theinternationallymindedamerican

The story of the Titanic has maintained a prominent place in world history and has captured imaginations for decades.  In essence, the magnificent ship was a symbol of decadence, luxury, and ultimately, human arrogance and tragedy.

That iconic luxury liner, which one crewman allegedly referred to as a ship that “not even God could sink,” will mark its 100th anniversary this weekend.  Mystery still shrouds the event, in which the ship sank on April 14, 1912, over a span of almost three hours until it was completely buried by the sea in the early hours of April 15, 1912.  Many media outlets have already begun to run feature articles on the anniversary, and the Titanic once again emerges from the pages of history to today’s headlines.

The Titanic was the biggest news source of its time and was celebrated as the grandest ship ever built.  It was heralded a “floating palace” and boasted every luxury item one could imagine, from gilded staircases to the finest china to rooms that would rival those at any 5-star hotel.  It began its first (and last) voyage on April 10, 1912, setting sail from Southhampton, England, and stopping at Queenstown, Ireland, with New York City as its unreached destination.

After sailing through quiet waters for its first few days at sea, one of the lookouts spotted an iceberg at approximately 11:40 pm on April 14, .  While he issued a warning, it was too late, and the Titanic slammed into the iceberg.  Within about ten minutes, water had already risen about 14 feet in the front of the ship, and the captain was informed that the ship would only stay afloat for two hours.  As we learn from our history books, there were only enough lifeboats available for about half of the approximately 2,227 passengers.  Women and children were given first consideration, meaning that most men did not survive, and even worse, because many lifeboats remained partially empty, only about 800 passengers actually survived.  The rest went down with the ship into the icy, eerily dark waters that night.  By 12:20 a.m. on April 15, the ship was gone.

Personally, I have been fascinated by the story of the Titanic since childhood.  Even before the film with Leonardo DiCaprio and the nauseatingly sweet Celine Dion song, “My Heart Will Go On,” came out, I was fascinated by the story.  (I admit it, I saw the movie about three times in the theater and cried every time, not to mention that I bought the soundtrack and listened to it repeatedly).  Before the “Kate and Leo” hysteria–when I was in the sixth grade–I submitted a story about fictional characters on the doomed voyage to the McKinney PTA’s annual writing contest, subsequently won, and had my picture published in the McKinney Courier-Gazette.  I remember thinking that millions of stories could have been written about possible characters on the Titanic and how they responded during that fateful night.

What made the McKinney PTA react positively to my little story was the same thing that was mentioned in a 1985 National Geographic documentary on Bob Ballard’s expedition in which the shipwreck was discovered after years of failed attempts–because the Titanic sank over such a long period of time, people had time to respond to what was happening.  Some acted with bravery, and others with cowardice.  Heroes were made, as were villains.  Subsequently, it is possible for people in modern times to wonder what they would have done if faced with the same situation.

To this day, stories of passengers aboard the Titanic continue to enthrall.  There is of course the story of the Strauses, a wealthy older couple who owned the Macy’s department store chain; when Mrs. Straus was in the lifeboat and realized that her husband was not allowed to join her, she voluntarily left her guarantee of safety and perished alongside him.  There was also the young man who had just turned 18 years old, who declined a spot in a lifeboat because, as he said, “No, I’m a man now. I’ll stand with the rest.”  And, of course, there is the iconic image of the orchestra members who played their music on the ship’s deck until they were claimed by the sea.

New attention is being paid to the Titanic, as the story still strikes a chord a century on.  Even this week, new photos are being published of the wreckage site, and some related artifacts (such as a handwritten account by the captain of the Carpathia, the first ship to arrive after the Titanic issued its distress call) are set to be auctioned off for tens of thousands of dollars.

Titanic exhibitions and memorials of the disaster also exist around the world.  I was fortunate to have the chance to visit Cobh, Ireland (known as Queenstown when the tragedy occurred), a few years ago to see the place where Titanic docked for the last time before sailing towards New York.  I also had the opportunity to visit a Titanic exhibition in Belfast a few years ago.  There was also supposed to be a memorial cruise this week, reenacting the ship’s trajectory (people even dressed in period costumes to get the “real feel” for things, apparently), but the trip has reportedly been delayed due to rough weather and a passenger’s evacuation for medical treatment.

There are also some new theories as to what caused the ship to hit the iceberg in the first place.  One new theory, for instance, states that a rare astronomical event (i.e. a full moon and freak tides) in 1912 might have caused icebergs to detach from their usual positions and float into shipping lanes.  Another claims that crew members could not see the iceberg until it was too late because, on account of the unusually cold sea air that night, light bended abnormally downward and caused a thick haze.  That same downward light could have also distorted the Titanic’s distress signals, rendering the captain of the USS Californian (the ship that was closest to the sinking site, but whose captain did not take action after being alerted by staff) unable to recognize the signal as that of the Titanic.

These theories are, for now, being debated in academic circles, and time will tell whether or not they are generally accepted as plausible.  Either way, the story of that “unsinkable” ship remains a real reminder that human creations are not invincible, and leaves us to wonder what kind of character we would exhibit under such horrific circumstances.

It was September 2005, and I was nervous.

I had just moved to London.  It was my first time to go overseas to actually live somewhere, instead of just traveling through.  After accepting a spot to study for a Masters degree in International Relations at King’s College London, the butterflies in my stomach were in a perpetual state of fluttering.  And looking back, I don’t think the butterflies went away at all that entire year in the UK.

Flash forward six years, thousands of cups of tea, and even more thousands of crumpets, and I once again felt those butterflies fluttering in my stomach while on a British Airways flight back to London.  This time, I was headed back to revisit old memories while celebrating future ones–my dear friend Sonja, an effervescent Northern Irish gal, was organizing my “hen do” in honor of Leon’s and my upcoming nuptials.

A hen party is to the British what a bachelorette party is to Americans, and in the UK they go all out to celebrate.  Sonja coordinated with friends in the States, Rose, Kristin, and Esther, as well as friends in London, Julie, Kate, Sy, and Olof, to plan a week filled with everything from prancing around London in tiaras to going on a late-night Jack the Ripper tour.

As I sat on the plane headed back to where I’d enjoyed graduate school, I definitely had one of those moments where you feel like you’re getting hit in the face with reality.  I left for London in 2005 as a wide-eyed 22-year old, and I was returning as a tired-eyed 29-year old (work and wedding planning will do that to a girl).  It was exciting to have the chance to revisit the past while looking forward to the future.  And of course, it was fun to take a break from the pre-wedding diet and indulge in the staples of British cuisine, namely chocolates, biscuits, crumpets, fish and chips, and curries.

The days flew by, and it was nothing short of unforgettable.  It is so accurate that, with close friends, you can always pick right back up where you’ve left off, even if years passed since visits.

And pick right back up we did.  Looking back, I don’t know how, but we managed to cram in about two months’ worth of fun into about four days.  We strolled through Borough Market, shopped Covent Garden, had afternoon tea at the Lanesborough, ran around Harrod’s, visited King’s College, walked the entire city to take photos of everything from St. Paul’s to Trafalgar Square to Big Ben, had a private tour of Parliament, ate fish and chips, and so on.  Not to mention that we were able to meet up with Jazz and Tracy, dear friends I met at church while we were living in South Korea, at Spitalfields Market one afternoon.

And that didn’t even include the hen night fun.  Sonja had organized girls’ nights out to go dancing one evening, and to hit a karaoke room the next.  Of course, with hen nights, the bride-to-be is meant to be paraded around the city while wearing outrageous get-up (in this case, a “bride to be” sash with twinkling red lights, a faux veil with pink devil horns, and a sparkly wand) and subjected to whatever “dares” the friends can come up with.

The first evening, while dancing with the girls, I had to answer a series of questions which Sonja had emailed to Leon before the hen trip.  If I got them wrong, I had to spin a little dial and conduct the dare which the plastic needle landed on.  Of course, the questions were things like, “If Leon were an animal, which animal would he be?” and I got a few wrong.  In the course of that evening, I had to dance on a table for 60 seconds (not ideal when there’s a very short ceiling and you hit your head) and ask three random blokes for their phone numbers (during which one of said bloke’s girlfriends became a bit hostile).

The second evening was a bit calmer, if you call cramming a group of girls into a karaoke room and giving them crazy wigs and hats “calmer.”  We sang our hearts out and ended the evening with very hoarse voices.

Before you could sing the first line of “London Bridge is Falling Down,” it was time to head back to the States, and to reality.  I was truly humbled and thankful for the planning and organizing by Sonja, and for the kindness of friends to take time out of their schedules to celebrate with me.  Blessed are those with good friends, indeed.

It was cathartic, in many ways, to visit a place which meant so much in the past, and to celebrate the present and future with those whose friendships mean so much.  One great benefit of getting everyone together, bridal party and girl friends, before the wedding is that everyone will already know each other before the big day.  But, more importantly, it was really special to see two big chapters of my life, the London chapter and the D.C. chapter, converge.

Needless to say, London will always hold a special place in my heart.  It is truly a city like no other in the world.  Where else can you receive a Masters degree after being taught by professors knighted by the queen, and then six years later run around in a crazy costume, announce that it’s your hen party, and have an entire dance club erupt into applause and cheers?

   The ever historic, ever modern, London

When I heard that Mercer Consulting had published its 2011 “Cost of Living Survey,” I thought for sure that either New York City or D.C. had made it in at least the top twenty.  I think that most Americans who have tried to rent or buy property in either city (myself included) would agree; my little one bedroom apartment in D.C. costs the same as a nice house in Texas.

Needless to say, I was surprised when I saw the rankings.  New York City did make the list, but it was ranked as #32 and was the only city in the U.S. to break the top fifty.  I was even more surprised, though, when I saw the world’s #1 most expensive city.

According to the list, Luanda, Angola, takes the cake (a very expensive cake).  I wanted to know why a city in sub-Saharan Africa ranked above places like Tokyo (#2), Moscow (#4), and Osaka (#6).  I’ve been to Tokyo, Moscow, and Osaka, and they are indeed expensive.  I remember buying a “cheap” lunch at a Tokyo version of 7-Eleven for what a nice lunch at a swanky D.C. bistro would cost.

After doing some research, I found out why.  According to a February 2011 Economist article, while the high prices in Luanda are slightly related to the country’s oil revenues (Angola is sub-Saharan Africa’s second largest oil producer), overall they are a byproduct of the country’s experience with limited supplies during the civil war there that ended in 2002.  Apparently local retailers enjoyed being able to charge exorbitant rates so much that, even after the civil war ended and supplies became less scarce, they kept the prices the same as when the country was at war.

After dealing with expensive real estate prices in D.C., I was shellshocked to read that an apartment in Luanda can cost between $10,000 to $15,000 to rent and over a million to purchase.  The Economist article also told the story of a Frenchman who was forced to pay $100 for a melon (one single, normal melon).  He was so angry that he took a picture of the melon and marched that, along with the receipt, to a court and promptly sued the store.  It was too bad for him though–the judge dismissed the case because he had eaten the melon, and therefore the original evidence was gone.  Literally.

So, if you’re planning a trip to Angola, you might want to check out the rural areas (which are way cheaper).  And if you do make it to Luanda, you might want to take some extra currency.

Besides Rome, Venice has to be one of my favorite cities in Italy.  Before I went for the first time, some fellow travelers brushed Venice off as being “cheesy” and “overrated.”  After spending a few days there, however, I had to disagree.  I’ve been about three times now, and each time the city seemed even more beautiful and more intriguing.

With its winding canals, ornate gondolas, and gilded palazzi, Venice is truly unlike any other city in the world.  Its history alone is fascinating.  The city was built on several islands of a lagoon, which were then linked by bridges that you can still cross over today.  Venice was the cultural, artistic, and political powerhouse of its time, serving as the hometown of both the great explorer Marco Polo and the infamous womanizer Casanova (born in Venice in 1725).  The city withstood plagues, became part of the Hapsburg Empire after being defeated by Napoleon in 1797, was spared during World War II on account of its beauty, and faced rising water levels and flooding as the city’s marble foundations sank further into the marsh.

Speaking of sinking, one must only look at the water lines on Venetian stoops to see the dramatic evidence of rising water levels.  Steps that were several feet above the water centuries ago are now submerged.  According to National Geographic, Venice dropped about five inches between 1950 and 1970, and while the city now sinks at a rate of less than two inches every 100 years, the surrounding Adriatic Sea continues to swell and causes more threats of submersion.

Under a new plan to save Venice, Italian hydrologists would inject billions of gallons of seawater to try and “inflate” porous sediments under the city.  Hopefully, this would cause Venice to rise by as much as a foot and would create a more stable foundation for existing buildings.  The trick is that Venice has a layer of clay under it, and therefore the injected seawater would spread out underneath the clay and cause a lateral elevation.

The method of “subsurface fluid injection” has apparently been used to California, Canada, and other places to lift up sagging land, and experts are optimistic that this experiment might dramatically help the city.  According to National Geographic, tourists don’t really mind the flooding in places like Piazza di San Marco (although I’ve been there when it has flooded, and it was scary to see how quickly the piazza was submerged), and Venetians are used to the acqua alta (high water), but the concern is that over time the flooding would become more catastrophic.

Venice is a truly remarkable city, and although its mask is a bit dulled from time and wear, you can still see the glimmer of gold in its countenance.  It will be interesting to see if the fluid injection experiment goes forward, and whether or not progress is made.  Either way, I don’t think that anyone wants to see such a beautiful city sink past the point of no return.

Chatting with a local shopkeeper in one of Venice’s many beautiful shops