Sumeet Jain

How My Mom Taught Me to Make Websites

2012-05-29T00:00:00+00:00

I learned to build websites when I was primary school age. Like many of a child’s hobbies, my interest in web design peaked about five minutes after my first victory and hit a low about five seconds after my first failure. My hobby graveyard was full of such corpses: calligraphy, pogs, BMX biking, poetry, Abraham Lincoln, etc. Web design was on the verge of joining that cast. Then Mom stepped in.

Even though she didn’t have a technical background, she could see that knowing how to build websites was more than a hobby. It could be a viable career skill. She also didn’t need to be a technologist to know that whatever I had taught myself so far barely scratched the surface. That meant there was lots of additional value to be gained from the hobby, but it also meant that there would be many more little victories to keep me motivated. Her challenge was to keep me active in the hobby so I could encounter enough victories to develop a genuine passion for it.

People are motivated by different things at different times in their life. As a kid, I knew only enough about money to know that it was glorious for some reason. Mom told me that I could earn $1,000 over the summer if I wanted to. That got my attention. A thousand glories sounded great.

It was a slow process. She handed me the Better Business Bureau catalog and told me to start cold-calling local businesses. My opening line was, “Hello. I’m a young web designer, and I’d like to build a website for your business for free.” Eventually someone took me up on the offer. I made a basic company website with FrontPage and uploaded it to Tripod’s free hosting service. I think I did one or two more free sites that summer.

I wasn’t thinking, “Where’s my money?”. I was having fun playing with new tools. Sometimes I’d accidentally screw up a setting on the computer, and I’d call Dell Customer Support to get help fixing it. I owe Dell’s phone staff a huge thanks for their patience. Dell technicians were the first people to teach me about FTP, defragging, ‘ipconfig’, GIMP, and so much more that went beyond the scope of customer support¹.

I was working my way through the “G”s in the BBB catalogue when a local business called actually called me. The owner of Miramar Flooring was friends with the owner of one of the businesses for which I’d built a free website. He asked if I would build him a website. It sounded more complicated than the other websites, so Mom talked to him to learn the details.

We visited his store and took pictures of the carpet and flooring samples, and he sent me some content for pages. I struggled a lot with the project. The design (which was a template from Macromedia Fireworks) was more ambitious than the previous designs, and it was my first encounter with fancy effects like link rollovers. I finished the website eventually, and the client was happy. He paid me $800 for the website (Mom negotiated the terms).

Fast-forward to today: I’ve built a solid career around making websites. My job lets me do all the fun things I want, and often my job is the fun thing I want to do. I’m so grateful that I had someone to push me harder than I was willing to push myself. Mom’s support was precisely executed, and it came at such timely moments.

You do not have to be a parent to support someone. More boldly, you do not have to be a parent to push someone beyond their comfort zone. Whom do you support? Whom do you push harder than they push themselves? Who fills that role for you? We need to inject ourselves into the lives of those around us. Too often we build fences with no doors around ourselves and others, so we end up interacting from a distance.

Technical support at large companies today is run differently than it was when I was a kid. I wonder if they would be as generously helpful to a child today. It’d be cool to build a general technical support staff that only accepts calls from kids. I know some parents who might pay for something like that. ↩

Big Wheel Brigade

2011-08-13T00:00:00+00:00

Photo by Laughing Squid

After arriving in Omaha (again), my uncle/cousin Rahul and I completed a conversation we had started several weeks earlier about doing business together. The long and short of it is that we are going to make products for personal profit and also to contribute revenues to causes we care about. Our company is going to be called Big Wheel Brigade¹.

Related to this decision, I’m moving to Omaha. I’ve found an apartment (I’ve exhausted every possible joke about how cheap rent is compared to San Francisco, so this is the last I’ll mention the subject.) in the hip Dundee neighborhood - I move in September 15.

Recovery

Big Wheel Brigade was born just after I arrived in Omaha after the snakebite. For 2 weeks after that I lay in bed - hopping to and from meals on one foot. Then I took my first step on the snakebitten foot - it felt okay! But it was still stiff and weak, so I decided to walk sparingly. For another week, I worked my way up from hopping-and-walking to walking-with-a-limp.

I finally felt healthy enough to make the drive back to California for Rakhi and to collect my things for the move to Omaha. But first I would detour to Chicago to visit some friends and family.

Saturday, August 6 - Chicago

Aniruddh and Rebecca taught me how to make pizza. In the beginning, I had trouble kneading my dough into a disc. Aniruddh stepped in to show me how it’s done, but he couldn’t reverse the damage. By that point, neither he nor I wanted to claim credit for the goopy mound in front of us:

I complained some more about how hard making pizza is and asked impatiently when we get to throw it in the air. Rebecca informed me that their pizza instructor (from New York!) had taught them not to throw, because - though it’s fun - pizza comes out better when it’s flattened by hand. I stored that trivia away for another time (Perhaps some day I can impress a foodie dame with my purist pizza philosophy.) and told her flatly that nothing would stand between me and throwing pizza in the air.

At last, great success was had!

After visiting Neeru Masiji and Manish Masarji in Naperville, it was time for me to go home to California.

Tuesday, August 9 - Not Quite Homeward Bound

The drive didn’t last long. I was (and am) experiencing a surge of freelance work. I quickly discovered that the looming deadlines make a lengthy drive impossible to enjoy. So I stopped just hours out of Chicago - in Des Moines, Iowa - to do some work and rethink my travel plans². It’s now four days later, and I’m still in Des Moines. Little did I know when I stopped here that the center of the universe was about to fall down in Iowa.

None of the things that have happened during my stay here were anomalies. I’m just out of touch with politics, so I hadn’t considered the impact of the 2012 Presidential Campaign Season: The day after I arrived in Des Moines, Sarah Palin rolled into town with her posse; the Republican Party’s Presidential candidates held their FOX-televised debate in a neighboring city; the Iowa State Fair held its Opening Day; Jon Stewart opened his show with a lengthy segment about the debates and the Fair, and Stephen Colbert launched his second Super PAC commercial and spent 10 minutes admonishing local news channel WOI-DT for not airing it.

I experienced most of these events with my AirBNB hosts - Cat Rocketship, Scott Kubie, and Darby Shannon. Darby happened to be my barista at the coffee shop where I’d been working since arriving in Des Moines. Cat Rocketship and Scott Kubie happened to be friends with the Omaha tech community; they know Rahul - my Big Wheel Brigade partner. I’m constantly amazed by the prevalence of coincidence during my travels.

Friday, August 12 - Iowa State Fair

In the evening Cat, Scott, Darby, some of their friends, and I went to the Iowa State Fair together. The experience began with parking, which there wasn’t. This is a deliberate limitation that is embraced by the residents of the neighborhoods surrounding the fairgrounds. Visitors to the fair pay the residents to park on their lawns. Scott told me they make enough to cover their property taxes each year.

After parking, we walked a short distance to the fair entrance. It was “East Side Night”, which Cat explained is the night when all the city’s “rednecks” flock to the fair. I honestly couldn’t tell. The fairgrounds were packed to the edges with fun-loving folks eating and drinking to their heart’s content (and - I’m sure - eventual demise).

Photo by Iowa State Fair

I will never be able to eat like a Midwesterner. I entered the fair with every intention of chowing on some fried butter, fried ice cream, fried vegetables, fried cheese, doughnuts, turkey leg, pork loin, corn dog, and beer. But the fair did defeat me. In fact, I nearly filled my stomach on the smell alone. Walking through the crowd and alleys of food stalls, I actually began to feel nourished (or at least satiated). When it was finally time to eat, I couldn’t handle more than tastes of a few fried delights. I will forever live with the regret of not having tried fried butter. I still don’t understand what that is.

We are both freelance web developers with active clienteles that we care about, so our day-jobs aren’t changing. Big Wheel Brigade is going to be an important part of our lives, and we’re going to spend a lot of time working on its projects. But - for now - it’s a part-time endeavor with potential for growth. ↩
If you’re curious, the revised travel plan is to drive only as far west as Omaha. Then I’ll then fly back to California and celebrate Rakhi. And I’ll fly back to Omaha in September - bringing back the few things that aren’t already in my car. ↩

Omaha Loop

2011-07-19T00:00:00+00:00

Thursday, July 7

I left for Omaha early in the morning. Watching the sun rise during a long-distance drive will always be one of my favorite kinds of experience.

For about 4 hours, I enjoyed such scenes as the above as I drove through various Colorado state highways. Once I reached Cheyenne in Wyoming, I had about 8 hours of boring interstate to look forward to. Not a problem though - that’s what audiobooks and singing loudly to pop music are for.

I spent a week in Omaha, where I had an experience that was essentially equivalent to the first time - but also unique its own way. I really do love visiting Omaha and spending time with my family there. The time passed too quickly.

My next destination was St. Louis.

Thursday, July 14

As usual, I began my drive very early. Much of the direct route from Omaha to St. Louis follows the Missouri River, which had flooded recently. There were indications that the flooding had affected traffic on I-29, which would have been the quickest path; so I took some detours through smaller highways in Iowa and Missouri instead. Staying off of the major interstate resulted in a more interesting landscape during the drive, but it also increased the amount of attention I needed to pay to directions. I think it was worth it. I did make sure to keep my gas tank full, though.

I checked into the Huck Finn Hostel in St. Louis around 6pm and then found a coffee shop to get some work done. After dinner, I met some locals at Square One Brewery. They were kind and eager to know about me. As much as I tried to move the conversation to other things, all they wanted to know about was India. They were very careful not to offend me - asking repeatedly for the correct term to use for things. “Is Indian offensive? Do you prefer to be called Hindi?”

Friday, July 15

The Gateway Arch is the tallest man-made monument in the country. It’s a steel monument near the riverfront in St. Louis downtown, and it is worth seeing.

Photo by SkylineScenes

What’s unusual about the Arch is that it’s most impressive from a distance. Up close, it’s a large, steel arch. Big deal. But from a few blocks away, you can’t help but stare. It’s so unusual. It looks like an alien spacecraft landed in the middle of a city.

Distracted

I should confess that the previous evening and this day in St. Louis were enjoyable but not ideal. I was distracted by the thoughts surrounding an important career (and therefore lifestyle) decision¹. Sometimes it’s nice to walk around a new city while mulling things over in your mind. But in this case, the decision was consuming enough that the city was just a distraction. So I left.

Saturday, July 16

I enjoyed clarity of thought on my drive to Hawn State Park - about 90 minutes from St. Louis. I would think, camp, cook simple meals, and return with a decision made.

I arrived in the afternoon, chose a marked campsite near the water, and took a walk around the creek. Then I made dinner, cleaned up, and settled in for a night’s rest.

The noise was deafening. As the day faded out, every creature in the woods seemed to come alive. Croaking, snapping, scratching, chirping, singing. The cacophony built over the course of an hour. I can only guess when it peaked, since I wasn’t there for the finale…

Snakebit

Dark had fallen. Amid the heavy noises of the night, I emerged from my tent to use the bathroom. The path back to my tent was lit sporadically by my headlamp. I didn’t see the slithering creature beneath my feet, but it saw me.

A rapid motion. Intense pain.

0.0 - 0.4 Seconds:

I jumped up and away from the source of the pain. It was immediately obvious that I’d been bitten by a snake. I’d seen the shape of the creature. I wanted to be elsewhere right now. My heart rate rose dramatically.

0.4 - 0.9 Seconds:

Gripped by fear and pain, I yelled some very bad words very loudly.

0.9 - 1.0 Seconds:

I felt bad for any nearby families who heard my outburst.

1.0 - 1.3 Seconds:

Forget the families. I just got snakebit. Find help. Relax yourself - venom spreads faster when you panic.

I found three college kids at a nearby campsite and hopped over to them. “Hey guys, I just got bit by a snake. Do any of you know much about snakes?” They stared blankly at me from their seats. One shook his head. “Can you please get the camp supervisor? He might know a thing or two.” One of them replied: “Dude, I don’t think there is one.”

I regretted my choice of helpers. “Yes there is. He’s the guy you paid when you entered the park - he stays at the first campsite by the entrance. Let’s just go there together - get your car please.” They complied, and we drove to the camp supervisor’s site. During the brief ride, I glanced at my ankle where I’d been bitten. Two drops of blood indicated the fang marks where I’d been bitten. Fear began to rise in me again, so I resumed deep breathing exercises to keep my heart rate down.

The camp supervisor asked me what kind of snake it was. “I don’t know.” I felt stupid for panicking in the beginning. I should have had the presence of mind to get a look at the snake.

The camp supervisor explained to my helpers where the nearest emergency room was. They drove me to Farmington (Farmington!), where the nurses took over my care. I thanked my helpers and told them they could leave - I was going to be here for a while.

My nurse gave me a wonderful drug called demerol. It made me feel very, very good. I might have made romantic advances towards the nurse in my stupor. I don’t remember. Everyone wanted to know what kind of snake had bit me. I wished I knew.

I spent three nights in the hospital. Since my heart was still beating and I wasn’t paralyzed, vomiting, or screaming, it was decided that my snake had been a Copperhead. Venomous but not really anything to be worried about. My foot and some of my leg swelled up - a lot. After the third night, I asked to be released. Farmington’s hospital didn’t have wifi (Surprised?), and I was going mad.

I informed the doctor that I would drive to my nearest family. “Where is that?”, he asked. It was back in Omaha - 10 hours away. He was surprised but recovered quickly. After checking me over once more to make sure I would be okay for the drive, he left the room to “get some stuff”. I waited. Twenty minutes later, he entered the room with a garbage-size bag full of snacks and bottled water! And he had the nurses prep two ice packs to keep my foot cool during the drive. Farmington, you’re A-OK in my book.

The nurse wheeled me down to my car (which another Farmington resident had picked up from the campsite for me!) and got me settled in. I couldn’t walk yet, but I could hop around easily enough.

I blasted the AC and began my drive. Straight to Omaha with one stop for gas, which was an awkward experience since I had to hop around the gas station and bathroom. I was back in Omaha by 10pm - greeted by loving family. My aunt hugged me gently and asked repeatedly what she could do for me. My uncle gave me a beer and couldn’t stop laughing at my puffy foot.

More on the decision in a future entry. ↩

The Colorado Rockies

2011-07-13T00:00:00+00:00

Saturday, July 2

From Salt Lake City, my drive to Colorado began at 3am. I wound through Emigration Canyon in darkness and silence, finally passing into Wyoming just as the morning’s first glow and sounds arrived. At Laramie, I took US-287 to enter Colorado. As it had in Texas back in December, the familiar highway provided beautiful vistas - this time the landscape looked like Jurassic Park.

About 50 miles into US-287, I began to feel nervous about fuel. There had been no “Next Services: 100 Miles” sign, so I had (stupidly) passed by gas stations an hour before and now I was in a very rural part of Colorado with nothing but dregs in the tank. I had no cellular service, so I couldn’t look up when the next gas station would show. The not-knowing was what made me nervous. I have an iPhone, so I’m not used to not-knowing things.

I had been coasting carefully for some time when I eyed a maintenance truck stopped by the next exit. I decided to stop and ask if he had a gas can. He did not. “Where is the next gas station?” “Around 40 miles further.” Damn. He seemed kind, so I asked him to remember my car. If he saw it parked by the side of the road on his way back into town, would he please give me a ride so I could get some fuel. He agreed, and I continued my slow roll towards the oil oasis.

About 10 minutes later - cars honking in annoyance behind me - I saw a fuel icon on the upcoming exit sign. Excited, I took the exit and parked at the old-fashioned fuel pump. It didn’t take credit card, so I walked to the office to pay in person. The office was closed. I went across the street to the tiny post office to ask when the gas station would open again. “Never. That station’s been out of service for years now.” I was annoyed but not too worried. At least I knew how far away the gas station was and that I would be picked up if I ran empty. So I set out again.

After what seemed like an eternity, I spotted a Chevron. It was teeming with cars thirstily drinking up. I filled up and was on my way out when the maintenance truck from before turned into the Chevron. Its driver and I exchanged friendly waves, and then I pulled onto the highway. My phone vibrated - I had a voicemail waiting. Cellular service was back! Once again, I was wrapped in the warm comfort of a full tank of gas and a usable iPhone. Superman would feel less secure than I did at that moment.

Rocky Mountain National Park

After picking up some groceries, I drove to the campground where I would be meeting some friends. I arrived earlier than them, so I set up camp and took a nap.

After they arrived, we built a fire and made dinner. We would build many fires over the next three days - each time with such ease that I foolishly began to think of myself as a skilled outdoorsman. Trying to build a fire during our fourth night at Strawberry Park Hot Springs, where the wood was thin, wet, and not store-bought would return my humility to me. More on the hot springs later. First, here is a pictorial summary of the first three days of camping:

Cooked our meals on fire.

Hiked to Cub Lake.

Deer trespassed in our campsite.

Rode horseback.

Tuesday, July 5

On the fourth day of our trip, we drove a few hours to Strawberry Park Hot Springs - naturally heated pools embedded in the lush Routt National Forest.

In the daytime, the pools look like a small, boring children’s water park. There are no rides or slides, and the water is too hot for children (or adults) to stay inside for very long. But after dark, the pools are closed to all visitors besides those camping overnight (which we were) and clothing becomes optional. The result is that the pools are nearly unoccupied by 10pm. They are also entirely unlit - both out of respect for the nude and as a profound courtesy for everyone else.

We hiked from our campsites to the pools around 11pm. We couldn’t see anything, and we didn’t know the layout of the area well enough to walk blindly to the water’s edge - it would be very painful to accidentally fall into the hottest of the pools. So we walked close-together and nervously - only using our headlamps when absolutely necessary. Finally we reached the medium-temperature pool and stepped into the blissful water. We let ourselves soak for an hour, while we gazed at the magnificent night sky.

Photo by Kao Wen Sheng

“How do you feel?”
“Amazing. Like I could write an entire book right now.”
“What about?”
“Just empty pages, but it would be brilliant.”

We took another dip early the next morning, had a simple breakfast, and then went our separate ways. The rest of the group went on to Boulder. I spent a day working from a local coffee shop, camped another night (not at the hot springs but nearby), and then left for Omaha, Nebraska.

Around America (Part 2)

2011-07-11T00:00:00+00:00

Recap

Back in October 2010, I began a trip around the USA. I visited several cities by train and eventually drove home from the east coast.

I kept a not-at-all comprehensive journal of the trip. Its last entry in late December puts me in New Orleans on the way back home. After spending a day in New Orleans (“B” on the map below), I continued my return drive through Houston, Austin, Flagstaff, Joshua Tree, and Santa Monica.

The drive home.

In Houston and Austin, I picked up two passengers whom I’d met on an online forum. They were college students interested in visiting San Francisco for their Winter Break. Together, we drove straight through beautiful Texas highways¹, sleepy New Mexico, and storm-ridden Arizona². We finally stopped in Joshua Tree, where we camped for a night at Indian Cove.

Indian Cove at Sunrise

Climbing back down some boulders.

The next day (Thursday, December 23), we left Joshua Tree for Santa Monica. I had never been to Joshua Tree before, so going there did not feel like returning home. Rather, it felt like yet another new place in my travels. The Pacific Ocean was my real homecoming.

Photo by jaredé.

The drive from Santa Monica to San Francisco felt short. Before I knew it I was home with family just one day before Christmas Eve. It was a joyous holiday.

Over the next few months, I stayed at home to build a small web consulting business, learn to garden, and meditate on some new thoughts related to Hindu philosophy.

On the Road Again

Thursday, June 30, 2011

I left home again at 6am. Salt Lake City would be a 12-hour straight shot from Fremont, where I had been living for the past few months. This part of my trip would differ from the first in two significant ways:

I’m driving instead of taking trains. The drive home from Charleston back in December convinced me that driving is the way to go. It’s “lower to the ground”, the perspective is straight-ahead instead of out a side window, and the food is better.
I’m not unemployed. I quit my job before starting the first part of the trip. I thought I would learn technologies and code more with all the new free time. It did not turn out that way. This time around, I have clients for whom I need to meet deadlines. The enforced breaks to get work done will - I think - be useful.

Driving to Salt Lake City was truly a gift. Through California and Nevada, the scenery was the same as when I took the train. But the train had passed through Utah during the night, so I was not able to see anything at the time. Now - driving myself through during the daytime - I saw Utah for the entrancing landscape that it is.

Salt Flats (Photo by p.folk)

Salt flats - like the ones in Utah - are created when wind moves thin layers of water from the Winter months around huge expanses of land. The water evaporates in the arid Summer, leaving behind hard minerals. The result is a flat, hard surface covered in salt. In addition to serving as the subject of stunning photos, it’s also where scientists take cars to set worldwide land-speed records. Like driving on the moon really, really fast…

Not all of Utah is a wintery salt land. Much of it is a more traditional desert. But the evaporating water creates such wide mirages that distant mountains look like they’re floating islands in a sea of vapor.

Photo by chicadecasa

I reached Salt Lake City by evening. The campground I tried was not yet open, so I checked into a hostel. I ate a meal at Bayou, where the would-be Cajun food was unfortunately over-spiced and under-loved. Afterwards, I walked to The Republican Bar for a drink or six. There I met interesting people - like Cockroach, a compassionate vagabond who had spent the early ’90s panhandling in the streets of San Francisco. Cockroach was sure of the truth of reincarnation, because he knew the identity of his previous body (He showed me the person’s picture on his phone - I think it was Mark Twain).

I met other people, too - though they were unfortunately not as interesting as Cockroach. Most of them said they worked at various coffee shops in the city. I confirmed this fact the next morning, when I walked into a random coffee shop to do a day’s work. Lo and behold, two of them worked at this very place! Minutes later, my waitress from Bayou the previous night sat down at the table next to me! Just a small-city coincidence? Or a hint at the veracity of Cockroach’s philosophy? Make of it what you will.

Our path to I-40 was US-287 on which we had the pleasure of driving into the sunset. ↩
One stretch of the freeway in a non-stormy part of Arizona was so smooth that it felt like our vehicle was flying through the air. There was no sensation of tires on road or even G-force from turns. The only indication that we were not literally flying through the air to our deaths was the curving road in the glow of our headlights in front of us. ↩

In a Moment

2011-06-03T00:00:00+00:00

I’m participating in the Trust30 Challenge, where I’m given a prompt to write about each day for 30 days. Here’s the first prompt, followed by my reaction. Forgive the unpolished writing - it’s a bit outside my comfort zone.

We are afraid of truth, afraid of fortune, afraid of death, and afraid of each other. Our age yields no great and perfect persons. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

You just discovered you have fifteen minutes to live.

Set a timer for fifteen minutes.

Write the story that has to be written.

Once upon a time, I forgot to live freely. I remembered much later. I freed myself from unwanted battles - like the one against the system. I am not obligated.

When I no longer walked the soldier’s path, I found new treasures of which the brightest were moments. I searched for years to find my first moment. I finally found it in the depths of a forest, where I stood breathless from my trek and pointed my face at the heavens. Worldly splendor washed away my perception of time. I was at peace in my first moment.

After that, I lived for moments. But I did not search for them. My first moment had shown me the futility of time, and there is no search without time. A free man, I found a free woman and made free children. I worked freely and taught my children to do the same. Together we lived for moments and shared them with our loved ones.

Then one day, a man said the world was about to end. He couldn’t believe we hadn’t heard. Still in disbelief, the man began to explain our imminent downfall. But then the ground lurched violently, and a cosmic surge freed everyone in a moment.

Pursuing Good

2011-05-14T00:00:00+00:00

I want to talk about piracy. It makes me furious that so many people in my generation have such little regard for other people’s creations. Where has respect for hard work gone? Surely the thieving members of my cohort can appreciate that someone’s life is inside the words, notes, and scenes of the files which are so easily added to their favorite peer-to-peer application… Right?

I don’t know. Maybe I’m just a dork who takes things too seriously - but I doubt it. Rather, I think that widespread theft is just a symptom of the much greater problem that people don’t make things anymore. When we make things, we gain a love for processes. We grow patient. We start to respect patience. But patience isn’t much of a virtue anymore - it’s largely been replaced by achievement. Desire for achievement without respect for patience is a dangerous thing. It’s the fundamental flaw of most villains in the stories we cherish.

Everyone is too wrapped up in their self-inflicted stresses to give a second thought to the fact that they’ve stopped caring about being good. There was a time - not long ago - when we aspired to be good. It was such a simple pursuit. What happened?

Perhaps you’re reading this and thinking, “This guy doesn’t understand. We’re not stealing from artists - we’re stealing from publishing companies, who are all assholes anyway.” But I beg you to be more honest with yourself. Admit to yourself that you don’t really care about the ethics of record companies and the legal details of contracts between artists and distributors. Admit to yourself that you just want more than you’re willing to work to achieve.

It’s good to have less than you want. Limitations help us value what we have. Valuing what we have helps us empathize with those who have less than we do. Empathy for the less fortunate among us encourages us to be more compassionate. It’s good to be compassionate. Can’t we make room in our minds for atheism, capitalism, and compassion? Surely there is space for all that and more.

Reject the temptation to write me off as yet another 20-something who decided to become a preacher on his blog. I’m more like you than you think. I see the way the world is headed - just like you. And I like it - just like you. But I have some fears, and shouting out to the cosmos makes me feel a little bit better. The cosmos are for shouting out to, after all.

When I’m in the company of loved ones, I’ll tell them the same things I’ve typed here - but in a softer voice. If you don’t respond well to shouting, come visit me. Let’s talk about this like people do. Let’s talk about how great the future is going to be - and how much greater it will be if we keep pursing good, too.

Little Wisdom #25

2011-02-23T00:00:00+00:00

Leadership is persuasion of outlook.

Quote #14

2011-02-16T00:00:00+00:00

“Humans keep running races even though cars and trains have been faster than us for more than a century.”

Ken Jennings when asked about the future replacement of humans with intelligent robots.

Little Wisdom #24

2011-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

Start early, put on real clothes, define tasks, get cracking.

lovskogen

Going Home

2011-01-24T00:00:00+00:00

Saturday, December 18th

Excitement kept me awake during the night, so around 6am on December 18th, I called a cab and went back to the beach where I’d watched the meteor shower some days before. It had been raining, and the forecast called for more rain. But I wanted to see a sunrise on the east coast (to bookend the many sunsets I’d seen on the west coast) before heading home. It was unlikely to be viewable with the cloudy sky, but I didn’t have anything to lose (and I was awake anyway).

As it turned out, the forecast was correct and no sunrise was visible. Oh well. The hours on Folly Beach that morning were beautiful all the same. The past week had been full of quiet excitement. Charleston had cemented itself in my memory with its engaging history, kind people, delicious food, and beautiful sights. I could not have asked for a better stage for my various inner dialogues.

The plan now was to pick up a rental car, get some sleep back at the hostel, and then head home to California. But when I sat in the driver’s seat of a shiny 2011 GMC Acadia and my hands gripped the steering wheel, adrenaline pumped into my system, and I took off for California right away.

I drove into the night and approached New Orleans just after midnight. Driving is freedom. Trains weren’t taking me anywhere - I was taking myself wherever I wanted. When I looked down the long road ahead of me, the seed of this thought planted itself in my soul and grew all throughout the drive. As each mile passed, that thought breathed evermore life into me and kept me in a state of focused joy.

When it’s nighttime, the road between cities might as well be anywhere. Nothing but fields and small towns for miles and miles. I couldn’t see anything except the bright glow of my car’s headlights and the reflectors indicating my lane. An occasional car passed me, and there were exits every few dozen miles; but aside from this the scenery was a beautiful darkness. I opened the car’s moonroof and stole glances at the full sky above me.

Once, while driving along one of these empty stretches of road, a brilliant set of lights emerged from the darkness in the distance. It moved fast, and the lights were organized in large shapes with a couple extra-bright ones on the front. I entertained the most absurd thoughts before realizing it was an 18-wheeler truck crossing an overpass ahead. With no light around, the overpass had been invisible to me. It had looked like the truck was flying.

Photo from US Dept. of Labor

The darkness would play more tricks on me. For 45 miles before reaching New Orleans, I drove along I-10 through swamp and lake and saw that the roadside was littered with strangely-shaped, leathery objects. Crocodiles. I was driving through crocodile-infested roads. Were they going somewhere? Was I supposed to do something? I only had a half-second to consider answers to these questions before realizing that the objects were just shredded tires.

Tired but enthused, I finally parked in front of India House - the same hostel I’d stayed at during my weeklong visit a month before. I would rest here before continuing the drive.

On the "Chinese Mothers" Controversy

2011-01-10T00:00:00+00:00

The talk of the town for the past couple days has been an excerpt from Amy Chua’s upcoming book Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. The excerpt, published in the Wall Street Journal with the title “Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior”, sparked discussions on Facebook, Reddit, Hacker News (1, 2, 3), Quora, and probably whatever website you use to keep up to date.

I won’t rehash those discussions here (Some get pretty heated and most are severely anecdotal.), but I do want to share two notes:

1. Appreciate the conversation.

As a subject of discussion, “Parenting Styles of Different Cultures” is relatively new. For the subject to break out of academia and into coffee table conversation, populations had to mix. International travel has only recently become safe, reliable, and affordable. Then the various components of a mixed population needed to achieve some similarities in socio-economic standing. Otherwise comparisons would fail due to fundamental differences before a subject like parenting nuances was breached. Finally, the subject’s reach was extended by some kind of media to kickstart a discussion.

In other words: Airplanes, digital technology, and social media came together to bring - for the first time in history - a widespread discussion about the sharp contrast between how parents from different continents raise their kids. Such a complex topic deserves all the viewpoints it can get, and today’s technological and economic achievements have made that possible.

Hooray!

2. Amy Chua is not the devil.

I worry about the Chua Family. People on the Internet can (and do) mobilize quickly and effectively against forces they claim to be evil. The hive mentality of Internet “pundits” has already spawned hateful blog posts blaming “mothers like Amy Chua” for the problems in the world. The best case scenario is that the backlash ends in a healthy discussion - even one containing scornful Tumblr essays. The worst case scenario entails Internet “Do-Gooders” seeking misguided real-life retribution for online controversy.

I hope it doesn’t go that far. If it does, it will have been because the excerpt from Chua’s book was taken somewhat out of context and then given a linkbait headline for the Wall Street Journal issue. Amy Chua clarifies:

I did not choose the title of the WSJ excerpt, and I don’t believe that there is only one good way of raising children. The actual book is more nuanced, and much of it is about my decision to retreat from the “strict Chinese immigrant” model.

Amy Chua’s response to Christine Lu

The broader point here is that we are all often too quick to assign blame to parties who unwittingly and unwillingly become champions of some argument’s perspective. And in assigning the blame, we lose sight of the issue itself. So the nuances of an issue fade away, and we emerge from the fight angry and bruised but only marginally smarter.

Little Wisdom #23

2011-01-04T00:00:00+00:00

Peace of mind is an illusion if it is easily shattered.

Charleston (Part 2)

2010-12-18T00:00:00+00:00

This is my last day in Charleston. The past week has been wonderful. Charleston is full of holiday spirit, and I am excited to return home to be with my family during this joyous time of year. I’ll be driving back, but more on that later.

Over the past few days, I’ve explored Charleston a bit. Here are some of the highlights:

Fort Sumter

This is where the Civil War began. Abraham Lincoln had just been elected President of the United States, and South Carolina had seceded from the Union. Major Robert Anderson, loyal to Lincoln, defended the fort against attack by South Carolina’s militia but had to retreat after the fort was set ablaze. One of the guides’ favorite stories at Fort Sumter is the ironic tale of how, after the war ended, President Lincoln declined an invitation to come to the fort for a ceremony honoring Major Anderson. He had a prior obligation to see a show at the theater, where he was assassinated.

Something about how this story was told made me feel uncomfortable. There was a “told you so” smugness to it, which jived with the strangeness of hearing the South’s position in the Civil War depicted as an heroic struggle against anti-market forces. How should the champions of antiquated beliefs tell their histories? With apologetic tones? I’m not sure, but there has to be a better way than focusing on only those motivations that make ourselves look best.

Visiting Fort Sumter is a must for anyone traveling to Charleston. The fort itself, which sits on its own island some miles from Charleston downtown, is interesting; but the best part is the boat ride back to Charleston. On this ride, one gains an appreciation for the importance of such a fort, which was integral to defending the vital port of Charleston. I also enjoyed the site of Charleston’s skyline against the setting sun, which reinforced the idea that Charleston is a city of churches - not skyscrapers.

Karpeles Manuscript Library

Another must-see in Charleston is this museum of manuscripts, part of the Karpeles museum, which is the largest private collection of original manuscripts and documents in the world. The collection at each branch of the museum changes over time. When I was there, the main exhibit was of correspondence between governors of the southern states and military liaisons before the start of the Civil War.

The elderly gentleman who curates Charleston’s Karpeles Museum is a kind and knowledgeable person. The museum gets few visitors - during my visit, we were the only people in the building. So I benefited from his undivided attention - and gave him mine. He shared a historical gem with me - about a man from India who traveled to various churches in the US to paint murals on their ceilings.

The last remaining piece of his work was at a nearby church, and the curator told me the location. He described it as “an outsider art version of the Sistine Chapel”. I was intrigued and tried to visit the church several times, but they were never open and did not answer their phone. This will be my first stop the next time I am in Charleston.

Geminids Meteor Shower

This yearly meteor shower peaked during my stay in Charleston. Meteor showers are best viewed in dark places, where light pollution isn’t an issue, in the wee hours of dusk. I passed time waiting for nightfall by wandering the streets of Charleston’s French Quarter and historic market district.

I met various people, whom I invited to come watch the meteor shower with me. Everyone seemed genuinely interested, but no one came through. I was disappointed but didn’t fault them. It’s not easy to join the plans of a stranger on a whim. Not to mention my plans included a trip to Folly Beach - 20 minutes away - where it would be dark and empty. And also not to mention that it was a record-setting cold day - with windchill bringing the low to 11ºF. A few people told me I was crazy to want to go in the first place.

Something was pulling me to Folly Beach, though. I hailed a cab and told him to take me to a place where I could see the stars on the beach. The driver was kind and interesting. We talked about the changing world; and he explained to me that change always seems more significant to young people, because they are more prone to presentism than older people who have lived through multiple generations.

After twenty minutes of good conversation, he stopped the taxi in front of the Tides Hotel - a massive establishment that obstructs the view of the beach entirely. I was about to tell him I wanted to go somewhere else - since this was not at all what I had envisioned - but he spoke first, “Trust me. The other side of the hotel is all beach, and you can walk along it as far as you need to. It’ll be dark. And if you get cold, which you will, you’ll have a warm hotel lobby to retreat to.” It was good thinking. I thanked him and walked through the hotel lobby to the beach.

The beach was empty and dark. The sky was brilliant. And it was very, very cold.

I started walking down the coast towards even more darkness, and the sky just kept getting more luminous. I had seen a few stray meteors back in downtown - maybe 5 or 6 per hour - but here I saw as many per minute. It was raining stars, and I was… rapt. I had never seen a meteor shower before.

Photo by Mike Haynie.

It was so cold. I’d brought a blanket in my backpack and wanted to wrap it around me. But I was too cold to dislodge my hands from my pockets. Retrieving the blanket would require shifting my backpack from my shoulders and exposing the back of my jacket to the wind, and I could not summon the courage to do so. I decided I was cozy enough and kept walking. Eventually I found a partially sheltered area and watched the meteors in relative comfort. I was much happier than cold.

After an hour, I feared for my toes; so I retreated to the hotel lobby (and said another silent thanks to my taxi driver). I warmed up quickly and set out again - this time in the opposite direction to explore the streets of Folly Beach. The bars and restaurants had closed. A band was hastily packing up its truck - everyone rubbing their hands together furiously. I asked them where I could get some coffee at this hour. “Bert’s. It’s the only place.”

The short walk to Bert’s includes a couple dark streets, so my eyes again turned upward for a view of the stars at play. I stumbled blindly along the road - occasionally glancing down to make sure I wasn’t walking into a car or anything - and soon arrived at Bert’s. It was warm inside. I gleefully sipped my coffee and chatted about the meteor shower with the other two people there. One of them - Brandon - was very interested, and we decided to go back out for another viewing.

Brandon told me he was a musician. Long-haired, soft-eyed, skinny, a gentle voice. We chatted about this and that, enjoyed the meteors for a short while, and lamented our now cold coffees. He was good company; and I accepted his invitation to hang out at his nearby home. We sat in his basement and talked about cities, music, and the importance of honoring one’s promises.

It was a very good day, full of walking, wonder, and new friendship.

Charleston (Part 1)

2010-12-13T00:00:00+00:00

I spent Thanksgiving in Atlanta with close friends and relatives. We feasted properly, watched football, played a “Titanic Drinking Game”¹, and had ourselves a merry time. It was nice to be with loved ones for a few days. I slept in a comfy bed, took long showers, and basically relaxed.

After a few days, I made plans to drive to Charleston, South Carolina. I rented a car and left the morning of Monday, November 29. The drive to Charleston was easy and peaceful - especially once I got onto I-26, which is mostly two lanes through occasional hills and lots of trees. It felt very good to drive.

My arrival in Charleston was more exciting than I had expected, because the rental car agency gave me a return location that - it turned out - was not accessible to civilians. So the guard at the armed gate of the Naval Weapons Station turned me away, and I found another return location nearby.

Notso Hostel

Charleston’s well-known hostel is downtown - about 3 miles from the coast. An enclave of three classic Charleston houses built in the 1840s, it was almost empty when I arrived (and has stayed nearly empty for the past two weeks). The weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas are the slowest for tourism in Charleston. I had my 4-person room all to myself.

Two of the three houses that make up Charleston’s Notso Hostel. My room - the “Cuba Room” - is on the first floor of the blue building.

Business Trip

I spent my first couple weeks in Charleston working on Sari Saheli. I began each day by walking to Hope and Union, where the coffee is great and the Internet is fast. But it closes at 7pm, when Mom - still in India - would still be asleep. So closing time at Hope and Union was my cue to get dinner and walk deeper into downtown, where there’s a Starbucks that stays open until 11pm. Then, after Starbucks closes and I end my workday, I would walk back towards the hostel - with a stop at Juanita Greenbeerg’s for beer and smalltalk. I found Kudu Coffee House a few days ago - open until 10pm - which has replaced Starbucks in the routine.

It’s interesting traveling to a new city and having such a routine. I felt neither like a traveller nor a local. I saw the same people each day, and they got used to seeing me, but we’ll forget each other soon. And when I walked back to the hostel, I didn’t relate to the other visitors either.

Historic Downtown

In the 1700s, Charleston was the hub of trade, culture, and commerce in the South. Known as the “Holy City”, it offered uncommon religious tolerance. Its status as the largest port in the southern United States brought it wealth and prosperity. And in the century between American independence and the end of the Civil War, it was a frequent battleground.

All of these influences can be seen clearly in a day’s walk around downtown. The city skyline is dominated not by skyscrapers or large office buildings, but rather by church steeples. Parks and libraries are dedicated to local war heroes - especially Francis Marion, whose green space in the middle of downtown is the site of the farmer’s market, the city’s large Christmas tree and ceremonies, and outdoor performances.

Farmer’s Market at Marion Square

Christmas at Marion Square

Charleston’s prosperity declined sharply after the Civil War². But today it appears to thrive, as the local liberal arts college maintains a healthy influx of artists; and the beautiful surroundings and excellently preserved historic destinations attract tourists from all over the world. I found in my various sessions of eavesdropping that Charleston is full of people who are passionate about building their community.

You know - drink whenever someone says “unsinkable”, whenever emergency flares are fired, when the Celine Dion song plays, when the guy hits the propeller as he falls to his death, etc. Yes, this actually happened. As you might expect it was… awesome. ↩
The Emancipation Proclamation and the end of the Civil War marked the national freeing of slaves across the country. For Charleston, this meant that the labor force with which it had built its prosperity was no longer theirs to command. Charleston languished economically and culturally until the 1970s. ↩

Texas

2010-11-22T00:00:00+00:00

Outside the train is vast farmland surrounded by hills covered with red forests. Strange clouds drift across the sky, and the sun comes in and out of my vision as the train turns gently from south to southeast back to southwest. We passed a wide river a while back and are now blessed by small creeks. Sometimes the tracks dip into dense forest, and the shadows of the thin trees mix with the little sunlight that escapes between them to create a mysterious setting - fitting for either childlike play or a musical fight between masters of the katana. Calves playfully run in circles; horses shake their manes; unidentifiable birds silhouette the sky; and a large group of cattle walk single file back to their field after having drank from a stream. My only stress is a forceful longing to be outside the train where I could enjoy this wonder more primally - but I am tolerant of my otherwise fortunate predicament. I’m leaving Texas after two weeks of mixed experiences. I’ll be back.

San Antonio: Saturday, November 6

Empty E Commerce St. in Downtown

The train pulled into San Antonio at 3:30am. Downtown was empty. It was a warm morning. The loudest sound was the chirping of what must have been a thousand birds - either recently born or migrating en masse. I walked quietly from the station into downtown’s historic area, which - for my purposes - consisted of the Alamo and a Denny’s. I had some eggs, saw the Alamo, and walked around downtown for the next 7 hours.

Empty Riverwalk

It was both calming and somewhat thrilling to walk around the city alone with no one else around. The imagination can run wild when the only task is adding features instead of removing them. I dreamed as I walked - gunfights, zombie attacks, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle encounters (not related to empty cities, but I couldn’t help it), romantic encounters, epic tales. I watched the sun rise over the Alamodome and had coffee at a cute bakery called Frosted Delights by Joyce before checking in with my Airbnb host.

Empty Alamo and Historic District

Finally, I took a cab to my home for the next few days and slept a good 30 hours. I welcomed the rest after New Orleans and my half-marathon in downtown. The rest of my stay in San Antonio was spent in my room catching up on some work.

Austin: Thursday, November 11

Austin, Texas is strange.

They make pizza here.

Every shop’s sign is a work of art. Every tattoo is interesting and beautiful, and everyone has them. Bumper stickers proudly cheer, “Keep Austin Weird”. The most popular movie theaters don’t have a “Twenty™” where they show extended commercials for television shows. Instead, they show reels of odd videos from Youtube. The best coffee house in the city is across the street from a huge cemetery in which thousands of dead mental hospital patients are buried - among them is the founder of the city of Dallas.

The cemetery. I first thought it was a new cemetery, since there are so few graves. I learned of its sad history after a quick Google search.

This love affair with strangeness isn’t some hidden aspect of Austin’s culture. Austin’s bathroom walls are full of extended debates about the reality of counter-culture. “You think you’re unique? No! Society gives you just enough counter-culture to make you feel safe, while it feeds you more and more materialism. Wake up! Ask questions! Open your eyes, mouth, and heart!” If great cities send a message of ambition to their citizens, Austin’s is most certainly “Be unique”.

Austin is full of food stands.

The view from Hostelling International-Austin

The hostel is Austin is excellent. If you’re visiting Austin, there’s really no reason to stay elsewhere: It’s around $25/night, very comfortable, never lacking in interesting travel characters, 10 minutes to downtown, and has a great view of Austin’s skyline from across the lake.

Dallas: Wednesday, November 17

Dallas is huge. It’s hard to even think about it as one place - because everything is so spread out but also (and I think more significantly) because it doesn’t seem to have any strongly defining characteristics. It’s just a place with a lot of people and tons of shopping centers. (Dallas has more shopping centers per capita than anywhere else in the USA.) Living in Dallas must be fine - there’s something for everyone (if they’re willing to drive to it), and you’ll likely find like-minded people somewhere. But as a visitor, I found it lacking in personality. Still, I had some good times.

I went to a rodeo in nearby Fort Worth. As with many kinds of events, the rodeo began with a rendition of the USA national anthem - introduced by the announcer as “the greatest song ever written”. Sometimes - at baseball games, for example - I feel like the national anthem is a formality. But at this rodeo, it was taken seriously.

Photo by Sabine.

A woman on horseback held an American flag high and raced around the arena several times to energize the crowd. Then she took center stage and everyone - even the horse - adopted an air of solemness as we sang The Star-Spangled Banner. It felt good to sing a national anthem free of implied cynicism, but I couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable.

The rodeo itself was partially entertaining and partially disconcerting. I learned that a rodeo is actually a collection of several events - whose names I forget. The first and most prominent event entailed a cowboy riding on the back of an annoyed bull, which trashed and bucked in an attempt to dislodge the cowboy. If the cowboy was able to stay on the bull for 8 seconds, he was declared a winner. There were very few winners (except maybe the bulls).

Photo by UPI

One note of interest here is that the cowboys riding the bulls had payed to participate. They were just random guys - many from out of state - who paid a fee to be thrown off a bull and potentially trampled afterwards (This only happened once, though; and he was alright-ish). Of course, fame is its own reward - and there seemed to be quite a bit of it to be had.

In another entertaining event, young women on horseback raced around the arena on a pre-defined route. The fastest lap was declared the winner. An eight-year-old girl won second place - she was a thrill to watch. Seeing someone so small maneuver a large animal around tight turns with such grace and force was something I’ll never forget.

My least favorite part of the rodeo was the event in which cowboys on horses chase down scared calves and tie their legs together.

Photo by Sabine.

I’m probably succumbing to a stereotypical “city-boy” response to this event by being repulsed. Surely there is a long history of events like this helping young men develop skills which are useful on farms, and I “just don’t get it”. But I can’t ignore my feelings.

A grown man throws a lasso around the neck or torso of a child cow, jumps off his horse to the fleeing but leashed calf, flips it onto her side, wrestles three of her legs together in one hand, ties them together with the rope, and throws his hands up in triumph. There is nothing gentle about it, and I was glad that this event ended as quickly as it did.

Of course, none of the above criticism has to do with Dallas in particular.

What I'm Packing

2010-11-21T00:00:00+00:00

Here’s what I’ve been traveling with:

MacBook in padded sleeve and power cable
Amazon Kindle and cable
Notebook, ballpoint pen
iPhone 3GS and cable
Compact digital camera (not pictured) and charger
USB mouse
Noise-isolating earbud headphones
Deck of playing cards
Headlamp
Leatherman mutli-tool
3-liter hydration pack with drinking tube
Flask¹
Microfiber towel (highly absorbent, takes up little space)
4 shirts²
1 pair of pants (not pictured)
Sneakers (not pictured)
Super-warm, super-compressible jacket
Beanie
3 pairs of socks
Hand-washable, quick-drying underwear (not pictured)
Handkerchief
Some crushed Indian root that cures upset stomach. Not yet used, but highly prized!
Thin wallet
Toiletries (shampoo, toothpaste, lotion in little bottles, toothbrush, lip balm)

This all fits in my backpack:

Trash bin and left shoe shown for size context.

There’s room left to fit food I might buy for a long train trip or to munch on while walking around a city. The hydration pack feels like the heaviest item, but it gets lighter as I drink more water from it.

The computer and other hard items are inside the main storage area. I keep my clothes in the outer pocket. I used to roll the shirts and towel, but I was surprised to find that folding them flat takes up less room. I still roll the socks, though.

The jacket, which is super-compressible actually fits into its own inside pocket:

However, I just stuff it into my backpack when packing. It’s quite dense when stuffed into its inside pocket, and I worry that it will press against the electronics. Stuffing it in loosely instead lets it act as additional padding for the hardware inside the pack.

If I’m still traveling in the Spring, I’ll probably take my larger backpack instead and bring along a sleeping bag and tent (and some other relevant outdoor supplies) so that I can camp a bit.

This was given to me as a gift mid-trip. ↩
Three are pictured - one was on my person. I actually left home with 3 shirts total, but I was given one on the road (OMAHA ZOMBIES 4LIFE!). ↩

Traveling with Technology

2010-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Technology makes travel easier.

MacBook

I decided to bring my laptop with me, because I wanted to get a lot of work done while traveling. I wanted to learn a new programming language, contribute more to open source projects, and stay up to date with new startups and tech commentaries. I wish I could say that’s how it played out, but the truth is that I’ve done a poor job of balancing work and play so far. I’m only one month into my travels, so I have plenty of time to get back on track. But it’s fair to say that this particular use of technology while traveling has not gone as expected.

One of the biggest departures from my expectations has been the role played by Internet tethering. Before I left, I decided against buying a MiFi dongle and instead just jailbroke my iPhone to unlock Internet tethering. I thought I would be coding non-stop while on the long train rides, and I anticipated using my iPhone’s Internet connection to push code, get help, and promote my work.

The reality has been that I’m exhausted when I board most trains and end up relaxing in the lounge car, catching up on my journal, or watching a movie. I code occasionally, but not so much that I need a constant connection to the Internet. So far, my trip would not have been too different if I left my iPhone un-jailbroken. Free wifi at hostels and most cafes in cities has been sufficient.

iPhone

Most of the time, I leave my phone in the “Airplane Mode” (no cell, data, or Internet connection) to preserve its battery throughout the day. I rely on my phone so much that I want to ensure I’ll be able to use it all day as needed - even if my night ends up running to sunrise. If I switch it off of Airplane Mode, it’s probably to use one of the following features:

Google Maps

Cabs are an expensive last resort, but figuring out a new city’s public transportation system can be difficult. With Google Maps on my iPhone, I can usually get bus and light rail directions to my destination.

Travel Guides

I really like WikiTravel.org for understanding a city and learning what to do there. Their travel guides are written by their users, and the resulting collection is very informative.

I use an app called Tourist to browse the guides on WikiTravel. Tourist lets me download a city’s WikiTravel guide, so I can view it even without an Internet connection. This is useful, because I can take periodic looks at recommended attractions in my area without leaving Airplane Mode.

The guides on WikiTravel are organized. I can dig deeper into a city’s guide by selecting a particular district - like the Castro in San Francisco, the Bywater in New Orleans, or South Austin in Austin. I can get information on how to get around the city, where to eat, what to see, etc. (And, of course, I can also choose to leave my phone in my pocket and ask locals for their personal recommendations.)

Itinerary

It can be difficult to keep track of the various trains, buses, hostels, vacation rentals, etc that I use for each segment of my trip. TripIt.com does a great job of organizing my trip details. Their actual website kind of drives me crazy, but they have two killer features.

First: Automatic extraction of trip details from an emailed reservation confirmation¹. After I make a reservation, I almost always get an email confirmation. Then I just forward that email to plans@tripit.com. TripIt reads the email and adds the details to my trip. I’ve successfully added plans from email confirmations from Airbnb, HostelWorld, and Amtrak - and TripIt supports a thousand more sites. This feature hasn’t failed once for me yet.

The second killer feature is a comprehensive API and reasonably active developer community. In other words, anyone can make an app that accesses TripIt’s data. TripIt themselves have released an app to browse your TripIt plans, but I think the guys behind TripDeck have outdone them. The interface is cleaner, faster, and more usable.

The combination of TripIt’s itinerary importing with TripDeck’s iPhone interface lets me avoid the usual headaches around complex itineraries. I never need to…

hastily open GMail to find out what time my train is leaving or what the address of my hostel is.
manually enter any information into my itinerary.
worry about time-zones - TripIt takes care of that.
print anything out or write anything down.

Kindle

I travel with a backpack, so I try to be efficient with my cargo. A single book is about the same weight as a Kindle but about twice as thick. It’s also less durable (I keep the Kindle in a case). I understand the visceral joys of a real book’s smell and the feel of the pages, but I can enjoy them when I’m not living out of a sub-20 liter backpack. I was skeptical about bringing a Kindle before I left, but it’s proven to be a very useful asset.

Point-and-Shoot Camera

I left my Nikon DSLR at home. Instead, I’m borrowing my mom’s compact camera. The quality is good enough, and I’m thankful to not be stressed about damaging my bulky Nikon. I love to take photos, but I don’t believe the purpose of my travels is to maximize every level of enjoyment. In the tradeoff of those extra pixels of photo quality versus space in my backpack and stress, I think I come out ahead.

It did occur to me to get an iPhone 4 and not bring another camera at all. I decided against this mostly because I didn’t want to renew my contract with AT&T so close to the likely Verizon iPhone launch.

Other itinerary organization websites offer this feature, too. But in my experience, TripIt does a better job than the rest. ↩

New Orleans

2010-11-05T00:00:00+00:00

People here pursue pleasure like New York pursues money; Los Angeles, fame; Berkeley, the good life; Las Vegas, sin. Throngs of pleasure-seeking dreamers come to New Orleans to be swept away by this ambition¹, and the industry is more than happy to receive them. The industry keenly walks the line between the immorality of sin and the plainness of fun.

Seafood

Photo from The Faster Times

I’d never seen oysters prepared before. The line at Casamento’s was out the door, so I had plenty of time to watch the shucker pry open dozens and dozens of shells. We were finally seated and immediately requested a dozen oysters. I added both oyster loaf and crab loaf sandwiches to my order. This was my first true New Orleans meal - and all foods I’d never eaten before. I laid siege to my plate - leaving only a crab leg and some bits of bread as wounded survivors to tell the tale.

The French Quarter

During my stay in New Orleans, the huge Voodoo Music Festival, Halloween, and an important New Orleans Saints football game all fell on the same weekend.

Photo by Bayou Campers

Crowds gathered in the French Quarter on Saturday night for an early Halloween celebration. The costumes were as fabulous as I’ve ever seen. And again, on Sunday night the crowd swelled as even more people pushed their way onto Bourbon Street. As each performance at Voodoo Fest ended, more people joined the party in the Quarter. Many people crowded around TVs to nervously watch the Saints game. When the game ended (with the Saints victorious), the mass of football fans from the nearby stadium invaded the Quarter. City officials estimate the crowd in the French Quarter peaked at 300 billion people that night.

Uptown and Carrollton

I spent most of my time in Audobon Park and in cafes on Magazine Street and Oak Street. Two universities (Tulane and Loyola) inject these areas with young people, and the picturesque houses and buildings have a quieting effect.

Backstreet Cultural Museum

Costumes worn by Mardi Gras Indians. Costing thousands of dollars each, new suits are made every year.

Near the park in Tremé, there is a home whose front two rooms are known as the Backstreet Cultural Museum. The curator of this museum (and the tour narrator) is deeply involved in the culture whose artifacts are on exhibit.

India House

Photo by Oszkar.Jozsa

I stayed at the India House Hostel for my last few nights in New Orleans. It was my first time staying in a hostel, but it won’t be the last. So many travelers are coming in or going out - there is no better place for meeting interesting people.

I befriended three Danish travelers one evening. They taught me about hygge - the fundamental Danish ambition. Unable to find an English translation for the term, one of them described it like this:

Imagine you’re dad comes home from work one beautiful day. He suggests a trip to the woods for a walk. Everyone agrees, and together you ride along a scenic road. Eventually you park somewhere and continue on foot. Everyone walks together but with no explicit direction. No one says, “What a beautiful day!” - because everyone knows it. Together, you pass time quietly - enjoying nature and companionship. After a while, everyone sits close and shares a cool drink. This is hygge.

During the time I spent with the Danes, they used this term often. We rode the St. Charles streetcar up to Carrollton and played cards at a cafe. “This is a good place to hygge”, they said. Later, we went to Vaughan’s in the Bywater to hear some jazz. “Very hygge, man”. It was.

Paul Graham has a great essay about cities and their ambitions: http://paulgraham.com/cities.html. ↩

Chicago to New Orleans

2010-11-02T00:00:00+00:00

Thursday, October 28: Leaving Chicago

I don’t like downtown Chicago - at least this part near the Union Station. Every cafe closes early, and the streets are full of business (also busyness). I can’t find the charm of Chicago’s neighborhoods that won me over - this feels like every other downtown. Worst of all, the magical winds of the past couple days now feel angry and cold. I’m annoyed as I finally head down to the tracks for my train to New Orleans.

As I board the sold out train, I take in the energy of my fellow passengers. Everyone is too high, and I am too low. People whoop with joy - I’ve always wished I was a whooper. I begin to feel intimidated by their freedom and excitement. I’ve felt this way before, when I’m overwhelmed by others’ glee that I can’t relate to. I toy with the idea of sleeping all the way to New Orleans.

Instead, I start watching Lawrence of Arabia. By intermission, this truly epic tale has infused me with the desire to cease my antisocial behavior. I head to the lounge car, meet interesting people, feel better about myself, and go to bed hours later happy.

Friday, October 29: In the South

I woke up groggy and perplexed to see southern India outside my window. It took me a moment to realize I was in Mississippi. Although air conditioned coolness flowed through the train, I could sense the damp hotness of the tropical wonderland outside and felt the familiar excitement of an impending arrival. A few hours later, I was in New Orleans.

My reservation at the hostel wasn’t to begin for a couple days. I would first stay with Jules - a woman whose side income comes from renting out a room in her home to travelers. She picked me up from the train station. As we drove along Canal Street through the Marigny, Jules talked about how she’d studied all over the world and now taught in New Orleans but always thinks about traveling - and how she’d finally found a job on a ship that would go everywhere and pay her three times what she made now. She talked about how upset it made her that people who visited New Orleans confused the city’s large black population with a large criminal population. Jules talked, and I listened; but my eyes were focused outside, where the buildings were new to me and every side street seemed to contain an adventure.

Jules lives in the Bywater district - a poorer area in New Orleans’s Ninth Ward. I read that the Bywater is a “bohemian neighborhood” where artists and musicians moved from the French Quarter after tourism drove up the cost of living there. After I settled in and cleaned up, Jules offered me her bike to get around New Orleans. I said thanks, but I felt like walking.

It was early evening as I walked through the Bywater, over the bridge and into the Marigny.

Crossing the bridge at sunset.

I walked around Frenchman Street for a little while. Music from the jazz clubs spilled onto the street, and my begging ears picked it up graciously. Later, I met up with Eric (a new friend from the wedding) and some of his local pals, and together we added our notes to the sounds of revelry pouring into the night.

Around five in the morning, we piled into a cab to go home. I crashed on Eric’s couch, which felt a thousand miles closer than my room at Jules’s place.