Keeping an online journal brings together family, friends, and fellow travelers
The College takes up President Spar’s challenge to increase its international presence
With the acquisition of a cluster of new spectroscopic instrumentation, there is an elevated sense of excitement in the chemistry department this academic year. The story began in the summer of 2009 when the department’s faculty prepared a proposal for a National Science Foundation grant under the Major Research Instrumentation Program (MRI-R2/Recovery and Reinvestment), a program aimed at improving the quality and scope of research and research training through the acquisition of shared instrumentation.
The contrast could not have been starker. On one day in August two glossy magazines showed up in my mailbox. One, the Barnard Magazine, showed three beautiful young women, elegantly dressed and beaming, holding champagne glasses and enjoying the festivities around their fifth reunion. The other, TIME, depicted a once equally beautiful woman, looking out from her head shawl and into the camera, revealing nothing. Her nose had been cut clean off—punishment by the Taliban, the article explained, for having fled her abusive in-laws. The woman, Aisha, was 18.
One of the more disconcerting parts of growing older, I’ve discovered, is watching the subtle change in who remembers your birthday. When I was growing up, my father would herald the occasion by marching into my room in the morning with a yellow rose he had picked from the garden. My mother would follow behind with balloons and presents. That was nice. More recently, though, the most regular celebrants have been my dentist’s office (Happy Birthday! Time for your annual cleaning!) and, sadly, my insurance agent (Happy Birthday! Time for—what? Another tick up the actuarial charts??) This year, my daughter inaugurated the day by throwing up in the kitchen sink and then, somewhat sheepishly, wishing me well. At least she remembered.
Everything in Dubai is tall, it seems, and everyone is from somewhere else. The man who greeted me at the airport was from Bosnia. The cabdriver was Sri Lankan; the hotel clerk, Nigerian. (Yes, I am one of those annoying travelers who ask a lot of questions.) Like the buildings that tower over what was recently desert, the people of Dubai appear almost to have dropped from the sky, hailing from across the planet and now mixed randomly, picturesquely, in this tiny crossroads by the sea.