Azore loser

 

I was in the Azores for the last few days. Never been here before. I went because my ol’ buddy Christoph invited me to stay for a couple days at his pad on Santa Maria Island – known as the quiet island. Great fun. He smiled – and drank more alcohol – over those few days than the entire 24 years I’ve known him. He should get divorced more often. There’s another obvious reason for his altered affect but I was asked to keep it secret from all of my reader. That wasn’t a typo. You’ll figure it out, Gerv.

He had a dog named Luis Miguel who was as dumb as Christoph is smart. He didn’t seem to understand that he should get out of the way of cars or that leashes limit leaping. Looked painful. Over and over. But he is cheerful and non-threatening. Dye his fur blonde and release him in Hollywood and he’d end up on a casting couch stained white with coke and white trash wanna-be actress tears, then on the cover of Elle.

The trip declined after that. Flaneur means risk; risk means periodic failure.

I ended up losing the hotelfinding game. I had to spend last night in a hostel. I used to stay in them all the time. The internet here worked as well as the last time I stayed in a hostel – meaning none. Unlike then, decades ago, you expect a hostel to have internet. Also no A/C. I did at least get my own room by paying for it. Other aspects not so bad. Twin bed, fine, I’m not that fat. Shared bathroom, doesn’t bug me, I’m OK with being naked in public gyms and hot springs. (Well, more specifically, the showers in the mens’ bathrooms in public gyms.) No spa facilities, pretty bare room, no problem – I didn’t need more. It had a bed and a desk, which is enough for me. The mattress was only slightly firmer than air.

I came here to Ponto Delgado because Santa Maria Island doesn’t have any flights west across the Atlantic. Also, I heard there were hot springs here. When I checked into my hotel, they said the hot springs are all full and my bathing suit will get stained red from all the iron. That sounded kinda fun, but not the full hot springs. Why, I can get that at Orvis Hot Springs! I’ll probably be there soon after my arrival in Colorado to enjoy the shoulderfalls.

Oh. Portuguese. When I was in school, I was told that Portuguese is kinda like Spanish. That’s true, in the same way that Italian and Catalan are like Spanish – not enough that you can really communicate across languages, but enough that you can recognize many words after you fail to translate them. Some words are pretty easy. Even most Americans who (think they) don’t speak Spanish can probably figure out the Portuguese word “cerveja.”  

Many people on Santa Maria Island – like those in Dolce la Hulpe in Brussels – spoke surprisingly poor English. Unlike the stereotypical English speaking tourist, this didn’t bug me. I can pantomime. And I kinda respect them for bucking the dominant paradigm. As RATM says, fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me. I would guess what the locals here would understand is fuck you, ?? ?? ?? ??? ???????.

I think BCI. Waterloo thinking?

The 10^th BCI Meeting was glorious and emotional as always. This one was in Belgium’s Sonian Forest near Waterloo, the first BCI Meeting in Europe. It was also the first BCI Meeting with no bonfire. I organized an unofficial and “officially unendorsed” bonfire at all of the prior in-person meetings, so it was quite reasonably assumed that I would try to do so again. The Board and Podium were so worried I’d sneak off and organize a stealth bonfire that they threatened to follow me around at night. I was flattered. They ended up putting two bonfire parties on the schedule even though they had no fires, which we quickly dubbed nonfires.

 

I was up late every night carousing with an impressive crowd, driven by jet lag, willpower, and stupidity. Alcohol was involved. I brought a bottle of mezcal aged in bamboo barrels that I got in Puebla that seemed well received. Since it was Belgium, they sold beers through vending machines, which we rapidly exhausted. This exhaustion was exhausting but y’know commitment. The main bar kept closing on us just because it was 2 AM. I’m glad BCIs couldn’t track the disgraceful plans I kept formulating after the bar closed. Then they put up this sign and I realized they didn’t need a BCI. 

The bar is also unable to serve tap water. Multiple bartenders said there's a law in Belgium: giving a glass with tap water is illegal. Belgium is legendary for its silly government(s). So many people just did the same thing I did - ask for an empty glass they could fill themselves. From looking online, it seems that Belgium keeps waffling on whether restaurants should be required to serve tap water. This might merit a spinoff blog post titled "Belgian Waffles."

My shirt with “Will Argue Science for Money” seemed fitting, so I wore that some days. Glad I copyrighted that phrase. I was disappointed that I didn’t think of printing a BCI Society T-shirt too. I’m thinking of logos now. You think. We know. Could be interpreted so many ways.

Oh yeah. Those conferences have content too. I was quite impressed with Satellite Event 1, Gerv’s workshop on BCI for mass populations. The workshop was loosely based on our upcoming paper in Nature Reviews Bioengineering. Wolpaw’s talk was of course brilliant. So many posters with real advances, notably new directions. It wasn’t always that way, younger readers (not you, Gerv). The second meeting, for example, there was some buzz that there wasn’t anything truly new, just more advances in how to help the same group (people who otherwise couldn’t communicate). I could comment more on content and serious topics, but that gets away from the theme of the blog.

To Jose Millan: Jose, remember when I said that BCI conferences are ever more a reunion of old friends? That was 10 years ago. What are they now?

Jose: Older friends.

 

Thorsten Zander: Do you realize we’re the old guys now?

Me: In 20 years, we’ll look back on this and think we weren’t that old.