Conferences are Soooooo Much Better in Person. Zoom and Hybrid are a Different Event.

La Maison de la Chimie, Paris

At the beginning of June, I went to a Science and Diplomacy conference hosted by La Maison de la Chimie, Paris. I have written about the conference and some of the people I met there. 

In addition to listening to some fascinating presentations, the conference itself was like a demonstration of what is lost when conferences are on line or hybrid.  I may sound like a kid talking about his favorite parts of school, but it is really true that, for me, the best parts of the two-day conference were the lunches, the dinner, the coffee breaks, and the hallway.  

I really liked hearing Matthew Adamson talk about uranium mining as part of his presentation on Cold War weapons and resources.  During the break after his talk, we spoke about how resource maps influence industry, and how maps affect military strategy.

During lunch the next day, Adamson and I talked about his career path from grad student in Indiana and Paris, then professor in Budapest. Across from me was Fintan Hoey, a professor of history at Franklin University Switzerland. He is from Ireland, studies the modern of Japan particularly during the Cold War.  His best stories were about working in the Italian-speaking part of Switzerland and learning the language of his region. 

I turned to my right at the same lunch and talked to Maritza Gomez about her presentation on an attempt by equatorial countries to claim their sovereign territory extended into space, at least as far as the orbits of geosynchronous satellites. She told me about her life in California, then studying in Germany and continuing her studies in Mexico.

Another hallway conversation was with John Krige. He spoke as part of the public panel on the Russian invasion of Ukraine and the effects of Europe stopping all collaboration with Russian scientists just four days after the Russia started the war. Krige's presentation was clear and stark that the war will cause pain across Europe and the world. 

At the conference dinner I sat across from Nestor Herran, a professor of the history of science at The Sorbonne in Paris. We talked about his research in Cold War nuclear technology in Britain and elsewhere.  I told him I was a Cold War airman on a crew that did live-fire static test of Minuteman missiles and later a tank commander on the East-West German border, so had two different "ground-level" perspectives on the Cold War and the nuclear threat.  

After a while, Nestor said, "I am 50 years old and this is the first time I have had a long conversation with a career soldier."  We talked about how much the military is separate from the larger culture in countries with voluntary service and who serves in the military.  I could tell him I had not met a lot of historians of science in uniform.  

Apparently, I am very good at dinner because one of the conference organizers, Charlotte Abney Saloman, invited me to join her and her mom, who was visiting Paris, for dinner the evening the conference ended. 

I'm sure I will have to use Zoom in the future for book groups or other events where meeting in person is not possible.  But this conference showed me why people get together for conferences.  Zoom has no hallways, coffee breaks, or shared meals. 

                  

Medical Electronics Technician Travels the World, Retires to Denmark Boat Dock

The dock at Tues Naes, Denmark

The guesthouse where Cliff and I stayed in Tues Naes, had a washer-dryer, but the dryer wasn't working. We decided to drive to a laundromat, but then Cliff remembered a notice on the bulletin board of the boat dock where we had walked the day before. 

We went there and asked the Jan, the dock manager. When we only needed a dryer, he told us just to go ahead and use it, and offered us coffee. No charge for either. 

When the clothes were dry, I thanked Jan. He asked where we were from.  We started talking about travel. He had been all over the world as a technician for Varian, a medical electronics company. He told us about going to Benghazi, Libya, and sitting at the airport shaking on the night he left, hoping he would get out alive.

Of all the places he had been in the world, the place he went the most in the final years of his career was the place he liked the least:  Las Vegas.  He is a tall, lean, strong man with a very calm affect, but he became animated talking about Las Vegas.

"They set up a training program in Vegas," he said. "Then they made it permanent. Every few months I would have to go there. I would spend a week or a month. I worked 10 or 12 hours a day. After work, I would get food from a local Italian restaurant and eat in my room."

He was not interested in clubs or shows or casinos. "We were building equipment to cure cancer," he said. "The company would hand cards to all the employees so they could eat steak and lobster in the casinos and get less healthy." 

"Las Vegas takes water from everywhere," he said. "It's unnatural. It should not exist." 

Then a little ferry swung up to the dock. It had seats for eight passengers and a small outboard motor.  Jan said he had to do some work. We thanked him again and took the dry clothes back to the guesthouse.  

Cliff and I were laughing on the way back about Jan's description of Las Vegas.  Jan never actually said he liked Las Vegas more than Benghazi. It was clear he would never go to either again.

  

When a Plan (or a Bone) Breaks, My Mind is Alive with 'What's Next?"

Yesterday, I checked in for a flight from Paris to Rome, started my train trip to the airport, and got a message saying the flight was cancelled. "No further information is available at this time."  

I got off the train at the next stop and mapped a trip to Gare de Lyon the station where trains leave Paris toward the Alps and Italy.  I checked several possibilities, then made reservations for what I hope is the most reliable option.  

It's not that I want my plans to fall apart, but when it happens, I feel and odd kind of joy.  Once plans are made, travel is passive. Sit on the plane or train until the destination.  But when plans fall apart, I can go into action.  My mind races with possibilities.  I look at weather, news reports, and feel exhilarated when a new plan comes together.   In this case, staying in Paris would get me to Turin, Italy, by noon, and Rome by 8pm.  I got a cheap hotel near the train station and left Paris at 6:46am.  

Part of my happiness when I redo broken plans is experience. I have done this a lot, so I know what to expect. But I still have to deal with the situation as it is. It's like broken bones in that way. Each broken bone hurts like Hell, but by the 40th broken bone, I knew how the recovery would go and was excited about the surgery--it makes the healing process faster.  

Part of it is also something I looked for in all of my kids and in soldiers I was in charge of: How would they respond to injury? Two of my kids got angry when they got hurt. They wanted to get back in the game or the race.  The other four wanted to heal up and re-evaluate.  

I am now on a train to Turin. I got an email from Air France this morning offering me a different flight. It was a connecting flight through Luxembourg. With all the flight cancellations, that option would give me two more chances to have a flight not take off, and possibly be in Luxembourg looking for a way to get to Rome through Switzerland.