Saturday, October 14, 2006

Tourists flock to the World Trade Center site, but for New Yorkers, 9/11 is history

THE TOURISTS STILL ARRIVE at the edge of the void. In summer, they wear shorts and T-shirts and Baseball caps. In winter, they bundle up against the harbor wind. They don't gawk. They make no stupid jokes.

"It was right over there, Ruth," a beefy man says, pointing to the emptiness where the North Tower once stood. "Remember? When we came to New York that time? We ate at Windows on the World."

"I remember," his wife says and pauses, squinting into the sky. "Up there at the top. The view was amazing."

Yes, it was, and that view has been gone now for five years. Most of today's visitors come from elsewhere in the States, but you hear the languages of the world as they gaze together at the void. Most speak very little. The visitors peer through high wire fences at what has become a 16-acre construction site. They can see the rough accidental cross formed by intersecting steel beams, a remnant of the South Tower. They can hear the hammering of rivet guns and the grinding of heavy machinery but they can see nothing of the work. Five years later, the building is going on below street level. Still, they come to the site. They assemble as if in prayer, the largest group staring up at the panels of the timeline of September II, 2001, attached to the fence. Memory is so dense in the air that it seems tangible. Memories of where they were on that terrible day Memories of happy times spent when the World Trade Center towers still rose to challenge the sky. And then they move on.

That is, they resemble New York itself. For those of us who were here that morning, the horror can rise again at odd moments: at the sound of a police siren, a low-flying airliner, a fire truck screaming to someplace unseen. The heart skips. We pause, look anxiously skyward, and then the moment passes.

New Yorkers have long since moved on. The subject of terrorism seldom comes up anymore. We know only too well that terrorists exist. "But if you think about that all the time, you go nuts," said my friend Raymundo Martinez, who works in the Broadway Café around the corner from where I live in Lower Manhattan. "You can't live afraid. You can't look at your kids and think some nut will kill them, or kill me. You get up and go to work."

Most New Yorkers have donned the armor of a healthy fatalism, which allows them to shrug off the scare stories that appear from time to time. "That's mostly politics," my friend Tim Lee said. "They figure if you get scared bad enough, you might vote for them."

There may be people permanently traumatized by September II, but there is little sign of them. The city's economy has long since recovered. Real estate and housing cost more than ever. The lines at fashionable restaurants are long. The ballparks, arenas, theaters are full. Times Square and other public plazas are packed. In good weather, parks along the rivers are full of people strolling at dusk, lovers holding hands, joggers and walkers squeezing past bicyclists. Hundreds Of them pass within a block of Ground Zero.

There remain some prime targets for terrorists. Most vulnerable, of course, are the subways. But even here, fatalism persists. Daily ridership is up to 4.8 million a day, the highest in years. On the crowded subway trains, you even see people dozing after a long day's work something they would not have done 15 years ago, when crime was rampant. There are police at certain key stations, watching for signs of danger. But you don't feel that you've descended into the tunnels of a police state.

The true changes to New York since September n are more subtle and might be more enduring. To begin with, there is the continuing presence of better manners. New York is a city of dozens of minor collisions; it's part of the deal when there are too many people and too little space. So when someone inadvertently bumps into someone else on the subway and says, "Excuse me," that is a revolutionary change. On any given day, you can see New Yorkers helping old people across the hazardous streets. You can see young men helping women carry baby carriages up the stairs of subway stations. You can see New Yorkers giving directions to obvious tourists (wearing white shoes and holding maps) and even smiling. New Yorkers still live as if they're double-parked, but some sea change has taken place, a recognition that we're all in this together.

Much more important to the future of the city, race has faded as a daily, ugly irritation. It has not disappeared; New York is, after all, an American city. But the rhetoric has cooled. Few people, black or white, now insist that race is a single explanation for all of society's ills. One reason is obvious: on September II, people of all races died. But the endless conflicts of race were also eased by the performance of Mayor Michael Bloomberg, who was elected after September II (when Rudolph Giuliani could not run again because of term limits). Giuliani's confrontational style was replaced by Bloomberg's good manners and insistence on intelligent compromise. The Bloomberg approach recognized that not all problems were nails to be hit with hammers. The approach worked.

There are some enduring problems. Most New Yorkers have lost interest in the vehement, crabbed argument over the nature of a memorial to those who died on September II. That argument has now lasted a year longer than it took the United States to fight its share of World War II. Most of the people I know would like to live long enough to see a memorial rise from the construction site. They'd like to walk around on an autumn afternoon and hear birdsong from the trees and children giggling at play and old men sitting on benches, reading Yeats. But the memorial and the rebuilding no longer matter as much as they once did.

Most New Yorkers are enjoying their city, for as long as it is possible. New York is better now than it has ever been in the seven decades of my lifetime. Poverty has been drastically reduced. The plague of crack cocaine has faded. Schools are better The streets are safer than they've been since the 1950s. New York, of course, is not a perfect city. It is harder and harder for young working people to find places where they can afford to live. Many of the city's glories-from theaters to restaurants--are too expensive for ordinary citizens. Amid the largest immigration wave in a century, another generation of newcomers is discovering what most New Yorkers have always known: the streets, alas, are not paved with gold.

But in my experience, almost all New Yorkers, old and new, have gotten over September II, 2001. They face each morning with those qualities that have always helped them through the days and nights: optimism, irony, intelligence and laughter. Prophecy is a fool's game, but I want to believe that even in these demented times, those human qualities will prevail.

By: Hamill, Pete, Smithsonian, Sep2006

Connected Traveler: Los Angeles

BEST WIRED HOTELS Marina del Rey Marriott
4100 Admiralty Way, Marina del Rey marriott.com/property/propertypage/LAXMB

This hotel near the beach offers safe-deposit boxes in guest rooms and at the front desk. Wireless access is available in the meeting rooms and in the lobby; high-speed wired access in your room goes for $9.95 per day. which also includes all local and long-distance calls.

The Crescent
403 N. Crescent Drive, Beverly Hills www.crescentbh.com

At this hotel, it's all about the music. Each room comes with a preloaded Apple iPod. Like something you hear? Buy the CD from the in-room music minibar, which is stocked with a special blend of tunes. Or buy the Pod itself when you check out Of course, with a fiat-screen TV, DVD and CD player, and wireless Internet in your room, you may never actually leave it.

Wilshire Grand
930 Wilshire Blvd, www.wilshiregrand.com

Minutes from the LA Convention Center, this hotel hasanon-site business center that offers photocopying, faxing, and shipping services, as well as desktop computers and laptop docks. All guest rooms have complimentary high-speed Internet access and multiline phones.

TOP TECH ATTRACTIONS Six Flags Magic Mountain 26101 Magic Mountain Parkway, Valencia www.sixflags.com/parks/magicmountain
You don't have to take any wacky drugs to fly high at Magic Mountain. New this season is Tatsu, a 3,600-foot roller coaster whose 3.5-minute ride reaches 62 mph and includes a 124-foot pretzel loop and a 96-foot-tall zero-g roll. Riders are strapped to the coaster in a flying position to add to the thrill. Too scared? Check out video of the full ride on their Web site.

Museum of Jurassic Technology 9341 Venice Blvd., Culver City www.mjt.org
The oxymoronic name betrays the oddity of this obscure museum, which is actually more of a display of curiosities, including an exhibit so small it requires a microscope to see. The strangeness of the place is apparent right away: It's always locked, so you have to ring a doorbell to gain entrance. Go with an open mind.

FREE WI-FI HOT SPOTS Water Lily Café
120 S, Topanga Canyon Blvd., Topanga Canyon Enjoy your Wi-Fi with a side of organic greens or a cup of fresh-roasted coffee. Mingle with local artists and enjoy free live music at this canyon hangout not far from the Pacific Coast Highway.

Diedrich Coffeehouse
732 Montana Avenue, Santa Monica Fresh and delicious coffee is served up along with free wireless at this and many other locations in LA and Orange counties.

Whole Foods Market
6350 W. 3rd St.

Check your portfolio while you get your Yuppie on at this health food emporium. Try not to get any mango salsa on your laptop.

WHILE YOU'RE IN TOWN Certainly art isn't the first thing that comes to mind when you visit LA, but it could be soon. The Getty Center museum (www.getty.edu) at 1200 Getty Center Drive, set on a 110-acre hillside just off the 405 freeway and also accessible by computer-operated tram ride, can't be missed. There's no fee for admission to the Getty's several buildings, which are filled with European paintings and European and American photographs, beautiful gardens and lawns, and a view of Los Angeles — the ocean, the mountains, and the busy city grid.

AIRPORT FACTS LAX (www.lawa.org) has partnered with T-Mobile to offer Wi-Fi access for $9.99 per 24-hour period. It's worth it if you're smogged in for that long. LAX is also the only airport with a hit song: "LA International Airport" was a Top 10 country hit in 1971. Long Beach Airport (www.longbeach.gov/airport), midway between Los Angeles and Orange County, offers free Wi-Fi, a "cell phone waiting lot" — where drivers can wait for the people they're picking up to call — and online tracking of flight activity.

By: McLaughlin, Molly K., PC Magazine

It Takes a Village

Some say they were raped by soldiers training nearby;: others were abused by their own menfolk. Outraged, the Samburu women of Kenya decided to create their own safe haven

Rebecca Lolosoli is the chief of Umoja, a rural village in the Samburu region of Central Kenya made up almost entirely of women and children. Many of the women say they were raped by British soldiers, who have trained in the region for more than 50 years. In a class-action suit filed three years ago against the British military, the women alleged that the soldiers raped as many as 1,400 Samburu women over a 20-year period. With the case pending, Kenya renewed the British army's lease earlier this year.

In being violated, the Samburu women were seen as having shamed their husbands, who beat and banished them, The women built makeshift huts nearby, one here, one there, only to be uprooted by men who found sport in tormenting them. The women struggled to support themselves and their children until 1990, when Lolosoli, who had fled her home after almost being killed by some of the men in her village, realized that if they came together they stood more of a chance than they did living alone.

The women named their village Umoja Uaso--Umoja, meaning unity in Swahili, and Uaso, for the Uaso Nyiro River that swirls through Samburu land. They earn money selling beaded jewelry and running a campsite for tourists, Last year, Lolosoti, who is in her early forties, told the women's stories at a United Nations conference on gender empowerment in New York, and this month, she will speak at universities across the States, She says it's easy to ignore a group of uneducated women crying out from distant African dust lands, but she's determined to make the world look.

REBECCA'S STORY
The British soldiers wore green uniforms, so they blended with the trees, As the women went roger firewood. the soldiers would jump out and rape them, sometimes sodomize them. Many men would tape one woman and laugh like it was a game.

Samburu women were afraid to talk about these things. They feared it would get back to their husbands, Those who found out beat or tried to kill their wives. They told the women, "Go away and take your kids--I don't want the children of a whore!" When your husband kicks you out, you leave with nothing-not a goat, not a cow, So the women started selling firewood and brewing changaa to earn money, But it is illegal to sell this local liquor, and the women were jailed, many leaving young children without caregivers, Some of the children were eaten by hyenas.

I started going to local government meetings to speak on behalf of these women. I told the women that. we should start a small business, So in 1990, we started selling vegetables, which we had to buy from others as we didn't know how to farm. We decided instead to sell our beadwork to tourists. We formed a village so that we could protect one another and market our village as a tourist attraction. We charge tourists a 300-shilling ($4) fee, which covers lectures and a tour.

Some men set up their own village nearby to block the road and stop tourists from coming here. Once, 30 warriors came to beat us in front of the tourists so that they would think this place is corrupt. We decided we had to buy this land so that the men could not drive us away, The land was 200,000 shillings ($2,700). and we saved for four months for the down payment. One tourist came and bought 20,000 shillings ($270) worth of trinkets. Another time. five busloads of tourists came, and when they heard our story, they purchased many things from us.

After we applied for the land, the men came here and beat us because they said that women should not own land At the council meeting they said, "Have you heard of a woman owning land? It's because of this Rebecca. We have to shoot her if we want our women to come back. It's the only way we will get these women to be women again," I was just outside listening. When one of the men came out. he told me. "You know, we want to shoot you," I just laughed and said, "Okay, you'll find me in the village." I was not afraid. What could I do? I have nowhere else to go. This is our land. If God has written that I should die here, then why should I be afraid?

My own husband was not bad to me, We married when I was 18, and he paid a dowry of 17 cows. But four men in the village didn't like me because I started selling goods, and they beat me and took my money. When I started talking about helping these rape victims. When said, "She's talking a bout women's rights like she knows more than everyone." The next time my husband left on business, the four men beat me severely. After I left the hospital, my parents said I should rejoin my husband. He said nothing about what the men had done, and I realized that they could kill me, so I left.

The problem is that Samburu women have no rights-no right to own livestock or land, to go to school, even to choose a husband. If a Samburu man kills his wife, no one cares, He paid the dowry, so he owns her.

Nobody cared that these women were being raped. The only reason thai anyone listened is because people started complaining about other things. The soldiers were leaving used condoms on the ground, and the children were blowing them up like balloons. We didn't know what they were--I thought they were something for treating wounds--but it was unsanitary, so we complained to the county council. Also, many of our children and livestock were killed by ex plosives. My husband, the counselor for our area, alerted the Kenyan and British governments. That's how the British lawyer. Martyn Day, became involved. He learned of the rapes and asked if we wanted to file a complaint,

The British military police came to investigate, They wanted to interview the women without a translator. I told one of the bosses, "You are not going to take these women, and you have to employ Samburu girls who speak English to translate." He said that he would report that no rapes had occurred, and I said. "Fine. You just go. You'll be back," He left for a while, but the British military sent him back and hired eight girls to translate. He paid them about 30,000 shillings ($411) per month. Still, nothing has been done.

Before, we didn't know our rights because we are not educated. That's why we built a nursery school here two years ago, to provide a good foundation for out children. On Sundays, we also gather the women in the classroom to teach them some English They should at least know how to write their names and count their money.

We employed men to build our school and to work at our campsite. Other men ask them. "How can you work for women?" One of our workers replied, "I am trying to feed my children. If these women have money to pay, why shouldn't I?" Each woman gives 10 percent of her earnings to the village. At the end of the month, we decide how to allocate money. We pay our teachers and our workers, and if some women need extra money, it is given.

Life in Umoja is good Some of us looked very old when we came here, but now that we are eating well and are no longer stressed, we are young again. Some of the men in a nearby village harass us, but we are trying to get some doors for our huts so that we can lock them out. Mostly, we ignore them We are too busy living.

By: Lolosoli, Rebecca, Armstrong, Lisa, Essence, Oct2006

It Takes a Village

Some say they were raped by soldiers training nearby;: others were abused by their own menfolk. Outraged, the Samburu women of Kenya decided to create their own safe haven

Rebecca Lolosoli is the chief of Umoja, a rural village in the Samburu region of Central Kenya made up almost entirely of women and children. Many of the women say they were raped by British soldiers, who have trained in the region for more than 50 years. In a class-action suit filed three years ago against the British military, the women alleged that the soldiers raped as many as 1,400 Samburu women over a 20-year period. With the case pending, Kenya renewed the British army's lease earlier this year.

In being violated, the Samburu women were seen as having shamed their husbands, who beat and banished them, The women built makeshift huts nearby, one here, one there, only to be uprooted by men who found sport in tormenting them. The women struggled to support themselves and their children until 1990, when Lolosoli, who had fled her home after almost being killed by some of the men in her village, realized that if they came together they stood more of a chance than they did living alone.

The women named their village Umoja Uaso--Umoja, meaning unity in Swahili, and Uaso, for the Uaso Nyiro River that swirls through Samburu land. They earn money selling beaded jewelry and running a campsite for tourists, Last year, Lolosoti, who is in her early forties, told the women's stories at a United Nations conference on gender empowerment in New York, and this month, she will speak at universities across the States, She says it's easy to ignore a group of uneducated women crying out from distant African dust lands, but she's determined to make the world look.

REBECCA'S STORY
The British soldiers wore green uniforms, so they blended with the trees, As the women went roger firewood. the soldiers would jump out and rape them, sometimes sodomize them. Many men would tape one woman and laugh like it was a game.

Samburu women were afraid to talk about these things. They feared it would get back to their husbands, Those who found out beat or tried to kill their wives. They told the women, "Go away and take your kids--I don't want the children of a whore!" When your husband kicks you out, you leave with nothing-not a goat, not a cow, So the women started selling firewood and brewing changaa to earn money, But it is illegal to sell this local liquor, and the women were jailed, many leaving young children without caregivers, Some of the children were eaten by hyenas.

I started going to local government meetings to speak on behalf of these women. I told the women that. we should start a small business, So in 1990, we started selling vegetables, which we had to buy from others as we didn't know how to farm. We decided instead to sell our beadwork to tourists. We formed a village so that we could protect one another and market our village as a tourist attraction. We charge tourists a 300-shilling ($4) fee, which covers lectures and a tour.

Some men set up their own village nearby to block the road and stop tourists from coming here. Once, 30 warriors came to beat us in front of the tourists so that they would think this place is corrupt. We decided we had to buy this land so that the men could not drive us away, The land was 200,000 shillings ($2,700). and we saved for four months for the down payment. One tourist came and bought 20,000 shillings ($270) worth of trinkets. Another time. five busloads of tourists came, and when they heard our story, they purchased many things from us.

After we applied for the land, the men came here and beat us because they said that women should not own land At the council meeting they said, "Have you heard of a woman owning land? It's because of this Rebecca. We have to shoot her if we want our women to come back. It's the only way we will get these women to be women again," I was just outside listening. When one of the men came out. he told me. "You know, we want to shoot you," I just laughed and said, "Okay, you'll find me in the village." I was not afraid. What could I do? I have nowhere else to go. This is our land. If God has written that I should die here, then why should I be afraid?

My own husband was not bad to me, We married when I was 18, and he paid a dowry of 17 cows. But four men in the village didn't like me because I started selling goods, and they beat me and took my money. When I started talking about helping these rape victims. When said, "She's talking a bout women's rights like she knows more than everyone." The next time my husband left on business, the four men beat me severely. After I left the hospital, my parents said I should rejoin my husband. He said nothing about what the men had done, and I realized that they could kill me, so I left.

The problem is that Samburu women have no rights-no right to own livestock or land, to go to school, even to choose a husband. If a Samburu man kills his wife, no one cares, He paid the dowry, so he owns her.

Nobody cared that these women were being raped. The only reason thai anyone listened is because people started complaining about other things. The soldiers were leaving used condoms on the ground, and the children were blowing them up like balloons. We didn't know what they were--I thought they were something for treating wounds--but it was unsanitary, so we complained to the county council. Also, many of our children and livestock were killed by ex plosives. My husband, the counselor for our area, alerted the Kenyan and British governments. That's how the British lawyer. Martyn Day, became involved. He learned of the rapes and asked if we wanted to file a complaint,

The British military police came to investigate, They wanted to interview the women without a translator. I told one of the bosses, "You are not going to take these women, and you have to employ Samburu girls who speak English to translate." He said that he would report that no rapes had occurred, and I said. "Fine. You just go. You'll be back," He left for a while, but the British military sent him back and hired eight girls to translate. He paid them about 30,000 shillings ($411) per month. Still, nothing has been done.

Before, we didn't know our rights because we are not educated. That's why we built a nursery school here two years ago, to provide a good foundation for out children. On Sundays, we also gather the women in the classroom to teach them some English They should at least know how to write their names and count their money.

We employed men to build our school and to work at our campsite. Other men ask them. "How can you work for women?" One of our workers replied, "I am trying to feed my children. If these women have money to pay, why shouldn't I?" Each woman gives 10 percent of her earnings to the village. At the end of the month, we decide how to allocate money. We pay our teachers and our workers, and if some women need extra money, it is given.

Life in Umoja is good Some of us looked very old when we came here, but now that we are eating well and are no longer stressed, we are young again. Some of the men in a nearby village harass us, but we are trying to get some doors for our huts so that we can lock them out. Mostly, we ignore them We are too busy living.

By: Lolosoli, Rebecca, Armstrong, Lisa, Essence, Oct2006

Sunday, October 8, 2006

Meatheads Take la Cité

"Our film crew headed to Le Massif this spring, but with rain driving us off the slopes, our resident Quebecois--Simon Thomson--showed us around. Sure, it's old and full of cathedrals, but, man, can this place party."

1. Ozone
We started the night playing pool and drinking a Few pitchers of Richard's--that's Quebecois for "Killian's"--at this popular sports bar. Young skiers and riders pack the place early for sushi and sake, and the late-night lines can be atrocious. There weren't any drink specials, but as Stephanie, a university-bound cutie, told us, "Every night is special." Oui. Stephaniel [570 Grande-Allée Est]

2. Chez Dagobert
This three-level nightclub is one of Quebec City's most famous. Upstairs, saucy femmes in tank tops and spandex danced on tables white videographer Geoff McDonald and I tripped out to the Pink Floyd--worthy light show. (Bar owners reportedly spent $4 million on It!) Later, on the first floor, we joined flannel-clad, head-banging moshers while Franco-Canadian metal cover band Alcoolica ripped through some Metallica. Don't miss the C$3.25 Jaeger shot special on Sundays. [600 Grande-Allée Est]

3. Pub Saint-Alexandre
The 200 varieties of beer at this laid-back pub are intimidating, but friendly barkeeps, a detectable scotch menu, live music, and cheap pub fare make Pub Saint-Alexandre a great spot to kick it after a long day of shredding. But with no skiing waiting for us the next morning, our night was just getting started. [1087 rue St-Jean]

4. Pub St. Patrick's
Hearty pints of Guinness, warm glasses of Jameson's, and car bombs among chain-smoking cheese-eaters: It's an Irish bar in Quebec. The four of us rolled up to the rail and joined 150 or so patrons jigging to live Irish music and pounding through kegs. By the time we left, halt a dozen empty kegs were stacked in the hallway. Just imagine what St. Paddy's Day must be like. [1200 rue St-Jean]

5. Maurice
A two-level dance club/restaurant, Maurice is more chill than neighboring Dagobert. We started upstairs in the trendy lounge, but the combination of pop music and prowling cougars made it a bit uncomfortable Downstairs, the vibe was younger, with female DJs spinning hip-hop and bachelor parties scarfing Creole specialities at the adjoining Voodoo Grill The best part? Scantily dad beauties go-go dancing in cages on either side of the turntables. [575 Grande-Allée Est]

6. Bar Sainte-Angèle
Only serious locals know about this hole-in-the-wall dive just off of Rue St-Jean. It was dosed when we visited, but as one native said: "You don't walk out of there sober," Look for the spoakeasy-style door and battered wooden sign. [26 rue Sainte-Angèle]

7. Hotel Manoir Lafayette
The ornate rooms at this three-star hotel would do Versailles proud, and the heart of the city's nightlife is within easy stumbling distance. Winter-season rooms start at C$79 and free wireless access. [vleux-quebec.com

8. Le Funiculaire
Strap on a fanny pack and play tourist on this glorified elevator that provides the best view of the old city [C$1.50 funiculaire.quebec.com]

By: Morabito, Joe, Skiing, 00376264, Sep2006