Andy Carvin's Waste of Bandwidth

CNN's Balloon Broadcast Fiasco

File this one under What on Earth Were They Thinking: Last night, as John Kerry wrapped up his speech to thunderous applause at the DNC, someone at CNN got the bright idea to broadcast the radio communications of convention director Don Mischer. Straight out of Dateline NBC's annoying-as-all-get-out playbook, which broadcasts the voice of the line producer directing the crew as they exit each broadcast, CNN let Don Mischer's voice crackle over the network, screaming frantically that not enough balloons were falling from the ceiling. In case you were watching NBC or PBS or CBS or were asleep, here's a taste of what we got to hear on CNN:

"Go balloons, go balloons! Go balloons! I don't see anything happening. Go balloons! Go balloons! Go balloons! Standby confetti. Keep coming, balloons. More balloons. Bring it- balloons, balloons, balloons! We want balloons, tons of them. Bring them down. Let them all come. No confetti. No confetti yet...."

At first I thought this must be a mistake: Kerry had just given the speech of his life, and rather than letting the audience soak up the moment, CNN was blaring this producer's stage commands. No one at CNN bothered to explain what we were all hearing. Susanne and I looked at each other and tried to figure out if the audiocast was accidental, as if Mischer's wireless radio was interfering with CNN's audio.

On and on it went, and I wondered out loud if CNN would be smart enough to pull the plug in case the producer lost it and uttered a broadcast unutterable. And indeed he did. Since this is a family-friendly blog, I won't repeat it here, but Matt Drudge is happy to oblige on his website, both in transcript form and an MP3 file. (By my count, Mischer said the word "balloons" 30 times over the course of just a few minutes.) What was even more amazing was that CNN continued to play the producer's audio track after he'd sworn on live TV!

Of course, the only reason this is news is because Don Mischer used the F-word on national TV. But even if he hadn't, I'd have to say CNN's decision to simulcast the internal audio feed was foolish. First, CNN should know that producers often swear like sailors, particularly when things aren't going their way, and any fool would have noticed from the get-go that Don Mischer wasn't pleased with how things were going. Second, it really spolied the moment for those of us who just wanted to enjoy watching Kerry enjoying his moment on the national stage. Kerry's rarely an inspiring speaker, and he did a pretty good job at sounding relaxed and tough at the same time -- so let's revel in the moment, right? Instead, CNN wants to give its viewers a lesson in production stagecraft.

Note to CNN: You picked the wrong moment.

The big question now is whether CNN will pull the same stunt at the end of Bush's speech at the RNC next month. Let's reinstate the broadcasting Fairness Doctrine to make sure they do -- that way Bush's moment in the limelight can be interrupted as Kerry's was in an equitable fashion... -andy

Photo Gallery of Today's Events

I've just posted a photo gallery covering my lunchtime walk through Boston, including the Free Speech Zone, Hillary Clinton and an Anarchist march through Back Bay.... -andy

Audio Blog and Video Clips from the Anarchist March

During today's anarchist march from Copley Square, I recorded an audio blog and shot several video clips. Click on the previous link to listen to the audio blog; otherwise, you can choose from the following clips:

Protest drummers
More drummers
March clip #1
March clip #2
March clip #3
March clip #4
March clip #5
Marchers' feet

Enjoy.... -andy

Anarchists Descend Upon Copley Square

Around 1pm today, a group of several hundred anarchists held a protest at Boston's Copley Square. I arrived just as they were beginning to march around the perimeter of the square. Carrying signs and banners with various anti-war, anti-corporate and anti-globalization slogans, they circled the square counter-clockwise as rag-tag drummers banged on upside-down mop buckets.

Anarchists on the March

There were many media present, but for some reason I drew much suspicion from this apparently paranoid bunch. "Get rid of that camera, you goddamn narc," one of of them said as I tried to take a picture of several of them wrapping bandanas over their mouths. On another occasion, after videotaping drummers, one of the drummers demanded, "Give me your camera and show me what you just did." Gripping my camera tightly, I showed him several seconds of footage.

"I hope it meets your satisfaction," I replied somewhat sarcastically.

"Yeah, whatever," he said dismissively, returning to his music.

Eventually, the marchers decided to leave the confines of the square and began to march eastward on Boylston Street. A lone police car escorted them, clearing the way up front so they could make their way down the street. Next came a group of photographers, who never cease to amaze me in their ability to shoot pictures and walk backwards without tripping over each other. The photographers were followed by the protestors, sporting more bandanas to cover their faces than deoderant, as I discovered when the wind changed directions. Lastly, sweeping up the rear, a lone Nader supporter gleefully followed the posse, holding a tall "Vote for Ralph Nader" sign.

Che Guevara Chic was all the rage at the march

I followed the protestors for several blocks, who made a left turn for one block before heading west on Newbury Street. The anarchists made for interesting viewing for the denizens of Newbury, many of whom were buried in their lattes or their salad plates as the protests marched by them. Some of the diners looked on in interest or amusement, while a few skeptics shouted back at them, "Move along, move along!" and the like.... -andy

Falun Gong Leave Nothing to the Imagination

Crossing through the Boston Common during lunch today I happened upon a large Falun Gong protest decrying the treatment of its practitioners by the Chinese government. When I lived in DC, the Falun Gong were a fixture of north Dupont Circle, where they camped out and meditated in front of the Chinese ambassador's residence. Here in Boston, though, they've added rather graphic visuals to their protest.

Along the main path that crosses through the Common, Falun Gong members have set up human dioramas depicting torture of their members. In one booth, a woman in a blood-spattered blouse hangs from two ropes as a baton-wielding thug stands behind her. To her left, an old woman sits on the ground, her right hand pressed onto a small table, as two men pull out her fingernails. Another woman is bound inside an animal cage, while yet another woman, in a large cage, is forced to work a Singer sewing machine, producing goods labled "Made in China."

A falun gong member protests by posing in a cage

Beyond the torture exhibit, more Falun Gong could be seen meditating and practicing tai chi, as can be seen in this video clip.... -andy

Hillary Has Left the Building

After leaving the "free speech zone" at the Fleet Center, I walked over to Faneuil Hall and Quincy Market. A busy place year-round, the market was packed with tourists, delegates and media, particularly MSNBC staff who'd set up a broadcast center for Hardball broadcasts. Faneuil Hall itself was barricaded by a metal fence that went around the entire perimeter, with occasional openings to allow intrepid tourists inside the historic building, the interior of which appeared to be deserted due to either the lack of air conditioning or the rather intimidating police presence. Someone had stuck signs on the barricade saying "Faneuil Hall Welcomes the DNC: Shops Are Open," but the numerous police leaning against the signs didn't feel particularly welcoming.

I walked clockwise around Faneuil Hall, weaving through the crowd and police. On the front entrance of the building I spotted a phalanx of photographers that had camped out just in front of the barricade, cameras in position. Meanwhile, I heard a policeman say into his radio, "Okay, she's coming down."

Intrigued, I took out my camera and waited for no more than 10 seconds. Soon, a Secret Service agent descended a staircase and exited the door. Behind him, Sen. Hillary Clinton appeared, apparently leaving a healthcare policy forum on the second floor of the building.

Hillary exits Faneuil Hall

Suddenly, a crowd of tourists surged forward, jamming their video cameras into the backs of the professional media that had gathered up front. Hillary waved to the crowd and shook hands with several people. More Secret Service agents appeared, escorting her through the crowd to a black SUV. Before entering the SUV, she paused to shake hands with more well-wishers, even posing in a picture with one of them.

Through the Looking Glass: Hillary inside her SUV

Once inside the SUV, the police cleared away the tourists so she could depart, and within a matter of seconds she was on her way.... -andy

All Quiet in the "Free Speech Zone"

Just before lunchtime I caught the train over to Government Center, so I could walk over to the official "Free Speech Zone" next to the Fleet Center to see what was going on and get a feel for how restrictive the space actually is. Once again, the T was not crowded; there were plenty of seats to choose from as we headed east into Boston.

Exiting the Government Center station, I was greeted by five national guardsmen in camouflage, standing outside the station on the plaza. The plaza was quiet, with more police than pedestrians. I walked north towards the Fleet Center, following the light flow of delegates heading in that general direction. Congressman Harold Ford of Tennessee was standing at an intersection, chatting with delegates waiting for the light to change.

I'd expected to navigate to the protest zone by sonar, assuming that the echo of protestors making a ruckus would lead the way for me. No such luck. Apart from the occasional siren and helicopter flying overhead, all was quiet. I eventually had to ask a cop to make sure I was heading in the right direction. "Yeah, just keep going; you can't miss it," he told me.

I followed the long aluminum fence barricading the Fleet Center from the rest of the known universe for about five minutes, and soon reached Canal Street, home of the protest zone. From an architectural point of view, it was as bad as all the media reports had suggested: a long, thin space surrounded by razor wire and netting, with concrete support columns and steel support structures intersecting the corridor. The walls had been plastered with protest posters, a surprising number of them from a conservative group protesting gay marriage. Many of the concrete and steel beams had graffiti on them protesting the space itself, carrying messages such as "Free speech?" and "Mr. Kerry, Tear Down This Wall!"
Architecture representing the J. Edgar Hoover school, no doubt.

The biggest surprise was how utterly deserted the space was. There were more people lounging in the Dunkin Donuts down the street than there were inside the protest space. A handful of delegates toured the area, taking pictures and commenting on its "atrocious" location and design. Another woman sat on a rickety stage, looking rather glum.

"What time do the protests start?" a delegate asked her.

"I thought it would be packed to capacity by now," she sighed.

One of the protest groups, the Bl(a)ck Tea Society, had declared today a day of "decentralized action." In other words, protestors were encouraged to plan their own demonstrations around the city. Perhaps this was the reason the official protest space was deserted. Perhaps even the protestors could no longer stand being cooped up in this stifling corridor. Free speech isn't free if it's cordoned from the rest of the world like a squatter's camp, so I guess I'd have to go elsewhere to find it.... -andy

Photo Gallery from Today's Anti-Torture Rally

I've now posted a photo gallery from today's protest at Copley Square. Come have a look... -andy

Speeches, Songs and Arguments at Copley Square

Today in Boston’s Copley Square, hundreds of human rights activists participated in a rally protesting the abuse of U.S. prisoners at Abu Ghraib prison and Guantanamo Bay. The event, sponsored by JusticeWithoutPeace.org, featured numerous leaders from civil liberties groups, as well as anti-war congressman and former presidential candidate Dennis Kucinich.

Jean Gallo began the event by reading a poem to the crowd. “A lament for the dead of war,” she said. “We march among the thundering hypocrisy…. Let our lament be a new awakening, a moral call.”

Gallo was followed by Dr. Michael Paasche-Orlow of Physicians for Human Rights, a psychiatrist who specializes in counseling torture victims. He has worked with patients from Rwanda, Sierra Leone, and other countries ravaged by human rights abuses, he explained. Now, he said, these same patients are returning to him, haunted all over again because of seeing the pictures from Abu Ghraib and the reports from Guantanamo. “The United States has violated international law at Guantanamo,” he said. “It has violated its own uniform military code of justice… Human rights must be put back on the national agenda.”

Nancy Murray of the ACLU then came to the stage. “The penal colony of Guantanamo Bay should be causing as much outrage in our own country as it is around the world,” she said.

Meanwhile, as Murray continued her remarks, a rhetorical fracas broke out between human rights demonstrators and a pair of pro-Bush supporter who were holding signs behind the stage, each bearing pro-war slogans and Bible quotes. A crowd gathered around one of them – a large, bearded man sporting sunglasses. The man was shouting at a human rights protestor, “Why don’t you leave America you liberal, pinko communist!” The protestor, meanwhile, poked his finger into the man’s chest and screamed back, “Though shall not kill! Thou shall not kill!”

“If you can’t stand it, why don’t you leave America,” the Bush supporter repeated.

“I am a veteran and I love my country!” the human rights protestor replied angrily.

By this point, the debate had attracted a crowd of media and protestors, perhaps 50 people strong, and the emcee of the official event took notice. “These are people who seem to think that Jesus would want to bomb and kill,” he told the crowd.

Meanwhile, the second Bush supporter, holding a sign bearing quotes from the New Testament, was engaged in a much more civilized debate with a young woman. Neither of them raised their voices, engaging in surprisingly subdued discourse. “I trust Jesus, I believe in Jesus,” the young woman said to the man. “But I just don’t understand how you can quote the Bible and support this war.”

Just before 1pm, Rep. Dennis Kucinich arrived in a black van. He waited inside the van until the current speaker finished his remarks, then was escorted by security to the stage.

“We must maintain our moral integrity by having a commitment to human rights,” he thundered to the crowd. “We need to review exactly where we are as a nation… From Guantanamo to Abu Ghraib, we know there is a consistency of policies that deny people their humanity.”

Kucinich spoke passionately, his volume and gesticulations ratcheted up with each subsequent sentence. By the time he finished, the crowd was applauding and shouting in approval. Musicians then took to the stage, as more than 20 protestors carrying an enormous puppet of a spinal column approached the crowd. The puppet, covered in white cloth and stretching at least 30 feet, hung in the air like a Chinese New Year dragon in mourning, each of its vertebra sporting slogans demanding changes in U.S. policies…. -andy

Audio Blog: Dennis Kucinich Speaks as Human Rights Activists Face-Off with Bush Supporters

Here's another audio blog from me at the Abu Ghraib/Guantanamo protest, immediately following a speech by former presidential candidate Dennis Kucinich... -ac

Thou Shall Not Kill

A pro-Bush supporter argues with a human rights demonstrator in Boston's Copley Square, calling him a "liberal pinko communist" while the demostrator yells back, "Thou shall not kill! Thou shall not kill!"

posted from Andy's mobile phone

Audio Blog: Lunchtime at the Abu Ghraib Protest

Hi everyone... It's just after 12pm in Boston's Copley Square, and a large human rights protest has gotten under way, demonstrating against the use of torture at Abu Ghraib prison and Guantanamo Bay. Rep. Dennis Kucinich will be speaking at some point in the next 30 minutes. Meanwhile, I've just post an audio blog from my mobile phone if you'd like to hear it... -andy

Obama2016.com - A Smart Internet Investment

Illinois state senator Barack Obama just finished giving a stellar keynote speech at the DNC in Boston, and pundits are calling him a bi-racial JFK for the 21st century. His stature as a rising star in the Democratic party was certainly solidified by tonight's speech, and at least one savvy Internet user has wasted no time in investing in Obama's political future.

To wit: As Teresa Heinz Kerry's speech began to wander a bit, I decided to see if anyone had started buying up Obama-related political domain names. I soon discovered that someone named Andro Hsu had just registered Obama2016.com. According to the WHOIS search I conducted, Hsu registered the name sometime today. I can picture Hsu fumbling for his credit card, accessing the Netsol.com website to buy the domain just as Obama reached his crescendo, talking about how there are no liberal Americans nor conservative Americans, no white Americans, no black Americans, only Americans....

Anyway, congrats to Obama and congrats to Hsu, who may have just gotten one hell of an online scoop, assuming Obama doesn't run in 2012 -- someone else bought Obama2012.com two weeks ago. :-)

John Kerry in Wonkavision!

So the late night comedians have been having a field day joking about John Kerry wearing his white NASA jumpsuit while touring the space shuttle yesterday. Various sources have made references to John Kerry as "bubble boy" or his "silly suit," but so far I haven't seen anyone make the most obvious comparison: John Kerry as Oompah Loompah. More specifically, an Oompah Loompah in the Wonkavision sequence of Willy Wonka. You be the judge:

Oompah, Loompah, Doompity Don't.... -andy

Celebrating the Americans with Disabilities Act

This afternoon, the American Association of People with Disabilities (AAPD), along with more than a dozen disability rights organizations, co-hosted a celebration of the 14th anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act. The event, held at WGBH Public Television in Boston, honored Democratic members of Congress that have been key supporters of the ADA.

Ted Kennedy Jr., emcee of the event, explained that this gathering is part of a bi-partisan celebration of policymakers who’ve strongly supported the ADA and disability rights. Today’s ceremony was scheduled in conjunction with the first day of the Democratic National Convention in Boston; a similar event honoring Republican supporters of the ADA will take place in New York City at the Republican National Convention next month.

The first award was given to Sen. Tom Harkin (D-IA), co-author of the ADA in the Senate and longtime supporter of disability rights. “Changing the physical barriers, we can get that done; changing the mental attitudes towards people with disabilities, that may take longer,” Harkin said, quoting former senator Lowell Weiker. The ADA, he continued, is making a big difference in changing Americans’ attitudes towards the disabled, helping them participate more actively in the socioeconomic fabric of the country.

Harkin warned, though, there was still much work to be done, not only in expanding disability rights but protecting the rights currently enshrined in the ADA. “In the highest court in this land, the ADA hangs by a thread,” he said. “Millions of people with disabilities are still being left out and being left behind, so we still have an unfinished agenda.”

“Don’t define a person by a person’s disability; define a person by who he is, what their goals are, what their vision its, what they want to do in the future. That’s how you define a person,” Harkin said amidst an extended round of applause. “As long as 70% of people with disabilities are unemployed…we have an unfinished agenda in America. So remember, my friends, this is an election year, and to fulfill this agenda, we’ve got to get organized…. And we’ve got to vote.” Taking a more partisan tone, Harkin said that if voters want to make sure that the Supreme Court doesn’t whittle away the ADA any more than it has, they should embrace John Kerry. “Our priorities will be his priorities,” he said. Harkin added that if Democrats win back the Senate, he and Ted Kennedy will make sure that they reinstate the Senate subcommittee on disability policy.

Before Harkin left the stage, Jean Kennedy Smith of VSA Arts presented him with a framed ceramic tile created by a disabled Iowan artist. “I am grateful we have a champion like you to ensure that the arts matter,” she told him.

Congressman Steny Hoyer was then honored for his work on passing the ADA in the House of Representatives 14 years ago, and for being “a true champion of children and adults with disabilities.” The award went on to describe Hoyer as “the shepherd of the ADA” and the Assistive Technology Act, as well as other disability rights legislation.

Hoyer began his remarks by thanking fellow Congressman Jim Langevin, also being honored today, who was paralyzed from the waist down when he was accidentally shot as a teenager. “He is a living testimony to the rightness of the Americans with Disabilities Act,” Hoyer said. “What a tragedy it would have been to shut Jim Langevin out of American life.”

“Yes we have come a far piece, but we have a far piece yet to go,” Hoyer said, saying the ADA must be protected and expanded. “If society makes a reasonable accommodation to include them fully, it will be our society-- our America -- that will be advantaged.”

“My most cherished role… was working with so many of you… to adopt what some have called the most important civil rights legislation since the Voting Rights Act of 1965, and that is the Americans with Disabilities Act,” Hoyer said in his closing remarks. “It is to America’s advantage, and America is a better place for having taken that step -- and it will be even better for taking more steps [for the disabled] into the future.”

Later, Rep. Jim Langevin took to the stage, riding up to the podium in his motorized wheelchair. Langevin described what it was like growing up as a young man in the years prior to the ADA. “I remember the days of going to Providence College and my heart sinking when I discovered it wasn’t accessible,” he said. “And I remember being deprived of a secret ballot because someone had to come in the voting booth to assist me.”

Langevin went on to thank the disability rights activists in attendance today. “You’ve made sure that Americans with disabilities are part of the movement to build a better future… Your presence here is a powerful one, and I appreciate all that you’ve done [to lessen] the silent struggles endured by so many.”

“There are many battles to fight in the years and months ahead, and I am eager to be a partner with you in these efforts,” Langevin said. He described the 70% unemployment rate within the disabled community as “a national disgrace” and said we must continue to work to improve job opportunities for the disabled.

“We must make sure that people with disabilities are engaged and involved in the political process,” he added. “I know there is no limit to what we can accomplish together, whether it’s registering people to vote, making polling places more accessible, encouraging the disabled to run for office…. We need to make sure that millions of voices are heard loud and clear.”

The event also honored numerous members of Congress, many of whom were present to accept their award, as well as state policymakers such as Massachusetts Attorney General Tom Reilly and state representative Thomas Kennedy. Among the other policymakers honored: former Congressman Tony Coelho; Senators Mark Dayton, Christopher Dodd; Congresspeople Lane Evans, Ed Markey, Nancy Pelosi, Earl Pomeroy, Jan Schakowsky, Bobby Scott and John Tierney.... -Andy

Clinton: I'm Sorry, Andy; I'm Afraid I Can't Do That

Yesterday morning Susanne and I headed out to the Prudential Center to join the crowd that had gathered to see Bill Clinton at his only Boston-area book signing event. According to the bookstore's website, Clinton would sign books starting at 1pm that day, so we wondered just how early we'd have to get there in order to see him and get a book signed. We decided to leave around 10:30am, which would get us there before 11am -- three hours to stand in line and maybe catch sight of the former prez if we weren't too late in the queue.

After packing ourselves Tokyo-style in a crowded trolley, we rode a couple stops from Brookline to Boston, then walked a few blocks up Newbury before turning right towards the Prudential Center. The Pru was crowded with people, and we weren't sure if they were all going to the book signing or not. The fact that the flow of bodies was heading in the general direction of the Barnes and Noble wasn't a good sign. When we got to the inner courtyard, Susanne noticed a very long queue of people in the outer courtyard - perhaps 500 of them. A bookstore staffer and a security guard were directing people towards the back of the line, tying red bracelets around each person's right wrist. "You will need a red bracelet and a book in order to meet Clinton," the staffer said. "If you get out of the line and no one holds a place for you, you'll have to go to the back of the line."

Fortunately the event was scheduled on the finest day Boston had seen in a couple weeks -- 70 degrees and breezy with low humidity. We were actually somewhat chilly in the line, standing in the shadow of the Pru, but as the sun moved across the southern horizon, we soon found ourselves in a pleasantly warm spot, watching waves of wind stroke the acre of perfectly manicured grass in the center of the courtyard.

Just after 12pm, the line started to move; the Secret Service had finished their security sweep of the book store, and the first 125 people were brought inside. The line grew steadily behind us as we moved forward; well over 1000 people were in the courtyard, though only the first 1000 would be guaranteed the chance to get a book signed. The line stopped hard at 1pm; Clinton was now inside and signing books, and security personnel would only allow groups of people inside 25 at a time. So we spent the next hour sitting somewhat uncomfortably in the sun, the shadow of the Pru too small to protect us now.

Entertainment was provided by a group of Lyndon LaRouche supporters. About 30 of them arrived with posters sporting messages like "Will Cheney postpone the election?" and "Future generations will want an open convention." The LaRouchies then started to sing songs. From a distance, the songs sounded like Russian choral work, actually quite pretty. But as the protesters approached us, the tone of the singing started to remind me of Maoist martial parade songs. "La-Rouche, La-Rouche," they sang, practically stealing the "Marchons, Marchons!" refrain from La Marseillaise.

"It's a little too Red Guard for my taste," Susanne said.

"I almost expect to see little uniformed Chinese girls to appear, dancing with oversized flags."

By 2:20pm we made it inside the building, where we were asked to check our bags and submit to an electronic wand search. The process felt like we were entering an airport, except the secret service agent who waved the wand over us was much friendlier, explaining the do's and don't's of meeting a president. (Example: For the love of God, don't put your hands in your pocket when you approach the president.)

We weaved through the book store, aisle by aisle. At this point we were making a steady walk, as if we'd just climbed aboard a conveyor belt. Bill Clinton was seated on a raised platform, behind a table, next to the cafe. The room was draped in black, with strategically placed lights from above given the former president an oddly angelic look. He was wearing an Italian suit with a perfectly knotted pink tie.

"He's lost weight," Susanne said as we moved closer in the queue.

"You can see it in his neck," I replied. "Look at the extra space in his collar."

Reaching the cafe, we got a quick preview of the literary assembly line. First, a Barnes and Noble staffer made sure your book was open to the proper page. To her left, a Secret Service agent served as traffic cop, deciding when you would step up to the raised platform. Next, an assistant would take your book, pass it to another Secret Service agent, who passed it to the president. Clinton would simultanously shake your hand with his right hand and sign your book with his left; after greeting you and thanking you for coming, he might offer five or six seconds of small talk before you were whisked off the platform and away from Clinton.

As we got closer and closer, I debated whether to ask him to inscribe the book to me and Susanne; my plan had been not to, given the mechanized slaughterhouse precision of the book-signing process, but I noticed Clinton appeared to pause and take special requests from at least two other people ahead of us. What the hell, I thought to myself; the worst thing he'll say is no.

The Secret Service agent gave me the nod to approach the platform. I climbed several steps, handing my book to another agent, who slid it to someone else, who slid it to the president as he finished shaking hands with the person ahead of me. A moment or so later I was standing in front of Clinton, shaking his hand.

"Nice to see you," he said, shaking my hand with somewhat more firmness than you'd expect from someone who had to do this 1000 times in the course of a few hours.

"Nice to see you as well, Mr. President," I replied. "I was wondering if you would inscribe the book to Andy and Susanne -- that's S-U-S-A-"

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I can't do that," he interrupted, a look of sadness in his eyes as he lifted the pen away from the book. "I'm not allowed."

"To keep the line moving," a Secret Service agent added, tapping me on the shoulder to move along.

"Nice to see you," Clinton repeated, now shaking Susanne's hand behind me.

So that was that. A 200-minute wait to see Bill Clinton, only to hear him give his best imitation of HAL in 2001: A Space Odyssey.... -ac

Feedster vs. Technorati at the Democratic Convention in Boston

With just a few days to go before the Democrats start their confab here in Boston, two of the leading juggernauts of the blogging world are getting ready to strut their stuff. Let's take a look at what they've got lined up for us.

Technorati, the blog search engine, was the first out the gate when it announced it was partnering with CNN to offer live on-air commentary on how bloggers were covering the convention. They'll apparently offer a "BlogWatch" on CNN's Election Page, along with new blogs by CNN's very own Candy Crowley and Tucker Carlson. As of this morning, there was no sign of these resources on their site, but they've promised BlogWatch and the journalist blogs in a recent press release.

Meanwhile, Technorati competitor Feedster is wasting no time getting into the act as well. They're now offering politics.Feedster, a feed of the actual blogs published by the 30-some-odd bloggers who've received press credentials for the convention. The site already has a large collection of blog entries on it, but most of them seem to be whatever the last thing each blogger wrote before getting on a plane to Boston, be it on Iraq, Halliburtan, Al Qaeda, what have you.

So, with 72 hours or so left prior to the start of the convention, here's where things stand:

Technorati and CNN: Turn on your TV to hear pundits talk about what bloggers are saying.

Feedster: Visit our site and read for yourself what they're saying.

Feedster, 1; Technorati and CNN, 0.

-andy

Achieving a Perfect Storm of Blogging Tools for Civil Society

Across the blogosphere this week, folks have been talking about a recent post on Susan Mernit's Blog in which Susan lays out her thoughts on what she'd like to see news organizations do to enhance their coverage of the political conventions this summer. Susan, a media consultant and veteran of the US edtech wars, notes that media outlets appear to have done little to creatively embrace tools like blogs, rss feeds, and social networks such as Orkut.com to make their convention coverage more meaningful for voters.

Among other suggestions, Susan offers these:

Fox News or CNN with Blogger and Picasa or Typepad=Citizen Journalism

Why doesn't one of the larger networks and their local affiliates work with a large blogging service and their photo/mobblogging capabilities to create local citizen/journal reporters who can moblog local campaign and election events and do man on the street interviews?

ALL news entities with Internet Archive and Creative Commons licensing

Why not create an open source media archive for the 2004 election? What if all the major news players decided to cooperate with the Internet Archive and build a multimedia archive for the 2004 election season? And grant a Creative Commons license for use of the materials?

For those of you who read my blog occasionally or see my posts on my discussion lists, you'll know these are issues that are near and dear to my heart. Particularly since my acquisition of a Handspring Treo mobile phone earlier this year, I've been quite interested in the potential of mobile phones as blogging tools for civic journalists. After witnessing first-hand and documenting the harassment of human rights activists at the WSIS planning meeting in Tunisia last month, I've been quite eager to see a broader conversation on the role of blogging as a tool for civic participation, a tool for bearing witness, a tool for engendering change.

So to complement Susan's ideas, I'd like to offer the following:

smartphone + OneWorld TV + Witness.org + CreativeCommons + DailySummit + feedster = Civil Society Holding Political Leaders Accountable

Let me parse this out a bit further, so please bear with me for a moment....

Smartphone. Pick you phone, any mobile phone with the capability to capture audio, photos, video and publish it with text to the Internet. My Treo, for example, uses Mo:Blog software to let me thumb-key text entries to my blog, Phlog.net and Mfop2 help me post photos, while audlink lets me post audio. (Alas, I still post video clips the old fashion way - FTPing them - but I'm working on it.) The Treo isn't a cheap phone, but thankfully it's not the only smartphone on the market -- and they're getting cheaper every month. Who needs a laptop when you've got a phone with a thumb keyboard?

OneWorldTV. My colleagues at OneWorld, with whom I co-publish DigitalOpportunity.org, have a wonderful initiative called OneWorldTV. The site allows anyone with a video camera the ability to upload video clips to a public database, to be used by civil society activists to put together Web documentaries. Have a clip documenting police brutality? (Or poultry workers torturing chickens, as we've seen to our horror this week?) Upload it to OneWorld TV so fellow activists can utilize it and spread the word -- or spread the image, as it were.

Witness.org. This group, co-founded by Peter Gabriel, is one of my favorite NGOs. Recognizing the power of ordinary citizens to document human rights abuses, they distribute video equipment and offer multimedia training to community activists so they can use the technology to fight for better human rights. Think of it as a human rights digital divide organization - they empower activists with technology to address injustices in a whole new way.

CreativeCommons. This initiative simplifies the process of Internet publishers to assign or waive copyright restrictions to their content. For example, I use CreativeCommons on my website so all site visitors know they can use my content freely as long as it's for noncommercial purposes and that they're willing to share my content with the exact same copyright rules. CreativeCommons is more than just a button on your website, though; it adds computer code to your content that makes its copyright status detectable by search engines and other tools.

Daily Summit. During the World Summit on the Information Society last December in Geneva, the BBC and the British Council helped organize a group of British and Arab blogger-journalists to cover the event from every conceivable angle. While other news sources were largely focused on covering public speeches, press conferences, and other events dictated by the policymakers organizing them, the Daily Summit dug deep into the event, displaying a blend of skepticism and wittiness to which so many good bloggers seemed genetically predisposed. Add to that a multicultural, multilingual team of writers, and you had a recipe for solid, real-time civic journalism, with the promotional backing of a major media outlet.

Feedster. This search engine lets you sort through thousands upon thousands of blogs and news sources to find out what's going on in the blogosphere in near-real-time. It takes advantage of RSS feeds, those pages of computer code gobbledygook generated by most blogs each time a new entry is posted. Feedster allows users to find out who's discussing what, where and when with a timeliness that few other resources can hold a candle to.

So what happens when you throw these things into a wok and give them a quick stir-fry? A potential vision for using media to help civil society hold our leaders accountable -- accountable to their policies, to the rule of law, to the universal need for human rights and good government. Tools like smartphones and other handheld devices go well beyond simple email-checking gadgets, even if that's how they're used by the majority of their owners; they're a virtual printing press, microphone and broadcast antenna that fits in your back pocket. Projects like OneWorld TV and Witness.org are helping civil society members document abuses that are going on in their communities by providing technology, training and an international network for disseminating their content. CreativeCommons provides an easy-to-use system for identifying your content as copyright-friendly, with the technical savviness to make it easy to aggregate and search for other content with like-minded copyright principles. The Daily Summit demonstrated how a media outlet can throw journalistic stodginess to the wind and empower a group of creative bloggers to document an important event. And Feedster lets you follow all of it through a smart, en vivo search engine.

Individually, they each serve an important, sometimes vital purpose. Imagine if they were united and streamlined for the average citizen to use. Imagine if CNN or AOL put their support behind it. Susan Mernit has helped elevate the conversation with her musings on embracing citizen journalists. I think she's right, and I'd add that it's also about civil society journalism -- empowering NGOs and individuals to use these digital tools to redress grievances in our society.

So much of blogging to date has been about what you might call "me" journalism -- publishing what I want, when I want, how I want. The tools noted by Susan, and the ones I've added to the mix, hopefully may contribute to a broader discussion of "we" journalism. We must give the power of the pen, the microphone, the camera, the blog, the phlog, the rss feed, to civil society as a whole. Blogging should not be the elite domain of the digitally enfranchised -- those of us who happen to be the most digitally literate and wired to the hilt. Rather, civil society as a whole, both individuals and organizations, should have the skills and tools so they may work in concert for positive social change, whether for documenting wrongs or demanding rights. It may seem naive or impractical, but in an age where terrorists demonstrate their Internet literacy by executing hostages via online digital video, we should demand nothing less.... -andy

Mauritius and Scandinavia Photo Galleries Now Online

Hi everyone... Over the course of the weekend I managed to finish work on virtual photo galleries for my recent trips to Mauritius and Scandinavia. Both websites feature numerous photo albums, as well as journal entries, video clips and Quicktime VR panoramas. Please check them out when you get a chance... -andy

Feast of St. Rocco

A procession through Boston's North End for the Feast of St. Rocco.

posted from Andy's mobile phone

The Mauritius Grand Tour

Saturday was going to be my main travel day to experience the sights of Mauritius; my friend Dave Kissoondoyal of the Mauritius Internet Society had offered to pick me up at the hotel in the morning to take me around to some of the island’s best known attractions. We met up just before 10am; Dave had planned a full-day itinerary focusing on the island’s natural attractions. Our first stop, Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam Botanical Garden, was just a few kilometers from the hotel, in the charmingly named town of Pamplemousses.

Pamplemousses, French for “pineapples,” is one of a number of places across Mauritius with a produce-inspired name. Elsewhere on the island, you can also find Plaine Des Papayas (Papaya Plain), Riviere Citrons (Lemon River), Butte a L’Herbe (Herb Butte), Rose Belle (Pretty Rose) and last but not least, Pointe Aux Piments, Pepper Point, the location of my hotel. In addition to the abundance of fruit and vegetable points on the map, let’s not forget the playful town names of Flic-en-Flac and Curepipe, or the more ominous locations of Cap Malheureux (Cape Sadness) and Baie du Tombeau (Tomb Bay), both known for their perilous shipwreck-prone waters, and Le Morne Brabant (The Mournful One), a mountain with cliffs so steep that no one could climb it without dooming themselves.

SO, for a little more time than the amount it took you to read that paragraph, Dave and I found ourselves driving back and forth along a country road, not exactly sure where to find the botanical gardens. Dave is from the southern part of the island, and apart from visiting the gardens when he was young, he hadn’t been up here in many years. Fortunately, a couple of men standing at a bus stop were able to get us heading in the right direction.

Founded by French governor Mahe de la Bourdonnais as his private park in 1735, the gardens eventually became an important tool for French horticultural espionage, as French spies got their hands on seeds of precious spice plants that were cultivated by other empires, using the gardens as an incubator, both literally and figuratively, for the French to launch new agricultural industries. Even today, the gardens remain a botanical research center, with a fine collection of medicinal plants. But for the majority of visitors, Mauritians and tourists alike, the gardens are the island’s finest collection of exotic flora.

Pamplemousses’ gardens are perhaps best known for two things: palm trees and water lilies. There are royal palms, talipot palms (which flower only once over a 40-year lifetime), bottle palms, raffia palms, toddy palms, fever palms, sugar palms, fan palms – if it’s a palm tree and it grows in Mauritius, you’re bound to find it here. As for the water lilies, they’re a geographic anomaly, since they’re actually originally from the Amazon – not that any of the visitors ever complain.

After parking the car, Dave and I strolled around the gardens for about an hour. My first reaction was how familiar it all seemed -- the variety of palms, the collections of bougainvillea, hibiscus, magnolia, even the temperature and humidity – I felt like I was visiting a formal garden somewhere in Florida or perhaps Georgia. If it weren’t for the families on Indo-Mauritians, with most of the women wearing fine saris, I might have mistaken the gardens for the deep South.

Not far from the entrance, we stumbled upon a small deer park, a collection of Java deer enclosed in a large pen. A Mauritian man and his grandson gleefully fed some of the deer a large French baguette, the deer gathered along the side of the pen, sticking their snouts through the fat chicken wire to enjoy a starchy snack. Like most other mammals on the island, the Java deer aren’t indigenous to Mauritius; as their name would suggest, the Dutch brought the deer from Java several centuries ago. Whether you come across deer, monkeys, dogs, wild boars, you name it, there’s a strong likelihood they’re relatively recent immigrants. Even people are new to this particular corner of the globe – Mauritius was an unpopulated island for millennia until the Dutch and French decided to stake out permanent settlements on it. The French, in turn, brought African slaves from Mozambique and other parts of southeast Africa; later, as the island became a British colony and slavery was banned, wealthy sugar plantation owners brought in large numbers of Indians from Bihar and Tamil Nadu as field laborers, whose descendents form the majority of the population today.

Using the map in my Lonely Planet Mauritius book, Dave and I wandered the gardens, exploring the many fish ponds and avenues lined with ancient royal palms. Near the center of the gardens we reached the fine collection of Queen Victoria water lilies. Floating in a long, thin pool, the water lily pads were enormous, almost a meter across. The lilies also produce beautiful white flowers that open and close on a periodic cycle; on this particular day only one flower was showing off for the tourists.

There were many people at the gardens this morning, but they were generally quiteinconspicuous. Because the park was so large, visitors could easily get lost in the bevy of palms, flowers, ponds and shrubs. You were more likely to come across one of the local dogs, lounging in the gardens in the hopes of getting picnic scraps. We even came across two adorable golden retriever puppies, but soon figured out they were actually a young Mauritian’s pets, going out on a morning stroll together.

Leaving the gardens, Dave suggested I get a drink for the road – we’d have about an hour’s drive to the central highlands. After getting a couple of bottles of soda, we returned to the car and began heading south, first through the capital of Port Louis, then to the village of Vacoas (pronounced vah-KWAH). Dave said he wasn’t fond of Port Louis – big, modern, crowded and smoggy, the capital was a far cry from the rural beauty that still holds sway over much of the island. Perhaps we’d stop there briefly on the way back to the hotel later this afternoon; otherwise I’d spend a few hours in Port Louis on my own later in the weekend so Dave and I could concentrate on the natural wonders of the island.

As we passed through Vacoas, I was struck at how Caribbean the town looked – the style of the architecture, the local Creoles, the humidity – take it all together and you could have almost found yourself in Haiti or Jamaica.

“It looks very much like Costa Rica, doesn’t it?” Dave said.

“I imagine it does,” I replied, “but I haven’t been there yet.”

“I visited it once, for business,” he continued. “It felt like home except they spoke Spanish.”

Beyond Vacoas, the population thinned out considerably, and we found ourselves amongst acres of sugar cane along the perimeter of private estates. Near the entrance to the Black River Gorges National Park, we veered to the left, over a hillside with several radio towers. Soon, we reached what looked like an enormous fair grounds – empty space with small white buildings that appeared to be set up to support huge throngs of visitors. We’d arrived at Grand Bassin, a small lake known to Hindus from Mauritius and elsewhere as Ganga Talao, or Lake Ganges.

According to Hindu legend, the God Shiva and his wife Parvati were circling the earth, with the sacred river Ganges balanced on Shiva’s head. Shiva noticed a beautiful, deserted island and decided to land, but in the course of touching down there, he spilled a few drops of the Ganges onto the island, creating a small lake. The Ganges, to no surprise, wasn’t thrilled with having some of her precious water left behind on the island, but Shiva replied by saying that some day the people who resided along her riverbanks in India would settle on this deserted island and come to worship her there.

And so was born the sacred Ganga Talao, now home to the biggest annual pilgrimage of Hindus outside of India. Each winter, hundreds of thousands of Hindus descend upon the lake, some coming from as far away as South Africa, to give offerings to Shiva and this distant “tributary” of the Ganges. It’s one of the most important events on the Mauritius calendar. Unfortunately, I was about four months too late to participate in the festival itself, but that wouldn’t stop us from paying our respects during the off-season.

We descended to the lake shore and a temple dedicated to Shiva. Outside the temple stood a statue of the god, facing away from the lake. A family of pilgrims was standing in front of Shiva, giving puja (offerings) in the form of coconuts and incense. As the women tended to the incense, a man ceremoniously cracked the coconuts, one by one, spilling their milk at the foot of the Shiva statue. Several other Hindu families stood to the side, some of them with video cameras, capturing the private ceremony.

The location of the lake was quite pretty, with several families strolling along its edges and up towards another hill. Some people were throwing bits of food into the lake, pleasing a school of fish nearby. I even spotted an enormous eel, perhaps two meters along, joining in on the feeding, grabbing a few choice bits of bread for itself.

At this point, I desperately needed to find a restroom, having polished off most of the Diet Sprite that Dave got for me back at the gardens. Fortunately, one of the fairground pavilions still had an operational bathroom. I ran inside while Dave waited in the car. “I don’t like Mauritius bathrooms much,” he said, giving me a moment to ponder a pending sanitation nightmare before heading inside. Fortunately, the facilities were no worse than what you’d typically find at a US national park, so I was quite relieved, as it were.

We backtracked past the radio towers and ventured into the Black Gorges River National Park. The largest area of protected lands on the island, the national park is home to stunning vistas, waterfalls, exotic plants and a number of animals, including macaques and wild boar. Dave suggested we try to find Alexandra Falls, somewhere along the southern edge of the park. My map suggested it was off a dirt road not far from where we were, so we drove a few minutes into the park and veered onto a side road. The pavement, what there was of it, was in extremely poor shape; Dave drove the car in idle, carefully maneuvering the craters and cliffs in miniature, somehow managing to not get us stuck. Heading in the opposite direction, a family of Indian tourists inspected one of their tires on their car, apparently damaged during the short, perilous drive.

“This is typical of Mauritius roads,” Dave lamented. “They build a road, then it gets worse and worse and they do nothing until it is too late…. They talk about bringing in bringing in more tourists, eco-tourists; first they must make the roads work.”

Eventually, we managed to traverse the 200 meters to the parking lot without blowing out his car’s alignment. Stepping out of the car, we could hear water rushing downhill; indeed, a furious stream was just ahead of us, with a small bridge across it. Beyond the bridge was a hillside with a magnificent view of a valley leading all the way down to the southern coast of Mauritius. Mountains stood to the left and right of the valley; at its center you could see the surf of the Indian Ocean, many miles away. To the far left, we had an obstructed view of Alexandra Falls, partially because the water was descending a cliff from the very stream we’d just crossed. Due to the location of the vista, you couldn’t get a clear look at the falls; however, you could certainly hear it, even feel it, as water cascaded rapidly down towards the valley.

I was a little disappointed we didn’t get an unobstructed view of the falls, but I knew we had several more opportunities to see waterfalls today, so I wasn’t going to lose sleep over it. So we returned to the car and retraced our way down the pockmarked road from hell towards the main road. Heading west, we started to climb higher and higher through the national park, eventually reaching a pass over 2000 feet above sea level, a remarkable height considering how close we actual were to the sea.

Weaving up, then down the road, we passed a group of Mauritians who had parked their car along the curb and were foraging through the shrubs.

“What are they looking for?” I asked.

“I do not know how to say it in English,” Dave said. “We call them guavas.”

“Sure, I know guavas,” I replied, “but aren’t they fairly large fruit? I can’t even see what they’re picking off the bushes.”

“It is a special kind of guava,” Dave explained. “Chinese guavas. They are very small, very tart. Mauritian children like to pick them after school when they are ripe.”

Dave then veered off the road and parked near a row of bushes. “We can find some,” he said. “It should be very easy.”

“What exactly am I looking for?” I asked, carefully stepping into a bush, shoving aside its branches in search of phantom fruit.

“Here are some,” Dave said, just as I was completing the sentence. I heard a popping sound and a rush of leaves as he plucked the fruit off the bush. It wasn’t much bigger than a large red grape, and almost looked like a miniature pomegranate. “Taste it.”

“Should I just bite into it?” I asked.

“Yes, just bite it.”

I took a bite out of the small red fruit; it was rather tart, but not unpleasant, with a texture similar to an apple. I discovered some seeds as well, but they had a nice flavor as well.

“Here are some more,” Dave said as I finished my first Chinese guava. I looked down into his cupped hands; he’d already found at least 10 more.

I popped another guava into my mouth, this one a little greener; big mistake. Apparently the smaller, dark red ones are the best. Meanwhile, I finally spotted a few of them about half an arm’s length into a bush. I picked off two red ones and turned to show them proudly to Dave. Meanwhile, Dave’s hands were overflowing with them. He reached out and dumped them into my hands until they spilled onto the side of the road. Dave went into the car and found a white sheet of paper; he folded it to make a crude little envelope to keep my new collection of guavas.

“Perhaps I should make a chutney out of them,” I said.

“Good idea – they are very good for chutney.”

As we got ready to climb back into the car, a family of British tourists pulled over their car and hailed us. “What exactly are you picking?” the wife asked me.

“They’re a type of guavas, Chinese guavas,” I replied, proud of my new agricultural knowledge. “Have one.”

I gave her a small red guava and she bit into it. She pursed her lips tightly and tried to smile. “Thank you,” she said, soon followed by her husband driving off. Must have given her a tart one.

Back in the car with our fruitful plunder, we drove a little while until reaching Plaine Champagne, one of the park’s most famous hiking areas. Dave parked the car near a tree-lined path that was crowded with visitors. Apparently whatever was down the path was attracting more people than we’d seen anywhere else, so I was curious to see what the fuss was all about.

“Have you been here before?” I asked Dave.

“First time,” he said. “So you are turning me into a tourist too.”

Weaving through a crowd of French and Italian tourists, we soon reached a ledge with a long railing. Beyond us I saw what was perhaps the most incredible vista I’ve ever experienced: a wide, beautiful gorge, curving dramatically down and to the left between a series of mountains that intersected with each other like a giant tectonic zipper until the gorge reached the sea. To the right I spotted a waterfall scampering down the hillside; it was probably more than a half a kilometer away but was still quite dramatic.

I decided to make a little video of the vista with my digital camera, panning from the left to right. As I began to shoot the video, I heard a crowd of people behind me speaking quickly in French. In the corner of my eye I saw Dave pointing behind me as well. I turned around and saw a macaque monkey and its toddler scampering up the railing. Several French tourists were getting rather close to it, as if they actually planned to pet them. The mother macaque gave the tourists the evil eye and made some clicking noises, which kept the tourists at bay for a few minutes. One of them was still determined to get close to the macaques; only when mama monkey grabbed the woman’s blouse and gave it a hard tug did she realize it was probably a stupid idea.

Meanwhile, a whole troupe of macaques descended along the ledge from the far side of the railing. I walked over to take some pictures but maintained what I thought was a safe distance, until I saw through my camera’s view finder that the alpha male of the group was actually charging me, teeth in a full snarl. I scampered backwards around 15 feet, which seemed to satisfy the macaque.

Since it appeared the monkeys just wanted to be left alone to enjoy the view, I decided it was best to follow their lead, and spent a while marveling at the vista.

“Do you have places like this in America?” Dave asked me.

“Not exactly,” I replied. “In the west there are some beautiful vistas, but they aren’t lush like this. There are probably a few places in Hawaii that might be comparable, but not on a canyon-like scale as this is.”

Eventually, the ledge became thick with tourists. What a paradox -- feeling claustrophobic along the edge of a gorge. We hiked back along the path as more tourists seemed to appear out of thin air. By now it was approaching 2pm;Dave suggested we try to find some lunch before restaurants stopped serving until dinner time. We weaved through the rest of the park and started making our descent to the west, winding down a hillside towards Chamarel. Soon we reached a large gate with several nice cars parked out front. We pulled over and discovered a villa perched on the edge of the hill, with spectacular views of the valley below; it was a Creole restaurant.

Dave and I went inside to check out the menu; while I found several entrees that sounded good, Dave’s choices were more limited given the fact he’s vegetarian. I suggested we head back to the car and try to find another restaurant, but Dave said he’d manage, ordering a grilled Creole vegetable platter. Meanwhile, I chose the Creole chicken, which turned out to be the best meal I had in Mauritius: a platter of diced chicken in a spicy tomato sauce, a cross between a masala curry and blackened Cajun chicken. As side dishes they served a fine collection of Creole condiments and salads: basmati rice with broad beans in an aromatic sauce, steamed leafy greens with a hint of olive oil, peanut chutney, apple chutney and spiced pumpkin. I was overwhelmed by the flavors and smells, the freshness of the herbs and spices used in the preparation. I could taste cumin, cloves, thyme, cinnamon, pepper and a hint of cardamom; I think I also smelled mint, but I can’t be sure.

Dave and I enjoyed our lunches, admiring the view of the valley and the restaurant itself. The restaurant was built out of teak wood, almost alpine in design, with a reoccurring maritime theme: statues of sailors and model ships decorated the walls. It was extraordinarily charming; I was extremely glad to be having a meal out of the confines of the hotel, particularly a good Creole meal. I’d have to find a book of Mauritian recipes so I could try making it myself.

Leaving the restaurant, we continued to follow the winding road to Chamarel. Dave wanted to take me to see the colored sands of Chamarel, a local geological wonder in which seven different colors of dirt are found in swirling layers, creating an earthen rainbow. My ears popped several times as we drove downhill to Chamarel, a small village located halfway between the highlands and the sea. The village appeared to be populated almost exclusively by African Creoles, with most of the men sporting dreadlocks and bushy beards.

“They are Rastafarian, many of them,” Dave said as we drove through the village. “The people here are from Mozambique; they came here as slaves a long time ago and still live on their own, like a little piece of continental Africa.”

Beyond the village, we reached the entrance of the park. We paid an entrance fee of120 rupees for the two of us, then drove our car along a tight, winding road that led us through beautiful sugar can fields. The cane stalks towered high above the car, each one topped with a flourish of gray flowers billowing in the wind, like ripples in a sea of powdered sugar. We drove for what felt like a long time, not quite sure if we’d know when to park and get out of the car. Eventually, though, we reached a small parking lot dotted with taxis and several minibuses.

“Is this where the colored earths are?” I asked.

“No, I think this is the falls,” Dave replied.

We followed a small group of French tourists up a steep, muddy hillside, careful not to slip and crash through the bushes, as it was impossible to tell how far the drop would be – a fateful fall no matter what, I’m sure. Soon we reached a railed platform, with another group of tourists pointing far across the valley.

Squeezing in between them, I spotted the most amazing waterfall I’d ever seen – a magnificent flood of water cascading hundreds and hundreds of feet down the side of a cliff. It was the type of watery precipice I thought existed only in Kauai or the far reaches of Venezuela.

“That’s amazing,” I said to Dave. “How tall is it?”

“Very tall,” he said, clearly as captivated by the view as I was.

We appreciated the falls for several minutes until the next wave of tourists arrived, each patiently waiting for a chance to pose for a photo along the railing. Dave and I climbed down the hillside, even more carefully than on our ascent, now that we knew how far of a drop it actually was. Back near the car, Dave chatted with a taxi driver to confirm how to get to the colored earths while I admired the fields of sugar cane scattered to the west. The colored earths were another five minutes’ drive, apparently, so we followed a minibus of tourists to the site.

We arrived at a very large parking lot, currently hosting at least a dozen buses of various shapes and sizes. Meanwhile, for the first time all day I noticed the heat. Perhaps it was because we were standing in an unshaded parking lot; perhaps it was the fact we’d just left the highlands, which were at least five degrees cooler. I started to break a sweat as we went through the ticket inspection booth.

“The heat is worse when you have had a big lunch,” Dave said, smiling and wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Dave and I followed a wood plank path dotted with palms and banana trees. Descending several steps, we arrived at a hillside that had been cleared of all vegetation, the earth exposed to the elements. Or more accurately, the earths exposed to the elements. For here in Chamarel were the famous multi-colored sands of Mauritius. Eons ago, when Mauritius was a cauldron of volcanic activity, various types of lava cooled at different rates, creating rocks of different chemical patterns and colors. Over the millennia, the rocks were pulverized into sands which have the amazing property of settling into distinct layers: if you take a handful of each of the seven different colors of dirt and mix them together, they’d eventually separate into a colorful spectrum, each dot of sand rejoining its color caste.

Since the earth was first exposed, rains had carved beautiful patterns into the hillside, creating an effect of earthen meringue. At first I thought I noticed shadows on the hills, creating the illusion of different colors, but soon I realized that the colors were real and the shadows ere the illusion.

We followed the path around the exposed hillside as a large number of tourists spread themselves out over the park, visiting the tortoise pen, admiring the 50-foot aloe tree, or encouraging their kids to enjoy a small playground. The colored earths were quite curious, following in straight lines in some places while swirling in others, depending on the curve of the hillside and the amount of water erosion. “Do Not Enter” signs discouraged visitors from climbing over the rail onto the exposed earth. Several anonymous animals had scampered their way across it, though, clearly paying no heed to the admonishments, leaving tell-tale paw prints in their wake.

Dave and I walked counterclockwise around the hillside, admiring the patterns of colors until the sun got to be too much for either of us. It was now around 4pm, and both of us were running out of steam. We decided to start making our way back to Port Louis, perhaps for a quick stop along the city’s waterfront. Leaving Chamarel, we continued our descent to the coast, with each curve around a bend in the road revealing yet another incredible vista. The shores of southwest Mauritius are surrounded by beautiful, jagged mountains rising up from the beach. Some day this area would be prime real estate for some entrepreneurial resort developer.

We followed the main coastal road towards Port Louis, through the beach towns of Tamarin and Flic-en-Flac. Tamarin appeared to be the local surfer’s mecca, with surf shops and blond-haired dudes walking their boards along the road to the beach. Along the way we passed the highest mountain in Mauritius, Piton de la Petite Riviere Noire, a jagged peak that looked like a tropical version of the Matterhorn.

Traffic picked up as we continued northward until we reached the outskirts of Port Louis. Dave offered to stop along the Caudan Waterfront, the new shopping arcade near the capital’s port. It sounded touristy, but interesting, and perhaps I’d be able to find a bookstore to get that cookbook I wanted. Soon we arrived at the waterfront, a thoroughly modern complex that was oddly reminiscent of Baltimore’s Inner Harbor, with a fine collection of upmarket restaurants and shops. It seemed like a fine place to relax at sunset and have a beer, but after spending the day amongst the island’s natural wonders, the waterfront seemed particularly unnatural and awkward. However, we did spot a bookstore, so we went inside to look at the cookbooks. As I found the book I wanted, I bumped into my friend Maung from the ICT conference; he’d been spending the afternoon exploring the local market. The two of us made plans for dinner later in the evening.

Meanwhile, I bought my book while Dave finally found a restroom that was to his liking. We then decided to call it a day, particularly since it was beginning to rain. We’d squeezed a lot of touring into one day; I felt like I’d gotten to know the island a bit better, but still had enough left to see to figure out a return visit, hopefully with Susanne joining me next time. Back at the hotel, Dave and I said our goodbyes, then I returned to the room for a brief nap and a shower. Maung and I met for dinner at Shells, one of the hotel restaurants, where we both enjoyed a tasty tandoori dinner. As for tomorrow, I had nothing in particular planned for the day; considering I was staying along one of the most beautiful beaches in the world, this suited me just fine.

Quick Update from Mauritius

Hi everyone... It's saturday evening in Mauritius and the sun is setting over the beach right now, which I can see through the window of the hotel business center. For some reason they're not able to get my laptop to connect to the Internet, so it may be a while before I can post a detailed blog of my weekend activities. But I managed to have a great day trip with Dave Kisoondayal today, exploring the western half of the island. We visited the Pamplemousses Botanical Gardens, the Black River Gorge, and saw some amazing waterfalls and oceanside mountains. It really reminds me of Hawaii, if it had been relocated in the French Caribbean.

Anyway, more details later... -andy

Mo Kontan Monne Zwin U, Moris

One of the most amazing things about Mauritius is experiencing the local French Creole. Like the Creoles found in the French Caribbean, Mauritian Creole evolved during the 18th and 19th centuries as slaves adopted French and incorporated African words and grammar. Over time, the Mauritian Creole also took on a certain number of English words, as well as elements of Malagasy and Indian languages.

Today, Kreol Morisyen (Mauritian Creole) is the mother tongue of most Mauritians, even though French and English are the official languages of business and government respectively. But in everyday convesations, Creole is the language of choice. It's been fascinating watching Indian and Chinese Mauritians speaking it, given the fact I'm so used to hearing them speak Hindi, Tamil, Cantonese or what have you in other countries. It helps give Mauritius a particularly Caribbean flair to it.

So what does Creole look like? Here are a few examples, shown with French and English translations:

Bonzour, ki manyèr ?
French: Bonjours, comment ça va ?
English: Hello, how are you ?

Si ouplé.
French: S'il vous plaît.
English: Please.

Mo kontan monne zwin u.
French: Enchanté de vous rencontrer.
English: Nice to meet you.

Mo nom li Andy.
French: Je m'appelle Andy.
English: My name is Andy.

Si la mer ti a bwi, pwason ti a kwi.
French: Si la mer bouillait, les poissons cuiraient.
English: If the sea was boiling, the fish would cook.

While checking email yesterday, I sat next to a Mauritian man who was emailing colleagues. Glancing over his shoulder, I could see he was mixing Creole with English and Hindi all in the same sentence. It's quite amazing watching people mix languages so fluidly; it's so different from the US, where our penchant for being an immigration melting pot hasn't led to English becoming a linguistic melting pot.... -andy

The Sun Finally Rises

It's Friday morning in Mauritius, and for the first time since I arrived on Wednesday morning, the sun has come out to say hello. It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day here, which has helped set the tone for today's events. Unlike the first two days of the conference, today will be dedicated to one-on-one meetings between forum attendees. The conference registration desk has set up an easle charting out who's available and at what time. From what I can tell, many folks will be taking advantage of the nice weather to have their meetings in the poolside cafe or other spots where you can catch a nice breeze while shooting the breeze with colleagues. Most people are still wearing their business attire, but I've already spotted a few attendees who've adopted the Bermuda look, with button-down shirts and shorts. I think I may have to follow suit if it gets any warmer... -andy

The Downside of International Travel: Paying Homage to the Porcelain God

In my life to date, I’ve been fortunate to travel to forty-some-odd countries. In all of those places, I’ve managed to avoid getting shot, arrested, robbed, hurt (at least seriously), poisoned, harangued, scourged, kidnapped, hoodwinked (unless you count that sari quilt in Jodhpur), terrorized, converted, sold into slavery, besmirched, sullied or downright made miserable. And up to now, I’ve avoided getting so sick that I ended up losing my lunch. Until now.

Now, before we go there, we need to back up a bit, all the way back to Tunisia, where I’d spent a week at the WSIS Prepcom meeting. Coming home to Boston, I brought back a bit of a stomach bug with me – call it Tunis Tummy or Carthaginian Cramps or Hannibal’s Revenge – but it was more of a minor nuisance than anything else. The only problem is that I had only a week between my Tunisia trip and my Mauritius trip, and I never got the feeling that my stomach was, well, ready for prime time.

After my 30-hour, two-night-and-a-day commute from Boston to Mauritius, I knew I had to take it easy as best I could, which of course was made difficult by the fact that I had less than two hours from the time I arrived at the hotel to the time my meetings commenced. Somehow I managed to stay lucid throughout the first day, blogging and hobnobbing with participants, but I had to call it an early night, climbing into bed around 7pm with a bottle of mineral water, a Kit-Kat bar, and Kurt Russell as Wyatt Earp and Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday to keep me entertained.

Twelve hours of blissful sleep later, I woke up feeling fresh and had a big breakfast before heading to the morning conference sessions. For some reason I neglected to carry around my bottle of water, so I supplemented my thirst with the copious amounts of grapefruit juice and coffee supplied to the conference by the hotel.

Some time after the second morning session, I started to wonder why it was getting so hot in the plenary room. Then so cold. It was odd; no one else seemed to be bothered. I decided to go check email, which didn’t last long, since it was 2am in Boston and no one was eager to send me anything at that time of night. Again I felt the sudden change of temperatures, so I stepped outside to the coffee break area, trying a sip of coffee, then juice, to see which suited me better. Neither seemed quite right; instead I began to feel light-headed.

Sensing the worst, I dragged myself back to the room and stripped off my suit, climbing into bed and setting the alarm for 1pm. My session had been pushed back to late afternoon due to scheduling changes, so hopefully a brief nap would snap me out of this jetlag or whatever the hell it was I was experiencing. Instead, my light-headedness got worse, and I started to feel a bulge in my esophagus. I began to get a little nervous. Rolling over to my side so I wouldn’t accidentally die like a drummer from Spinal Tap, I began to wonder if today would be the day the Streak would end. I got my answer a few minutes later.

I had just enough time to run to the bathroom and plunge my head into the toilet before I started getting sick. As I lay there, sucking face with that porcelain whore, for some reason I started to hear music. It was the Spanish Harlem Orchestra performing their mambo hit, “Pueblo Latino.” I can’t say what song would have been more appropriate for the situation, but my brain’s selection struck me as a surprise. If I hadn’t been projectile vomiting I would have started laughing.

A few minutes later, I crawled back into bed, resetting the alarm for 2pm. Somehow I needed to get some rest and get this acidic beast out of my system before 4 o’clock, at which point I was scheduled to moderate a plenary session on education technology.

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Somehow, almost miraculously, I woke up 90 minutes later feeling okay. Not great, but not terrible either. I took my time getting dressed for the afternoon, in no rush to rejoin the meeting, but eager to do my best to look as if I hadn’t spent my lunch hour puking my brains out.

By the time my session started, it’d been pushed back to almost 5 o’clock. The extra time did me good – a little more blogging, a little more bottled water, a little more meditation in the plenary. Fortunately, the session went pretty well; no one seemed to notice any signs of my recent dance with the upchuck goddess. By the time the conference ended at 7pm, I felt I was almost back to normal. I called Susanne for a few minutes to say hello and see how she and the cats were doing, then hung out in the lobby with Shondeep Banerjee of the Commonwealth Business Council. I even made plans with Dave Kisoondayal of the Mauritius Internet Society to spend some time over the weekend seeing the sights of the island. Hopefully I’d get a long night’s sleep with no more unexpected mishaps… -andy

Arrival in Mauritius

“Mister Andy?” the driver from the hotel asked as I approached him at the airport.

“Oui, c’est moi,” I replied, hoping that I didn’t look as exhausted as I felt.

“Bienvenue à Maurice,” he said, pointing me to the car. “Let’s go.”

I’d just spent the last 30 hours crammed in the flying cubby hole known as Coach Class on three Delta and Air France planes, hopscotching their way around the globe , from Boston to New York to Paris to Mauritius. The last two flights were both transcontinental overnight flights. I’d managed to sleep on the plane to Paris – a first – but couldn’t catch a wink of shuteye on the 11-hour flight to Mauritius, partially thanks to a Scottish family sitting next to me, who held the philosophy that it’s best to encourage your three children to stay awake the entire night before starting your vacation.

And now it was 6:30am on Wednesday, and I sat quietly in the back seat of the hotel shuttle, watching a steady rain obscure my first views of Mauritius. A small island nation in the middle of nowhere off the eastern coast of southern Africa, Mauritius is blessed with beautiful beaches and pastures perfect for growing sugar cane – two facts that have helped make Mauritius one of the more prosperous southern African states. As we drove northwest across the island, it became quite clear that sugar cane was indeed king – endless fields of swaying, corn-like stalks in every direction. Off in the distance I could see several irregularly shaped mountains, dark silhouettes on the far side of the island. As the sun tried to peak through the thick morning clouds, the darkness of the mountains spectrally transformed into a lush green.

About an hour on the road, we reached the capital city, Port Louis (pronounced por-LWEE in honor of the island’s French heritage) . It was bigger than I expected, a tight mass of modern skyscrapers intermingling with a collection of colonial buildings built by the British after the French exited the scene. Port Louis was busy with traffic, as locals from the suburbs came into town for work, some in their own cars, some in big red public buses.

Despite the rush hour hubbub, we passed through quite quickly, circling a rotary leading us up the northwest coast. Traffic thinned out after a few kilometers until the only traffic we passed were small trucks overloaded with precarious amounts of sugar cane. Meanwhile, the fields of cane were now the only game in town; the sugar stalks encroached to the very edge of the thin road, towering more than 10 feet in the air for hundreds of meters at a stretch. I almost half-expected George Patton and his mechanized army to appear suddenly, steamrolling their tanks like juggernauts over the sugary hedgerows.

Losing track of time, space and distance due to sugar cane-induced tunnel vision, I was somewhat surprised when we arrived at the Meridien Hotel. Reminiscent of the luxury hotels of Bali, Le Meridien Ile Maurice is built around a series of enormous, open air pavilions. Through the center of the lobby there’s a beautiful view of the swimming pool, cascading down several levels on a series of waterfalls, while a thatched-covered tiki pavilion served as the poolside bar. Beyond it were a number of thatched umbrellas along the beach. It was the perfect place for a retreat, a honeymoon, an ICT policy conference. And given the sheets of rain now falling out the sky, I was glad I was here for a conference.

Though I’d been traveling for a day and a half and was living on three or four hours of sleep since Monday morning, I had to rush to my room, shower and shave: my conference would begin in less than 90 minutes. Somehow, I managed to get ready with a few minutes to spare, so I had a quick breakfast in one of the restaurant pavilion, eating scrambled eggs and passion fruit, a pair of song birds crooning as they ate some bread scraps on the table next to mine…. -andy

The ABCs of E-Education

This afternoon, I moderated a panel session on education technology, chaired by Evans Namanja, Director General of the Malawi Communications Regulatory Authority. Matthew Chetty opened the session with a presentation on the NEPAD E-Schools Initiative. NEPAD developed a vision that the digital divide, in an African context, must be addressed from the perspectives of ICT skills, education and public health. “The digital divide is an issue that must be addressed as a matter of urgency…. as is the challenge of bringing ICT skills to your entire country,” Chetty said. “Education is a necessary condition for sustainable development.” The NEPAD E-Schools Initiative intends to provide Internet access and ICT skills to students, teachers, administrators and community members so they can “make every learner an active member of the knowledge society.”

Over the next 10 years, they seek to convert all 600,000 schools in Africa into NEPAD e-schools. This means providing them with ICT tools and Internet access, technology professional development for teachers, technology-driven curricula that’s locally relevant and appropriate, and establish a telecenter within the school focused on community health. The project will be deployed in three phases, with 15 to 20 countries participating in each phase.

“NEPAD provides a continental platform to solve shared problems together, thereby benefiting participating countries both individually and collectively,” he said. And by developing the initiative as a continental network, it will provide policymakers and educators with a network for sharing best practices and avoid making mistakes. Chetty said there is also a lot of goodwill for the project, as it has been endorsed by leaders in each African country and embraced as a flagship project for the African Union.

From the UK, we then heard from David Beard of British Telecom and Neil Shaw of the British Council. Beard described BT’s Academy Learning Center , a Web-based training for BT employees. The system can handle 90,000 learners in one week, as had been the case recently when all BT staff were required to take an online course in new changes enacted to Britain’s telecom laws. Neil Shaw came to talk about a new initiative the British Council is developing with the British Department of Education and Skills called the Global Gateway. The site is striving to be an international education portal for stude