The Normal Life

Coming from the Greek islands to Tel Aviv, Israel, we have gone from the good life to the normal life. That is, life here is a lot like life as we know it in the United States, which is still a pretty good life.

Tel Aviv actually is probably nicer than a lot of US cities, likely in part because it has the advantage of being relatively new. Unlike Boston, which has been built up gradually over the past few centuries (resulting in a labyrinth of roads), Tel Aviv was the project of wealthier Jews living in Palestine in 1906 who decided to make a really nice, well designed suburb of Jaffa. The result was a hygienic, well-planned, aesthetically pleasing city.

Today with its Minneapolis-esque population of 410,000, it shines brightly on the Mediterranean, sometimes still referred to as the "white city." It is known as the financial and hedonistic capital of Israel.

Generally only hearing about Israel in the context of ongoing regional conflict and intermittent military action (at least in the media), it is interesting to see how normal and comfortable life is here in Tel Aviv. For a country in frequent violent skirmishes, people are quite safe and thriving.

It's funny how rich and powerful countries can insulate themselves from their military actions these days, even a country like Israel so close to its "enemies." Of course, the US may be the champion in this arena though, with our two wars and frequent drone assassinations totally undetectable in the motherland.

On another note, the niceness of Israel makes me even more uncomfortable with the large amount of US money that goes to the country (we give more money to Israel than any other country in the world, about a fifth of our foreign "aid" budget). Don't get me wrong, I love Israel, but it just doesn't seem right to pledge $30 billion over 10 years to the military of a well-developed, first world country when there is so much real need and suffering elsewhere. For example, by Paul Farmer's estimate, we could globally control tuberculosis -- which kills 2 million people a year -- with about $5 billion.

Israel certainly needed some aid and protection in its early days. Now, however, I don't see how it is morally, economically, or strategically smart in the long run to keep giving their military so much money. David Deutch, in The Beginning of Infinity (the quantum physicist's book on just about everything in the universe) posits that a good measure of the health of a political system is how fast it can correct errors. Though it's a total pipe dream, I wish we could look at the rationality of our foreign affairs as they are right now and change them quickly where it makes sense to do so, such as limiting our aid to Israel, or at the very least, threatening to take it away if they do not stop building settlements on Palestinian land.

At any rate, irrational inertia aside, it's lovely here. Israel is a beautiful country.

A lot of Israelis also aren't happy about some of the decisions of their government either. But things continue on as they are.

Beautiful, wide boulevards.

Beautiful skyscrapers too. To build one in Tel Aviv though, you have restore a historic landmark (the house in the foreground) at the same time. Another example of smart planning to the win.

The one weird thing about Israel is the abundance of soldiers with guns everywhere. Though I wouldn't ever want it in the US, compulsory military service at least means everyone has skin in the game when it comes to warfare. This perhaps detracts from my premise that life is pretty normal here and the people are insulated from military action.

Old Jaffa. The ancient, original city. Also the port where Jonah set off from before ending up inside a whale.

 Tanner and I tossing the frisbee by the sea.

The St. Olaf lion is all over Israel for some reason.

The view from our (free) hotel room. All those nights spent in hotel rooms around the country working for Epic this past year at least had the upside of getting me a plethora of Marriott points. 

Cool architecture.

Tranquility.

Always Sunny in Santorini

We took ATVs all over the island.

Perissa, where we stayed.

Man achieves flight.

We went to this bakery every day. The family that worked there was so, so nice.

The Red Beach.

Thira.

The view of the caldera.

And the world famous sunset from Oia.

Santorini is known for stunning sunsets and being the most beautiful Greek island. It was a flourishing mercantile stop on the Aegean Sea well over three thousand years ago. The Greeks who posted up here were smart, although they unfortunately didn't predict the massive volcano eruptions that would rock their island and destroy the civilization they had built there. A giant hole remains, creating a gorgeous cliff-rimmed caldera, now adorned by thousands of perfect white houses, hotels and shops.

We stayed on the other side of the island away from the famous cliffs, at a cheaper (but still beautiful) black sand beach called Perissa. It was a week of bliss -- exploring the island on ATVs and finding secret beaches all to ourselves, sampling the local Santorini wines, laying out on the nude beach, soaking up cosmic rays, eating fresh fish and feta cheese, hiking to ancient ruins, watching sunsets, dancing the night away to live music.

It's hard to ask for much more.

While living the good life, a classic story came to mind. You may have heard it:

The American investment banker was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large fin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them.

The Mexican replied, “only a little while.”

The American then asked why he didn’t stay out longer and catch more fish?

The Mexican said he had enough to support his family’s immediate needs.

The American then asked, “but what do you do with the rest of your time?”

The Mexican fisherman said, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siesta with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos, I have a full and busy life.”

The American scoffed, “I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat, and with the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats. Eventually, you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually NYC where you will run your expanding enterprise.”

The Mexican fisherman asked, “But, how long will this take?”

To which the American replied, “15-20 years.”

“But what then?”

The American laughed and said that’s the best part. “When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions.”

“Millions?” asked the fisherman, “Then what?”

The American said, “Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evening, sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos!”

-Author Unknown

A lot of people, including myself, love the tale. I'm sure it's in large part because we Americans are certainly so often guilty of getting caught up in the rat race. When one clearly compares the two, the simple life seems obviously preferable. I definitely don't mind the life here on Santorini, that's for sure.

The MBA lust for money is an easy target though. Too easy. The profit-hungry guy in the story is a total straw man. I think that's why the tale is so appealing to people: it confirms the value of a simple life, giving you the false sense that you shouldn't have to get caught up in so much striving and trying and caring about money. You should enjoy life.

The approach works, at least so long as man is an island. The fisherman story liberates your pursuit of an ideal life all without having to answer any actually difficult questions about justice and our human potential for affecting the lives of others.

Indeed, the story wouldn't be quite as satisfying if Jesus, Peter Singer, or Paul Farmer were the questioner instead. They are people who believe that as long as suffering is in the world, we should not rest easy on our good fortune. They would have a lot tougher questions to answer.

"What about all the hungry, poor kids in Mexico? They can't be too far away. You look pretty comfortable though. You have an abundance of resources. Don't you have any responsibility to try to help those beyond your immediate community? Perhaps wouldn't it be better if you stayed out a little longer fishing so that you could catch more food, so that you could ship some food to the poor?"

I can't imagine what they would ask me on Santorini, especially since, unlike the self-sufficient fisherman, I was solely consuming. More than a few times as I laid out on the beach, a quote at total odds with me laying out on the beach -- and at odds with the fisherman story -- came to my mind:

Comfort is the enemy of achievement.

I love it. It's good. Like the Mexican fisherman tale though, it's missing a recognition that there's more to the story. As much as I believe in the importance of continual self-improvement and constantly trying to improve the world little bits at a time, life would be miserable if we felt guilty every second we weren't doing something.

At the end of the day, I hope to have slices of the simple life in my life. I think it's important to cherish. At the same time, I hope I don't ever get too comfortable with my lot in life when others have never had a shot at such a good lot. 

Santorini is an island; I am not. I hope the slices of the good life I get can refresh me so that I may commit myself again and again to working hard and helping others.

That's the balance I think we all have to weigh for ourselves, a balance between enjoying the fruits of life and sowing seeds so that others may do the same. The more fruit we've been given though, I would imagine the more seeds we ought to plant. I think I got some plantin' to do.

Tainted Love

That men do not learn very much from the lessons of history is the most important of all the lessons history has to teach. 

— Aldous Huxley

We're in Athens now. As we explore the great monuments of Greece and the world, I wonder about how many of humanity's historical treasures would still have been built if their commissionings were put to a slaves-included-citizen-wide vote.

Aqueducts? Quite functional and helpful for everyone, green light.

Great Wall of China? Protective, practical for defending against Mongol invasions, probably cool.

Temples and churches? Most of them likely alright, although I hope the excessively gaudy or enormous ones would have gotten the boot.

Statues? 50-50, depending on the subject's street cred.

Obelisks? Maybe some of them.

Pyramids? Pretty doubtful.

Louis XIV's Palace? Good luck.

I guess in general: the more on the functional public works side, the better the chance, the more on the "immortal life through giant monument" or "I'm going to live filthily rich because it's fun and because I can" side, the slimmer the odds.

Organizing the construction of public works is a key task of any government, but its a tricky one that can easily be abused. As Jared Diamond describes it:

The difference between a kleptocrat and a wise statesman, between a robber baron and a public benefactor, is merely one of degree: a matter of just how large a percentage of the tribute extracted from producers is retained by the elite, and how much the commoners like the public uses to which the redistributed tribute is put. 

Throughout most of history, the common people have unfortunately had little say in how resources should be used. It's interesting how much we cherish things like the Pyramids then -- I would imagine the Egyptian people of the time would have preferred to spend all that energy in better ways.

Fast forwarding to a democracy in today's world, what if a society's rich leaders decided to build a bunch of giant monuments to boost their global image, despite most of their people still living in poverty -- would the common people allow it?

This has been more or less the question at play in Brazil the last couple years, as the government gears up for the World Cup and the Olympics, building giant stadiums and trying to give the country an extreme make-over in the process. As the protests recently exploding across the country attest to though, the people aren't too happy about it.

Brazil's leaders believe (or at least did at one point) that the World Cup is a blessing; it is incentivizing the country to make long-needed improvements. But the tough questions we heard from Brazilians are: why should it take some external commercial enterprise (FIFA) to awaken the government to address long unaddressed needs? Why does the government need an incentive to help its people? Moreover, is Brazil's attempted makeover for its upcoming global events really going to do anything meaningful in the long term? Or is the rush of quick improvements just a superficial, temporary bandaid? Will the economic activity of these huge events ever trickle down to those in the favelas (slums)? 

To the common citizens, the efforts are dubious. It's hard for Brazilians who need to use public transportation each and everyday to witness bus prices increasing while billions of dollars are being funneled to tycoons for building massive stadiums that are only needed for a one-time only event. The streets we walked in Sao Paulo and Rio de Janeiro are now full of protesters who have had enough of these kinds of choices, who would rather see much-needed education and healthcare valued first. 

We certainly felt and heard this disillusionment with the government's World Cup efforts firsthand from the youth in Brazil so it's not too surprising to see what's happening now. Nonetheless, who ever would have thought soccer-crazed Brazilians would be mad about having a World Cup?

Aftermath of some of the Brazilian protests in Rio. Our friend, Luana, took this photo after a night of riots. At least as of now, a lot of the people we spent time with in Brazil seem proud of their generation standing up for themselves.

Fascinatingly, in our post-Brazil travels through South Africa (the site of the most recent World Cup and similar stadium-building and beautification efforts) we found their youth were still upset about all the money that went in to their great global event in 2010, money that its regular people never ended up really seeing. Indeed, the beautiful, enormous stadium that was built next to the ocean in Cape Town is hardly used today, with the exception of the occasional Lady Gaga concert. More poignantly, numerous new South African housing developments for the poor that were in construction leading up to the World Cup are still unoccupied. Perhaps the incentive to finish them is gone now that the world's watchful eye is too.

While the series of new stadiums are nearly built in Brazil, many Brazilians are saying they no longer want to attend the World Cup. A brief thought experiment though: I think if their society were to collapse today and a couple thousands years were to pass, the stadiums would be viewed as testaments to how great their civilization was, even though no one is really all too happy about them right now. Meanwhile, all the poorly built slums would be deteriorated, forgotten. I think the World Cup stadiums are probably on the pretty positive end of the spectrum of public works, but they still can make for an illustrative example of how a society's physical monuments don't always tell the full story, and how they may not always be worthy of unconditional praise. 

Indeed, I've noticed that in general, if we only put a little time between whatever blood and social injustice went in to making a great monument, we can find it pretty pure, beautiful and inspiring. We disdain modern dictators but exalt the greatest works of dictatorships if their crimes were a long enough time ago and they built cool enough monuments. At the same time, however, seeing as almost every great society up until the 20th century is guilty of one grave social injustice or another, totally protesting historical works for this reason would rule out appreciating most of humanity's commissioned achievements.

As far as Greece goes, thankfully many of the great monuments we're checking out came from a time of decently good-meaning government. The Golden Age of Greece was ushered in partly by Pericles, a near populist leader who seemed to have actually cared about the people.

At the end of the day though, I wonder: can you extract aesthetic beauty from an ugly context? Can something pure spring from impurity? Can Germany celebrate Wagner's moving classical music even though he was an anti-semite whose work inspired Hitler?

The world's a crazy place; there's a lot of good to be found in reviled men like Che Guevera, and so too a lot of ugliness in some of humanity's greatest works, so many of which I love.

The Acropolis overlooking Athens.

 One of Greece's old Olympic stadiums.

We have a tendency to hike whatever hill we can find. Perhaps it's not a bad life strategy.

 This monument is on top of one of Athens' hills. It was built by a guy that wasn't really even Greek. He was really rich and powerful though. Word on the street is that no one really cared too much for him during his time and they thought it was weird he built a monument for himself there. 

We all yearn for some sort of immortality I think. Whether it be through ultimate communion with God, our works in this world, or building monuments, most humans seem to have a deep fear of one day being forgotten.

Noelle is here! She'll be with us for a month of the trip -- Greece, Israel and Jordan.

Theater of Dionysus, that crazy god of wine and ecstasy.

The Parthenon.

Still having a blast, so thankful for the opportunity to travel with these guys.

Shark Tails

Toasters and coconuts kill many more people each year than do sharks, but I have faced those fears already. As for sharks, my time finally came.

Dave, Tanner and I went shark-cage diving off the coast of Gansbaii, South Africa, at "shark alley." It's one of the Discovery Channel's favorite places to film given the inordinate numbers of great whites that tend to show up. Dropping anchor near Dyer Island (home to a colony of 55,000 delicious seals), the three of us were the first ones out of the boat and into the water. Throughout the day, 11 great whites made an appearance, some of which were massive even by great white standards.

In the cage, the fight-or-flight response definitely kicks in pretty good. As the epinephrine flows, you unfortunately can neither fight nor flee though since you're underwater in a cage. On the upside, no one ever knows if you pee your wet suit.

Dyer Island, a.k.a."Shark McDonalds," is home to a colony of 55,000 Cape Fur seals. They're the sharks' snack of choice and the reason so many great whites come to the bay.