were nothing for me, so I hopped on the train, and headed to the suburbs.

When the Devil tempted Jesus, He With the Horns is supposed to have said "Tibi Dabo" ("To thee I give"). So it is no surprise this beautiful basillica is built on top of the highest hill overlooking Barcelona, on top of which stands a statue of Jesus that is reminiscent of the one in Rio de Janero. It was a long journey to get up there, and I had to change three times, taking a suburb train, then an old Blue Tramway, and finally a Fenicular Railway. But the scenery was rewarding, if you could just ignore the run-down looking theme park and rusty-old rides. You could see the whole Barcelona, this beauty gem on the Medditerean, with all its neatly arranged streets, with its unique spires and skyscrappers, and the modernism of the Olympic Stadium and Sir Norman Foster's communication nearby. Behind me lay columns of hills that streteched into the distance, while before me was the lazy sea, sail boats and sun.

And it was perhas this same sea that attracted me most, so much so that this morning I headed out to the little resort of Sitges, some 40minutes by train south of Barcelona. It was only when I got there did I realise that Sitges prides (literally) itself as the most prominent gay resort in Spain. Indeed, the narrow alleyways were filled with rainbow flags and pictures of transvestites and men in drag. Tanned men walked around with naked tops and winked, which was somewhat embarrasing.

But we headed down to the beach, and decided to have a swim. Or at least, my friends did. I have never been much of a fan of public nakedness, so I just sat in the sun and watched the waves wave as I read my Time Out guide to other places I could venture to and restaurants I could conquer. The surrounding fat old(er) people and bare breasts were not really much of a sight to look at.

I stayed on the sand a while before heading into the water myself. I wore these pants that dry really fast, so I wadded in the sea till my thighs, and let the water tickle my feet and soothe my skin. It felt cool against the heat of the Medditerean sun, though all arond me were all these kids and people splashing and playing. I thought back to the last time I touched the same waters not so long ago, not so far away in Israel....

It was on a clear day like today, and it was the same water as the one that washed over me. But it was just my friend and me, and moments of joy in one another's pleasant company.