http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/DCblog.html Infrequent, and incomplete dispatches from my travels around the world, with a periodic critique of life in DC. Oh, and if you're expecting any sort of editorial focus or frequency of posts... you will be disappointed... Wed, 06 May 2009 12:14:56 -0400 60 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/ilc258736611.html
Anyhow, on Friday, March 13, I drove from DC to Phillipsburg, New Jersey for my grandmother's 95th birthday. Of course getting from my neighborhood to an actual highway was the usual stupidity of local traffic exacerbated by the ludicrous traffic light sequencing I have come to know and love in DC. I haltingly made my way out New York Ave to 295 north and there the real fun began.

As usual, cars were evenly distributed across both lanes, and mostly driving at or below the speed limit, despite moderate traffic volume. Again, I have grown accustomed to this dysfunction in the DC metro area, although I still don't understand why of all places in the world there are so many drivers here who are incapable of driving the speed limit, let alone exceeding it to the extent common across the rest of the country. Is it that there are simply more stupid people per capita in DC? Is there some sort of extra-gravitational force that slows people down? Is it that there are so many policymakers using their blackberrys while driving? I really don't know, and I just don't get it.

Now, people driving slowly wouldn't be such a bad thing if people respected the concept of the passing lane. This is also baffling given that DC is the only city I have visited in the US where people actually practice escalator courtesy on a regular basis (except when people are going to sporting events, and in that case idiots are coming from all over the place, and you can expect to stand on escalators). So, if people understand the concept of escalator courtesy and are able to stand to the right and allow people to pass on the left, why the fuck can't they do the same thing when they are driving?

I can't count the number of times I flashed people the high beams for driving below the speed limit in the left lane on this trip. And very few took the hint and pulled over. It was simply maddening as there would be clear road ahead that I couldn't access because the asshole in front of my was driving 62, and the line of traffic in the right lane was going 61.5, meanwhile the speed limit was 65.


This crap persisted all the way to Phillipsburg and on the drive home. Amazingly, on the way back, I was driving at night, and even as I approached DC around 11pm, the traffic volume was ridiculously heavy, and the stupidity factor was through the roof. Again, there were massive clumps of traffic with clear road ahead as a couple of boneheads managed to tie up FOUR FREAKIN' LANES and prevent people from passing or driving at a reasonable speed.

This creates several problems.The first one is that my passengers get pissed at me for swearing at all the idiots on the road--although fortunately today I was alone in the car. The second problem is far more significant, and that is road rage. As people get increasingly frustrated by the morons tying up the road, they get increasingly aggressive, and dangerous. As pissed as I get, I still signal my lane changes, and avoid cutting people off or making moves that are likely to cause someone else to panic and cause an accident. But, others aren't quite so tempered in their behavior. The cut in and out of traffic, frothing at the mouth like rabid skunks, and exacerbating the problem by scaring the timid drivers all the more--and reinforcing a vicious circle. And, with these people zigging in and out of traffic, it makes it impossible for the dingbats in the left lane to ever pull over and get out of the way.

Granted, I pass on the right all the time, but usually I give the dipshit in front of me a flash or two of the highbeams before I do it. I want to try to clear the left lane of the driftwood if possible, but there is only so long I'm going to wait for someone to get the hint. Those who don't get the hint and pull over tend to fall into a couple of categories: assholes talking on their cellphones and not paying attention; assholes too busy talking to their children or passengers to realize that there are other people in the world, let alone on the road; asshole smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee; idiots who don't know where they are going and choose to read directions while in the left lane on the highway; and drivers from Connecticut (they never pull over).

So, time to once again publish my manifesto. If I made the laws (and had the power to enforce them), the following would be banned by law from driving in the left lane:

Trucks of any size, shape, or configuration

Vans of any size, shape, or configuration
SUV's of any size, shape, or configuration
Minivans
All American made sedans

All French made cars
Anyone with kids in the car
Anyone wearing a hat while driving (which usually means old people, or bozos who wear baseball hats all the time even though they have never played a game in their lives)
Any car with a weight to horsepower ratio greater than 22
Anyone from Connecticut
Anyone talking on a hand-held cellphone
Anyone driving with their left hand on top of the steering wheel and leaning into the center of the car--not only should these people be banned from the left lane, but also banned from procreating
Anyone eating, putting on makeup, reading directions, or engaging in any sexual activity

Teenagers
And lastly, stupid people

I figure that should leave driving enthusiasts with fast cars, and that would look something like, oh, Germany or Italy, or someplace like that where people pass on the left, and drive on the right. Of course, in Germany they actually have real driver training and a license exam so rigid that from what I recall the majority of people fail it the first time. In the US, you actually have to run over a pedestrian to fail your license test (although I believe in New York you have to hit three before you fail).

Bottom line, we don't teach people how to drive in the US, and there is one other structural problem--and I say this as a fiercely independent individualist--America's fanatical devotion to individualism and freedom. Again, I'm all about freedom and individual responsibility, but the fact is there are certain collective activities in life and driving is one of them--despite the fact that as soon as people get into their cars they see a universe that extends only as far as their bumpers. But the fact is, in my lifetime I have seen a tremendous erosion in basic values: courtesy, consideration, respect for the rights of others, and any basic understanding that your actions affect others.

Business, politics, pop-culture... just about everything today reinforces the notion that it's all about the individual--win, acquire, control, and of course, as every reality TV show points out--humiliate the loser. I do believe that you can tell a lot about a society by the way people drive--it demonstrates whether there is the rule of law, respect for others, and general cultural values. Drive in China, Italy, Dubai, Sudan and Syria and you will understand quickly what I mean. So, what does driving in the US say about this country? I'll let you draw your own conclusions, but just stay the hell out of the left lane while you are doing it. ]]> Sat, 14 Mar 2009 11:16:50 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/ilc256690644.html Goma Motorcycle Video
And here's a video of another, even crazier motorcycle ride a couple of days later.Motorcycle ride in Goma traffic Anyhow to wrap up the money thing, at the end of the 2-hour mission, I had succeeded in changing most of my money, and learned yet another useful lesson—that might or might not be relevant ever again in my life. That lesson is carry only new bills with no rips or tears when traveling to conflict-ridden African countries--at least I think that's the lesson. ]]> Wed, 18 Feb 2009 17:57:24 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/ilc255803585.html
Now, I doubt today's events will have the same impact (key word) on my life that the night at the Rat did, but I can still point to interesting outcomes of my car accident in Rwanda.

I was en route from Kigali to Goma, DR Congo in a little Suzuki SUV. Quite beautiful crountryside--lush green hills and mountains. People walking along the streets carrying food or going home from church. The roads winded along the hills with constant switchbacks and curves that would have been a blast in a Porsche--provided there were no potholes and people crowding the streets that needed to be avoided.

My driver was a nice guy, and up until that moment a solid presence behind the wheel. He slowed down for the giant potholes we came across on a frequent basis. He avoided hitting the children playing in or crossing the road. Sure, he would wander across the road from time to time, but always got back on his side long before approaching traffic got close.

But, in this one village, on a clear, slightly uphill stretch after a gradual left bend in the road, it all changed. I noticed he was drifting across into the other lane as a larger SUV approached. I thought nothing of it as I expected him to alter course as he had countless times before. I went back to focusing on the landscape and trying to take pictures. But, I looked up again, and he was heading straight into the other car and the distance was closing fast. At that moment, I saw that he was looking at his cellphone and not the road. I quickly yelled to get his attention, but by the time he focused on the vehicle directly in front of us... it was too late. I think I braced for impact, and the impact was sharp, loud, and violent.

Fortunately my driver swerved just enough at the last minute to make sure the impact was driver's side front/fender to driver's side front/fender.

In that "time slowing down" moment, I remember hurling forward against the seatbelt as glass flew all over me. I recall thinking something to the effect of "oh crap, this is not going to be good for my chronic neck pain problem." I wasn't aware of any other trauma at that moment. It seemed like my head hit something, but I quickly realized it was flying glass hitting my head that I felt, not my head hitting the dashboard or windshield. I felt some slight impact to my left arm, but nothing significant.

We pivoted about 90 degrees and came to a stop in the middle of the street. After we came to rest (which was probably less than a second after the impact, I did a quick mental and physical inventory, and determined everything was in one piece (on me at least). As I gathered my wits, I felt like I took a kick to the chest from the seatbelt, and my left arm was a little sore near my elbow. I had one tiny cut on my left hand, which I presume was caused by windshield glass.

I slowly got out of the car, and stood up--again, everything seemed to be working fine, although I did see some stars for a few seconds. As I got out, there were people already surrounding us and speaking to me in some dialect I couldn't hope to sort out at that moment. I looked around and saw my sunglasses lying in the street, about 15 feet away from where the car stopped. I then inspected my gear (I was holding my camera since I had been taking pictures along the drive, and my radio bag--now full of shattered glass--was on the floor between my feet) and everything was in tact, except I couldn't find the lens hood to my camera (I later found half of it on the floor in the front seat, and the other half in the backseat).

Anyhow, my driver was also fine, although he had a few more cuts, and his cellphone was broken (serves him right). The crowd grew around us and the other vehicle (as far as I could tell, they were alright as well, but seemed to be wondering why my driver crossed the road and drove into them--fair question).

My driver said he was going to make a call to get someone to take me the rest of the way to Goma, and in the meantime I wandered around the street taking pictures of the wreckage and the onlookers. While feeling in one sense like I was an observer, not a participant in the whole thing.

I gradually began to contemplate the fact that I now had no ride, and no idea how long it would take for someone to come who could drive me the rest of the way to Congo. I had no idea where I was or how much farther I had to go. Plus, I really didn't want to be involved in any police/legal hassles. I knew my driver was at fault, and told him so after we got out and he asked what happened. He of course requested that I keep that information to myself.

After a few minutes of standing around and watching the people continue to accumulate, a UN SUV pulled up (here's where the "things happening for a reason" line of thinking enters the picture). The driver asked if everything was OK, and I quickly said something about my driver causing the accident--not sure if I mentioned anything about being a journalist on the way to Goma at that moment.

He pulled to the side of the road and stopped. My driver went to talk to him, and I didn't hear the entire conversation, but the UN guy mentioned something about driving to Goma, and taking me. My driver told me the news, and he and a couple of men in the crowd helped me transfer my bags to the UN vehicle.

I hopped in the SUV, shook hands with the driver and we pulled away. It couldn't have been a much better solution to the situation. The driver was truly kind and one of those classic, grizzled UN veterans you find out in the horrible places of the world. A French Canadian, he has worked countless UN missions in places where most mortals would not dare to tread.

Anyhow, we chatted a bit, and turns out he worked with a friend and grad school classmate who spent time in Congo with the peacekeeping mission. He gave me all sorts of useful practical info about Congo, and offered to help me get medical attention through the UN--as we drove along, the pain in my arm increased and I began to wonder if there was something serious going on, even though I still couldn't figure out what I hit it on in the accident.

To make things short, my new UN friend helped me get across the border much easier than had I been dropped of by my driver, he provided a number of useful insights, suggestions, and connections, and in general turned out to be a huge asset to my trip. Would any of this have happened had my driver not plowed head on into another car? Probably not. So, a really unpleasant experience turned into something quite positive and beneficial--at least that's how I am choosing to look at it given that my neck hurts more than it ever has, and my arm is still sore from the accident...]]> Sun, 08 Feb 2009 11:33:05 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/ilc254295887.html Thu, 22 Jan 2009 00:44:46 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/ilc253437568.html Mon, 12 Jan 2009 02:19:27 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/ilc251616204.html Raw Audio of Hunter Thompson Interview

So, I was recently going through some old audio files and found something that I thought was overdue to see the light of day--or at least thump some tympanic membranes.

Back in September of 2003 I took on a new assignment at WBUR. I became the political producer in charge of New Hampshire primary coverage. I produced interviews with the candidates and a number of other stories, and spent a healthy amount of time stomping around the Granite State. As a certified political junkie, I saw the new gig as an opportunity to indulge in a little hero worship. I got my hands on Hunter Thompson's phone number and called him up to chat politics and get some pointers on covering the campaign. For whatever reason, he indulged me, and between September and December of 2003 I had several late-night conversations with him. I learned quickly not to call during any significant sporting event, and I also learned to expect anything.

One night he had me on speakerphone and was also talking to some producer in Hollyweird on another speakerphone. At one point Hunter ducked out of the conversation and I was talking via double speakerphone with this guy who was trying to do a documentary on Hunter or some crazy thing like that.

I have to admit I was living it up in these conversations--talking politics, and a number of other weird things at 3 am--although my ex-wife wasn't exactly thrilled hearing me ranting into the phone at that hour.

Anyhow, I came up with a theory that there were substantial parallels between the 2004 campaign and the 1972 campaign that Hunter chronicled--you had a controversial Republican president presiding over a controversial war, a deeply divided Democratic party with anti-war candidates and more moderate and even hawkish candidates. At that time, Dean was emerging as the (as many people thought in early December) prohibitive frontrunner, and the Republicans were looking at him as another McGovern.

So, I decided that WBUR's Morning Edition host Bob Oakes should do an interview with Hunter to discuss the parallels between 1972 and 2004. Since it would be taped, the news director gave me the green light, and I put things in motion. Since the conversation would have to be taped around 5 am EST, I figured that would equate to lunchtime for Hunter out in Colorado, and he should be reasonably coherent.

We had one or two reschedules, and finally the Morning Edition team connected with Hunter on the morning of December 1, 2003. I didn't work the early shift, so I had prepped the questions and the lead the night before, and came in later eager to hear the interview.

Unfortunately, it didn't go quite as planned. Despite a valiant effort by Bob Oakes to keep Hunter on topic, it became clear that the good doctor was on a different orbit. Although there were a couple of vintage HST moments, the interview was so rambling and unfocused it would have taken days to edit it into anything remotely resembling something that could be aired, and even then I don't think we would have had anything that would have passed editorial muster.

So, I am finally making the raw tape available. I did edit out about three minutes of silence in the middle when Bob had to read a newscast, but otherwise, it is 20 minutes of a "lost moment in time" shall we say. It's a little bittersweet to listen to as a fan of Hunter--you can hear flashes of brilliance and that mind that moved a generation, but you also hear a mind that was long past its prime and a man unable to complete his thoughts. I'm releasing this not to disparage him or his legacy in any way, but because I do think there are some moments and insights worth hearing, and I also think it is informative to hear the man in the waning days of his life--this was recorded 14 months before he killed himself.

To Hunter, a force to be reckoned with...

Hunter Thompson Interview 12/01/03]]> Mon, 22 Dec 2008 00:23:23 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/ilc247375116.html Sun, 02 Nov 2008 22:18:36 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/ilc246378737.html Wed, 22 Oct 2008 10:32:17 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/psk246237526.html Mon, 20 Oct 2008 19:18:46 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/ilc246237465.html Mon, 20 Oct 2008 19:17:45 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/pjn246240289.html Mon, 20 Oct 2008 20:04:48 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/vmc246238918.html So, on my first full day in Kuwait, I got up around 6:30 am and made my way to the passport desk to see if my passport had been processed for transport to Baghdad. It was ready, and I immediately went to the next tent to sign up for a flight. At that time there were three flights listed for the day going to BIAP, and they showed a total of 5 available seats. I sat in the tent with the hordes of troops, contractors, and others waiting for flights to Iraq and Afghanistan. After a few hours, and after not getting called for either of the first two flights, I went to check where I was in line. Although the list hadn’t been culled, at that point I was number 60. In other words, I was going to be spending another lovely night at LSA. I went for lunch, checked into another tent, and climbed up on an open bunk and took a nap. After a couple of hours of not-so-fulfilling sleep, I popped back through the transit tent to see if there was any new news, and was told to come back for the 8:30 role call. I decided to camp out for a couple of hours in the Media Transit Office to get some work done, and from there I wandered across the base to the internet center and spent an hour online actually doing work. I skipped dinner and went to the 8:30 role call. I clocked in at #54 on the list for BIAP, and when they posted the overnight flights, the 3 and 4 am flights to BIAP showed no seats available. At that point, there was nothing to do other than show up for the 6:30 am role call and hope. I spent another hour in the Media Transit Office, and then crawled into my bunk around 10 for another unsatisfying night of sleep. ]]> Mon, 20 Oct 2008 19:41:58 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/lry246238168.html The taxi ride to Dulles was surprisingly relaxing. Despite a couple of pockets of traffic, there was a certain serenity to the drive. Dusk approaching, and everything just seemed quiet outside. It seemed prophetic in certain ways—a brief respite from the chaos of the previous three-week trip to Lebanon and Syria, and a calm before the storm of the coming adventure in Iraq. The ride was a difficult moment actually. For the first time in months I felt I could just sit and breathe. There wasn’t anything I could or should do during the ride, other than soak in the beautiful trees lining the highway and summer air. It’s the kind of moment that makes you want to cancel all your plans and just sit there and unwind for a couple of weeks—something I haven’t really done in years. It’s also the kind of moment that could get ugly—when piles of pent-up thoughts and emotions could simply overwhelm you (you know, the “what am I doing”, “where am I going,” “am I ever going to finish rebuilding my 1955 Les Paul Special” kind of stuff). I fended off the potential internal paralysis and focused on the air and the trees. I’ll (not) think about all that other stuff some other time… Anyhow, as all moments in life, this one passed, and I arrived at Dulles. Check –in was reasonably quick and I got a brief funny look at security when my bag full of my body armor went through the x-ray machine. The TSA agent asked something I couldn’t quite hear, and I said “body armor.” He nodded and I was on my way. Needless to say, it’s pretty common for folks on the Dulles-Kuwait flight to be packing some interesting stuff. I was hoping for terminal B and the sushi bar, but I was flying out of C, and had to settle for Tidewater Landing. Hadn’t been there since my Serbia trip I think. The place was full of people clearly going to Kuwait (and most likely Iraq). Young, muscular, short-haired men with plenty of tattoos. I fit that description myself except for the muscular part, and the plural on tattoo—I guess we could debate the young bit as well. Despite looking somewhat like the rest of the crowd, I got the cold shoulder and wasn’t able to strike up a conversation with anyone—well, anyone who looked like he was on his way to Kuwait/Iraq. Instead I ended up chatting with an older gentleman who looked like he was on his way from Central Casting to a 50-year reunion at an Ivy-League school (or perhaps a political convention). He had the white suit with blue pinstripes, suspenders, and a tie sporting what I believe were rhinoceroses—apparently it was his rowing club tie. We ended up in a serious conversation about electoral politics and the presidential election. He used to work in the Carter and Clinton White Houses focusing on energy policy. We had a perfectly nice chat until he asked me where I was going and I told him Iraq. He stiffened a bit and said, “Military?” “No, journalist,” I replied. He relaxed somewhat and said, “Well, keep your head down.” But he still looked uncomfortable with the mention of Iraq. Anyhow, I boarded the flight, and decided not to go with the Ambien out of fear of being awake all night when I arrived. I ended up in that ugly half-sleep crammed into my United Economy seat. I’m 5’9” and those seats make me feel like the starting center for Boston College. It was 11.5 hours of being uncomfortable and half-dazed—and it’s not like I was heading someplace where I had a great sense of excitement and anticipation of a fun time. When I arrived, I had to get a visa for Kuwait. I thought it would be like most other countries I’ve visited in the Middle East where you pay $5-10 get a stamp and go on your merry way. But Kuwait actually processes your information, and it took about 45 minutes in line to get the visa. Once I had that, I went to passport control, held up my piece of paper and sailed on through. I guess since I had the piece of paper from the visa desk that was all they cared about, but it seems to me I could have easily forged that piece of paper and the passport control agent wouldn’t have noticed. Regardless, I got through that bureaucracy and found my suitcase. I put my bags through the x-ray machine and three guys were standing on the other side trying to lift my bags off the belt for me. I got two of my bags, but one guy took my third bag off the belt and then started mumbling something about a tip. That was one of the most blatant cases of a public works/employment program, and a clear case of extortion. I can’t stand that game when you are about to, or trying to do something simple, and some token employee is there to get in your way, do it for you and then demand money. It’s like bathroom attendants who sit there with hand towels, and you either have to pay them, or decide not to wash your hands. In this case, I mumbled something back to the guy, and walked off with my bags and refused to submit to the extortion. I entered the arrival hall, and quickly found my Army handler, and we set off for the LSA camp. I think it was about a 45 minute drive and I probably saw about as much as there is to see in Kuwait—some houses along the highway, and then desert. We arrived at the camp, and the Sergeant gave me the rundown of all the things I needed to do to get my ass on a plane to Baghdad. From there I hit the mess hall for dinner, sat in the media transit office for a while doing work, and then crashed early. I had a wonderful night trying to sleep in the standard 8-bunk tent where the lights stay on all night, and people are transiting in and out all through the night. Even though I took an Ambien, I only managed to sleep about 4 hours, and then spent 3 hours trying to force myself back to sleep. Having to get up to pee was fun—climb off the top bunk, put on my shoes, and walk out in the hot night air to one of the lovely, aromatic latrines, then reverse the process. It’s the kind of situation that makes you get good and desperate to go, before you decide to get up and go through all the hassle… I’ll save a detailed rant on the smell of the latrines for later, but suffice to say its scent that will be ingrained in my memory for some time. ]]> Mon, 20 Oct 2008 19:29:28 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/jdw240257546.html http://www.here-now.org/shows/2008/08/20080806_9.asp]]> Tue, 12 Aug 2008 14:12:25 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/mlu238703835.html
Granted, I do enjoy a good cigar or shisha from time to time, but I don't inhale either of those, and don't get the nausea reaction that cigarettes (or chewing tobacco) would cause. So, that's been the deal for my adult life.

However, after three weeks in the Middle East, I'm converted. I'm going to have to take up smoking because I'm now addicted to second-hand smoke, and when I get back to the US in a few hours, I'm not going to be able to find that second-hand fix, so I guess I'll have to do it myself.

In all seriousness, I have never been so surrounded and overwhelmed by cigarette smoke. Sure, any French person under 40 can't go more than 35 seconds between smokes, but when you only work 5 hours a week, I guess you have to fill the time somehow.

But in the Middle East, smoking is a way life, and most societies there are still dealing with basic issues like finding solutions to some of the highest rates of unemployment in the world, so little public health issues like smoking don't rise to the level where anyone is going to take action.

I don't think I had a single meal in public that wasn't augmented by the foul stench of a smoldering butt inches away from my face. Taxi drivers routinely light up, not matter how long or short the drive. I started measuring the length of business meetings by the number of cigarettes smoked either by the interviewee or my assistant.

Every office has an ashtray. I was at a bank in Beirut getting change and was behind a man at the counter who was standing next to a no smoking sign. He was blazing away, and of course there was an ashtray on the floor next to him. Airport lounges, public offices, restaurants, taxis, elevators, absolutely everywhere, people in the Middle East smoke. And I have to say, on a scorching hot day when traffic pollution and sand hover in the air, there's nothing more appealing than sucking in a lung-full of hot smoke.

And of course, in the same way that your cat will find the most allergic and cat-hating person in the room and jump in his lap, cigarette smoke follows me everywhere. I can be sitting at a table of smokers and every cigarette will be trailing its cancerous wind directly in my face--no matter how I swerve, move, or position myself. It was simply ridiculous as I tried to minimize the amount of shit I was breathing in, I couldn't escape it.

So, I figure I might as well give in and start going with two packs a day. On my budget, that means I have to trade off lunch and probably a third of dinner to be able to afford the cost, but that' an easy trade. What's the point of eating when you can't smell or taste the food anyhow? Plus, I like this cough I've developed over the last few weeks, and I think I'd like to keep it around. And the best part is that cigarettes are great for making your voice deeper and smoother sounding, which will help my radio career.

So, my thanks go out to the 50-100% of the people in the Middle East who smoke. Because of you I will now eat less, improve my radio voice, and chronically feel sick--not to mention that my hair and clothes will smell like an ashtray--which is another of the most appealing qualities of smokers.

Thank you for smoking.]]> Fri, 25 Jul 2008 14:37:15 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/sbq238705404.html
Of course, theory and practice rarely converge nicely...

When I was in Sudan last year, blackberry services were not supported through the local telecom system, so I could only use the device in wifi zones, of which there are few. Basically I could sit in my hotel lobby and make calls. Still, an improvement over how much it would cost to call the US by any other method.

Egypt was better--I had email access everywhere I went, and at times was able to get the UMA (which is the voice over wifi service) to kick in, but often had to revert to Skype.

Taiwan was a complete pain in the ass--I had wifi in my hotel, but could not consistently hold the UMA signal, so calls dropped all the time. At least blackberry email worked throughout the country.

Colombia was mixed--in most of Bogota I could use regular blackberry functions, but the UMA was again sketchy in my hotel room which had wifi. The signal would come and go, and more often than not, I had to use skype.

After that trip, I finally leaned on T-Mobile to the point that they replaced my blackberry, and my UMA problems did decrease at home and abroad.

My next big trip was to South Korea, and my guide book mistakenly told me that they used GSM technology there, which meant my blackberry would work, and I could also buy a local sim card as I always do for my road phone. Well, upon arrival I learned that they use CDMA and you have to rent a phone at the airport. That meant no blackberry at all unless I was in a wifi zone.

My hotel room had hard-wired internet, and at a ridiculous price, but I had little choice. I did find some random locations where I would be walking along the sidewalk in Seoul, and suddenly I'd start receiving emails on my blackberry. I memorized the locations of a few open wifi zones where I knew I could receive email, and even make a couple of calls when I had UMA service. Still, the device was of marginal utility in South Korea.

This recent trip to Lebanon and Syria was a comunicaitons disaster. Neither country supports blackberry service, so I could not get my email in real time with my device. Then, there was another weird twist--in the instances when I could get UMA service (which were fleeting), I could get through to any number I dialed in the US except for two: my voicemail and my girlfriend's mobile number. She could call me, and I could call her from any other phone or service, but over UMA I would get the message that "the number you are calling is not in service at this time."

I made three different calls to t-mobile customer service, all of which lasted 45 minutes, and all ended with no resolution of the problem, and in each case I had to run off to a meeting without being abole to complete the trouble shooting process.

And, in instances when I had UMA signal and called other numbers, people had difficulty hearing me as the connections were usually spotty. While T-mobile might deserve some blame for this, the poor internet infrastructure in the Middle East certainly bears primary responsibility.

Then, there was that two day period when my blackberry lost all local service--I couldn't even make international roaming calls. No explanation for that...

Bottom line, no one has yet solved the international phone and email conundrum with a reliable, and cost-effective service. If t-mobile did what it says it does on paper, I'd be happy, but this trip was another headache in terms of trying to stay in touch, and t-mobile is partly to blame, but the lack of development in the Internet and telecom sectors in Lebanon and Syria are the real culprits here. Then there's that whole Internet censorship thing that goes on in Syria, but that's a topic for another time. ]]> Fri, 25 Jul 2008 15:03:23 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/tcd238181724.html
In fact, the city is quite beautiful at night. I spent Thursday night in the hills above Damascus enjoying the view. Unlike Beirut, which is a very hilly city, Damascus is almost completely flat and lies at the foot of the hills that flank its northern edge. From the hills the panorama is reminiscent of LA--although without the grid layout of the city. The most immediately striking feature is the pattern of green lights across the city. All of the minarets are illuminated with lime-green lights, and when viewed from above it creates a beautiful and almost haunting scene. I'm still struggling to think of the movie it reminds me of--Blade Runner comes to mind but that's quite the right picture. It's a kind of post-modern thing, but not a dystopia, so it's not Blade Runner, but the green towers remind me of some film....

The south side isn't quite as nice however--granted at night it blends into the wash of lights. But, driving through during the day, it's clear that the south side is lagging behind the north. As well as being home to more of the city's poorer people, it's also home to many of the Iraqi refugees who fled to Syria. The country is "home" to an estimated 1.5-2 million Iraqis, and many lack jobs or services. It's not a pleasant situation for any of them, especially the younger women. I'm not going to go into a whole diatribe on this topic--but I'll refer you to the work of Jasna Zajcek, a German journalist I met in Beirut who covers cultural, social, and human rights issues. Google her and see what you come up with, and helps if you read German...

Anyhow, I rode through the south side on the way back from a trip to Bosra and Swida. Bosra is home to an ancient amphitheater and some other lovely ruins.

It's still amazing to think that people just left all this old stuff lying around, in all these random places. The funny thing is, places like Bosra and Palmyra were in the middle of nowhere back when they were flourishing, and they are still in the middle of nowhere. Granted, there is some development around those spaces--but Palmyra is particular is in the middle of the desert, but thousands of years ago, it was a vital location on trade routes and part of the Roman Empire.

The Bosra amphitheater is still used today, and as an audio geek, I'd love to hear a concert there to get a sense of acoustic design from centuries ago. Apparently, Julio Iglecias performed there a couple of weeks before I got there, so I missed that one. Maybe they have an email list to announce the shows coming up at the amphitheater... Maybe the can just send the details to my blackberry... ]]> Sat, 19 Jul 2008 13:35:23 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/qjt238003857.html
At a little after midnight, I got a reprieve in the form of a message from my driver saying the event had been pushed back to noon. That was good news in terms of my phobia of getting up early, but it had implications on the other end--that presumably meant that the festivities at the airport and the giant Hezbollah party in the south of Beirut would be pushed back as well, and that would bump up against my 6pm departure to Damascus.

Anyhow, my driver picked me up, and we made it to Naqura with little hassle. We pulled up to the scene of the event, which was essentially the main road from the Israeli border that had been blocked off with grandstands on either side and a red carpet down the middle. By 10:30 am, the press grandstand was already close to full, and spectators were packed into designated areas on either end. Dignitaries were starting to arrive on the other side.

However, we were in for a long wait. Word at that time was that Hezbollah had handed over the bodies of the two Israeli soldiers, and the question then was how long it would take for Israel to ID the bodies. Full DNA testing could mean hours or even days before they would release the prisoners. At that time, there it was clear nothing would happen before 3pm. So, we sat... in the hot sun... listening to Hezbollah songs over the PA system... watching a few people pass out from heat exhaustion.

I do have to say that there was a burlap cover over the press section and the dignitaries as well, and it helped, but the coverage was limited... I ended up with one of the worst sunburns I've had since 7th grade at Disney World.

Although we received little information and updates on the proceedings, I will say the organizers did an admirable job of providing sandwiches, water, and juice. We were OK in that department, which was critical given the heat and humidity.

Finally at 3:45, people sprung into action. Soldiers lined both sides of the red carpet. Music played. Vehicles approached. They opened the gates at the end of the reviewing stand, and two ambulances drove by followed by an honor guard, then a flat bed truck with 12 Lebanese flag draped coffins. The truck stopped, a man spoke for several minutes, then the truck drove on and the soldiers immediately went back into the shade.

It was clear that the live prisoners would not be showing up for some time, and I had a car to Damascus to catch. A number of other journalists left at that point as well, needing to meet deadlines, and frustrated by the fact that the main event had not yet happened.

I arrived back in Beirut at 5:30 and at that point we heard on the radio that the live prisoners had just been released at the border where the actual exchange was happening. I felt vindicated that they were released 90 minutes after I left Naqura, rather than 5 minutes after. Either way, it was frustrating from a journalistic perspective not to be able to be there for the main event, and then have to miss the celebrations in Beirut.

I did make it to Damascus in time to see the massive celebration on TV--took a little longer than expected because the border official didn't seem to like my journalist visa that had been issued by the Syrian Embassy in DC. 30 minutes of phone calls back and forth to Washington cleared things up and I was on my way. Had I been crossing alone without an Arabic speaking driver who knew how to get things done with the help of a few other folks, I'm not sure if I would be in Damascus right now. As numerous people said to me after the hassle (which in the grand scheme of things was extremely minor), "Welcome to Syria."]]> Thu, 17 Jul 2008 12:10:56 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/ouf238006486.html
In Saida I was supposed to meet with a local NGO, learn about their activities, tour some of their sites and work, then meet the mayor, then do more of a demographic tour of Saida. The city is predominantly Sunni, and largely pro-Hariri (that's ruling party, or pro-western in the media shorthand). But, there are significant communities of Christians and Shia as well. In fact, many Shia fled to Saida in the 2006 war because the city was Sunni, and therefore not a Hezbollah stronghold--hence not a target in the war.

Today, the city is still Sunni, but more mixed in terms of political affiliation, and an interesting microcosm of some of the demographics of the country.

Anyhow, I arrived at the NGO and was ushered inside. I met a few members, including the honorary president. I need to mention that the night before I received a surprise phone call from the Lebanese Army, saying that I had received permission to visit the main Palestinian refugee camp in Saida and also explore some of the army controlled locations in the area. So, I had them fax the permission to the NGO office. When it arrived, the honorary president began making phone calls. In the meantime, they treated me to a breakfast sandwich Lebanese style--lebneh.

The president informed me that he had spoken with the head of the camps and that they had authorized me to visit Ein El Hilweh--the largest refugee camp in the country. They told me we would have to visit his office to talk before going to the camp. Fine with me.

I wasn't sure how any of this was going to affect the agenda, but I was their guest and along for the ride. They told me we would drive somewhere, visit someone, then come back to the office--in a relatively short period of time I was led to believe. I told my driver to sit tight.

The NGO people took me across town, and we entered an office building that turned out to be the city hall. They brought me into an office and introduced me to a few people sitting around a table. I had no idea who they were, and they didn't seem to speak English, so I sat there confused and chatted with the young guy from the NGO who spoke English, but wasn't much clearer on the agenda than I was.

After about 20 minutes, a man enters the room and I am introduced. Turns out he's the mayor. We prepare to talk, and he receives two visitors and several phone calls before we are able to talk. He's a member of the opposition party despite being in a ruling party city, or at least in theory, and we are just starting to get into an interesting conversation when a delegation of 5 well dressed men enter the office, and my time is up.

So, we leave, and drive to another street, get out of the car and stop in front of a small apartment building/house with a closed metal grate covering the street-level facade, and a few men standing around outside. I notice a picture of Arafat on the front of the building and realize this must be the office of the Palestinian leader--clever, huh?

]]> Thu, 17 Jul 2008 12:54:46 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/hmm237765087.html
So, I understand that it took a minute or two for him to grasp what I was asking. He even admitted that after he finally understood where I was asking him to go that it was completely out of left field. Nonetheless, we drove on to the palace, cleared several checkpoints, and pulled up at the entrance to the complex. He asked if I wanted him to wait, but not knowing exactly how long I was going to be, and how much extra it would cost, I told him he should go. I knew at that moment, however, that I might face a challenge getting transportation to my next appointment since the road from the outer checkpoint to the palace seemed close to a mile, and there was no way they would wave in a random cab driver.

Anyhow, I proceeded inside and was escorted to the office of the political advisor for my interview. We had a pleasant conversation and after 45 minutes, he escorted me back to the door. On the way we passed the German Ambassador who was his next appointment. When we reached the exit, he asked where my driver was. I told him that he left, and I needed a taxi. He was a little taken aback, but I always like to be unconventional. After a brief conversation he said his driver would take me outside the compound where I could get a cab. I hopped into a black GMC SUV and we drove out to the main road outside the palace.

We did not immediately find a cab, and I was prepared to get out and wait, but he stopped, made a call or two, and then started driving back downtown. I didn’t raise any objection, and he ultimately drove me back to the hood where I am staying. It saved me $20, and I got to say that I schmoozed a ride from the political advisor’s driver. Later, after running around buying a cell-phone recharge card—cell rates are absolutely ridiculous here as just about everyone I have meet has complained—I hopped another taxi to go to my appointment at the US Embassy.

When the driver pulled over to pick me up, I said “American Embassy” and he said “Yes.” So, I got in thinking he was on board with the destination. He then proceeded to ask me where I wanted to go, and seemed to be wondering if I wanted to go to a restaurant. I kept repeating Embassy, and at one point said Safara, not being entirely sure that was the correct Arabic word. He didn’t seem to respond and again was asking me if I wanted to go somewhere to eat.

Finally, we had a breakthrough, and he said “Safara Ameriki?” I said “yes” and away we went. He only had to stop once along the way to ask for directions, but we arrived at the heavily-fortified compound in the hills with enough time for me to go through the two security checkpoints before being ushered into a little waiting area/holding pen. The area felt like something at the airport in Sudan, well, perhaps a little nicer, and it was a cold welcome to the American compound. Fortunately, the interview was not cold, and other than having to sit around for 30 minutes waiting for a cab to show up and take me back to Achrafieh, the visit to fortress America went well. I will say that it’s always a little disheartening to visit US Embassies and go through such rigorous security, basically because it means it’s necessary, and that’s unfortunate, but alas, a reality.]]> Mon, 14 Jul 2008 17:51:27 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/doy237765008.html
There may be no better summary of Beirut than the 2006 photo that instantly circled the globe via the Internet. You know the one, the young and beautiful people in the shining red Mini convertible driving past the rubble left behind in the July war. While people have debated whether the picture was staged, that is immaterial—actually if it was staged, it might say even more about Lebanon.

There is no question there is a reputation to maintain, particularly in Beirut—the image of partying in the face of death must be cultivated at all cost. It is part of the Lebanese mystique. Beautiful women who seem to take all day getting made up to hit the clubs at night, and the well-dressed and well-heeled (seemingly, at least) men who pursue them are trademarks of youth culture in Beirut. And, it’s a huge part of the attraction for outsiders to visit the country—at least those who like clubs, parties, and beautiful women.

Yet, not far below the surface lurks a sense that there is a bit more to the story—perhaps a certain frustration and disaffection with the paradigm. It’s not that there’ anything wrong with the partying and fun in and of itself, but it’s the energy required to ignore, or sublimate the challenges of living here.

It can be tough soldiering on in the face of seemingly constant conflict and adversity. Whether it was the 2006 war, the following political crisis, or the recent conflicts in Beirut that saw Hezbollah turning its arms on its countrymen, the fact is, living in Lebanon can be hard work.

As I spent my first afternoon in the country walking around Beirut, I couldn’t help thinking about an inside joke my Lebanese ex-girlfriend used to tell me. She said that people would walk around the streets and flash each other the peace sign, but what they meant was “Two! Two buildings left standing.” As a journalist, I understand gallows humor as well as anyone, but as a journalist, or doctor, or whatever else, you often get to leave the darkness behind and relax. But in Lebanon, there haven’t been too many respites from conflict, instability, occupation, or the other various afflictions the country has endured.

Now, it’s worth noting that things for the people of Sudan, Congo, Burma, and a host of other places are far worse off, but the fact is, Lebanon should be above all of this. You’re dealing with a highly educated population, a generally tolerant, pluralistic society where Christians and Muslims of all variety have lived together for ages, and a place with enough resources and attributes to support a high standard of living. Yet, there are three times as many Lebanese people living outside the country as inside—that says something.

What it says is a number of things, and that’s a big part of why I am here right now—working on a radio program exploring the challenges of and to stability in Lebanon. There are many, but far from complete agreement on the order and magnitude. Start with a political system designed to please all, that often ends up pleasing few, a location between a number of countries at odds with each other, and the fact that just about every fault line in the region runs through the country one way or another. Whether it’s Israel and Syria, Iran and the US, Sunni versus Shia, moderate versus radical Islam, dog versus cat… they all run through Lebanon and play out here in ways that tend not to be so good for the quality of life in these parts.

And, it is a bit of a wake-up to see all of this first hand. Although I was well aware of the fact that Beirut still shows the scars of decades of conflict, I have to admit I was taken aback by the magnitude. Walking around Beirut is like walking through a living museum of conflict. On the same block you will see brand new buildings standing next to burned out carcasses of cement, riddled with pock-marks of 50 caliber rounds and mortar holes. There, there is the over presence of army and police in the streets. It’s downright haunting to be walking through the most liberal and educated city in the Middle East, and see such relics (and present signs) of strife. And what compounds that is the fact that the days of conflict could return again in an instant. One would hope that they wouldn’t, but the events in Beirut earlier this year, and the scene in Tripoli over the last month show that it doesn’t take much to set things off here.

To come back to my original point of departure, if I had lived through a few decades of civil war, foreign occupation, and political paralysis (punctuated by fits of violence), I’d probably have a different approach too. Sucking the marrow out of life would seem all the more important—not matter how you define marrow. ]]> Mon, 14 Jul 2008 17:50:07 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/cjh234710087.html
Anyhow, I think it was around 4:40 pm on Friday when I finally got off the Korean Air flight in Seoul. I proceeded through immigration, customs, and the cellphone rental counter--my Fommer's guide book said that South Korea used GSM, but that is not the case, hence my blackberry is pretty much useless here (except in wifi zones, and more on that later) and my travel cellphone is also useless since I can't buy a SIM card. After that transaction, I found the bus stand at the airport and boarded the bus into Seoul.

An hour and change later, I finally arrived at the Riviera Hotel. I checked in, and they didn't ask for an ID or a credit card (I prepaid through American Express, but still, no credit card to cover mini-bar expenses?). I staggered to my room, unpacked, showered off the layers of airplane funk, and ordered some beef-rib soup from room service--I was hoping for some good American bone marrow, but the shipment hasn't started yet. I then decided to fend off deep-vein thrombosis by heading down to the hotel spa for a massage. Had I gone next door to the hotel to the place with a barber pole, it would have cost less than half what I paid, and I would have actually looked forward to the end of the massage, but I played it straight and stuck to the overpriced sports massage.

By the time I finished in the spa, it was after 10 pm and a reasonable time to take an ambien and crash.

Saturday morning I was up around 7:30, hit the breakfast buffet, and then spent a couple of hours on the phone and Internet doing research. I spoke with a guide at the Seoul Olympic Museum who agreed to give me a tour. I hit the streets and was contemplating walking to the Olympic Stadium, until I realized it was a bit farther than I thought. At one point as I was wandering about 2 blocks from my hotel, my blackberry started vibrating frantically. I had crossed into an open wifi network and 30 emails barreled in at once. I ended up standing in the median in a 10-lane street (most of the main streets in Seoul are wider than highways in the US) for several minutes since I wasn't sure where the signal was coming from and I didn't want to move and lose it.

After catching up on my email--in the middle of the street--I hopped a cab to Olympic Park. Beautiful place. Fountains, ponds, sculptures, hundreds of students water painting, old ladies in sweat suits and sun visors power walking or using the kinetic exercise equipment in the park. Of course there were a few gymnasiums and sports facilities too.

I found the museum and met Kathy the guide. She took me around the museum and told me what she could about the '88 games. She's more used to school kids than foreign journalists, but did an admirable job nonetheless. Afterwards, my KSG classmates (Beckhee, Masao and Yumi) picked me up and we went off for lunch. We spent a few hours talking international politics, Olympics lore, and gossip about fellow classmates. And we all agreed that the change of the initials from KSG (Kennedy School of Government) to HKS (Harvard Kennedy School) is a complete flop.

From lunch we took the metro to Seoul Plaza to witness some of the anti-beef demonstrations. For those not following the news, the South Korean president Lee Myung-Bak signed a deal with the US to allow American beef back into Korea--it had been banned in 2003 after mad cow's appeared in the US. The agreement sparked initial protests from school girls and older women, and it spiraled into a mass movement of tens of thousands. While many protesters were originally coming out to oppose American beef entering South Korea, it also evolved into a massive protest against the president for his handling of the agreement. Basically, people were pissed he did not consult with the people, or the National Assembly, and gave the agreement away to President Bush as a gift to help get the Free Trade Agreement approved by Congress. This was the last straw in a series of moves by President Lee that have angered the Korean public.

First, he appointed cronies to his cabinet, then he proposed English Language Immersion for all elementary school students--he had to retract that proposal after it met with disdain. Then, he proposed a cross-country canal project that environmentalists decried, and others said was a waste of resources. Then the beef deal. Basically people don't like his style, and feel that he has done nothing to deliver on his campaign pledge to boost the economy. Granted, he's been in office just over 100 days, and no one is going to turn around an economy that quickly, but no one is cutting him any slack. Despite a 20 point win in the December '07 presidential election, his approval rating now stands around 20%. Usually it takes presidents years to fall that low, so he deserves credit for doing it so quickly.

Anyhow, we wandered around the protest for a while, then walked through Insaedong to see the traditional/tourist shops. We met up with another classmate Angela and Beckhee's husband and had dinner. The meal was highlighted by Beckhee's constant ladling of glasses of milky-white rice wine. She claimed she was getting us warmed up for Karaoke. Fine with me--the more you drink, the better I sound.

Anyhow, after dinner, we started heading to another drinking establishment, but walked into the street just as the portest march was approaching. I pulled out my gear and started interviewing people and taking pictures. I stood on a corner minutes and protesters streamed by for 45 minute straight. Students, parents, young kids... people of all description. I spoke with some fairly angry students who had been blasted by a water canon the night before when things got a little ugly late at night. Of course, they were a bit circumspect when I asked what preceded their shower....

I walked up to the barricade of armored buses to watch the angry front-phalanx of protesters try to tip over the bus so they could make their way to the Blue House (presidential office) to rant. They weren't having any luck, and it would probably be several more hours before things got violent, so I returned to the bar to catch up with the gang and prepare for Karaoke.

Fortunately, there is no recording of my singing, and that's all I'm going to say about that.]]> Mon, 09 Jun 2008 09:14:46 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/vct234848273.html
Considering that this is a pretty non-controversial topic, I'm amazed how difficult it has been trying to nail down interviews. But, I have a few appointments lined up now, so I hope to get some more interesting tape while I am in town.

This whole beef thing has complicated matters. Trying to get people to talk about the 1988 Olympics in the middle of this beef chaos is like asking people on the Titanic whether they thought the wine went well with dinner--not exactly the topic on people's minds... The worst part is, since I can't use my blackberry, and since the city is so huge (and it takes a long time to get from place to place), I basically have to sit in my hotel room working the phones and getting ready to jump at a moment's notice. I can't even afford to head to the gym right now (despite the fact that I desperately need a couple of weeks on the stairmaster right now) because I can't afford to miss a call.

On the subject of how long it takes to get around Seoul, the population is about 10 million, which is larger than any US city. It's not overwhelmingly dense, so it's spread out, and despite an extensive metro system, nothing seems to be close by. Plus, the metro stations are giant labyrinthian-mazes of catacombs. I would swear that you can end up walking a mile underground from a metro entrance to the actual platform. It's nuts. And each station has about 14 different entrances/exits, so the underground network of tunnels and walkways is stunning--and somewhat maddening.

]]> Tue, 10 Jun 2008 23:37:53 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/klj232608155.html
I say this having just returned to my room from the bar at the Four Seasons hotel in Chicago. Now, a quick disclaimer is in order--I am on a work trip, but my stay at this elite establishment is courtesy of a gift certificate my father never got around to using, so I tip my mini-bar vodka and soda to you dad. Anyhow, I spent 13 hours roaming Chicago working on a radio story, and made it back to the hotel just before midnight, and I saddled up to the bar just before last call.

I knew things had the potential to get weird as I crossed the lobby towards the bar, and two couple staggered out--both older men with younger women, and all of them... well, not looking right. When I entered the bar I immediately noticed a... hang on, I'm in the Four Seasons, and I can hear the person in the room above me taking a piss--something's fundamentally wrong with that... anyhow, I noticed three people sitting at a couch in the bar--two men in expensive suits, and a moderately expensive blonde woman. The men were toasted to put it politely, and spent more time groping each other than the woman.

And, as I looked around the room--replete with carved wood ornamentation and other refinements--I saw desperation, helplessness, and irresponsibility. Four men staggered in together and immediately spied a table of four women--I'm sure they were all wonderful women, but not exactly the pick of the litter--and the leader of the drunken band approached them saying, "last call for alcohol, ladies." I was the only one in the bar who seemed to notice their intemperate behavior--perhaps because I was only a sip into the only martini I would have since I barely made the 11:55 last call.

Anyhow, the merry men stumbled to the bar for one round, and a haze of booze-fueled depravity filled the room. I asked the bartender if this was a regular crowd, and his expression gave the answer before he could speak. While I was a bit shocked to see such affluent and professional looking people making a Sigma Chi party look like a salon, the bartender seemed non-nonplussed. He said it wasn't they typical crowd, but when I said that I was surprised to see slobbering drunks in such an establishment, he quickly pointed out that suits often think they are invincible as they proceed to drool on themselves in public.

That reminded me of my ethic of avoiding bars on Cinco de Mayo and such events when amateurs make their quarterly pilgrimages to bars to partake of the beverage of the occasion, and make complete asses of themselves so they can brag at work the next day how bent they got. Well, the pros have nothing to prove, and we are much better at concealing our unreasonable levels of consumption...

Well, enough self-righteous talk about drinking... suffice to say, it was a pathetic sight to see people who can actually afford to stay at the Four Seasons drinking themselves stupid and looking neither happy nor sophisticated, but rather helpless and irresponsible...]]> Fri, 16 May 2008 01:22:34 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/idj232609691.html
That trip meant I didn't have to travel in March, so I traveled to Boston to catch up with friends and family, while of curse doing some work every day.

In April I visited the calm, peaceful, and crime-free country of Colombia. I need to spend some time writing about that, but highlights include visiting the Choco region--one of the most violent and plagued by drug trafficking, guerilla activities, and massive numbers of displaced people--seeing the Ciudad Bolivar region of Bogota (poor and displaced people), and traveling up the Atrato River in what was effectively a canoe with a 40hp motor that would not have passed a single safety inspection, through guerilla and drug trafficking territory, to interview people in a little town who had been victims of murder and kidnappings.

I survived the trip, although I did bring home some extra organic material that spent a week doing rather nasty things to my digestive tract, but you don't need to know about that.

After returning home, I took a road trip to State College, PA, and I have to say my GPS took me on the most backwater, shall we say, "Deliverance" route I've ever driven, so I could visit family--in particular my new second cousin. Last december my first cousin made me the only one in my generation of my family to not have a kid. Not sure what to make of that...

Anyhow, I'm currently in Chicago after several days in Boston looking at the Muslim community for a story we are doing on Muslim integration in the US versus Europe. Interesting topic, and many thoughts in the Muslim communities in the US. While in Boston I managed to catch up with a bunch of people, although I have to say the WBUR crowd was a complete letdown--usually it's hard to keep them out of a bar, but this trip, I couldn't trick them into one. I did manage to be part of the Stanley Colander winning team in street hockey though. That makes my fourth Colander in six appearances. I missed a few years because of being on the disabled list, but this year I exercised the "Veteran Clause" and showed up for the colander after only two regular season appearances...

Well, that's all for now. At some point I'll catch up on the travel stories. I need to publish the details of a few moments in Colombia that would make my grandparents faint. Fortunately, they don't have internet access, so no worries there...]]> Fri, 16 May 2008 01:48:10 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/lny224923443.html
It's a sad statement that America has been unwilling and unable to build an effective high speed rail system. The Acela is marginally faster than the standard train, and the price value is terrible. It failed in all respects--for a passenger it's really no cheaper than flying between Boston and NYC, or Philly and DC. It's certainly not any faster. About the only thing it has going for it is the fact that it is comfortable, and the first class service it pretty nice--but stupidly expensive for a train.

But man, this train is so much smoother at all speeds than the lumbering Acela. By the way, I should point out that the Taiwan HSR uses the Japanese bullet trains and technology--a proven system that would have been a much better investment than the half-assed Acela crap. Had the government and Amtrak simply made the investment in the rail bed rather than designing an entirely new (and far more expensive) train design, everyone would have come out ahead.

That seems to be par for the course when dealing with the US government--cut every corner when building the foundation, then pay through the nose in time, money, and opportunity cost trying to keep the building standing. Whether it is the war in Iraq--spending the money and providing the troop levels needed in the beginning would have cut down on the costs everyone has been paying since then (and we won't get into the debate about whether or not to even embark on mission to begin with)--or the levees in New Orleans, trying to do something on the cheap, almost always end up costing more. But, I guess congress wouldn't have enough work to do if it weren't busy all the time hahing up supplemental spending bills to solve problems they created by over legislating and underfunding from the outset...

The only gripes I have about the Taiwan HSP is the fact that the seats could be a little more comfortable, and I'd appreciate an electrical outlet. However, the duration of the trip from Taipei to Tainan is under two hours, so my laptop battery will last the entire ride. This is a rough guess, but I would estimate that the Acela would take more than three hours to make the 1:45 trip I'm currently enjoying.

Again, I never cease to be disappointed that the US for all it's wealth, technology, and spirit of innovation can't build a decent rail system, and for that matter can rarely keep the trains running on time...]]> Sun, 17 Feb 2008 01:44:03 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/ksk224926657.html Sun, 17 Feb 2008 02:37:37 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/ujl224924647.html
Compared to my recent travels to Russia, Sudan, and Egypt (and true it's not really fair to compare those countries to a young, modern, and democratic country like Taiwan) Taiwan is paradise. I think so far I've had one unpleasant experience with a taxi ride here, but that wasn't because the woman wasn't nice or trying hard, she was simply incompetent.

People I have been interviewing have gone out of their way to accommodate me, and some have even given me gifts or bought me meals--despite my genuine protests. I was at the annual Lunar New Year Party for the Taiwanese business community that has operations in China. I met a man there who was a PhD. candidate and was trying to network and find a sponsor of some sort for his dissertation. We talked for a while and he agreed to met me interview him.

A couple of days later, he asked if we could meet, so we connected at the Starbucks down the street from my hotel (no, not that one, the other one, no, I mean the other one). Anyhow, he arrived with a bag containing two tins of limited production cookies. And then, he refused to let me pay for my tea. Granted, there is a ritual in Chinese culture around paying for meals, and it is a normal custom to fight over paying the bill, but people here have universally said "you are my guest," and refused to let me pay.

I have to say that my friends in Serbia and Russia did the same thing, and I am willing to respect people's cultures, but it does feel a little awkward sometimes when people are so genuinely giving--and not expecting anything special in return. There is no agenda.

Anyhow, I tip my hat to the people here who have been so eager to share their time, opinions, and culture with me. Given how difficult international business/journalism travel can be (especially when you are constantly parachuting alone into unfamiliar territories), it makes life a lot easier when people are so open and helpful. ]]> Sun, 17 Feb 2008 02:04:07 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/rsb224676480.html
It's still raining in Taipei, and it doesn't look like I'm going to see a clear day while I'm here. It's too bad because it makes the city seem more gray and dirty than it really is. It is a little gray--while there are some shiny new buildings, there are still many older, declining buildings, and driving along some of the elevated roadways in the city the views of the buildings remind me a bit of driving around Cairo--similar generic "socialist-style" medium-quality architecture.

Taxis--I have yet to have a cab driver who speaks a word of English, and several have been unable to read maps that I have handed them with the destination in Chinese. They've all been friendly, and I will say most have been on the ball, but I've had a couple of rides that remind me of Khartoum taxi rides.

On the subject of taxis, I'm starting to ponder what taxis say about a society. The taxis here are largely clean, newer cars--often Toyota Camrys or equivalent. Much nicer than anything in the US. Taxis in Egypt and Sudan are some of the most beat-up pieces of crap I've ever ridden in, but that's not really much of a surprise, is it? Taxis in Dubai are clean, modern, and neat, similar to the ones here. I'm not about to take on this study, but it does seem to me that taxis are a window into a society in terms of economic development, and also when a society achieved a developed status. Of course, I could be full of crap on this, but it's a thought.

The metro here is fantastic--clean, and one of the easiest to navigate I've experienced. Like many of the other Asian subways, the signs are in English, but also very clear. My one complaint is that tokens here have to be used the day they are purchased. I found that out the hard way when I had to dump six tokens today that I bought last night in an attempt to be efficient.
What else--I'm pretty much itchy all the time thanks to the MSG in much of the food. People are exceedingly nice and willing to extend themselves without hesitation.

One more random realization, I have CNN international on the TV, and I just heard the theme/jingle in the background and I had a Pavlovian response--I actually thought of Dubai since I spent 2 months there watching CNNI and BBC World since they were the only English language channels I could get in my crappy hotel-apartment, but it's a reminder that I'm not in the US--as if walking around the streets here isn't enough of a reminder. As an American I have to say that it can be striking to visit other countries that are not as diverse or multi-ethnic as the US. I've seen maybe a dozen non-Asian people in the last four days. The nice part is that I do get smiles from your girls--especially ones working in stores and restaurants.]]> Thu, 14 Feb 2008 05:08:00 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/dgr224520122.html
Well, time to start another chapter, and we'll see how far this one gets before I hit the road again...

Right now I'm sitting in my room at the Caesar Park Hotel in Taipei Taiwan, with the bright, white "Taipei Railway Station" sign beaming into my window. The weather is disgusting--9 Celsius according to the station's thermometer, and it's been raining on and off since I arrived here two nights ago. According to the forecast, I'm not going to have a sunny day while I'm here. So much for a glorious, panoramic view from the top of the Taipei 101 tower...

Anyhow, to step back for a moment, I'm here working on the March edition of America Abroad. We're looking at Taiwan in the run-up to the presidential election, and exploring the domestic politics, as well as the challenge of balancing the US-China-Taiwan relationship...

While I was at the bar at Dulles getting prepared for my flight, I struck up a conversation with the bartender, who of course was from Taiwan. It's like the night before my trip to Sudan when I had a Sudanese cab driver in DC. The bartender was a perfectly nice fellow--unlike the Sudanese cab driver--and was happy to talk about his home country that he left in 1984. The one interesting point he made was that he felt Taiwan had become too free. It went from marshall law to democracy too quickly, and he thinks that society has suffered. I don't have a basis for comparison, but from what I've seen so far, this place is doing pretty well.

Taipei reminds me of a cross between Beijing and Shanghai. Not as modern and electric as the newer parts of Shanghai, but has more of a first world feel than Beijing. But, it has more of the horizontal look and feel of Beijing. I do sense an energy here that is different than mainland China. People here seem more vibrant. Beijing in particular has a gloomy feel to it from my experience, I really felt an air of communist oppression there, but here people are wearing hip clothing, smiling, and walking with springs in their steps. Everyone I've interacted with so far has been friendly and eager to help.

In fact, my first morning wandering around the city, I came across a local film crew in 2/28 Park. I stopped to watch the action, and ended up interviewing the director, who then offered to buy me lunch at the "best beef-noodle restaurant" in Taipei. I have to say, it probably was the best beef noodle soup I've had.

Last night I went to the Shinlin Night Market--in the rain--and while it resembled some of the markets in mainland, there was one big difference: no one was harassing me. No one tried to drag me into a store. Not once did I hear "hello, my friend" or "I give you good price." Granted, none of the vendors were selling souvenirs or local crafts. Most of the stores were selling clothing, jewelry, electronics, and other wares, but still, no sales pitches or harassment. I have to say it was refreshing (especially after visiting Khan al Khalili in Cairo, which was one of the most in-your-face markets I've visited).

Other initial observations... I've never seen so many scooters on the road anywhere. It's like they give them away for free or something. I've walked along some streets where there have easily been 100 or more parked in a row, and almost all the same color. I'm not sure if people have their own or if they simply take the closest one--kind of like the bicycle deal in Portland, Oregon. Do they still do that, or did the lawyers finally get to it and kill the practice?

On the subject of scooters, people here seem to obey rules of the road, and driving is a lot less spastic than Shanghai or Beijing. Food is cheap. The last two nights I missed dinner and ended up getting food at the 7-11 a block from the hotel. A couple of sticky buns filled with mystery meat and two cans of beer runs about $3. This afternoon I was wandering through the main rail station, and sat down at the Sushi Express. It's one of those conveyor belt places. Anyhow, I ate as much as I could cram down my throat, and the bill came to $9. Somehow I think I'll be eating there at least one more time before I leave.

Oh, and in case anyone from work reads this--yes I am busy working. I spent more than half the day on the phone and emailing people setting up my meetings and interviews for the next few days. In fact, I need to get back to making a few calls, and then heading out somewhere to try to interview people on the street...]]> Tue, 12 Feb 2008 09:42:02 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/oiq223184726.html
Actually, I was able to have fun with it on Martin Luther King Day when I leased the beast. At about 10:30 pm, I went out for a drive and ended up in Rock Creek Park. There were no other cars on the road. There were no traffic lights. Fortunately the only two deer I saw were on the side of the road, otherwise it could have been ugly. Let's just say that GTIs are made for winding roads in the woods. My rally run through the park was the most fun I've had behind the wheel since I moved to this driver's hell.

By the way, I'm still completely baffled by the fact that everyone here drives BELOW THE SPEED LIMIT! I don't get it.

Also, another note on this driving madness. This morning I drove to work from my girlfriend's place in Silver Spring (it's odd that I'm dating a woman who lives in the town where I was born but never lived). Anyhow, the drive is straight down 16th street, and at 7:15 am it took 14 minutes to drive the five or six mile stretch. I think I stopped at two red lights. Yet, if I make the same drive at 11 pm where there is no traffic, it takes 20 minutes or more, simply because of the staging of the traffic lights. Clearly people here are able to set lights for optimum traffic flow, but they only do it during rush hour. Apparently the unemployed lobby and night-owl lobby isn't powerful enough to get the lights sequenced properly... ]]> Sun, 27 Jan 2008 22:45:26 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/slj219308731.html
From there I walked to the Cairo Tower to get the famous panoramic view of the city. There was just one problem--it was closed for renovations. So much for the famous panoramic view of the city...

I did make it to Khan al Khalili to wander the streets of shops and stalls with the typical drone of "Hello my friend", "take a look, it is free to look", "I give you good price", "my friend, I have what you are looking for." It's fun for a while, but you feel like you can't stop to look because you'll be dragged into a shop and harassed to death. It's all in good fun, and it is a sport, but I wasn't really in the mood to play. So, I wandered, and ended up walking through the surrounding streets into some of the most run-down and depressed neighborhoods I've ever seen in person. Feral animals wandered the streets and half the buildings looked like they were ready to collapse at any moment. It was real.]]> Fri, 14 Dec 2007 02:05:30 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/oqh219307635.html
Now, this isn't to say I didn't like Cairo, it's actually a fun and exciting place with a lot to see and do. It just so happens that I didn't see and do a lot since I was running around working much of the time, and I didn't have an "ambassador" to take me around and show me the sights as I did in Serbia, Moscow, and Sudan. Although, I did interview the American ambassador while I was in Cairo.

Anyhow, I did make it to the pyramids and I actually hired a tour guide at the hotel. Over all it was a wise move, because I saw and experienced much more than I would have if I had taken a taxi and wandered on my own. The downside is that I paid more, and I had to then go to the stores that particular guide had his deals with. I wanted to buy some things anyhow, but I later figured out I paid probably double what I could have paid for things at Khan al Khalili--the classic old bazaar in Islamic Cairo. Still, it was worth getting the guide, and by US standards it really didn't cost that much.

The one thing that he showed me was the value of my US press status. He had me flash my ID at the entrance to the great pyramid, and I got in at the front of the line without having to buy a ticket. That ended up also working out at the national museum. I got in for free, and also got into the royal mummies exhibition without having to pay.

On the subject of the national museum, I couldn't help but think it should be called the "Museum of Wishful Thinking." The place is full of Egyptian treasures, most of which relate to the afterlife and death rituals. All these things designed to carry the body to the next world, the treasures to take along, the whole process of mummification, and the mythology of the afterlife... where did it all get the ancient Egyptians? It got them into glass cases that Japanese tourists try to take pictures of against the rules. I couldn't help but fixate on the idea that people spent so much time, effort, and money to send their dead off into the next life, and, well... by my reckoning they didn't get very far. I can honestly say that given a choice I would prefer not to end up in a glass case on display for hundreds or thousands of years...

]]> Fri, 14 Dec 2007 01:47:15 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/dmr219021886.html
Anyhow, Cairo isn't a place where I'd eat my food off the floor, but it wasn't as bad as I was expecting. In fact, the first morning I was here the early haze/smog/fog burned off by 8am and I had clear skies when taking pictures of the pyramids.
Yes, Cairo is dirty, and full of people and cars--and the competition between the two in the streets can be exciting. I've been enjoying honing my "running of the bulls" skills by crossing the streets here. It's even more fun at night when half the cars don't have their lights on.

Just an aside, Egypt is a country where conservative Islam is on the rise, yet right now on my hotel TV is a show called "Midnight Hot" and it is currently showing a lingerie fashion show that isn't leaving much to the imagination....sorry, was I just typing something...? What?

Right, so Cairo is huge by the way. Kind of reminds me of a cross between Shanghai and...well, perhaps Khartoum in one sense, or maybe Bahrain. It is massive and sprawling like Shanghai, with some glitzy and developed areas, but it also has plenty of older, grimey streets and neighborhoods. Haven't made it to old Cairo and the traditional markets yet, so we'll see what that all looks like.

Still, it's a pretty hopping city, and Sakara King Beer is a treat. ]]> Mon, 10 Dec 2007 18:24:45 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/ven219289537.html
But I digress.

Anyhow, Sunday November 11, Fixer #1 picked me up and took me to the AMIS (African Union Mission in Sudan) office. I filled out my paperwork and made my request for AMIS services--flight to El Fasher in Darfur, lodging, interviews, etc. From there I went downtown with fixer #2 to register my passport... again--well I mean attempt to register it again. My fixer goes into the passport registration bunker, and I decide to wander around Khartoum alone--my first mistake.

I wandered to a corner food stand for some breakfast. I decided to ignore the fact that by American standards the place probably violated 83 health code provisions, and I got in line for foole. The man behind the counter looked at me in surprise and asked if I ate foole. I said yes, and he dished me a bowl with all the fixings. A man in line spoke some English and invited me to the upstairs cubby to join him.

I climbed the ladder to the dining room--about 8' by 8' at most filled with three small tables and benches. I joined the man and four others at a table, and they immediately dumped my bowl into a large collective bowl on the table. I proceeded to have the authentic foole experience of pinching bites of foole in pieces of pita bread and eating with my fingers. I had to force myself to eat with my right hand because of local norms--I quickly remembered after getting funny looks when I started eating left handed.

Anyhow, I ate my share, thanked the men for their hospitality, and started wandering the streets taking pictures. I wandered down the street past the US Embassy, which is surrounded my a mix of paved and sand covered streets. The security perimeter is loosely defined by a couple of checkpoints, and I wasn't really paying attention to what was embassy sand and what was public sand in the streets.

As I walked along, I looked down a street facing away from the embassy and it looked interesting so I took a picture and kept walking. I then heard some commotion behind me, and after a few seconds I turned to see three men with machine guns walking towards me. "This can't be good" was about the only thought going through my mind.

They asked who I was and what I was doing. I told them I was an American journalist and immediately presented my Sudanese press credential, thinking that the provision stating I could have a digital camera would ease tensions. It didn't.

They took me over to the embassy gate and called a guard from inside. He looked at my press card and my driver's license (remember, my passport is down the street with my fixer) and said that since I didn't have prior permission to take a picture that we had a problem. I apologized and offered to delete the picture and to never be seen hauling garbage around again, but he didn't go for it.

The guards (who were all Sudanese security employees of the US) hauled me into a little office across the street and talked with each other in hushed tones. Then, another man entered, and he was clearly a heavy. He asked me a couple of questions, talked with the other guards, and then led me down the alley to what I assumed was going to be the room where they were going to beat me to a pulp.

They took me to the back of the building to a room that I believe said "US Embassy Jail" in sloppy handwriting over the door. The room was about 10' x 15' with four single beds with dirty white sheets on them. There was also a desk and a refrigerator.

One guard sat on one of the beds while others came in and out. I made light conversation with them, apologizing, and explaining I didn't know I was standing in embassy property. They said everything would be OK once my passport arrived and they could verify my identity.

So I sat. I answered their questions and got to the point where I was about to ask if I could take a picture with the guard holding the machine gun.

Finally, after 45 minutes, my fixer arrived with my passport. The guards took it and the head guy disappeared for a while. After about 10 minutes he came back with another supervisor, and they took me back into the office. They had me sit and answer question for another 45 minutes.

Well, first the "main guy" had me write down on a piece of paper my name, address, passport info, and then all kinds of things like my parents' names, addresses, employers, and a slew of seemingly pointless details. They wrote down my physical description and what I was wearing. They took pictures of me.

Then, the boss came in, and he had no sense of humor. He asked me all the questions I had already answered and he kept explaining it was their process for security reasons, and he had to ask me all of this and fill out his forms. He explained that after the embassy bombings in Africa that security had become much tighter.

I endured this for close to two hours, and the whole time I was in custody being questioned, they never once searched me, nor did they look inside my bag I was carrying. I had my radio kit with me, which consists of a decent-sized tote bag full of strange looking electronic equipment and wires and adaptors and batteries, and all kinds of things that look dangerous.

So, as they kept telling me about security protocols and all this crap, I was sitting there with a bag that could have held enough explosives to take out a least a block. I was personally appalled and shocked that their protocols they kept reminding me they were following did not involve doing anything to see if I was a legitimate threat or carrying anything dangerous on embassy property.

Note to the State Department and the embassy staff, you might want to reevaluate your security protocols, and question the people you have hired.

This was a case of today's security culture where some bureaucrat writes out a procedure, and hired hands follow it to the letter without ever stopping to think about the circumstances and actually evaluate the situation. This kind of crap makes me feel less safe knowing that people are only looking for what they are told to look for and not thinking independently.

Anyhow, once it was all over, I shook hands with everyone, had a laugh and had my fixer take me back to my hotel so I could get some work done while the poor bastard went back to the passport office again to try to get my passport blessed... he mostly succeeded, but there was some catch and he had to go back the following morning to finish the process.
]]> Thu, 13 Dec 2007 20:45:37 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/ani218090512.html Thu, 29 Nov 2007 23:41:51 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/cxv218090439.html Thu, 29 Nov 2007 23:40:38 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/mho218089896.html Thu, 29 Nov 2007 23:31:35 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/jqy218089494.html If there is one word that sums up the experience of working in Sudan, it’s “Permission.” There’s no point mincing words, Sudan is a police state, and a horrible place to try to do journalism. The government gets in your way at every turn—and often has some interesting explanations why. The first challenge is getting into the country. Some journalists report that it took months or even years of waiting to get an entry visa. I got lucky and managed to get one after five days of making calls and sending emails. From what I’ve been told, things are opening up a little bit, but it still helps to have connections, and I was lucky to learn that a friend did a summer internship in Sudan, and that got me in the door. The second step is registering your passport once you get into the country. It took me three days to complete that process, partly because of mistakes I made, but largely because of the nature of Sudanese bureaucracy. Next, you need to secure a press card. This was actually the easiest step, and it took about 15 minutes to fill out the form and receive the card. The difficult step is the Darfur travel permit. Actually, difficult isn’t the right word, applying was very easy—I just had to fill out a one page form. Granted, I did have to come back a second time because I only had 4 passport photos with me, and they needed 5. The difficult part was waiting for the permit. The woman in the office told me that it would take three days, although others said it should only take two days. In my case I filed the application on Sunday morning, and received the permit on Thursday morning—coincidentally the day I was supposed to fly back to the US. Once I arrived in Darfur, I found out I needed approval from a local office in order to speak with people in the IDP camps. That office required an additional three copies of all of my documents before I could even talk to the administrator who would then decide whether to grant me permission. Ultimately, I ran out of time on the ground before I could complete that process and could only drive around an IDP camp and surreptitiously take pictures. There’s one other word that describes Sudan, and that is “Generosity.” Really, I should be charitable and say this is the first word to describe Sudan, but the permission issue was so pervasive, corrosive, and offensive, that it’s hard to hold my tongue on that issue. Anyhow, the Sudanese people are some of the most generous I have ever met—and the paradox of those having little being the mot giving is not lost on me. I had two “fixers” or assistants in Khartoum. I had not met or spoken with either one prior to my arrival in Khartoum. From the outset they both bent over backwards to accommodate me, and to make sure I was safe and had everything I needed. They bought me meals, took me to their homes, and largely put their lives on hold for a few days to tend to me. I can’t possibly express my gratitude to them, and I can’t stress enough how lost I would have been without them. I consider both of them friends at this point, and hope someday to be able to repay them. I don’t want to belabor the point, but they went way beyond the level of a normal fixer. They also demonstrated the best qualities of the Sudanese people—again, not just generosity, but also the value of personal relationships and networks. Of course, everyone knows that it’s not what you know, but who you know. These men had friends in every sector, and it was hard to go for more than a couple of blocks without them shaking hands with someone or saying hello to a friend. They had the ability to solve problems—and I certainly had a number of them while in Sudan… ]]> Thu, 29 Nov 2007 23:24:54 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/ilj218085392.html Thu, 29 Nov 2007 22:16:31 -0500 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/qqq215490909.html
Last Thursday I had the privilege of seeing one of my favorite musicians--Johnette Napolitano. For those of you who do not recognize the name, she was/is the lead singer of the band Concrete Blonde. For those of you who are not familiar with Concrete Blonde, 1) I'm sorry to hear that because you're missing out on some fantastic music, and 2) I'm not going to give you any more hints or information--try google.

Anyhow, she was performing at Jammin' Java, a funky little coffee house/music venue in Vienna, VA. I have to say that by my urban standards, it was a trek getting there. It required a metro ride out into the burbs followed by a short cab ride to the club.

I say Johnette in 1995 with her band Pretty and Twisted, and that was a full-on rock show. Loud, dark rock. This show was rather different. Johnette performed solo. Although she usually plays bass in her bands, this night she was playing acoustic guitar--and certainly did an adequate job, but for fans of the Blonde, it's a bit disappointing not to hear Jim Mankey's electric guitar pyrotechnics. Still, this show featured the other two critical elements of the Blonde--the songs and Johnette's voice.

She is still my favorite female singer. Her range of expression, power, delicacy, and ability to convey emotion are unparalleled in my book. The intimate setting, and the lack of other instruments allowed her to showcase her voice, and her soul.

She took the stage in a long red dress and with her brunette hair and dark eyes, she looked like a cross between Linda Blair and Janis Joplin--both very appropriate comparrisons for a variety of reasons. She performed a mix of Blonde songs, solo originals, a Pretty and Twisted tune, and a few covers, including an eerie and erotic version of "Ghost Riders in the Sky."
Johnette bantered in between songs--she talked politics, dogs, life in Joshua Tree, and went off on a few other rants. For me the highlights of the night were Concrete Blonde tunes "Sun", "I Don't Need a Hero", "Mexican Moon", and an a capella version of "Wendy". I will say that I was disappointed she didn't sing anything from the album "Group Therapy" which is the most powerful and personally meaningful CB album. I was also disappointed that she only performed for a little over an hour, but I guess that's an hour or so more than most attention spans today. What? Look at the birds...

After the show, I did an extremely rare thing (especially since I worked in the music business and am not a myrmidon by nature) and hung out backstage so I could say hello. After waiting for 45 minutes, I had a brief chance to chat and tell her that "Group Therapy" was one of the most important albums in my life.

Afterwards, a very nice couple from the area gave me a ride back to the metro station, and then I learned another hard lesson about DC--the metro shuts down earlier than the T in Boston. The last inbound train left Vienna at 11:25 pm, and I arrived at the station at 12:15, assuming I had 15 minutes to spare. Well, that lesson cost me a $45 cab ride home, but I still got to see Johnette...

Things get better everyday you stay alive then I'm amazed every day that the sun decides to rise every minute, every hour, is another chance to change life is beautiful & terrible & strange. ]]> Tue, 30 Oct 2007 22:35:09 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/ktv214884599.html Tue, 23 Oct 2007 22:09:59 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/ffs214536193.html Fri, 19 Oct 2007 21:23:13 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/ggb214175016.html
I handed the clerk my passport and told him I had a reservation. He and the other woman there looked around, and after a few minutes, found the slip. I offered a credit card, and they said no worry for now. They gave me my room key and tv remote and I got into one of the most primitive elevators I’ve seen. It wasn’t like a cool New York City one with the metal gate and the control lever that looks like something off a ship. It was, shall we say, more socialist looking. You opened the door manually, stepped in, and either closed the inner doors, or not. It didn’t matter as the elevated would go with the inner doors open, and you could watch each floor pass by until it stopped and you pushed open the outer door to exit. I wandered down the hall. The floor felt like my foot might fall through at any moment, and the trim looked like that junk that Sears sold everyone for the basements in the 1970s. I entered my room and it was as bad as I expected: better in some ways, and worse in others. But, it would do—it had a bed, something resembling a shower, and the door lock worked. I dropped my bags and went out walking around pedestrian street in the center of the city. Typical assortment of shops, cafes, vendors, and people doing what they do on Saturday afternoons. I found the stately Moskva hotel—a reputed haunt of journalists, politicos, and people who are at a minimum self-important. I had three Jelen Pivo beers and a calamari risotto. I called Ivan—my Kennedy School classmate and contact on the ground—and made plans for dinner and seeing some of the city after dinner. I made some more calls and sent text messages (relied on more here than even in the US) to set up appointments. I wandered back to my hotel and napped for about an hour, showered and got ready to go out. Ivan was running late so I walked back to the pedestrian street to kill time. There was some sort of carnival or little expo going on. There were stands promoted by one of the main banks in the city surrounding a small area where people were engaging in a variety of contests and activities. On one stand several kids frantically yanked away at rowing machines, while another kid in the center of the plaza shot free-throws. I saw a “bouncy house” thing, and then there was the giant trampoline and bungee-cord contraption where people could bounce a good 25 feet high and do flips. I have no idea what it was all about, but it was interesting nonetheless. I made my way back to the hotel and met up with Ivan. We drove to his place for a quick drink—Rakia, the Serbian brandy. From there we drove to Dacha for a traditional/tourist Serbian dinner. We had pear rakyi, a plate of cheeses and pates with various breads, and then a couple of different salted meat entrees. From there we went to Monument—another reputed hang out of politicos—but the place was pretty dead. Seems it’s more of a lunchtime haunt. After a beer we went to Absinthe—one of the trendier bars, modeled after a bar in NYC I’ve never seen. Ivan and Maria checked out early and I stayed for another hour to people watch and get a feel for life in the city. Around 1 am I left with the intention of taking a cab home, but when I got to the traffic circle with the taxi stand I looked up the street and saw a giant church on top of the hill. I decided to hike up for a closer look. I walked around the Cathedral of St Sava in the dark, and in the not-too distance, I heard The Doors (I was assuming it was a recording, not the actual band). I traced the source to a bar across the street and I wandered in. It was the smallest bar I’ve seen—about the floor space of a Manhattan studio apartment. I saddled up to the bar and ordered a beer and quickly fell into conversation with the locals there—who with one exception were all my age. I talked politics—Serbian, US, Russian, and European—with three people for about four hours. The main points that emerged were the frustration over the US involvement in the status of Kosovo, frustration of US foreign policy in general, a reluctant acceptance of Russian support in the Kosovo negotiations (people liked having an ally but had no trust of Russian motives), and a general sense of fatigue with all of it. Around 5 am the bartender fell asleep behind the bar, and that seemed to be the cue to leave. I was about to walk to the circle at the bottom of the hill to find a taxi, but one couple I had been speaking with invited me out for what we would call in the US, “late-night drunk food.” I obliged, figuring it would give me the opportunity to get some of their comments on tape. We drove through the city and ended up in some little plaza with a big food stand. They ordered me a chicken shawarma-like thing and of course another beer. We talked for a while, but they didn’t want to go on tape. Finally, they took me back to my hotel, and by 6:30 am I was asleep. ]]> Mon, 15 Oct 2007 17:03:36 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/yju212551576.html
I finally moved into my apartment. It was an ordeal, as moving usually is. I flew up to Boston on the evening of the 14th, spent a couple of hours packing and then went out to meet some Kennedy School folks at a party in Cambridge. I got home around 3 am and then got up at 9 to begin the moving adventure. Of course I started out the day with problems at U-Haul (which reminds me that I haven't complained to their management). They had my reservation, but didn't have the additional supplies I reserved--a couple of dollies and a hand cart. The manager made no attempt to solve the problem and was indignent when I requested that she have another U-Haul location deliver the accessories to me. Fortunately, I had a backup and my father brought a hand truck with him.

Loading the truck went pretty well thank to the help of a couple of former coworkers from WBUR. We finished a couple of hours later than I wanted to, but I can't really complain when people were willing to help me move for free. Reminds me of that great saying, "a friend will help you move, but a good friend will help you move a body."

Anyhow, I left Boston, stopped at my dad's house to pick up my cats, and hit the road to DC. I arrived at my girlfriend's apartment at 1:30 am, let the cat loose, and went to sleep.

Moving in went extremely well, especially considering the elevator was not working in my building. I hired a couple of professional movers to unload the truck and that was the best $300 I ever spent.

So, since then I have been unpacking, organizing, and otherwise harassing my landlord to fix a few lingering issues around the apartment. Still, it's a great place, and an ideal location. I can walk to work in 15-20 minutes depending on traffic lights; I can walk to Dupont Circle in under 10 minutes, and I'm about 5 minutes from U Street. So things are good there.

Last weekend I hit a couple of Nationals games. Friday night I took my brother-in-law to the game, and I had my first RFK Stadium experience. I'll just say that it reminded me of a high school hockey rink in terms of construction and amenities.

Saturday I spent the first half of the day organizing my apartment to be presentable for my first house guest--my 11-year-old nephew. While I figured his standards would be lower than a "typical" guest, I think he was disappointed that the place wasn't bigger. Someday he'll appreciate that an 800 sq ft apartment in the Dupont area is a pretty impressive thing--especially on a public radio budget.

Anyhow, I took him out kayaking on the Potomac at dusk and tried to convince him there were crocodiles in the river. I'm not sure if he believed me or if he was just humoring me, but he played along regardless.

Afterwards we had dinner at Tony & Joe's in Georgetown. He sucked down raw oysters, fried calamari, and Alaskan king crab legs. Of course he had the vanilla bean ice cream for dessert.

After that it was back to the apartment to watch The Holy Grail. I figured it was safe for an 11-year old. I thought he was dozing off through most of it, but I spoke with my sister tonight and she said he pretty much memorized the whole movie. Good to know he has the "movie memorization gene."

Sunday we got up and went back to RFK for the final baseball game there. The Nationals actually won and it was an exciting game. Although I think that Connor's interest in going to baseball games is seeing how much junk food $20 will buy. I was amazed how far it went myself, but I guess if you aren't buying beer then $20 will get you a lot more food.

The rest of the day consisted of shopping at Target with my girlfriend, putting together her desk, helping her with math homework, and having a fascinating conversation with a Humphrey Fellow from Georgia (the country).

Tonight I played my first softball game in DC. It was on the Mall at 15th and Constitution--essentially in the shadow of the Washington Monument. Beautiful setting. Granted I was 15 minutes late and only got to bat once (and it was one of the worst of my softball career--one pitch, one swing, and a popup to the catcher), but at least my fielding was solid.

After the game I went for a jog along the Mall. I started out heading west and ended up at the Lincoln Memorial. Since I didn't want to stop and wait for the light so I could cross the street, I kept running and ended up crossing the bridge into Virginia. I ran around the rotary and came back across the bridge. As soon as I turned east, I saw the most stunning sight--a big, bright orange Harvest Moon hovering next to the Washington Monument. It was not only beautiful, but also a primal site. It easily could have been a scene from Egypt hundreds of years BC.

I proceeded to jog past the Lincoln Memorial, through the WWII Memorial and back Independence Ave towards the Monument. All the while the full moon hovered above. It spoke to me on a very deep level, and confirmed that I am "home."

DC is the right fit for me in just about every respect. The big exception is driving around here. It astonishes me how slow people are, and how screwy the traffic light can be. If you get out of sync with the lights, you can drive for a mile or more and stop every block at a red light. Add to that the fact that there are no streets through the heart of the city that bypass local traffic, and it can be purely maddening to drive around here. I really can't think of anywhere I've driven where I have been so constantly irritated while driving. Yes, I know that many people who know me will say that I am constantly irritated driving around Boston, and it's a fair take, but it's so much worse here. I need to readjust my perspective and accept that it takes 10% more time than it should to drive the equivalent distance in Boston. I'll get used to it eventually.

Anyhow, that's my latest, and completely uninspiring ramble from my new Ikea chair in my living room. I feel like I should have an Ikea endorsement by now given the time and money I've spent there in the last couple of weeks. Anyhow, until next time...
]]> Wed, 26 Sep 2007 22:06:16 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/hlh211176805.html
Did more "adventuring" over the weekend. Went to Havana Village on Friday night for a salsa lesson and some Cuban food. Both the tostones and maduros were excellent. The chicken dish was spectacular. Dancing was a bit crowded for a lesson, but still fun. Mojitos were on the sweet side, but above average.

Saturday I ran my first 5k "race". It was the Arlington, VA Sheriff Dept's 9/11 memorial 5k. I haven't exactly trained for race conditions, but I finished ahead of my goal. I'll leave it at that.

Sunday caught the Red Sox at Camden Yards. It was a pitcher's duel for the most part, and another opportunity to try to explain the rules of baseball to a non-American who had never even watched a baseball game before. You realize how complicated baseball is when you try to explain the rules of the game to someone who did not grow up with the sport. Fortunately there wasn't an infield fly situation, or we'd still be at the park trying to sort it out.

]]> Tue, 11 Sep 2007 00:13:25 -0400 http://www.seancarberry.com/blog/bgf210483781.html
Anyhow, it's more of a case of the technology existing, so why not do something with it...

I've now been in DC for a month. I started my new job at America Abroad Media on August 6. This is the first time I have "permanently" moved outside of Boston. I went to college in Bethlehem, PA, and that certainly wasn't going to be my home. I did six months in LA back in 1996, and that was a feeble attempt to "make it" in the music business. And, last summer I spent two months working in Dubai, but I knew that was a short-term gig before I started.

So, I finally took off the training wheels and dove into a new city for a new adventure. Plenty of motivation behind that, but no need to go there. Let's just say that at the end of the day, it was time to embark on a new adventure, and I found the ideal job opportunity for this point in my career.

After a month of apartment sitting, I finally signed a lease--I move in on September 15. The rental market is brutal here. Granted, I was pretty picky about my location and what I want in an apartment, and I finally found one that was well above my budget, but I can learn to love $6 wine from Trader Joe's in order to afford the rent. Can't really beat the location. 15-minute walk to work; 6-8-minute walk to Dupont Circle, and a 4-minute walk to U Street. Plus, I'm a couple of blocks from a Whole Foods, so I'm pretty much set.

Anyhow... here are some of the highlights of my time here so far, and a few random thoughts about my new life in the district.

Things here are definitely on a different pace. Everything is slower here, and considering I sometimes felt Boston was slow, that means I'm struggling to adjust to a very different pace. Granted, in my work things are pretty peppy, but everywhere else around town, the tempo is several BPM behind where I operate. Certainly the summer heat is an explanation. Who wants to move quickly in 90 degree weather with dripping humidity? This brings up an important detail. Things worked out that I had to start working in the beginning of August--the worst month in DC. Last August I was in Boston, and for many reasons it was the best August I ever experienced. This August... a bit of a change. The weather was pretty nasty, and I was getting used to a new life.

I did find a pretty cool jogging route around the Mall. This was a function of my apartment sitting gig on Capitol Hill. I'm not sure what I'm going to do when I move into my apartment--I'll be surrounded by urban life on all sides and won't have clear access to anything like the Mall or my Charles River route in Boston.

Driving here is slow. Not much risk of speeding tickets since no one seems to speed, and traffic lights are so poorly timed (from a driver's standpoint) that is seems rare to go more than one block without having to stop.

Favorite places so far: Cafe Citron, Sushi Go Round, Jaleo, Zaytinya, Kramer Books, any place on the water in Georgetown, and I have to say I like the Hawk and Dove--especially because they have Reyka vodka.

Memorable moments: The Brazilian dancer on the bar at Cafe Citron, kayaking on the Potomac with a Syrian journalist who was dressed in bebe gear and looking like she was going out on Newbury Street or to a Beirut night club, seeing Alison Krauss at the Merriweather Pavillion in MD, jogging around the Mall in the evening, attending the welcome party for the Humphrey Fellows at UMD in the apartment downstairs from the one I've been sitting, signing a lease!

Anyhow, much more to come, but I at least wanted to prime the pump and also set the bar low so future entries will seem far more compelling.]]> Sun, 02 Sep 2007 23:43:00 -0400