In America meanwhile, the economic crisis was defeated sooner with the onset of the war. There the increase in weapons production proved to be a driving force behind recovery. And the USA had never have to experience the total destruction of war. With its industry intact and that of Europe taken apart, the Marshall aid brought consumer power back to Western Europe and Europe started to buy American products. Europe recovered, but later. For a long time it seemed that everything in America was better. My parents grew up with this and I did not know better.

Western Europe has much less poverty these days than America. Largely because of all sorts of social programs that are virtually non existent in the USA, but also because of different taxation schemes that tax the richest in an incremental way. Until the 1980s this prevented increased distance between rich and poor and provided a social cohesion in many European countries. During the 1990s the rich profited from economic growth whereas others stayed at the same level. This is in effect a loss of income for the poor side. A similar trend has been seen in the USA where working two jobs has become more common in order to survive, yet the poorer side has not risen to a rich level. In the USA however, there are no solid programs that prevent people from getting poor and once you are out of fortune it is very difficult to get out of poverty.

Europeans would call this the failure of the American free market. Americans always refer to the American spirit and maintain that everyone can get out of it. Isn’t it written in the constitution that one has the right to pursue his own happiness? The myth that hard work will pay off is held deeply there, yet it is not happening for the majority of people. As long as there are high income differences there will be winners and losers. Sure everyone has the right to go for it, but not everyone has the means to do so. This can only come at the cost of ones who have less. High income differences in fact prohibit equal opportunities for all, because once in a high income position people will want to defend what they acquired. Their children be sent to better, expensive schools, etc. Especially in the USA, without an extensive social benefit network, everyone would in the end benefit from a serious incremental taxation, which gives a true equal opportunity to pursue your own happiness.

This brings me to Bobby. A taxi driver (sorry; cab driver) in Worcester, MA. When he picked me up at my hotel I enterd his cab with some astonishment. It was messy. The front seat was full of things, so I had to take the back seat. The seats themselves were not leather but the kind of upholstering that easily damages and stains: creamy textile. The car did not appear to be very new. Bobby himself was dressed as if he just rolled out of bed. Not a second after telling him where we would go he sped off and pushed me in the soft seat. He would do that every time he pulled up. I though of telling him that I am not in a hurry and that one minute extra really does not make a difference, but clinged to the door instead. He brought me from A to B and I payed for this service. Despite his cheerful attitude I could harldy say that service was adequate. I tried many cabs that week, different companies too, but all made me slightly sick before I got out. Enough to bring you from A to B, but otherwise a minimal effort in terms of comfort. Bobby was earning money and he needed this job. He preferred having as much rides as possible rather than making every ride pleasant for the customer. Quantity over quality. He was forced to, by the way the cab company had organized itself. A simple example of how free market does not deliver quality. I wondered a few times during those cab rides: was Bobby pursuing his own happiness?

Finally. After four months the Swedish authorities granted me a change from Dutch to Swedish drivers license. It had been a struggle. When I came to Sweden my Dutch license was valid for another eight years before renewal was due. I never imagined to stay longer than four to five years so I had never bothered to change it to a local one. I would be out elsewhere on the planet. That was eight years ago.

Regulations then stipulated that as an EU citizen I could drive with a foreign license, provided that I would change it within a year of settlement (meaning getting the taxation personnummer). I arrived as a student and those do not get such a number, so by the time my project turned into a PhD position I was already two years down the road when I received my personnummer. I did not have a car either so changing a license was not on my priority list. For occasional renting it would still be fine. For renewal I would probably go to the Netherlands at some point. I was still registered there for that same I-don’t-know-how-long-I-am-going-to-be-away reason. My kind professor had only money for two years so I decided to bet safe and at least have one place to go to.

After more years the professor got enough grants to continue my payement and I went on to buy a car. The PhD took longer and longer and every time I would think: “Now it is almost done. Just a few more months…”. In short, my old license started to expire before my PhD finishing. Meanwhile, the authorities in Holland started to assume I lived in Holland and demanded I pay health insurance. They had been pestering me over the years with similar messages and I kept explaining them that I do not live in Holland and that I am not going back just to say that I don’t live there, but now they wanted to see money and demanded that I be there in person, for I live there. I curiously took notice of the utter denial of my words (or shall we call it a lack of imagination?).  It took quite a bit of sending letters and documents before they believed I really live and work in another EU country, but consequently it meant that I could not be registered over there.

There I was: license nearly finished as well as my job. Lucky for me, the EU improved their regulation and now EU licenses can be changed at any time. This reflects much better the actual working condition of many Europeans workers these days: most of us are not emigrating, but just working elsewhere and are helped a lot by not having to book a flight back for every official errand and change their documents every other year. We do fly back once in a while, but usually on non office days like Christmas or a weekend. And believe it or not, then we have things to do. Those times are never vacation.

All things pointed to me obtaining a Swedish license. I had come to trust Swedish bureaucracy. They are not always fast, but everything gets done. Practically everything can be arranged easily on line here so I immediately applied, payed and sent my license to their office in Örebro. And waited. Nothing. After a month of waiting I started calling if they even received it. They did, so I waited. And waited. Another call asking if they perhaps could have it done before the end of the year. I had booked a flight to USA and it would be somewhat of a disaster not to be able to drive a car there. “Yes, it is in process. Now waiting for data from the Netherlands”.  And I waited. I went to USA without a drivers license (more about that another time). I came back and waited. Then, after more than four months I received the word that I had the right to change into a Swedish license. Hurray. And if I could pay another 150 sek to let them make it.

Logic dictated that first had to be checked if I was entitled to change and only then a license can be issued. I waisted no time and transferred more money the same day. A week further I could pick it up at the post office. I had to bring a Swedish ID: either a Swedish passport, Swedish ID card, SIS marked ID card, or – interestingly – a Swedish drivers license. No foreign passports, but one could bring another person with one of these Swedish ID cards to vouch for you. No problem. I showed the lady my Swedish ID card. “This is expired”. She pointed at the date. Right, I did not spot that. It had expired some months ago. In that unopened letter that she is holding in her hands is my only valid Swedish ID. I had learned my lesson from previous office encounters and did not engage in the tempting discussion in trying her to open my letter and let her check herself that it is me who is standing there. Instead I went to work to ask a colleague to show his drivers license for me. The lady smiled when I returned. “Ah, you’ve found someone”. Finally I can drive again.

Just by coincidence, the same morning I went to the official yearly car check up. The safety tests were fine they told me, but the pollution rate is too high. My car is grounded from the end of the month.

“Your travel authorization has been approved and you are authorized to travel to the United States under the Visa Waiver Program. This does not guarantee admission to the United States“

So does this mean I have or I don’t have permission to enter? I guess it will depend on the official that will question (pardon: “interview”) me before I board the flight. At the moment, I passed the standard queries on my background;

Have you ever been arrested of convicted for any offense or crime, even through subject of a pardon, amnesty or other similar legal action? Have you ever unlawfully distributed or sold a controlled substance (drug), or been a prostitute or procurer for prostitutes?

[...]

Did you seek to enter the United States to engage in export control violations, subversive or terrorist activities, or any other unlawful purpose? Are you a member or representative of a terrorist organization as currently designated by the U.S. Secretary of State? Or have you ever participated in genocide?

I am not the first to wonder what the purpose is of these questions, which makes it all the more interesting why they still are there. My first guess is that this serves as a threshold for outstanding stupidity. If you can’t read and understand what you read you are not let in. The phrases are, though unambiguous, quite complex and will set your mind on things that you have not thought of before. Secondly, of course not a single criminal will hesitate to lie on such a question so the real purpose is to be able to easily refuse someone entry if officials don’t like the background check that they perform on every application: if you lied on the application it is enough to send you back without formally charging you on real crimes.

Another matter is the question if you ever have been arrested. Surely a country is allowed to let only honest people in, but having been in arrest does not mean a person is dishonest. First, arrest is not always followed by a charge and people can be let off in for example a case of too much drinking in the weekend. Then there are countries where people get arrested because they speak their opinion, which unfortunately is the case in practically every place outside the Western nations. Charges in such cases will be written out as ‘subversive. breaking law and order. spreading moral downfall’ or sometimes a simple accusation of ‘sodomy’, ‘fraud’ or ‘drug possession’ will be used to remove a person from public life for in many countries it is enough to be siding with the wrong party that gets people arrested. Is this the kind of person that would not be welcome in the USA? There are also people who, arrested and convicted, served their term in prison and legally this counts as repayment for the crime they have been involved in. This waiver question marks any such person as suspect in the highest degree for the rest of his life and as such undermines the legal system that is in place in other countries. A reserve has to made and that is that a ‘yes’ answer does not necessarily means an entry refusal. That depends on the person judging your case, but with these questions it is fairly easy to use this in a way that assumes an applicant is bad because he is suspect. It is the applicants word versus the system. Such cannot be the goal of a legal system in a country that wants freedom for every individual.

Currently they are displaying Nick Brandt’s pictures from African wildlife. It is his largest exhibition so far. He makes portraits of lions, leopards, giraffes, elephants and so. Just not with a tele-lens, but up close. Like you would with human portraits. So far he has managed not to be eaten by his subjects and it delivered impressive images, many of which feel iconic already.

Equally iconic is the price of the book that comes with the exhibition: €140. Though I sympathize with fund raising for wild life protection and he deserves an income as well, this is not something I am prepared to pay for a book. Better to wander around the enormous printouts of the elephants and take a closer look. You can look the animal in the eye and almost say hello. Closer than this few of us will ever get.

The revolution to celebrate this weekend was the Czechoslovak Velvet (also called Gentle) Revolution of 1989. The reason stems mainly from being acquainted with Czechs and Slovaks in Uppsala and celebrating became a habit even after most of them left. This year there was one true Czech and one true Slovak among the audience. Nevertheless spirits were high. There was a lot of talking and a few memorable words on freedom in general. As the evening went along, there were spontaneous games and so I learned to play charade.

These days it is easy to forget how separated Europe was before 1990. It was virtually impossible to cross the border from East to West or vice versa. I happened to visit East Germany and Czechoslovakia a few months after the events that dumped communist rule and Russian occupation. Few had adjusted then and officials were visibly uncomfortable with the change of their role as guard to tourist welcomer. Also most old regulations were still in place. I was forced to change 25 Dutch guilders to (East) marks for every day I spent in East Germany. Considering the Eastern price level this was a huge sum of money. Changing back or exporting East currency was not allowed – and checked. (This system had been put into place to ensure a flow of hard foreign currency to the communist  state pocket since export of manufacturing goods could not compete with Western quality). Basically I used up 10-15% of it and threw the rest, for it was impossible to find things like souvenirs those days and all normal products were just crap. Changing border to Czechoslovakia I was surprised to learn that the inter-communist borders were almost as tight as the German-German border. And again I had to buy local currency. In Prague it was a little easier to spend money, but I had to behave like a jet setter, buying dinners in the most exclusive restaurants and shopping cd’s where I could. I barely managed. The metro was 1 crown (a few cents) for a ride anywhere. Theater was just over €1,-.

With the end of the no-market economy, prices also went up and it was difficult for most people, with many choosing to earn a little more abroad. On the whole the country got better and better the last 20 years, up to a point where it became a serious option for people not to leave the country for jobs elsewhere, but to stay or come back from abroad. A trend that now also appears in other former East block countries.

If people are happier with the freedom and quarrelling politics of today is difficult to measure, but at least every person has the possibility of making a better life whereas previously all individual incentive was basically punished. And that is a reason to celebrate.

What it means when a city is not called big city any more remains unclear. There seem no legal consequences, nor change in military strategy that I am aware of. Would perhaps future students avoid the city if it is not longer called ‘big’ city? Would shops like IKEA move out?

Uppsala nightlife has always been suffering a little of the nearness of Stockholm (70 km). A problem with Uppsala is its great number of student-only bars and organizations. While this is helping fresh students to find their lifes, it is preventing other pubs from existing. The exemption for high tax on alcoholic drinks makes having an social evening in a student house significantly cheaper. Thus normal pubs are avoided and barely exist in this ‘big city’. I know less than five of them and all actually make more living as a restaurant than a pub, with some requiring seat reservation – not the friendliest option for a spontaneous night out. Stockholm, the capital has all the big venues for theater, opera, rock concerts, etc plus supporting bars and restaurants. Uppsala has only a cozy city theater, a handfull of soso cinemas and only recently obtained the concert and congress tower.  But while some people think their salvation lies in being associated with ‘big city’ (from who the idea also came of the concert tower), it is good to consider all the small events and places that the city has. There are for example numerous concerts in churches.

Not the least in Scandinavia’s largest cathedral, a venue that is perfect for Mozarts Requiem performance that I recently saw. The nave fits hundreds of people and the acoustics are fine. The experience is worth waiting for. Undersigned arrived an hour before the start and found himself already on the 16th row. A hundred grannies were there before me. Nothing in Stockholm can compare to that.

There is an odd thing happening with my camera life; I grew up with Canon slr cameras, once decided that Nikon is probably my favorite, but I already purchased my second Fujifilm camera instead. It started some years ago with my odd camera for my high end needs: the S5 Pro, which I noted then for its high dynamic range. Now my choice for compact camera also fell on an odd Fujifilm: the X100. Both cameras are somewhat top end of their class of cameras (at least what price is concerned) and they give the feeling that you have something special.

For the S5 Pro it was the exceptional dynamic range back then. Rarely under or overexposed highlights and shadows. At the time of writing other cameras are catching up and it is a matter of time before the quality gets surpassed. Still, it was 5 years of fun and pictures are still good. The weird thing was the structure of menus and buttons. Logical, but not always practical. One gets used to it.

The X100 is about 5 years newer and reviews give it similar comments about the menus and buttons, but coming from and old Fujfilm system I found it delightfully simple. The first attraction of the X100 is its retro look. The font side looks a good 1960′s design and would easily be mistaken for being a very old camera (as it happened already by passers-by commenting on my camera). Yet, the back side reveals it has all features of a digital camera. Nice touch is the optical viewfinder and the ability to actually use an old fashioned shutter release cord (tested and works). The specifications will no doubt be outdated soon, like most compact cameras these years, because digital camera technology is far from being fully developed, but it has several advantages over its competitors.

I was looking for a portable, yet reasonably good photo camera that I could take with me almost any time. So no separate lenses, some automated features – but with full manual control if needed and it should do well in low light; think indoor parties or winter darkness. Basically you then have to decide then if the camera (meaning you) needs a zoom. Zooming is useful, but comes at the cost of less light on the sensor (giving higher noise), requiring flash for indoor use for compact cameras. At Fujifilm they figured that too and decided to build a dedicated wide angle lens for their X100 camera body. They put in a relatively large sensor (larger than in comparable class cameras). This, together  with good performance tests at high iso values were convincing enough. A better camera is not about more megapixels, but what it gets out of its megapixels with its optics and sensor. The ability to see (and hold) with a viewfinder is the best guarantee for image stabilization.

The fixed lens has a 35mm small-film-equivalent view that captures what is more or less our human view angle. I noted that no in-built zoom (you would have to walk closer to zoom) makes me think better of composition. What do I see? Does it make a nice picture? What if I move half a step forward or backward. I came to be more concerned about the scene. And that is the greatest thing about the camera. Good looks, no thrills, it brings you back to making pictures.

http://www.finepix-x100.com/en/x100

While I tried to handle the concept of going to drive a brand new car I tried to recall my driving lessons – a mere century ago – in a small BMW. Come to think of it, I had never driven a new car ever since. When I found it in the garage it was violet-lila. I checked the counter: 17 km. The lady fooled me by three kilometers. The interior as clean as it will never be again. And surprisingly: no new-car-smell. How did those Germans manage to get rid of that? I started the engine and drove off and on to the motorway. I still had to get an hour further today. First gear, second gear, third gear. It speeds up to 100 in no time. Fourth, fifth, sixth. Going 140 and I barely notice it. The engine – so quiet, steering – so easy, the balance – so stable. Oops, going 160 now. Amazingly gentle. What is the limit of this machine? Ah, 240 km/h and we have all year round friction tires the sticker says. This car does 3000 rpm at 160, while my Golf does 3000 rpm at 90.

Then disaster strikes. Bird poo on the windscreen. This amazingly shining car, spoiled forever. The windscreen wipers cannot get it off no matter how much soap I add. That night I slept restless.

Next days it rains heavily. The dirt washes away from the car. In the dry times the engine swiftly and safely brings me wherever I go. On the last day around one o’clock I head back to the airport for my flight at six. Three hours to get from Munich to Stuttgart should be enough on the motorway. But then: traffic jams. The Audi gets sandwiched between Dutch caravans. Ok, I can skip stopping for lunch. Half an hour later I start to get worried. It will get tight at the airport. I still have to stop at least for fueling up. The clock ticks away precious minutes. When the motorway gets three lanes again the jam dissolves. I had spent almost two hours standing close to still. It is four o’clock and I still have 90 km to go. I have to come up with a plan. The German motorway has no speed limits. It is time that I use that. 120, 130, 140, 150, 160. Back in fifth gear. Pedal down, 170, 180, 190, back to sixth. This car has an amazing traction and comfort. Without the speed dial I would not be able to tell the speed. It is a quarter past five when I reach the airport with a full fuel tank. A rush from the parking to the check in desk with all the luggage brings me through security 5 minutes before boarding. In the aircraft I relax and breathe normally again. Then, I start wondering. There was a lot of sand on my shoes. The car must look terrible inside. I hope they tidy it a bit before they hand the keys to the next person.

First, our starting flight left with congestion delay. The crew was anxious to make us eat the sandwich and started handing them out before departure. The flight time was officially 45 minutes. This got extended by queuing up for landing at Frankfurt. We swirled around the night lit city half a dozen times during which I failed to spot the Römer main square. When we finally were landing, our approach was called off due to another aircraft on the runway, which meant queuing up again in the Frankfurt circle. Thus we exited the plane about 40 minutes late (remind the flight time was supposed to be 45) on a remote gate without docking connection because we had missed our slot. The doors opened and aparently we were to be transported by busses to an airport entry. It started to rain as well while we were waiting outside. Finally inside at terminal B, I see that my connecting flight leaves at terminal A. That is a claustrophobic 15 minute underground walk with elevators and moving walkways.

Not all Sunday evening travel is misery as I could look forward to a buying the real schnitzel. Unfortunately, all the delays had given me just enough time to buy myself a quick snack to make me survive the evening.
To my surprise, Lufthansa did not serve a meal on the remainder of my journey – the two hour flight to Stockholm. Not even a sandwich, but just a small salad. I was already on my way for four hours and would be arriving home after midnight. Someone had made a decision that a decent on board dinner is unwanted on these kind of flights. I wonder who that was. It must have been a morning traveller.

The flight was scheduled to Zurich, where I was to connect with my final flight to Vienna, with a transit time of 50 minutes. Zurich is not big and as a frequent traveller I trusted the Swiss clockwork. But I was still waiting to board my flight. And waiting. There seemed to be no aircraft yet. It was then announced that my flight is delayed. Weather condition or so. (Would they ever tell if there was something seriously wrong with the aircraft?). I was reflecting on the fact that the Swiss are famous for chocolate too and if that would have overtaken their clock skills.

My mind got interrupted by people pouring out of the gate. Apparently our vessel had arrived. Our take off was swift and I had good hopes we could make up for the lost time. The flight was nice and quiet and I was studying various cloud types for a change. Deep into Germany we started to make a circle around a town in the middle of the hills. This does not look too good. Another circle followed, and another, and another. “Ladies and gentlemen, due to bad weather conditions only one landing stripe is open in Zurich so we are queuing up at the moment”. I peeked at my clock; half an hour left for my next flight. I resolved to studying our new town. Look there is the main church, and there the station, and that must be the historical center, that looks like a suburb. It was as if the crew wanted to calm us with a permanent view on this peaceful looking town. What was missing was a Mantovani tune.

Finally we broke the circle that Zurich traffic control put us into. I stopped looking at my watch. The pilot informed us that also all departing flights are delayed so we’ll make most of our connections, but I heard such before. If we are not landing soon, they are not going to hold them, otherwise they will congest the airport. I am waiting for a miracle. We are going down now. Turbulence. Air pockets; we are dropping 10 meters at once. We steadily fly lower. Another drop. We are getting close to the ground now. The plane is shaking left to right. Almost there; I can see the asphalt. The pilot corrects tremendously, 20 more meters, I tighten my seatbelt. One more drop and we are as flat as omelets. We accelerate! We are pushed into our chairs and go up again. As much as I would like to land, I am glad the pilot takes no risk. I would not like to end my life in a airport which’ name translates as ‘bollocks’ into my language.

We queue up for another try. Turbulence is still heavy. Slowly… one drop; more shaking, we continue and land correctly. I take a breath. I am only 600 km away from my destination now. Let’s see if my plane is still there. The door opens and I patiently await my turn to disembark, then rush to the gate. There, terminal, where am I, A65, where am I leaving, A67. That is close! I can make that. A67, that is… I turn around and stare at the plane that held my life and I just so eagerly left. Gate A67 to Vienna, that is the same plane.