Monthly Archives: December 2012

December around the New Homestead

"Cow Jumping over 28 Phases of the Moon," by Robert Israel, lobby, Johns Hopkins Hospital, Baltimore

“Cow Jumping over 28 Phases of the Moon,” by Robert Israel, lobby, Johns Hopkins Hospital, Baltimore

The remaining days in December were given to the joy of family at Christmas, and getting to know the region a little better.  Took a couple of ambitious bike rides, and spent some time in libraries, including the spectacular Library of Congress (I registered as a reader on a visit in 2011).

A view from the reading room at the closest public library, Dolley Madison, two miles from home

A view from the reading room at the closest public library, Dolley Madison, two miles from home

Okay, you're not supposed to take pictures in the Library of Congress, but, hey, I'm a steadfast taxpayer . . .

Okay, you’re not supposed to take pictures in the Library of Congress, but, hey, I’m a steadfast taxpayer . . .

The day after Christmas we made a day trip to Baltimore, not for sightseeing, but to be with granddaughter Carson (and her mom) for a day of therapy at the Kennedy Krieger Institute, affiliated with and adjacent to the Johns Hopkins Hospital.  Kennedy Krieger is a world leader in helping children and young adults “with disorders of the brain, spinal cord, and musculoskeletal system to achieve their potential.”  It’s an impressive place.  Spending a day there was a reminder that when it comes to children, no one should take “normal” for granted.  Carson’s eating issues were certainly minor compared to lots of the youngsters there.

At lunchtime, we ambled through tunnels to a cafeteria, then around a relatively small part of the vast Johns Hopkins Hospital, including a brand-new showcase building filled with interesting art.  While Carson was getting afternoon treatment, I walked down the street and into the original 1889 brick building, with a stunning atrium centered on a marble statue of Jesus Christ.

Carson about to loop the loop in the new lobby of the Johns Hopkins Hospital

Carson about to loop the loop in the new lobby of the Johns Hopkins Hospital

The original hospital building

The original hospital building

Atrium, original building

Atrium, original building

Waiting for the end of the day’s treatments, I read about Mr. Johns Hopkins, a righteous man who founded both the hospital and the separate but related university.  He was keenly focused on learning and discovery because his own education ended in 1807, at age 12; his Quaker parents did the right thing and sold their slaves, forcing Johns to work on the family farm.  He moved to Baltimore at age 17 and succeeded hugely in business, as an investor in one of the first large railways, the Baltimore & Ohio.  When he died in 1873, he split his fortune between the university and the hospital (it was at the time the largest bequest in U.S. history).   How fortunate we are for philanthropists like Hopkins and those who continue the tradition of giving; for huge advancements in medical knowledge; and for experienced and compassionate caregivers.

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To Dallas. But It’s Not Home Anymore.

The DART Orange Line -- by next year it will run all the way to DFW Airport.

The DART Orange Line — by next year it will run all the way to DFW Airport.

Slept in my own bed twice, then drove to Washington National Airport for the last trip of 2012, back to Dallas/Fort Worth for a sales call and a lecture at Southern Methodist University.  It seemed a little odd – was I going home?  No, but sort of.  Linda came along to visit friends, so she dropped me at a Holiday Inn near the airport and zoomed off in a rental car for dinner with a pal.  The hotel was a couple of blocks from the apartment where I lived 25 years earlier before the family moved down from Minnesota, lending a sense of déjà vu.  Was up early the next morning in the rental car, driving a few miles to meet colleague Bruce Wolff for breakfast; at nine, Linda dropped us at American Airlines’ headquarters (also a little surreal), and Bruce and I made a call on a longtime colleague.  All good.

Bruce peeled off for the airport, and at noon I met Adam Pitluk, new friend and editor of American Way, the inflight magazine, for lunch and a good yak.  Adam published an essay of mine a month earlier, and we talked about the prospect of more writing.  Getting back into freelance travel writing would be a nice little hobby.  Linda had the car, and getting from DFW to SMU became a saga.  After hopping a shuttle bus to Terminal A, finding change for a $20 (a taxi driver was happy to sell me $19 for an Andrew Jackson), and waiting for awhile, I learned that the bus stop for the new DART Route 500 was temporarily relocated.  Trotted to the upper roadway of the terminal, and boarded the 500 bus. Oops (and despite assurances from a DART employee at the temporary stop), she was headed southbound, not to the Orange Line, so I rode to the end, we turned around, and headed to the right place.

About 80 minutes after the T-Geek found this great new way into Dallas, I finally arrived at the Belt Line Orange Line station. But I was still more than 20 miles from my destination, Southern Methodist University. But it was a straight shot, the train was empty, did some work on my laptop, and was on campus by 4:15.  From 6 to 9:30 Dan Howard, longtime marketing prof, and I delivered a talk on service quality.  Linda picked me up at 9:45 and dropped me at AA pal Ken Gilbert’s house.  Staying overnight with friends in North Dallas, also a little unreal, but some good conversation and a beer made for a nice end to a busy day.

Up early Tuesday morning for a yak with Ken’s wife Peggy before she left for work, and a morning-long chat with Ken, plus a long walk with their two dogs and a caloric breakfast at Kel’s, a well-known greasy spoon.  Linda picked me up at noon, we drove back to DFW, and flew home.

Ken preparing breakfast for Bella (L) and Papi, who "emigrated" with the Gilberts' daughter Blair when she returned from a Peace Corps stint in Tonga

Ken preparing breakfast for Bella (L) and Papi, who “emigrated” with the Gilberts’ daughter Blair when she returned from a Peace Corps stint in Tonga

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The Last EuropeanTeaching of 2012

The recently dedicated Bomber Command Memorial, Green Park, London

The recently dedicated Bomber Command Memorial, Green Park, London

After a pleasant Thanksgiving weekend (well, still a lot of work, but much less chaos in the house), I did a couple of days of consulting work, and on Wednesday the 29th I departed for the last teaching trip of the year.  Linda dropped me at the West Falls Church Metro, and I hopped on the train to National Airport, the short flight to JFK, and the Silver Bird to Milan.  During dinner I watched (for the third time) the poignant Life is Beautiful, Roberto Benigni’s 1997 tragicomedy about an Italian-Jewish father and young son sent to a concentration camp.  As it did before, it brought a flood of tears, as well as positive reflection on how much better Europe is today than 70 years ago — I was bound for Italy and Germany, and would seen see that “much better.”

We landed at 7:30 in light rain.  I caught a fast bus direct to Lugano, bound for my fourth visit to the Università della Svizzera Italiana.  At the Swiss border, the most thorough inspection in decades – 15 passengers off the minibus, several of them hauled into a private room for luggage search.  Hopped the funicular from the train station above town to the center, on the lake of the same name, and walked a mile east to my hotel.  I was a little worried about my feet and knees – they really took a beating in November, with all the loads and climbing – but they were working pretty well.  Took a shower, suited up, and headed to USI and the student cafeteria, the Mensa, for a pasta lunch.  In the Land of High Prices, a simple pasta meal with salad and drink was $17.

Late fall in Lugano; the nearby hills were already dusted with snow

Late fall in Lugano; the nearby hills were already dusted with snow

Worked my e-mail – the school has a wonderful, open wi-fi network – and prepped a bit for the talk, prep including a jolt of strong coffee at two o’clock.  Met my host, Omar Merlo (he’s also my host at Imperial College, London, and Cambridge) just before three, and for two hours delivered a talk to about 30 Master’s students, an engaged group full of good questions.  Omar dropped me at the hotel and I caught a 30-minute snooze, then did a bit of work.  At 7:10 he picked me up and we motored to Canvetto Ponte di Valle, a rustic restaurant on the north edge of town with a range of food.  We started with small plates of wild-boar ravioli, really good, then vacuumed an enormous bowl of fondue, so Swiss.  Omar is a really fun guy, so we had lots of laughs.  For dessert, three apple pancakes with vanilla and berry sauce. Yum!

The first jolt of Friday, at the Lavazza kiosk by Gate A05

The first jolt of Friday, at the Lavazza kiosk by Gate A05

Up at 5:20 Friday morning, down to the lobby, where I had a nice T-t-S exchange with Roberto, the kindly night porter.  After checking out, he made me a fresh and strong cup of coffee then handed me my breakfast in a bag.  I remarked at its heft, and he said, “Si, si, I made it big because you are Roberto and I am Roberto, too, and I noticed on your registration card that you had a birthday three days ago.”  I told him my mind was still young, but my knees not so much. “You know what I do,” said Roberto, “I dance rock and roll for 20 to 30 minutes every day, and that keeps my knees in good shape.”  Nice!  I wished him Buon Natale and walked to the train station, caught the 6:35 bus back to Italy and Malpensa Airport, and hopped on Air Berlin to Düsseldorf.  Spectacular views of snowy Alps along the way.  DUS was fogged in, and the captain said we might need to divert to Cologne, but after more than a few turns in a holding pattern we were able to land.  I missed my planned train to Münster, but was able to catch a faster one and arrived just a bit later than expected.  Along the way, I cued an appropriate and favored travel tune, the Pat Metheny Group’s “Last Train Home,” which has a clickety-clack percussion and always sets the tone for a nice ride.  North of Dortmund the sun came out briefly, shining on the pleasant farm landscape of Westphalia: half-timbered barns, sheep and cattle grazing, and small patches of forest.  With the deer (hunting) stands at the edges of the wood, it looks a lot like parts of northern Wisconsin.

Alps

OnTheDB

The view from my seat on the train north to Münster

Walked from the train station to the Marketing Center at WWU, a big public university.  It was my 12th visit.  From 2:00 to 3:15 I gave a seminar to a trio of engaged Master’s students – a small but good “class.”  Walked to the hotel, checked in, changed clothes, worked e-mails, and walked a few blocks north to buy another small wooden ornament from a wonderful small shop – we now have four or five little wooden angels at home.

Überwasserkirche (begun 1340) and newer church buildings

Überwasserkirche (begun 1340) and newer church buildings

Window shopping along the Prinzipalmarkt, Münster, for hardware . . .

Window shopping along the Prinzipalmarkt, Münster, for hardware, like my favorite kitchen knives from nearby Solingen . . .

And software, too!

And a sort of software, from Kleimann

At 5:30 I met the three young women again, and we walked a block to one of Münster’s several Christmas Markets for a couple of mugs of hot spiced wine, glühwein.  My WWU host Manfred Krafft joined us, and he and set out for dinner, walking across town to the Gasthaus Altes Leve¸ in business since 1607.  Advent is the season for grünkohl, kale chopped and slow cooked with diced potatoes.  Also on the plate was a long smoked sausage.  The food was great, but even better were the agreeable couple seated across from us, Stefania and Jaap, from the Netherlands.  We had a great yak and a lot of laughs – Jaap was a seriously funny man.  Stefania had worked at Amsterdam Airport for three U.S. airlines, TWA, US Airways, and Continental; at the end of dinner, Jaap handed me his business card, and it turned out he worked for Dutch air traffic control as the manager of airline liaison.  It was a fun two hours.

I slept better the second night – not hard, but no toss-turn cycle.  Tucked into a big breakfast buffet, walked to the train station, and hopped on a local train to Hamm, then the fast ICE to Berlin.  More Advent tradition: as I had done every year since 2008, after Münster I met my young German friend Michael Beckmann.  He and his son Niklas, now almost four, were waiting for me on the platform at the Hauptbahnhof; his wife Susan and almost-one-year-old daughter Annika were at home.

One could reasonably ask why we don't have trains that go 250 km/h (more than 150 mph) in the densely populated parts of the U.S.

One could reasonably ask why we don’t have trains that go 250 km/h (more than 150 mph) in the densely populated parts of the U.S.

Niklas Beckmann, literally pulling my leg

Niklas Beckmann, literally pulling my leg

We headed west to the outer suburb of Gatow, to a former air base in what was the British sector of West Berlin, now the home of the Museum of Military History.  Until recently it was called the Luftwaffe Museum, and indeed it is largely a collection of air force stuff.  That it has a new, less threatening name, and that the location was poorly signposted (even the address on their website was wrong) says I lot – and I may be speculating here – about postwar German sensibilities.  But we found it, parked the car, and ambled through a gate.  Admission was free (maybe another symbolic act).  It was cold and gloomy, but Michael, a fellow Transport Geek, and I enjoyed the collections very much.  Along the runway was an impressive collection of Cold War stuff from both West and East Germany, and two former hangars had flying hardware all the way back to 1910.  Interpretive panels were almost all in German, but an observant person could figure it all out.  Niklas behaved very well, and we were there for almost two hours, well past dark at 52º North.  Here’s a gallery of images from the museum:

The MiG was two months older than me (August 1951), prompting Michael to say that I looked better!

This East German MiG was two months older than me (August 1951), prompting Michael to say that I looked better!

Logo on a Niendorf propeller, 1910

Logo on a Niendorf propeller, 1910

The museum handled the tumultuous history of military aviation with a clear head and no revisionism; here a combination of aviation rubble and a photograph of the Reichstag smoldering in 1945

The museum handled the tumultuous history of military aviation with a clear head and no revisionism; here a combination of aviation rubble and a photograph of the Reichstag smoldering in 1945

Cold War-era control panel

Cold War-era control panel

MiG flight line; the museum probably had more hardware than they could sustain, but it was fascinating to see a century of flying stuff in one place

MiG flight line; the museum probably had more hardware than they could sustain, but it was fascinating to see a century of flying stuff in one place

The museum did a fine job of showing how the German military was reintegrated through NATO

The museum did a fine job of showing how the German military was reintegrated through NATO

Drove home to meet young Annika and greet Susan.  It was good to be there, in a comfortable suburb north and west of the capital.  We had a lovely and leisurely Saturday night.  Onkel Rob read books (in German!) to Niklas, played with his Brio train set, and had other fun before tucking into a hearty quiche with leeks and bacon.  Was asleep by 9:30, and horizontal for ten hours – pure therapy!

NiklasRobBook

Reading about the firefighters, in German. It was a good workout for my mouth, those sounds I learned in a ten-week German class nearly 40 years ago!

Advent wreath on the Beckmann's dining table

Advent wreath on the Beckmann’s dining table

Sunday morning  Niklas, Annika, Michael, and I went to the bakery for fresh bread rolls, on foot (Niklas on a no-pedals two wheeler, and Annika in a baby carriage).  Had a wonderful breakfast with great cheeses and meats (and three kinds of liver sausage, a favorite).  At ten we drove to a suburban railway station for a ride on a historic train.  The steam locomotive that was to pull us was, unfortunately, kaput¸ but the 1920s-era passenger coaches were nicely restored.  The line ran about 10 miles to Basdorf, in the former East Germany, where we ambled a few blocks to a Christmas market, really more like a small-town carnival.   We enjoyed a couple of glühweins and hopped back on the train.  Back home, we warmed up, had a cup of tea and some sweet bread called stollen.  Read Niklas more books – mostly about fire fighters, feuerwehrleute, and their trucks and equipment – and at six we drove a few miles to Zur Krummen Linde¸ a great restaurant we had visited thrice before.  They’ve been in business since 1761, so they know how to cook, and we had a great meal and one of my favorite beers, Märkischer Landmann, a very malty dark beer, brewed in nearby Potsdam.

Sankt Nikolaus meeting Niklas; the former roamed the train, passing out candy and reading stories to the children.

Sankt Nikolaus meeting Niklas; the former roamed the train, passing out candy and reading stories to the children.

Boarding the Berliner Eisenbahnfreunden train

Boarding the Berliner Eisenbahnfreunden train

Annika, nearly one

Annika, nearly one

The weekend was really lovely; as I’ve written before, staying with a family gives you a nice window on ordinary life overseas, and the simple experiences were joyful ones: reading Niklas books, drying dishes, helping with two young children, walking to the bakery.  The other interesting thing, especially visible in Berlin, is that you’re never very far from the momentous events of the last century in Germany: the air force museum of course was a great window, but open eyes yielded other evidence, for example, the excursion train line was adjacent to the former Berlin Wall for several miles, and the townscape of Basdorf reflected East German attempts at contemporary architecture in the 1970s and ‘80s.  William Faulkner was so right when he wrote, “The past is not dead.  In fact, it’s not even past.”

Monday morning, I hugged Susan, kissed the kids, and Michael drove me back to the main station.  Bought Dylan and Carson a postcard, got some breakfast and a large Starbucks, and hopped on the 8:31 Intercity Express bound for Karlsruhe, on the other side of Germany – almost 500 miles southwest.  The ride was pleasant, past the massive VW plant in Wolfsburg; south into the corner of Lower Saxony, hills dusted lightly with snow; across the northern part of Hessia; into an out of Frankfurt’s massive main station; south through the industrial city of Mannheim, and into Karlsruhe.  At noon, I enjoyed lunch in the dining car – a treat I’ve enjoyed for almost 60 years.

Breakfast in track 14 at Berlin: Ein Berliner.  In 1961, JFK famous said "Ich bin ein Berliner," which translates as "I'm a jelly donut"!

Breakfast in track 14 at Berlin: Ein Berliner. In 1963, JFK famously said “Ich bin ein Berliner,” which translates as “I’m a jelly donut”! In German, the indefinite article is not needed.

We arrived Karlsruhe just after two.  I bought a day ticket on the local public transport system, the KVV, and took two trams out to my lodging, a guest house on the campus of the Karlsruhe Institute of Technology, Germany’s oldest technical university.  The digs were two blocks from the spectacular palace, the home of dukes of Baden from 1715 until the end of World War I, and I wanted to take a couple of pictures before the light began to fade.  It was a huge, cool building in a spectacular circular setting.  Nearby was the Bundesfassungsgericht, Germany’s constitutional court; the building was under renovation, and visits were not possible.  Along the south edge of the court property were some cool black and white photos depicting the importance of rights and freedoms.

The Baden castle, at the center of a circular town plan --  streets and buildings radiate out from there

The Baden castle, at the center of a circular town plan — streets and buildings radiate out from there

The Constitutional Court, literally under wraps during renovation

The Constitutional Court, literally under wraps during renovation

Newer buildings on the KIT campus

Newer buildings on the KIT campus

KIT-2

Older buildings on the KIT campus were splendidly classical

Back at the guest house, I began to wrestle with Internet access: the wired network required me to configure the connection manually, something I had not done in awhile, and I struggled a bit.  The guest house instructions were poor, but included a phone number of a university help desk, so I called them.  The fellow was friendly, and suggested I walk to his office, just across the street.  This was turning into a hoo-hah, but I headed out, he showed me how, I walked back, and got online.  (A postscript: the next day the guest house charged me 53 cents for the phone call!)  At about six I ambled through the drizzle to Vogelbräu, a brewpub a few blocks from campus that I found online.  Enjoyed a couple of homemade beers and, for the third time in four days, grunkohl.   Whew, that day passed quickly.

What translated as Santa Claus beer at the brewpub

What translated as Santa Claus beer at the brewpub

Tuesday morning I met two Ph.D. students, Sophie and Anja, who walked me to a marketing class.  It was evident that the place was into science and engineering, because in front of buildings stood a massive ceramic insulator from high-voltage transmission line, an old steam locomotive, and similar stuff.  My host, Martin Klarmann, who I had not met, was unfortunately ill, so I introduced myself to a class of about 40 undergrads and Master’s students, and plunged into my explanation of airline pricing.  After class, we walked to the marketing department, I worked a bit, then the five Ph.D. students and I processed to lunch at the Titanic, a curiously named restaurant nearby (the menu cover showed the ship!).  We had a lively discussion of their work and mine, and a nice plate of cannelloni.  I said goodbye, walked to the train station, and took the train to Frankfurt Airport; I was bound for London and originally planned to stay a second night in Karlsruhe, but I could not get a train early enough to make a 7:20 a.m. flight.

Some old-school aspects of German universities are not positive, but chalkboards are assuredly a good thing, the more so with colors!

Some old-school aspects of German universities are not positive, but chalkboards are assuredly a good thing, the more so with colors!

Karlsruhe

Karlsruhe has some nice older buildings and a traditional feel, accented by this aged-but-reliable tram

Got to my airport hotel, worked a bit, then hopped on the train into town.  I tracked down a restaurant, Adolf Wagner, on the internet; it specialized in apple wine, ebbelwei in the Hessian dialect. It’s an acquired taste.  I had a couple of glasses and a nice plate of fried fish.  Was asleep early and up early Wednesday morning for a 7:20 flight to London.  Landed, zipped into town, and dropped my stuff at the Airbnb digs I found earlier, a really agreeable room in a flat belonging to Ben and Allan from Brisbane.  Ben waited until I arrived to leave for work, which was much appreciated.

At 11:45 I met my longtime host at the London School of Economics, Sir Geoffrey Owen.  We yakked a bit, then headed to lunch, followed by a lecture and an introduction to the team of four students who are researching the future of American Airlines.  I’ve been teaching at the LSE since 2004, so the course is familiar, and Geoffrey is an interesting fellow, long established in UK commerce (he was editor of the Financial Times for many years).

Northern light was already fading at 3:30, but it was bright enough to head across town to the recently completed Bomber Command Memorial in Green Park, commemorating the 55,573 airmen who died in bombers from 1939 to 1945.  The British were slow to recognize the pivotal role these brave men played, partly the result of revisionist history and some guilt about what some saw as excesses toward the end of the war, such as the bombing of Dresden (did these folks pause to reflect on the hurt that the Nazis visited upon the British?).  In any event, the memorial was moving; the focus was a larger-than-life sculpture of six airmen.  It was less than a month after Remembrance Day (November 11), and there were still wreaths, small crosses with names of the dead, old photos, and reminiscences.  Uncle Ken is still missed, 67 years later.  The scene was a striking compression of time.  It is a good thing that the British do not forget easily, perhaps because their relatively small island was so vulnerable.  Nor should we Americans.  Faulkner’s comment above certainly applies here, too: it’s not even past.

Remembrances at the base of the sculpture, here for a crew that perished over the Baltic Sea in January 1945

Remembrances at the base of the sculpture, here for a crew that perished over the Baltic Sea in January 1945

At 6:30, I met my young friend and mentee Scott Sage for a spicy dinner at an Indian restaurant in Camden.  It was a good catch-up after almost seven months – in the interim he became engaged.  It was a long day, and I was asleep by ten.

Teaching for the year was done, and I could have flown home, but I stayed on to visit a couple of friends on Thursday.  After breakfast, I wandered through “my” neighborhood of Hoxton, young and very hip (my presence probably added 25% to the median age!); the shops on Pitfield Street were especially interesting, lots of artsy stuff, the kind of place that reminded me of friend John Crabtree telling me that Britain is by far #1 in the world in creative businesses, broadly defined.

Hip storefront in Hoxton

Hip storefront in Hoxton

Spent an enlightening hour with software entrepreneur Jonathan Nicol and his Labrador Paddy in the morning.  Grabbed a slurpy lunch at Itsu, a noodle bar and headed to the department store John Lewis on Oxford Street in search of plush versions of Wenlock and Mandeville, the one-eyed mascots of the 2012 London Olympics that Dylan wanted; sadly, the stock had been moved to their store at Stratford that I visited six months earlier, and I didn’t have time to ride the Tube east.  Outside the store, a sunny moment on a cloudy, blustery day: the Ebony steel band was playing to raise funds for the National Society to Prevent Cruelty to Children.  There wasn’t a better cause, and on Oxford Street there wasn’t a better beat.

SteelPan

Rode across the Thames to Holly and Lil, a very fancy pet-accessories shop, and bought Henry the West Highland terrier a fancy collar identical (except in color) to the one I purchased for MacKenzie on the May trip.  At 3:30 I met Mark O’Brien, a young entrepreneur in the inflight entertainment business that I met during my brief foray in that trade, and his business partner Matt.  Enjoyed a couple of Guinnesses and a good chat, and headed home to Hoxton.  High point of the day was listening to the London Underground platform dispatcher at the Old Street station; I heard her the day before, and she brought personality and fun to what often sounds like routine and monotone.  I sought her out, and found her on the middle of the platform.  It was between train departures, and she was speaking to a little boy.  I introduced myself, told her I worked in public transport for all my life, and saluted her style.  She responded with typical English modesty, but a big smile.  At the ticket window upstairs a colleague of hers told me she worked for a time at Disneyland Paris.  Perfect!  What a difference people like her make.  We need more of them.

TubeCheerleader

Back on Haberdasher Street, I yakked with my hosts Ben and Allan, and went back out, into cold rain, for another fix of Indian food, returning to Camden and the reliable chain Masala Zone.  Out the door Friday morning, back to Heathrow and a flight to JFK then on to Washington National, and the Metro to within four  miles of home.  MacKenzie and Henry, sporting his new collar, were on leash by 8:15.

London's building boom continues, here a highrise just west of my digs

London’s building boom continues, here a highrise just west of my digs

On the flight across, some nice winter views of Atlantic Canada; here is the north shore of Cape Breton Island:

CapeBreton

And a last image, a small portion of Matteo Pericoli’s “Skyline of the World,” at American Airlines’ JFK terminal; I played a small role in helping get the work purchased and posted (the honchos wanted to sell the space for advertising):

Skyline

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