Welcome to India

Bombay, India

Bombay, India

I thought I was prepared for India, having heard from everyone how different and crazy it is. Words cannot prepare you for India, however.

Our flight from Frankfurt to Mumbai (Bombay) on India Air was a very good one, and similar to domestic ones I’m used to with two exceptions: one, the plane food was the best I’ve ever had, and two, shortly before landing a guy came cruising through the aisle with two aerosol cans of nice smelling spray. It sounded at first like something had gone wrong, maybe the oxygen masks had deployed or a compressor was leaking somewhere. But it was just a flight attendant choo-chooing on by, looking like a locomotive holding two aerosol spray cans just under face level, each shooting mist straight up.

For the very first time in my life, there was a guy outside the airport holding a sign with my name on it. Why no other countries have recognized my high status before is beyond me. But India got it right, and we were shuttled to our hotel (an hour away) in an incredibly old car, which I soon found out are the only kind in India. The drive was surreal. It was the middle of the night, and we soon learned it was the last night of the Ganesh festival (Ganesh is the elephant god thingee). We drove by mile-long stretches of makeshift homes (loosest interpretation of the word) – tiny spaces built from what looked like all types (and colors) of leftover building materials. People were *everywhere* - on the side of the street; sleeping on the side of the road; in the street celebrating. This was at 5am, mind you. Amidst all this were stretches of beautiful hanging lights (they looked like Christmas lights). Once we later heard about the Ganesh festival, I figured that is why they were there. At Marine and Chowpatty, a place famous for walks along the water, men were carrying a huge float full of lights, and Ganesh himself was sitting at the top. They were walking toward the water, no doubt to dunk Ganesh (or his likeness, that’s part of the festival). My introduction to India was very representative of what I’ve experienced in my time here so far (only a couple days), which is lots of people, and poverty right next to opulence.

Our first time out of our hotel, we made the mistake of walking around the corner in an attempt to get to I don’t remember where. It was like trying to get a feel for swimming by diving into the open sea. The sharks smelled fresh blood. We were hounded and harassed like I have never experienced. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw an Indian guy spot us, and yell “white man walking!” down the street. Every person we walked past wanted to sell us something. Every person wanted money from us. Every person wanted to drive us somewhere. See, in India, they have this stereotype that every person who is white is rich by their standards. Oh, when will the horrors of stereotyping end?

Now, I’ve been to Thailand. So I have some experience with everybody and their brother (literally – they’re usually with their brother) trying to sell me something. But although poor by many standards, Thailand lacks the sheer magnitude of homeless, needy, and loitering people on the street. Also in Bangkok (the Bombay of Thailand), there are tons of easily recognized foreigners milling about all the shops and markets. Here in Bombay, by contrast, Kelly and I are virtually alone in our non-Indian-ness. We went to two bazaar areas yesterday, and saw only one white guy, who gave us an unmistakable oh-thank-god-you-are-my-race smile of recognition.

I’m sure much of why he smiled at us was because in India, everyone stares at you if your skin is not brown. I have never longed to see whitey more in my entire life. Kelly and I grew somewhat self-conscious being the only visible foreigners, because the stares of everyone refuse to let you forget it. Indians stare. Five years ago when I moved to Hillcrest, I remember being scared to go to the local gym because I was afraid the gay men would stare at me. Later, I felt guilty for that fear because I was never stared at (hey, wait a minute, why isn’t anyone staring?!) But I should have saved my fear for India. I feel really bad for Kelly, because for every stare I get, she gets three, and they’re a lot longer. Our first guess was that men were staring for the obvious reasons. But then we noticed women and children were staring just as much. I mean long stares that cause (American) humans to grow uneasy. I should point out that although it may feel like it, the stares are completely non-threatening. I think the Indians are just curious because of our differences…you know, in that stalker kind of way. On the receiving end, however, we are constantly reminded (and poor Kelly especially) that we’re different. When that other white guy saw us, it was like he had found his brother and sister, and I instantly had a new perspective on black people in America, and their insistence that as a white person, you simply cannot understand. Whatever people’s intentions are toward you, there is an unmistakable, comfort-zone shattering glare they can give you when you look different from the majority.

Having quickly learned our lesson from attempting to walk places, we took a cab. Awesome. You get in, tell the driver where you want to go, and after the half hour drive is over, you pay him $1. Did I mention India is cheap? Yesterday Kelly and I wandered quite randomly into a vegetarian place:
1 large bottled water
2 Pepsi’s
1 Tikka Masala (tofu I think)
1 Mushroom Masala
1 order of rice
2 orders of naan bread
Total: $5, and it was the best Indian food I’ve ever eaten (and this is with no meat, mind you!)

One thing you have to watch out for in a taxi is the begging children. It is very hot here (note that although it is very hot, 85-90 or so and humid, it is almost October and therefore not ludicrously hot), so we had the windows down at a stoplight. Oops. Hands appear from everywhere. First from the front but eventually also from both sides of the back seats as well (once they figured out where the money source was). I gave one of them a 10 rupee bill (25 cents), and the number of children doubled. Each child showed up with one of two faces put on to coerce me into parting with some of my cash: happy face or sad face. How do I know they are put on and not genuine? The proof came from one girl I handed money too, standing all alone at the front passenger window. After I paid her and then some other kids, she continued standing there with a horribly pathetic look on her face. I mean a look you would expect if she were starving and the cab had just run over her foot, only she couldn’t feel it because she didn’t have the strength to carry the pain signal all the way from her foot to her brain. Not buying into it, I shot her a look that said “busted!” and said with a smile “I just gave you one!” Her pained face instantly, and I mean instantly, transitioned into a bright smile. A smile that said, “Look how cute I am and yes that was just a fake sad face, but hey, how about another 10 spot…did I mention I’m cute?” In the end, I cut her off at the original 10 rupees, and everyone else as it turned out, because on my other side, attempts to reward a begging little girl went awry when the little boy I had just paid continued to box out all the other children. What can I say, he had quick hands. Now we keep the windows mostly up, at least above child hand level. I don’t mind handing money out, but you’ve gotta make sure the crowd is manageable.

When I don’t like handing money out is when I’m getting scammed. The first scammer we encountered managed to hook me, but I was able to squiggle free from the line before being plucked from the water. A woman approached with baby in arm saying she needed formula. I cannot think of a more worthy cause for a donation. I got out some coins from my pocket and was ready to hand some over, when she informed me that she didn’t need money, but rather milk (formula), from the stand which was right behind us. She explained that she was not allowed to buy it from the stand, that I had to. I raised my internal scam advisory level to orange (it was already at yellow when we landed in Bombay). I followed her to the stand, and asked how much the formula was. I was told it was 270 rupees. Internal scam alert now raised to red, I retreated to our nearby hotel, ignoring all the way the woman, who at first lowered her request to a smaller can of formula, and finally to just please some of the money I was going to hand her in the first place. Why did I abandon this mother in need? The huge lunch for two we had just eaten had cost less than she was asking for the formula. No way do Indians pay anywhere even close to this amount for whatever they truly feed their babies. (I am fairly confident) This is a scam by which money is given to the stand owner, and the formula given to the woman is promptly handed right back as soon as whitey is around the corner. Sadly, I’m willing to bet the woman gets the lowest take out of everybody involved…no, scratch that, the baby does. Other scam-worthy details: the stand was a part of a restaurant, selling some of the restaurant’s food, ice-cream, and as luck would have it, baby formula. It was just the most out of place item you could imagine. Also, when I asked how much it was, the guy awkwardly turned around to ask one of his associates how much was the baby formula again? The only canned product on the shelf, sitting awkwardly alone, and the guy can’t remember the price? And when he does, it’s 27 times more expensive than an admission for locals to the Prince of Wales museum?

Not ironically, dozens of women have since asked for formula for their baby (or brother, whoever they say the little tyke in their arms is supposed to be). The most annoying was one who followed us around for literally an hour. At first, we told her no. Oh, the humor I find now having thought then the tactic might work. No, she kept at us, purposely walking in front of us so we would have to keep awkwardly sidestepping around her. We stopped into a guarded inlet of shops which she is barred from entering, only to return 15 minutes later to find her still waiting. At this point, I stopped, looked her straight in the eye, and said “We’re not going to give you any money, you need to go away now.” Nope, nothing. There was no reasoning with her. She just kept coming back with “Why? Why you don’t want to help him?” We stopped into a rug store for a full half hour, viewing several rugs for possibly us and friends. We came out of the store, and finally she had gone. NO SHE HADN’T! Soon after this she did actually stop following us, and I grew suspicious, finally extracting a confession from Kelly that she had given her 100 rupees to go away. I was furious. Okay, not furious, but aggravated that this woman’s incessantly annoying tactics had been rewarded, and rewarded with an amount of money some Indians earn from a full day of work (yes, it was only just over $2, but just like the pilot of Firefox, you have to think in rupees, not think in dollars and then translate). My compassion instantly hardens when someone is attempting to scam me, or, additionally, using excessive guilt and endless pestering to get what they want. Some reading this may still feel sorry for her, but my take is that the scam runners are relatively well off, it’s the people outside the big cities, who we’ll probably not see on this trip, who are hurting most.

Driving in Mumbai is crazy. I had seen crazy driving already in Bangkok, so I thought it really couldn’t get any crazier. But Bombay achieves a whole new level of crazy with the addition of one ingredient: people. Pedestrians are as much of traffic here as cars. Because traffic almost always resembles a parking lot, and Bombay is 4 times more body-dense than New York, people constantly scurry in front of, around, and in between cars. I can truthfully say I don’t think my mom could handle it. She gets pretty freaked out by erratic driving, and here near car-to-person collisions are just normal. As always, even though it is the craziest driving I have ever seen, there is a system everybody understands. Horn honking is *constant*, by each driver. Honking is a thriving language here. There is the long “you are about to get in my way and I intended to pass you” honk. There is the very short “thanks for getting out of my way” honk. There is the “here I am” honk. I think we have all these in America too. With the sheer number of honks and sometimes apparent randomness of them, however, I think there is a unique-to-India “yep, the horn still works” honk.

A few more tidbits. There are heaping piles of trash all around the city, and in many places it smells as bad as the inside of an outhouse. We saw two monkeys. We saw two oxen pulling carts amid the traffic. We saw two adults, four children, five crows, one cat, and one dog all gathered around and some exploring a heaping pile of junk/trash.

This is only the beginning. Kelly and I are just starting to feel more comfortable here. In a couple more days we’re going to head away from Bombay, and I’m expecting India will become less intense. I’m betting this big city, like Bangkok, is the harshest in the country to be thrown into.

Copenhagen, Denmark

Copenhagen, Denmark

Malmo was a mistake. It’s cathartic to write that so definitively, since most of my descriptions tell of how great everything is. Malmo is the last big stop in Sweden before Copenhagen, and Kelly and I thought we’d visit it for a day. The weather was miserable, even by Scandinavian standards...unrelenting wind and rain. We got poured on while carrying our packs to our hotel. Room sucked. Kelly and I were grumpy. Clear mistake. Let’s just move on, shall we?

Kelly and I have been staying with my friend Morten and his new wife Annette in Copenhagen. They have a gigantic house, the likes of which we haven’t seen for months. It has been awesome. They cooked lasagna and sushi for us, we ate the famous Danish pastries, and we took a driving and walking tour of the city with Morten the tour guide. We were going to walk in the forest toward a castle, but that plan changed when we came across a horse stable at the edge of the forest. Instead of walking, we rode horses through the forest, which Kelly has been wanting to do since we started our trip.

I have never been horseback riding before. It was a cool experience. I got the slowest horse in the stable (probably the slowest horse in Denmark). I was told I had to constantly remind him to move with brute force, which for horses consists of jabbing them in the sides of their guts with your heels and striking them with the hand-held horse whip. As a beginner, I was reluctant to really lay into the horse. My horse sensed this immediately, and therefore never bothered to extend me the normal horse courtesies, like….say…keeping up with all the other horses. When I would kick him or whip him, he would speed up…sometimes, and never for very long. I was wondering what the big deal was about horse riding, when suddenly we transitioned from walking to trotting (my horse just did what the ones in front of him did). Hey-ooooh! Immediate adjustment was needed to prevent my impending sterilization. Trotting requires pressing your feet into the stirrups, which relieves pressure from your taint, which would otherwise be hopelessly rebounding off the saddle. Kelly told me that galloping is actually less jarring than trotting, but I only experienced a half-second of galloping when my horse could sense his corral approaching on our return, and took off running for it (this was immediately stopped by me, at the request of our guide). My main fear was falling off the horse, which didn’t happen, so for that fact alone it was a successful endeavor.

Along the trail there were dozens of caribou (I’m pretty sure that’s what they were), which are very large deer/elk looking creatures (did I mention I’m from the city?). The best were the huge males, with their enormous antlers, which, if you ask me, are obviously compensating for something, if you know what I mean. We heard two of them bat antlers, and saw another running from a bigger male, who was bellowing in a low, almost cow-like sound (only deeper) that resonated throughout the forest. As this description implies, these creatures were often very close to the trail, allowing for a that’s-maybe-a-little-too-close assessment…especially when riding horses. Horses get spooked easily, that was my concern. But of course, this was their 100th time on that trail this year, so no 8 point buck was going to spook them. Have you ever noticed the word “spook” almost always is used in reference to horses. Nobody ever says, “I didn’t see you there, John, you spooked the crap out of me!” Likewise, no cowboy worth his salt ever says, “Storm came rollin’ through something awful, scared the horses and they run off.”

Morten and Annette signed us all up for a free wine tasting event. I confirmed that you can’t taste several (in this case 20) wines in a row and expect to be able to discern a difference. Yes, I ate the palette-cleansing bread between the tastings. It just doesn’t matter…after a certain point, my taste buds rebel and simply lock onto the tannins, and all the wines just start tasting bad. This theory was further supported when I went back to one of the (more expensive) wines after having had a break, and it was delicious. Just for science, I made sure to toggle between that good wine and another good one, back and forth, for a few more iterations. After this, I penned the fourth law of thermodynamics, which is that wine gets you drunk. Then I apologized to Kelly for writing “Wine gets you drunk” on my arm at an upscale wine event. No I didn’t (apologize).

Morten and I have always had myriad activities to choose from when we get together, because we are both very competitive. This visit we played ping pong in his brother’s basement. I started losing to everyone. To brag, I am a good ping pong player. So it says something about the Danish that I was losing to three white men in a basement. I collected my pride when I defeated the two non-Morten’s present (both of whom I had lost to previously), but I never won a single game off Morten. This is no surprise, as Morten always beats me at all sports involving a racquet, and most that don’t. I would tell you that I consistently beat Morten at chess if I thought that would raise anybody’s opinion of me.

I met Morten in Los Angeles. He lived there during two 6-month stints working abroad. I was sad when he left to return to Denmark, and I am sad to be leaving from this visit (my third) as well. I have really enjoyed my time with my old friend, and it was great to meet his new wife Annette, who is extremely nice, and shares a tinge of Morten’s playfully sarcastic side as well. In honor of my good Danish friend, I have decided to randomly select one Indian we meet on the next leg of our journey and call him Morten. And as a display of my loyalty, I will continue to call him Morten despite his no doubt several appeals to me to cease calling him Morten. Goodbye for now, Morten, see you in India.

Kelly’s new saying that cracks me up is “My tongue is dizzy.” It’s a sensation, she says, that she gets sometimes before she gets sick. It’s been several days now and no sickness, just the same, hilarious line.

I have officially given up on trying to fully enjoy the moment. Now don’t get me wrong, I am enjoying plenty of moments. But fully enjoying the moment involves foregoing thoughts of the future, which I am now admitting I take great pleasure in. Ever since I got an email from Morten while in Greece (at the start of our trip), I have been looking forward to our visit to Denmark. And now that I’m here in Denmark visiting my friend, I am really enjoying it, but a non-zero portion of that enjoyment comes from my excitement that we are about to head to India.

India, I will add, is now desperately needed. Kelly and I have seen the museums, we’ve drunk the cola with no ice, and we’re at the point where every European city is so remarkably different, and yet it’s all starting to feel the same. Weather changes, language changes…no matter. Our cultural differentiation tolerance is sky high, and we are ready for the jaw dropping differences of India. But I am not naively looking forward to India. I am on to my game. So instead I will say this: I can’t wait to get to India, because while there I will derive so much pleasure from thoughts of Thailand, where we can trade the chaos of India for an iced drink and a beach-side massage. Thailand’s real allure, however, will come from the sheer bliss of anticipating my return to San Diego, where I will reunite with friends and family, Tivo, and clean drinking water. I feel fortunate that time will help dull the painful irony that in a year from now, I will be sitting somewhere in San Diego reflecting back on my trip around the world, wishing I could get away to travel again.

Damn, that felt like the perfect final blog to finish off the trip, but we haven’t even gotten to the third world country part yet. Oh well. If my final post fails to be the reflective masterpiece that it should, simply return here to remember the profoundness of my writing before the malaria pills kicked in.

Orebro, Sweden

Orebro, Sweden

Stockholm continued to be beautiful. Kelly deemed it the prettiest place we’ve been, and indeed we were both content just to walk around and take in the buildings, which is a good thing because we couldn’t have afforded anything else. I liked the clouds. Due to a goodly wind, they were hurtling through the sky, producing a very cool effect. Also due to the wind, and overall temperature drops, I purchased a sweater. It’s nice.

Kelly and I ate at McDonalds again in Stockholm. I’m not proud of it. It’s just so easy. While there, we spotted two adorable little Swedish girls with their father. They were happily eating their happy meals, which contained the standard issue tiny hamburger and...what’s this?...CARROTS! In lieu of a bag of fries, these girls were munching away on plastic baggies of carrots. They didn’t seem to mind at all. So I don’t know what’s happening in the States, but Mcee D’s in Sweden is serving up carrots as an option. I should mention, however, that the carrots were flash fried in beef tallow. No they weren’t.

I finally found an internet cafe with a firewire port, and was able to plug in my iPod and create some more playlists...most importantly a list of songs I haven’t rated yet. iPod lets you rate each song between 1 and 5 stars...the organizer in me leapt all over this. Something about tracking which songs I like the best (and worst) is incredibly appealing. Given my enormous collection of music (around 7,000 songs total), I can create hours-long playlists of only my most cherished songs (and skip the crap ones). As an aside, iPod’s (and others’) database organization of music will almost surely (eventually) dethrone the album as the primary organizing entity of music (just as Tivo is dethroning the television network as the primary organizing entity of TV). Already, through the iTunes store, people can purchase only those individual songs they want, which will probably spawn a whole new generation of one hit wonders.

This internet cafe we found in Stockholm was by far the best on our trip. The connection was fast, and the computers were incredibly fast. They were tricked out for gaming, which always entails the fastest hardware. Dozens of young men would crowd in day and night to play Unreal Tournament, which is a military shoot-em-up game playable over a network. The Swedes crowded in to play by day, and were somewhat loud and disturbing. The Middle Easterners crowded in to play by night, and were excruciatingly loud and disturbing. The cafe encompassed several rooms, and not only would they shout and cheer victory and defeat, but would shout to communicate with others in the other rooms. One guy even did that celebratory high pitched war cry “loo loo loo loo loo”, except with much more tongue. I mean these guys were *passionate*. As politically incorrect as this stereotype is, I could not help but wonder if there is something in the Middle Easterners’ genetics or culture that makes them more fiercely passionate, and if that could be related to the large amount of uprisings, violence, and extremism that take place in the Middle East (though I deplore the action, in my opinion there is no passion stronger than that which you are willing to blow yourself up for). Some may say I am making an inappropriate comparison, but I had a control group. While both the Swedes and Middle Easterners got excited and loud, the level of passion and sheer noise was night and day (literally and figuratively).

So, armed with my horribly un-scientific conclusion, I propose a solution to radical Islamic terrorism (my jumps in logic are now insulting, but come on, it’s just a blog): blanket the region with free Xboxes, televisions, and networkable war games. Direct the passion into something meaningless and sedentary, you know, like America’s youth does. I believe men have a natural urge to compete and dominate, and if that urge is not given a proper outlet, it is available for misdirection by corrupt influences. There will be less real-world violence if the male populous is instead obsessed with confirming their alpha-male status by hearing their television grumble “Running Riot!” (reference for Halo players only). It’s either that or a slow re-education of the next generation through diplomacy and the expansion of freedom (boooooring).

For the past three days, Kelly and I have been staying at the Orebro apartment of our friends Pierre and Sara. We met them while traveling in Croatia, and they graciously invited us to visit them. They have a very nice, large one bedroom apartment, and were so kind as to let us sleep in their bed while we are staying here. And it’s no ordinary bed. It is made by a company called Hasten (which means “horse” in Swedish), whose beds Pierre also sells. The model they have retails for around $12,000. It consists of two separate twin-sized beds pushed together to form one gigantic bed (larger than a California King). Each side offers full reclining adjustability...you can elevate both the back and legs to the perfect height for reading, sleeping, or watching TV (Pierre has installed a projector television in the room). The bed also offers full-body massaging vibration. The mattressing consists of three layers, the topmost of which is filled with real horse hair (shaved from the mane and tail). The bed is $12,000 of sleeping bliss. Perhaps I will buy one someday, or rent a horse and make one myself.

Pierre and Sara showed us around Orebro, which is a small town of just over 100,000 people. The town was quaint and pretty, with lots of parks, ponds, and other government sponsored areas, all of which are kept sparkling clean. Speaking of government sponsored, I detected some differences between their government and America’s. Sweden is a socialist democracy...at least that’s how Sara described it. It’s basically like a democracy, except the government takes huge amounts of money (compared to America) through taxation, and spends it on lots of super-clean parks. Oh, also the government restricts business a lot more. There is currently a 25 year waiting list to rent an apartment in Stockholm. This is because rents are kept artificially low by government restrictions. So much for supply and demand. Despite the fact that everything else costs double here, the apartment where we are staying rents for half what it would in San Diego. You can’t buy booze on Sundays and after 3pm on Saturday, because the Swedes found a link between sales of alcohol during those times and men beating their wives. If you choose not to work in Sweden, the government will pay you 80% of what you would make if you were working. Sara told us of friends she knows who did not work because if they had, they would have earned less than if they sat on the couch. These laws are in the process of changing, as the number of people who are taking advantage of them is growing. The political discussions we got into led to my understanding that Sara and Pierre (and a majority of Swedes, I think) are happy to give up certain liberties (that we enjoy) for the overall good of society. This opinion was really not that much different from many Americans - democrats with their liberal government spending ideas and republicans (especially the current administration) with their willingness to take away individual rights for what they consider to be good.

On our first night, Pierre and Sara cooked us a traditional Swedish meal. They said they only eat those foods during Christmas time...it’s the Swedish equivalent of our turkey and stuffing. The meal was served Smorgasbord style, with tons of little dishes of all kinds of things. There were pancakes, cheesy potatoes with sardines (couldn’t taste them...phew), herring in two different sauces, and blood pudding (with real blood!), and a bunch of other stuff. It was really good, and so nice of them to make it for us. The next day they were not so nice. Sara insisted we try this rotten fish dish, which some in Sweden find a delicacy. The fish smells so bad that (I kid you not) they cannot open the can inside the house, because the smell is so bad and lingers so long that it disturbs not only them but also their neighbors. Pierre confessed that as a kid he used to sneak the fish into the school vent so they would have to evacuate.

So we went outside on the grass and Sara opened the can of fish. I am not exaggerating when I tell you it is by far one of the worst things I have ever smelled. Somebody at fear factor is not doing thorough enough location scouting. I rank the smell as definitely worse than feces, and probably tied with vomit. To allow you to approximate the smell, imagine if the population of an average high school was allowed to each lay a rotten egg fart onto a pile of weeks old rotting fish. Those were the two smell components I picked up, in roughly equal parts. There was just no way I was going to get near it. Kelly actually took a bite of this fish, then chased me around trying to kiss me. Since then, I have purchased a hazmat suit, and have only recently begun to allow Kelly to gently touch the outside of the suit. Eventually I will again hold her in my arms and kiss her, but for now, baby steps.

We’re off tomorrow to Malmo (in the south of Sweden) for a day, then on to Copenhagen.

Stockholm, Sweden

Stockholm, Sweden

Travel prices have undergone a revolution. The discount airlines are taking over with their low fares, achievable because they have no complicated hundreds of seat classes, no meals, lots of internet bookings, and flights out of more obscure airports that charge less. Kelly and I took advantage. From my internet and train station searches, here were the two travel options I had to choose between:

1. Train from Berlin to Stockholm - €250 per person, 20 hour trip, 2 train changes
2. Train from Berlin to Hamburg and RyanAir flight from Hamburg to Stockholm - €100 total per person, 8 hour elapsed time (4 hours of total travel time).

Clearly, I chose option 2. It feels like cheating to be able to fly for half as much as a train costs. Turns out, it was a little more complicated in execution. Once at the Hamburg train stop, it was a 1 hour subway and then bus ride to the airport. No problem, we had budgeted three hours to take care of just that kind of necessity. Our budget proved to be far too lean, however, when we arrived at the Hamburg airport, only to learn (that slowly sinking in kind of learning) that our flight was out of the Hamburg Lubec airport. This prompted my question, “There’s more than one airport in Hamburg?” The astute reader will by now already know the answer to my question. Now, we even had budgeted enough time so that at this point, we could take a bus back to the train stop and another to the correct airport. Enough time, that is, if the requirement were that we had to get there before our flight left. But due to European law, we had to be there no less than 40 minutes before our flight’s departure time, or we could not board. Reluctantly, we computed the only way we could possibly make it was via an €80 cab ride. From my internet checks, I knew there were no later flights that day, and the hotel in Stockholm was already paid for (and not cancelable) the first night. Despite its high cost, it was the best option, both for convenience and for the budget.

We hopped in the minivan cab, making it clear we had exactly one hour to make it to the other airport. Our driver said it would take about an hour. Again, I stressed that we would not be able to board our flight if we were late, and in this way indirectly communicated, “Please drive as fast as the stereotype I have of Germans.” What followed was one hour of the most uncalled for, dumbfounding collections of Murphy’s law one-lane roads and merciless car cutoffs I have ever been witness to. For the entire non-highway portion of the trip, we were on a single lane road behind a number of 18-wheelers. I kid you not, as soon as one of the 18-wheelers pulled over, our driver began speeding up, only to slow immediately as a car executed a right hand turn onto the road in front of us that was as rude and brake-inducing as they come. Our driver managed to pass this obviously non-German, only to begin braking for a bus that was just pulling back onto the road from its passenger stop. It was a daisy chain of building frustration. I was tense; Kelly was in the fetal position with hands covering face mumbling to herself in what I think was, ironically, German.

As we got closer to the airport (according to our driver), the airport began moving away from us. This is the only explanation for how many more turns and kilometers it took to get there than we were told. My watch’s minute hand slowly crept past the large number indicating we had failed to meet our deadline. I felt my muscles relax as I surrendered to the reality that we had lost. Memories crept in of the time (years ago) friends and I had tried to check in for a flight out of Cancun 56 minutes before it departed, only to be told we had missed the one-hour Mexican check-in law. This turned out to be the one time a law in Mexico was upheld. Anyway, due to my more relaxed muscles, I was only very irritated (and not mind-numbingly irritated) when again, in the home stretch, we got behind two cars, each crawling along and performing the old I’m-going-to-turn-here-yep-here-I-go-actually-on-second-thought-not-here maneuver.

Cut to me flying out of the cab (having already paid the fare at a stoplight 3 frustrations back) into the airport, and putting on my best “Seriously, something really urgent and empathy-inspiring has happened” face. To Kelly and my great luck, they were cool about it. We were about 5-7 minutes past the deadline, and they had already blocked off the entrance to the baggage check line. The woman had a guard come out and remove the barrier so we could scan our bags and check in. After checking in and having a seat, both Kelly and I began to decompress. We discussed how idiotic our driver had been, shrugging his shoulders and lifting his hands in that "what can I do?" pose after choosing to position himself behind armies of slow drivers (while more savvy drivers effectively whizzed by the multitudes). But we made our flight.

Sweden is a beautiful country. During the hour-long (I use a lot of hyphens when I write) bus ride from the airport to the city, I enjoyed the view of expansive plots of land covered in grass and trees, which had begun to show only the very first signs of autumn brown. Making our way through the subway station, I spied many beautiful Swedes, with their blond and light brown hair and smooth, fair skin. As we boarded the subway train to get to our hotel, I relished the song (seriously, I thought it was a song) of the siren who was operating the subway, until I realized that she was not singing, but merely speaking the stop information. Ah, Sweden, my senses welcome you.

Swedes use the phrase “hey hey” as hello and goodbye. After hearing it a few times, I told Kelly that is how they say hello and goodbye here, as I immediately recognized it as similar to “hi hi”, which is used in Denmark. Kelly promptly forgot, and thought the waitress at the Hard Rock (where we had dinner, more on that below) was just trying to be cool as she approached us. Nothing like a cute swedish waitress doing her best Dwayne from What’s Happening impression. It did sound remarkably similar.

Many of you may be saying to yourselves, “Why would you travel all the way to Sweden to eat at the Hard Rock?”. The answer is that we were cold, hungry, and it looked really good after walking 4 blocks and finding no restaurants. It was identical to a Hard Rock in the States, except for the DOUBLING OF THE PRICES. A burger was $20, the barbecued chicken I ordered cost $25, soft drinks (no free refills, though the waitress gave them to us because we were American and she knew we were used to it) were $5, and every meal allowed you to add a side salad for “only” $10. Holy Swedish Krona what is going on here?! Why did nobody warn me Sweden is twice as expensive as the U.S.? My guess is the prices are born of Sweden's already high cost of living combined with a weak dollar. Seriously, our budget is going to get raped here. Our hotel is $70 a night, and is a tiny windowless box with no toilet. Kelly and I have been getting along extremely well, having only a few minor spats here and there, but this room and its frighteningly close quarters have the power to end all that.

And now for the personal interest story at the end of the news hour. During the trip, Kelly has been using the izzle dizzle talk used by Snoop Dog. She picked it up from me, but now has taken off on her own and is using it constantly. For those who don’t know about it, you insert an “iz” in between each syllable of each word, so “house” becomes “hizouse” (house is an often izzled word, by the way, as in “Snoop Dog is in the hizouse”). I realized how far Kelly has taken it when, while walking in the cold yesterday, she uttered in isolation: “bizurr”.

Berlin, Germany

Berlin, Germany

Berlin is a very cool city. It wasn’t quite as straight-laced as Austria, with their rigid escalator protocol and all. But there is still a German sense of order. The people are very friendly, and most speak English. I'm embarrassed to say we didn't see many of the most obvious landmarks in Berlin, most notably Checkpoint Charlie, which used to be the crossing point between east and west Berlin. When you travel for as long as we have, sometimes it just doesn't seem crucial to see certain places. We heard from two sources that Checkpoint Charlie is very cool, though, so I wish we had gone. I especially wish we had gone instead of the old war bunker we visited, which it turns out has been converted into a haunted house...complete with bloody animatronics and a guy who is paid to run around and startle you. That's what you get when you select your museums solely from a subway-pass-bundled coupon book.

Berlin is the first place we have been that was as crowded as we had been warned Europe would be in summer (ironically, we were there near the start of fall). Not crowded as in packed streets (which we've had all along), but crowded as in I called 12 hotels and all were booked, and Kelly and I were turned away from 2 restaurants because they were all booked up that night (a first). The first restaurant all booked I was really bummed about. It’s a restaurant that is pitch black, and you’re served and assisted while eating by blind people. I really wanted to try it and write about it here. I think it would be a very eye openi...nope, not gonna do it. It would have been really cool, and I’m bummed we missed it. The second restaurant that was “all booked” we visited in person, and saw that it was huge and completely empty. This is a restaurant that it is rumored Matt Damon recommended to Tom Hanks when the latter inquired where was a good place to eat in Berlin. There were 3 couples eating there, with the men in suits and ties. Kelly (who wanted to treat me to a nice dinner) and I came waltzing in, no reservations, in our best clothing. Our best clothing, however, for me consists of my mosquito retarding hooded long-sleeve shirt and I guess you could say matching REI convertible pants/shorts. The maitre dee, standing in front of a completely empty restaurant, told us he was fully booked before his eyes had even reached the reservations list to check availability, which he obviously did as formality only. Ah, the minuses of backpack travel.

Because Berlin was so crowded, we had to stay 30 minutes outside the main part of the city, which wasn’t a big deal because the subway connects the two fairly easily. Still, I was struck by how many warnings I had read about needing to pre-book rooms for European travel during the summer, only to experience almost no problems until it was nearly autumn in Berlin.

We visited the Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp in Berlin. We were there for a few hours, and the weather was overcast and blustery, which contributed to the creepiness of being in a place with the history it had. I've never been to a concentration camp before (although I have a foggy memory of being shown into a historic gas chamber somewhere, so I'm not positive), and it was really spooky. The camp was an enormous quad, fenced in with large stone walls (that used to be topped with electric fence). Within the quad were many different buildings and areas dedicated to roll call, sleeping, cooking, etc. With the help of the portable audio guide, I was able to get visions of what it must have been like to have been a prisoner there, and needless to say that vision was horrifying.

We met up for dinner with my Uncle Rick and Aunt Carol, as they were visiting Berlin at the same time we were. It was an extremely enjoyable evening. Lively conversation across a broad range of topics, and an excellent (fancy) meal. Kelly and I left their hotel with the now certain knowledge that Rick and Carol know everything about everything...except how to travel Europe with a single backpack...HA! Over dinner, Rick rattled off the names and nationalities of my entire extended family, and I educated him on the fact that I am traveling with only 2 pair of underwear.

We saw a movie in the Sony Theater in Germany. It’s a newish establishment where I’m pretty sure the theatres were underground (we took an escalator down...what a great idea!). We saw “The Village”. Pretty good flick, and the screen was huge and the sound superb, so I was very happy. The only thing that I wasn’t happy about was the yapping Americans. Now Kelly and I have long discussed the “ugly American” - the stereotypically rude, loud, overbearing U.S. tourist who is usually (but not always) from the greater New York area. We have been surprised, however, to find almost no ugly American tourists. This could be just statistical, as we have encountered few American tourists in many of the places we’ve been. There was the college frat boy (whom we immediately recognized as American by his baseball cap) who got off the ferry from Italy to Corfu and bellowed (with frat boy accent) “What’s up, Corfu?!” as he hi-fived his buddy. This was not so much obnoxious as horribly embarrassing. That being said, whenever we reach a new destination, Kelly and I hi-five each other and scream, “What’s up [destination]?!”.

If anything, it’s the British (much to the delight of all northern Europeans, I’m lumping the Irish and Scottish in with the British. Oh and maybe some ambiguously accented Australians too) who are more obnoxious. And here we’re not talking about true obnoxiousness, just loud voices, more energy than a situation calls for (always when drunk), and overuse of the word “mate”.

Anyway, back to the theater. So, having witnessed few obnoxious Americans, I was distressed to hear a group of about 8 American teens talking, laughing, and shut-upping each other throughout the movie. It started with the previews (which I don’t mind), continued through the intro credits (which I mind), and was not silenced well into and throughout the movie (which pisses me off). I know as well as anyone that teens can be this obnoxious, but I thought certainly in another country they would zip it, out of either respect or fear. They had neither, and I was forced to yell “Shut Up!!!” at full volume in the middle of the movie. This quieted them down somewhat, but there was still talking (although less). Kelly said later she was impressed that I yelled. She didn’t know I had it in me. After my outburst failed to achieve dead silence, I toyed with the idea of deliberately marching up to where they were sitting, getting in their face, and telling them they would need to shut up or.....I stopped thinking at the “or” because I realized at this point whatever I added would be a bluff. Just as sometimes happens in poker, I would be making a final bet to win a pot. If I had been called, however, I would have had to reveal my jack-high hand of "I’m going to tell the usher," which would be no better representation of an American than one who talks through a movie. Kelly and I got the last laugh though. As we left the theater, we talked between ourselves about how rude those kids were. Ha! That’ll teach ’em.

Prague, Czech Republic

Prague, Czech Republic

Ah...Prague. It's a great place. Kelly and I have spent almost a week here. To me, Prague represents the best of all the big cities we've been to yet. It has social, open squares and good food like Italy and Croatia, incredible architecture like Vienna, good looking people like Italy, and a bustling energy like Rome. Also, Prague is cheaper than all of the comparable cities above. I am sure it used to be ridiculously cheap, whereas now it is cheaper, but not ridiculously so. Most people speak at least some English. I haven't learned a word of Czech yet, and haven't had a problem.

Kelly and I have crossed the Charles Bridge (the most famous bridge in Prague) many times. I probably should have been appreciating it, but it was so crowded that I motored through it. I have noticed that whenever I am surrounded by hoardes of people moving in different directions, my achievement chromosome is triggered and I must get to my destination very fast. It is the same trigger that has me speed up to and pass a driver in front of me on the freeway, only to then realize I really didn't want to go much faster than he was once I'm facing down a wide open road. See the kind of eye-opening self-knowledge that travel provides?

Anyway, during an out-of-character stop along the bridge during one of our crossings, Kelly and I took a scenic picture and then watched a dixieland jazz band that was playing. I surveyed the crowd that had gathered to watch, which formed a horseshoe around the band. Sure enough, right on cue the swing dancers emerged. Let me explain the history behind this embarrassing phenomenon. Swing dancing made a comeback and gained massive popularity around 1996 after the movie Swingers came out. Everyone and their partner took a series of swing dancing classes, and enjoyed showing them off at the plethora of swing dancing clubs, hotel ballrooms during swing dancing nights, and wedding receptions when the DJ played the token set of swing songs when even he couldn't stand the onslaught of 70's disco, and decided to break up the monotony of yet another transition from "Play That Funky Music White Boy" straight into "YMCA" and "Brickhouse" (I challenge anyone to attend one DJed wedding or company party where all three of these songs are not played). This lasted for quite a while, until, like any fad, swing dancing started dying off. Sure, there are still places to swing dance if you're really into it, but it's no longer super cool like it was, and therefore the opportunity to display skills learned in class are few and far between. This brings me back to the Charles Bridge in 2004, where two couples (the only ones dancing) were swing dancing to dixieland music. This is the music they play at Disneyland...those barbershop quartet looking guys with their stripes and hats and old timey musical instruments. It's great music. It's not great music, however, for swing dancing. As the video I took will show (when I arrive home), there are few things as embarrassing as watching a man do that little swing jiggle beat with his arms to dixieland jazz. The funniest part of all was that it made me laugh, but it made Kelly angry. She was ready to tackle them, she was so annoyed that they were plugging their square dance into an obviously round musical hole just to show off. In her defense, these guys weren't adapting a few swing concepts to allow them to dance to another form of music. No, they were performing "swing only" moves, such as when the one guy flipped the girl over his head. I call on Kofi Annan to declare a state of world emergency, and force the opening of a token number of swing clubs in every city to prevent this kind of atrocity in the future.

I haven't mentioned it in several posts, but the weather has gotten cooler. This is due to a natural transition from Summer to Autumn, but also because we're traveling northward. Vienna got downright cold during a couple of overcast days. The cooler weather is a welcome respite from what has otherwise been constant heat. And in three weeks when we head to India, we'll probably be dreaming about the scorching yet non-inferno temperatures of Venice in August.

Unfortunately, Kelly got sick a few days back and now I caught it. It's just a scratchy throat, slightly uneasy stomach, and tiredness. But the tiredness has killed my ability (and motivation) to do anything requiring physical exertion, including walking. So I've killed a few days I could have been sucking the marrow out of Prague, but what can you do?

We saw the Prague Castle. It was neat, but I quickly tired of it. At the time I thought it was because we have seen so many amazing churches and castle-type stuff that I've become numb to it (which is somewhat true), but now I think it was largely because aforementioned tiredness was already in effect, making everything seem like too much effort. The highlight for me was the storehouse showing all the old armor and weapons. It felt like the kind of place you would go to buy armor and weapons, as I've done countless times during all the computer role playing games I've played. They had full sets of chain mail, plate mail, helmets with scary faces drawn on them. Very cool.

We also saw the local torture museum, which was similar to the one I saw in Balboa Park (which I think is still there). Just like before, the museum displayed devices that caused immeasurable suffering. I can't wrap my mind around the wisdom of the day, which was the belief that the way to get a witch to confess she was a witch was to torture her until either she confessed and was executed, or until she was dead from the actual torture. If she confessed: "See, she was a witch." If she didn't, I guess the logic was either: "That's one stubborn witch" or "Oops....next!" To me, the cruelty is less mystifying than the logic employed. Even though we don't like to acknowledge it, humans can be (especially back then as well as now if the situation is right) unbelievably cruel. How is a belief system like this able to spread? That question is phrased rhetorically, but I think I have an answer: fear and the positive test bias. Fear provides the motivation, the positive test bias provides the justification.

For those not in the know, the positive test bias is a known, measurable human bias: people tend to seek out, notice and remember evidence that supports a belief they hold, but ignore, forget, or downplay evidence that refutes it. People do this because the former strokes the ego (i.e. do it again) while the latter creates a dissonance which is uncomfortable (i.e. avoid that). I believe the lack of a full understanding and acceptance of this bias (resulting from a lack of education about it, discussion of it, and surrender to it) has led to many cruelties, bad situations, and inaccurate conclusions.

Most recently, it caused a war in Iraq. You're going to have a hard time convincing me that the conclusion that Iraq had WMD's would have been reached if those in charge had not started from the assumption that we needed to invade Iraq, then set out to find evidence supporting their belief. You're going to have a hard time convincing me, ironically, because of the positive test bias.

Most people would like to think their beliefs are carefully calculated conclusions based on an unbiased analysis of their life's experience (wouldn't they, or is that just me?), but the truth is that many more times than we'll acknowledge, our beliefs come first, and the data to support them are filled in afterward. Unfortunately, fear seems to fuel some false beliefs that are simply heinous. The list is huge: racial discrimination, hatred of other religions/cultures, non-acceptance of homosexuality, and of course, the witch hunt. All are forged out of fears - largely fears of the unknown and unfamiliar. Once fear seduces someone into a false belief, the positive test bias awakens to gather all the evidence and none of the counterevidence he or she could ever need. I really feel the confirmation bias (as it's also called) is largely responsible for keeping in place a huge percentage of false beliefs - beliefs that large numbers of people hold that, without the bias, would be dismissed as ridiculous.

By the way, for those who think all that barbaric, medievil cruelty is behind us, they're currently torturing young child witches in Congo. Good times.

Kelly and I will leave the day after tomorrow, and have decided to go to Berlin next. Due to great timing, we are going to be able to meet up with my Uncle Rick and Aunt Carol for dinner, who will be in Berlin when we're there. After that it's up to Sweden, down to Denmark, then out of Frankfurt to Bombay. Must regain strength.

A Treatise on Bush

I will be writing about Prague shortly, but right now I need to say a few words about George W. Bush. I believe very strongly that he is a dangerous leader for our country, and I wish to explain why. I have been reading/listening to many books on his policies, and while I disagree with many of them, I wish to focus on two of the most important issues to this election: the economy and the war on terror. (I may later write about my contempt for his trying to constitutionally disallow gay marriage, something I see as a clear violation of equal rights, regardless of ones moral stance on the issue).

The Economy

George Bush has taken us from a huge budget surplus (from Clinton’s administration) to a huge deficit. He has done this by overspending and by issuing huge tax refunds. Now I like the idea of lower taxes as much as everyone else, but there are two main reasons why I don’t like the ones Bush issued. One, they were too big, and two, he lied about who would benefit from them.

In gathering data to support the refunds, Bush assumed huge future growth of the like we enjoyed during the enormously prosperous 1990’s. Of course, any economist will tell you growth like this is not sustainable, and perhaps can even lead to a reversal if the growth is too much (as happened to the equities market after 2000). Despite all this, Bush issued huge tax refunds supported by data assuming we would have a forever growth spurt, and of course now we have a huge deficit. Basically, he handed out free money now which will need to be paid back later. The money will be paid back when another president is in office, so Bush gets to be the divorced parent who spoils his kid with gifts, while a later president is forced into the role of stern disciplinarian. Gifts for kids are nice, but not when they come out of the college fund. He originally started handing out tax refunds because the government had a huge surplus. Handing out extra money in that situation is a fine decision, assuming you hand out what can be afforded by the government. But he handed out much more than that. Later, when the economy was visibly faltering, he issued more cuts to “stimulate the economy.” Issuing tax refunds to kickstart a faltering economy is like offering a credit card to someone whose bank account is empty so they can continue to spend – it merely gives them more cash now that they (or their family) will have to pay back, plus interest, later (not a good idea).

What angers me most about the tax cuts is that Bush flat out lied about who the money was benefitting. He said in many speeches that the “vast majority” of the money would go to the poorest Americans who needed it most. The truth is that by 2010 when his plans’ cuts are fully in place, 52% of the total tax cuts will go to the richest 1% of Americans (statistic cited from http://www.ctj.org/html/gwb0602.htm). Regardless of how one might think the money should be handed out, I detest that Bush misled (it’s actually a flat out lie, since a majority goes to those who “need it” least) Americans about where the money will go. It is obvious why he did this. A “vast majority” of Americans would have detested the idea if they knew the “vast majority” of the money was being handed to the richest Americans. But in order for his plan to be well accepted by the public, he lied. You could make a case that he was just confused or simply misspoke, if in fact he hadn’t continued saying it once he had been shown it was incorrect, which he was (for details, read Lies and the Lying Liars who Tell Them, by Al Franken). Because the mainstream media does not provide the public with critical analyses of proposed policies (but instead focuses on eye catching, sensational stories), the average American goes along with the plan because he believes the president that it will help him most, when in fact numerically the winners are overwhelmingly the rich. Please note I am not making a judgment on how the money was handed out. Even if you assume it was handed out fairly, he lied in order to sell it to America. This is a character trait I see in George Bush – he will say whatever he needs to (true or not) in order to get what he wants politically.

The War on Terror

I hate the terrorists. Let me just get that out of the way. Their methods are dispicable and should never be tolerated as a viable way of expressing their opinion or achieving any ends they desire. What I want to discuss here is the most effective way to wipe out terrorism, and how Bush’s approach is so dangerous and non-optimal for the United States and the world.

Bush and his cabinet were told in a transition meeting with the departing Clinton administratin that the number one security threat to the United States was Osama bin Laden and al Qaeda. It was number one on a list of prioritized security issues discussed with them. Even so, in their 8 or 9 months in office before Sep 11, they gave no attention to it. They focused their attention on missile defense and Iraq. Richard Clarke, former terrorism advisor to Clinton and Bush, was going out of his mind trying to show Bush how critical the threat was (many requests for meetings that didn’t happen, many security warnings that were not regarded as important enough to act on immediately). Yet Bush devoted his security attention to the very issues affecting the country when Bush Sr. was in office, 8 years ago (Iraq and missile defense). I do not hold Bush responsible for the attacks of Sep 11. The terrorists are responsible for that act, which may or may not have been preventable even had Bush given the threat his full attention (not to mention so much of the planning happened on Clinton’s watch). But I am deeply uncomfortable with any president who ignores threats explained to him from a departing administration and from his terrorism advisor. It seems to me that partisanship (or perhaps simply his own bone to pick with Iraq) was much more important to him than going after the most important threats to our security. He was going after the security issues that his dad, the last Republican, had pursued. Without question, the terrorists are responsible for the attacks. But in the 8 months prior to them, Bush was actively chasing threats that the experts told him were much less threatening than the (number 1) threat from al Qaeda, which he ignored.

After the attacks, Bush sent our military directly after al Qaeda in Afghanistan. This was a great move. We had the sympathy of the world, and were strongly going after those directly responsible for the attacks, and those who still represented the greatest threat to us in the future. Bush then took us to war with Iraq, which I think was a huge mistake.

As Richard Clarke has explained (by the way, this Richard Clarke is a straight shooter, who is known for the great job he did for several administrations), after the attacks Bush directed Clarke and others to find a connection between the attacks and Iraq, despite an overwhelming knowledge by security experts (which was communicated to the president) that they were unconnected. In my opinion, the fact that the people at the top were trying desperately to link Saddam to the attacks led to the finding of evidence to support the linkage. When Afghanistan attacks were being discussed, Donald Rumsfeld actually said that there were no good targets in Afghanistan, but there were in Iraq. As if it doesn’t matter who gets attacked as long as they’re middle eastern and easily hated by Americans. An investigation is currently being conducted (by the way, Bush desperately tried to stop this investigation as well as the Sep 11 one from being conducted) to determine if and how the Bush administration manipulated the case for war. I believe this will show that they did manipulate it, although the report will not be released until after the election. I saw a television interview with a member of the security team assessing the threat from Iraq who said his heart sank as he watched Colin Powell present his evidence to the U.N. The guy said Powell just flat out lied about the threat.

Now it has been proven that Iraq was unconnected to 9/11, and that (barring some miraculous finding) they have no WMD’s. These were our reasons for going to war with them, and now those reasons have been discredited. I would think that warrants an apology. Even with this new evidence, Bush says it was the right thing to do, because it is good for the Iraqi people and for the world that Saddam is out of power. To me, this is the most dangerous sentiment of all.

It is true in part that it is good Saddam is out of power. He and his sons were horrible rulers, and now they aren’t ruling anymore. But being a bad ruler does not justify an invasion. First of all, it is obvious there are many other countries with horrible rulers that we are not attacking (not to mention horrible situations, like the one in Darfur, where we have so far done nothing). But more fundamentally, even if a country’s situation is horrible, it is not necessarily better if the U.S. invades to attempt to fix it. While it might be good Saddam is out of power, it is not good that 1,000 U.S. troops have died so far to achieve it. It is not good that many more than 1,000 Iraqis have died to achieve it. It is not good that Iraq is divided and war-torn now that the definitely corrupt and awful, but order-keeping Saddam has been removed. It is not good that the war on Iraq has sparked such hatred for the U.S. that terrorist recruiting efforts have been given a huge boost, not to mention the new groups that have formed. As you can see, when all factors are considered, it is very possible that attacking Iraq yielded, overall, more bad things (for us and Iraq) than good things. I would like nothing more than to rid the world of annoying gnats and houseflies. That would be terrific. Trouble is, removing them would no doubt cause a shock to the food chain that in the long run would cause me (and everyone else) much more harm than good. Bush making an appeal to Americans that it is good Saddam is gone is meaningless outside of the larger context of all the bad that has been caused. Anyone remember Vietnam?

I don’t believe Bush makes decisions by a consistent set of values. He himself has said he makes decision by his “gut.” While this can sometimes yield good results, it is dangerous to make decisions from the gut when your gut is angry that your country has been attacked. That is when level-headedness and wisdom are so important to utilize. Bush’s flip-flopping (couldn’t resist) values had him condemn Saddam for not cooperating with the U.N., and then defy the U.N. himself in order to meter out justice. His values lead him to condemn the terrorists for their horrible disregard for human life (which I agree with), and then claim enemies captured during our attacks are not entitled to the human rights afforded by the Geneva Conventions. What I deduce from these actions is that Bush is not making decisions from any set of values, but that he is simply doing whatever benefits his agenda in the moment. When he wants to blame Saddam, he accuses him of not cooperating with the U.N. When he wants to attack Saddam, he refuses to cooperate with the U.N. himself. These actions do not go unnoticed by the world.

Bush claims that because he sticks unyieldingly to his “gut” decision, he is decisive and a strong leader. I think instead this character trait makes him stubborn, self-righteous, and arrogant, and a bad leader. Bush makes appeals all the time that he is doing the “right” thing, which really (now that the threat was discredited) means the morally right thing. To him, Iraq’s guilt concerning 9/11 and WMD’s is not relevant, because we were still “right” to invade them. I am someone who often times gets caught up in convincing others I am right. This always has the same effect: whoever I am trying to convince, and also everyone within earshot, gets pissed off (as an aside, I am actively working on this). Nobody likes someone who thinks they are right and who is not willing to respect the opinions of those who disagree with him. Bush phrases like “You are either with us or with the terrorists” is a recipe for pissing off the world. By saying it, Bush tells the world that anyone who disagrees with him is a terrorist. It is the logic a third grader uses. It does not represent strong leadership. It represents arrogant, black and white thinking, the kind that has our gray nation divided. By the way, the terrorists feel they are right to conduct their attacks, since Allah wants all non-believers to be converted to Islam. I am not saying Bush is like a terrorist. What I am saying is that everyone thinks they are morally right, and it is just not a good enough justification for forcibly imposing your values on others. The world understands this, and that is why all the world’s sympathy we had after 9/11 is now gone.

Bush has proven his decision making is unsound. When proof of its unsoundness comes to light (such as attacking a country that had nothing to do with 9/11), he simply denies any wrongdoing and restates that he is right. To my knowledge, he has never taken responsibility and apologized for one bad thing that has happened on his watch. I guess there’s no need to apologize when you’re always right. I keep trying to tell Kelly that, but she doesn’t buy it. And you know what, neither do I.

To anyone planning to vote for Bush, please consider with an open mind the points I have made. If you are wealthy, please be willing to give up some of that wealth (in the way of tax cuts) in order to do what is best for America in the long run. Regardless of whether you are a Republican or a Democrat, I urge you to send a message with your vote that bad leadership should be stopped, not rewarded with another term. I urge anyone who reads this to vote for John Kerry. He is an unknown, but he served his country well during Vietnam, and has demonstrated he is a deep thinker who will consider all sides to an issue, not just use his gut to choose a side and then stubbornly cling to it despite its failings. I say the one who employs the smartest strategy for eliminating terrorism and guarding us at home is the stronger candidate, not the one who talks the toughest. And no matter who you’re backing this November, there is little debate over which candidate is the smartest.