Future Now: The 2017 Ars Electronica Festival

This September I was invited to participate in the Future Innovator’s Summit at the Ars Electronica Festival 2017. This was a wonderful opportunity to spend several activity packed days discussing some of the biggest questions arising from the emergence of increasingly complex technologies with an interdisciplinary and multicultural group of artists, scientists, philosophers, researchers and designers.


Photo: Ars Electronica Festival

I was delighted that the summit was planned as part of this legendary festival of digital, hybrid and emergent art that has been the venue where a lot of seminal and groundbreaking works, from Stelarc‘s “Ear on Arm” to Joe Davis‘ “Bacterial Radio“, have been showcased over the years.

The festival is held yearly in the beautiful Austrian city of Linz, which sits on the Danube River. The festival is held in several locations around the city but the main venue, POSTCITY, is a former mail distribution center that is mysterious, spacious and labyrinthic and over the course of the festival is transformed into an futuristic exhibit filled with mind-blowing installations, performance stages and conference halls. In the past few years, I have visited Linz several times to present research at the International Conference on Computers Helping People with Disabilities (which is unrelated to the Ars Electronica Festival and is usually held at the Johannes Kepler University).

The theme of this year’s festival was Artificial Intelligence: The Other I. In this post, I will describe some of the highlights of my experience (including a brief description of the Future Innovator’s Summit).

Future Innovator’s Summit

The Future Innovator’s Summit (FIS) is an initiative, under the direction of Dr. Hideaki Ogawa, to create an ad-hoc think-tank that runs in parallel with the Ars Electronica Festival and in which participants spend several days exploring creative questions and themes related to the Future. It is supported by the Japanese firm Hakuhodo and the Ars Electronica Futurelab.

This year four interdisciplinary teams worked on the topics of Future Humanity, Future Work and Future Home. I was in one of the two teams that was focused on the future of humanity.

We started by thinking about three questions:

  • How can we be more human?
  • How can a machine love a human? And vice versa?
  • How can we live as a multiple “I”?

Prior to the summit, we had all sent in some thoughts about these questions to the FIS team. Please see the Appendix below for my extended answers.

FIS team - Future Humanity B

Our team working hard on the questions of the Future. Photo: Future Innovator’s Summit

Our team consisted of myself, Imre Bard (philosopher/researcher), Xin Liu (media artist/engineer), Alex Reben (roboticist/artist), and Pinar Yoldas (artist/researcher).  During the summit, our team (with support from facilitator Fran Miller) decided to focus on a question about the ethics of emerging technologies and specifically Artificial Intelligence:

  • What should AI (not) decide for us?

We approached this question through a participatory perspective, where we interviewed about 40 people at the festival and compiled their answers in a short video. We then presented this video at a final presentation and provided our own thoughts on the topic. Our interviewees presented many excellent ideas. Some highlights included: “Human intelligence should not become obsolete”; “The machines should not repeat our mistakes”, and, “We should not lose our instincts.” We hope that this video was also a small effort towards increasing reflection about the implications of our attitudes towards ourselves and the technologies we build.


Our Team Presentation. Photo: Florian Voggeneder

The video is being edited by the FIS team and I will put a link to the video once it is posted. There might also be a short documentary produced about the summit that I will also share here once it is available.

Artificial Intelligence: The Other I 

Art helps science understand itself.” -Joe Davis

CellF. Photo: Rafaela Pandolfini

I walked into a dark abandoned railway hall and came face to face with a man improvising a duet with a disembodied neural network made from his own cells! “CellF” was one of the opening performances, in which Guy Ben-Ary a media artist, had taken some of his own skin cells through a biopsy and transformed them into stem cells through a process known as Induced Pluripotent Stem cell technology. These stem cells were then turned into an autonomous neural network that could respond to incoming sound and create outgoing signals. The artist was playing a tune on a piano that the disembodied neural network responded to and created sound signals that were then responded to by the artist at the piano.


Corpus Nil. Photo: tom mesic

Another performance with a more indirect relationship to AI was Corpus Nil, in which the artists’s body (Marco Donnarumma) was connected to several biosensors that would communicate several signals from his body to a digital system that used a series of algorithms to process them and turn them into musical sounds. The algorithms would “learn” from the input signals and continually adjust the way they translated them into musical sounds. In the words of the description on the project’s website: “The player cannot control the instrument, but only learns how to affect it and be affected by it.”


Ad Infinitum. Photo: Florian Voggeneder

These are just two examples of the many provocative art projects, including Ad Infinitum, a parasitic robot that captured human arms and forced them to turn a lever by giving them electric shocks and Samantha a talking sex doll with multiple personalities, that explored the question of what are the implications of non-human intelligence through creative expression and art experience.  In addition to the art projects, there were a series of academic lectures on the ethics and aesthetics of intelligent systems by diverse participants, including Hiroshi Ishii from MIT and Zenbo Hidaka, Japanese zen head monk and AI expert.


I have been fascinated by BioArt, an art practice that uses living media as material, for many years and have often conceptualized of my Rafigh project as an edible bioart sculpture (as presented at TEI’s art track in Munich in 2014). Ars Electronica is the premier venue for this art movement and I wasn’t surprised to see many excellent pieces here.


Regenerative Reliquary. Photo: Charlie Nordstrom

One of the most interesting project, Regenerative Reliquary by Amy Karle, involved a 3D printed exoskeleton of a human hand that was covered with living stem cells that were growing tissue around the scaffolding during the festival.


I’m Humanity. Photo: MIRAI records

In another project, I’m Humanity, Etsuko Yakushimaru, a famous pop star in Japan, had pushed the idea of how to record and distribute music to some extreme places. She had encoded her song of the same name as a DNA sequence that was embedded in living cells that would regenerate rapidly and have the potential to outlive humans! So, she had millions of copies of her song living in a fridge at the conference. A caveat was that with each generation of cells there was the possibility of natural genetic mutation, a phenomenon that might impact the encoded music and make it evolve beyond the artist’s original creation. The song lyrics reflected this: “Stop the evolution — don’t stop it”.


Until I Die. Photo: Miha Fras

These are just a few examples of the amazing bioartworks that were presented at the festival this year. Other examples included Until I Die by ::vtol::, in which large samples of the artist’s blood were collected over 18 months and used as batteries to power an interactive sound installation, and K-9_topology, in which artist Maja Smrekar, pushed the boundaries of her relationship with her dog companions through a series of projects, including Hybrid Family that involved her breastfeeding her dog for three months, leading to increased levels of oxytocin in her body, and ARTE_mis, in which she denuclearized one of her own ovum cells and used it as a host for a somatic cell of her dog, resulting in a hybrid human/dog cell.

If these projects peak your interest and you want to learn more about bioart, I recommend Bio Art: Altered Realities by William Myers for an overview of a lot of projects and artists in this space, and/or Bioart and the Vitality of Media by Robert E. Mitchell for a more theoretical treatment of the subject.

Other Projects


Fidgety. Photo: Christopher Sonnleitner

In addition to the above highlights, there were many other amazing projects at Ars Electronica. I particularly enjoyed the amazing installation in the basement of POSTCITY which included immersive sound installations, including Reading Plan that consisted of a chorus of disembodied actors reading passages from automatic page turning manuscripts, and Fidgety, a sound installation consisting of a series of speakers and dedicated sound channels remixing in sound of the artist’s heartbeat in creative rhythmic ways.

A Study into 21st Century Drone Acoustics. Credit: Gonçalo Freiria Cardoso, Ruben Pater

Other highlights included a feminist book and CD compilation about noise music in Southeast Asia, called “Not Your World Music: Noise in South East Asia“, and “A Study into 21st Century Drone Acoustics“, which looked at the negative psychological impact of living in fear of bomb carrying drones. This latter worked was developed as a “field-guide”, similar to a bird-watching guide, with a soundtrack that helped people identify and avoid incoming drones  in conflict zones (e.g., parts of Afghanistan).

Appendix: Some thoughts about the future of humanity  

I will conclude this post with an appendix that includes my expanded thoughts on the three original questions by the FIS team.

Screen Shot 2017-09-28 at 2.03.40 PM.png

“Hanging out” in POSTCITY

  • How can we be more human?

We can be more human by embracing our hybrid existence. I believe the line between the artificial and natural is socially constructed and we are already cyborgs whose lives are entangled with digital technologies like computers and non-digital technologies like bicycles or clothing. I believe we can be more human by embracing and shaping this reality.

Technology is like a mirror that we can use for self-reflection: all the fears that we project onto technology (and AI) have roots in our experiences with each other. For example, we are afraid that once AI is mature enough it might make us obsolete or oppress us. These are in fact things that humans have done to each other for millennia. In the face of technological challenges that make each of us different from each other based on our access to and experience with different technologies, it is imperative to think about what would future diversity look like. I’m not worried about a society in which robots and human have to co-exist. I’m more worried about a society where the distance between us becomes greater due to the technologies we can access differently. If we think of nature not as separate from us but something that is part of us, we can start thinking about how to protect and respect it rather than control or use it.

  • How can a machine love a human? And vice versa?

I’m actually really interested in the emotional reactions of people to non-human intelligence, especially technologically-mediated intelligence. In order to investigate some of these dynamics, I conducted a research project, Rafigh, in which I designed and evaluated a digital living media system that consisted of a digitally-augmented mushroom colony such that the mushrooms responded to human behavior over a long period of time. In the evaluation, we observed that children and adults responded positively to the system and it created feelings of empathy, responsibility and curiosity in them. Additionally, it supported communication and collaboration between family members. This project shows that it is possible to create hybrid systems that emotionally engage users; we will have to see if these results translate to purely digital systems.

Previous research by Sherry Trukle (and many others) show that digital technologies that aim to replace us (e.g., emotional robots, virtual caregivers, …, she terms them “relational objects”) can be confusing to people and negatively impact human relationships. The technologies that she finds most damaging are ones that aim to replace non-existing or deficient human relationships rather than augmenting healthy ones. Maybe we should instead focus on developing technologies that bring people together and help alleviate some of their anxieties and stress, such that they have more time and energy to explore human emotions of empathy and love. If technology allows us to not worry about the basic questions of survival, such as security, food or health as much as before, will we finally learn how to love without being afraid or will we still wallow in our fears? What is the future of human relationships? How can machines help us love each other and ourselves? Rather than making us obsolete, how can machines make us become more valued and loved by each other?

  • How can we live as a multiple “I”?

This question caused more questions than answers in my mind: if indeed it is possible to transcend our limited cognition, emotion and agency in the future, through technological means, then what happens to the existing patterns of injustice and inequality? Would they become amplified or challenged in such a future? Will we drift further apart from each other or do we become closer?

There is always fear and anticipation when encountering the Other. Is this Other our enemy or our friend, our ally or our rival? I believe the degree of our fear or anticipation relates to how much we sense we might lose control or what we would learn about ourselves through the Other.

Imagine how much self-knowledge can come from falling in love or having a child or learning to connect with people from another culture. If we fail in some of these situations (e.g., if our trust is betrayed, are left out and hurt) we tend to think of others as threats rather than possibilities for finding strength and getting aquatinted with an unexplored side of ourselves. Will we fight, run or love? This ancient idea of encountering knowledge through stepping into the fire of experience without fear is being repeated today. Why should we have a future world of winners and losers? What if we have a world of dancers where we sometimes dance the winners’ dance and sometimes the losers’ dance, and eventually we rest in the knowledge that this life is a dance rather than a final irreversible Truth?

Technological Love/Fear: Reflections from CHI’17 Conference

This week, I attended the ACM CHI Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems (CHI’17) in Denver and saw many excellent and thought-provoking talks about the interaction(s) and relationship(s) between humans and technology. CHI is a yearly international conference that attracts ~2000-3000 attendees from academia, industry and beyond who come to share and learn about the latest research in the area of Human-Computer Interaction. Many of the attendees are also presenting their own research and so it is a wonderful chance to connect with other researchers, practitioners, and thinkers in this area.

Screen Shot 2017-05-11 at 3.44.30 PM.png

CHI conference

This year, I presented a short paper that described a case study about how to engage youth in engineering education through hands-on maker activities, a poster about a novel wearable interface for therapists administering Sensory Stimulation Therapy, and a workshop paper about gender, e-textiles and Mayan weaving. It was a wonderful event and also extremely stimulating with ideas, social interactions and complex emotions (towards our collective future). In this post, I will share a few subjective highlights and reflections about the conference and its themes.

Challenging Boundaries

For me, the conference started with a pre-conference weekend workshop called HCIxB which was planned for researchers who work in the field of Information and Communication Technologies and Development (ICTD). Many years ago, I was lucky to attend a course taught at CHI by the late Gary Marsden, who was a pioneer in this field. His enthusiasm and clarity inspired me to try to learn more about this area and conduct several research projects in Bhutan, Mexico, and Kenya.

At the workshop, there were many researchers from Pakistan, Namibia, Mexico and other countries. This year, the new travel ban had caused extra challenges for the CHI community and many participants from the listed countries could not attend the conference in person. One way of bypassing this problem was to attend the conference via telepresence robots.

Screen Shot 2017-05-16 at 3.43.22 PM.png

Telepresence Robot with very long legs!

In addition to questioning the lines drawn between countries, many of the participants at this workshop also challenged lines drawn between research and practice. Listening to the presentations, made me think about some of the hard lessons I have learned in my prior projects where I tried to cross these lines myself and found it really difficult to both stay true to the goals of my projects and also make a lasting impact in the communities I was working in. This brought many questions to mind: How can researchers create sustainable, scalable projects to impact many people? Isn’t this role better suited to governments, NGO’s or even private companies? While questions of sustainability and affordability are really important and should be taken into account in every project, isn’t it too ambitious for HCI researchers who are often not trained in economics or industrial engineering to tackle them?

A solution that is adopted by many researchers in this area (including myself) is to collaborate and work closely with local trusted practitioners, NGOs or government agencies to translate research results into lasting products or services. Additionally, working with multidisciplinary teams helps with broadening the impact of research by incorporating diverse points of view. Of course, I have a lot of respect for researchers who have the capacity to put on practitioner hats in projects, and there are many who navigate multiple roles really well. I just think it is helpful to clarify that the main role of an academic researcher (at least in my mind) is the creation (or co-creation) of (hopefully relevant) knowledge and the communication of this knowledge to others (students, the research community, the public). This activity might result in societal impact or more importantly provide the ideas or impetus for others to make a large impact, but it is not the main focus of research.

Performance as Inquiry

Right before going to CHI, I saw an incredible immersive theater performance in Baltimore called, “The H. T. Darling’s Incredible Musaeum“. The play took place in the first purpose-built museum in the United States which the theater group had turned into an exhibit of imaginary objects from an imaginary land. The play progressed through several parallel plotlines that were both entertaining and also cleverly disguised a sharp criticism of colonialism and “Othering” that was at the heart of much European “discovery” of exotic lands and people. I deeply enjoyed this play and it made me think of the power of performance as a form of inquiry.

On the bus to CHI, I met a colleague who reminded me of a play she and her colleagues ( Jackie Cameron, Mike Skirpan et al.) had produced last year and I had attended at CU Boulder.  The play entitled the Quantified Self Data Experience invited audience members to experience a performed future scenario that raised questions around privacy and personal data. It utilized personal data collected from the participants prior to the play to give a sense of our vulnerability when we mindlessly interact with algorithms.

At CHI, I came across two other exceptional projects that talked about performance as a form of inquiry. One is a project called The Question that comprises of a theater performance for blind and sighted audience members that takes place in an entirely dark space. Through listening to sounds and interacting with a tangible interface, audience members get to learn about the narrative and explore the performance space.

Screen Shot 2017-05-15 at 7.48.45 PM.png

Tangible object used in The Problem

Another project in the design fiction track, “On Speculative Enactments”, by Chris Elsden and colleagues, described an approach in which they invited participants to “interact with, and experience, speculation”. Participants would use design probes (e.g., quantified dating cards) and interact with actors in role (e.g., a datagrapher for a wedding) and would describe their experience/feedback about the scenarios to the researcerhs. The presenters claimed that the approach allowed for a better understanding of users’ receptions and attitudes towards future designs.

This really made me think about the potential of using performance art more formally in HCI research (I am aware that this is already an established practice in other fields). The nature of digital systems are changing: rather than monitors with keyboard and mouse that one individual uses at a time, a lot of new systems are embedded in objects, the environment, or even on people’s bodies and are used in social contexts. Doesn’t it make sense for procedures that investigate and understand these systems to evolve so that they are sensitive to the complex dynamics that they embody? How can we learn about these systems without simulating or previewing them “in the wild” (i.e., in the real world, outside of the lab)? Further, what if prototypes did not only consist of research artifacts but of whole interactions (complete with performers, scenarios, and narratives) that could be performed? This approach is not new and as I mentioned above it is already being used (especially in the area of ubiquitous computing and in methods such as “Experience Prototyping“), I just think there’s more room to formalize it as a rich way to understand complex social interactions and to get informed not only by intellectual input from users but also emotional and affective input from them. Also, I really like the idea of having performer/actors as design/research partners.

Additionally, if a key part of research is the communication of ideas why are we in the research community still so obsessed with the written form as the ultimate form of knowledge output? Of course, writing might be the most precise and appropriate form for many forms of knowledge but for others, new media such as video, images or even performances can best capture and communicate knowledge. There is already recognition for this idea in many HCI research communities, including CHI, UIST, and TEI that highly encourage the submission of videos accompanying papers and DIS that has a whole pictorial track. One of my favorite (not limited to HCI) initiatives is the Dance your PhD competition! I hope that I can incorporate some of these ideas in my future research projects.


In the controversial opening keynote of the conference, MIT artist and researcher Neri Oxman challenged the boundary between the natural and artificial. She described her vision of a future world in which humans co-design with nature in an intimate way. Some examples included orchestrating a large number of silkworms to weave a human-sized cocoon and creating a novel 3D printing filament out of shrimp shells.


A tent-sized cocoon that was woven by silkworms

Additionally, Oxman showed impressive 3D printed masks and clothes for artists such as Bjork and David Bowie that were designed specifically for their anatomy. Of course, many ethical and practical (sustainability, anyone?) questions arose during the talk but I believe there was much creative power in the visions that were presented. Additionally, there was a strong sense of optimism in the potential of technology and design to move us into a dreamlike state where anything is possible.


Bjork’s 3D printed mask. “As a designer, I am a lover of nature, we learn from each other, shape each other and look into each others’ images, until we wake up with each other’s faces.” – paraphrased from the opening keynote by Neri Oxman

This optimistic theme of technophilia was present in several other talks and presentations. In a fascinating talk about “grinders“, DIY cyborgs who self-modify their body, Lauren Britton and Bryan Semaan, described how members of this community aim to move beyond established constructed social divisions and use their bodies as a site of social experimentation where embedded devices are used to reimagine a new society where the lines between (for example) citizen/scientist and man/woman are blurred. In other talks, Fabio Morreale and colleagues discussed how a new hardware platform supported the creation of a maker community, Thomas Ludwig and colleagues described the increased social interaction around 3D printing, and Shaowen Bardzell and colleagues explained how maker innovation can lead to policy changes that support creative economies. In offline discussions, representatives from Keio University‘s Superhuman Sports Academy described their vision of creating a new brand of superhuman sports. Of course, these views are reminiscent of the pioneering work of artists such as Stelarc in whose (in)famous words, “the human body is obsolete” and will be “constantly interrogated by technology”. For a thought-provoking (and shocking) talk by Stelarc see here.


Grinders with embedded lights

In contrast, the closing plenary by author Nicholas Carr was full of warnings about the dangers of automation and how it distracts and takes away control from human agents. He described how the Internet is negatively impacting our short-term memory because we don’t have to remember things anymore, and how using self-driving cars will deteriorate our ability to drive and control a vehicle.

On a similar note, in a fascinating conference presentation entitled, “Us vs. Them: Understanding Artificial Intelligence Technophobia over the Google DeepMind Challenge Match”, Changhoon Oh and colleagues described the feelings of fear and despair that were experienced by audience members watching a five-game Go match in Korea between Lee Sedol, a former world Go champion, and AlphaGo, an AI Go program developed by Google DeepMind. After the talk, an audience member asked the presenter, “How would we feel if we were sitting in an audience looking at a robot presenting a paper at CHI? Wouldn’t it be threatening to us?”

Finally, in an excellent alt.chi talk (a conference track that is specifically for non-traditional work), entitled “Design for Existential Crisis”, Irina Shklovskif and colleagues, described the challenges of staying optimistic (and productive) in the face of real threats to human existence. Drawing heavily on the work of Viktor Frankl (among others), they stated how important it is for us to find meaning in life in order to survive future threats. They warned against what they termed, Bovine Design, which results in “tools that encourage passivity, rote-behavior, and a blinkered existence at a time of great uncertainty and change”. They encouraged designers to stop thinking of users as “them”, either the distracted masses or the elite waiting to sit in an Arch on the way to another planet, and instead think of users as “us”, the whole of humanity.

“Who am I? Who are you? Where are we going?”


These were all extremely thought-provoking and made me reflect on my own stance in relation to technology. Obviously, the choice is not only to love or hate technology but to move on a dynamic spectrum of views that assesses each technology in context with respect to our think a lot about where I stand in the chasm between technophilia and technophobia. It is easy to try to think which one is really liked this talk as in some of my past work I have also tried to challenge the boundaries between digital and living media.

I think there is even a more meta-process behind the scenes (I’m inspired by Mark Blythe‘s work on plot and storytelling in HCI research). These extreme love/fear feelings towards technology are reminiscent of previous narratives around the role of God and Nature in making sense of the world. Doesn’t our relationships towards God and Nature and how we revere, fear and try to control them say more about ourselves? Aren’t our feelings of fear and love signs that we are trying yet again to project our responsibility into a mirage of future technologies?

I can appreciate and understand feelings behind technophobia (e.g., fear of automation, fear of Artificial Intelligence and even the more existential fear of technocratic domination and its milder sibling techno-paternalism, etc.). But I am also concerned that this fear does not recognize that we are not separate from technology (or nature) and thus cannot give up our responsibility to take control of how we use and abuse it. I do believe (after Marshall MacLuhan) that technologies are extensions of us and that drawing artificial lines between the natural and the artificial is a dangerous alienating practice (as Donna Haraway has warned in the Cyborg Manifesto). I am talking about technology in the original sense of the word where our clothes, pens, and books are also forms of technology. The fear of the end of the world is not new (see Umberto Eco‘s interview in Conversations about the Time).

This search for meaning is perhaps an essential part of human life (as Viktor Frankl would say) and it takes many forms including despair and confusion. But is it really wise that rather than looking inside and finding out for ourselves, we ask of Technology the essential questions of “who am I? who are you? and where are we going?”. It seems Technology and the Future are filling a gap left by religion and traditional dogmas that were weakened in the 20th century. My hope is that we can stop blaming yet another external entity for our existential misery, take responsibility for our being and live authentic, heartful and fearless lives (as long as they last).

Baltimore Stories: Warm up

I first heard about Baltimore at a PopTech-affiliated conference in Brooklyn, called The City Resilient (which I wrote about in another blog post). In a short heartfelt talk, Ali Smith of the Holistic Life Foundation described how he had learned Yoga at a young age in Baltimore and found it extremely useful to calm his mind and control his feelings when growing up. Ali, a tall black man with a shaved head and urban clothes, thought the most important part of yoga for his kids was its usefulness as a tool for self-regulation that can increase one’s resilience. He was not talking about fitness, enlightenment or bliss; he was talking about survival. That talk stuck in my mind and I thought about the place where he had come from, its perils, its potentials.

FullSizeRenderAt that time, I never thought that one day I would become a resident of Baltimore City and experience this resilient and gritty perspective first hand. Shortly after I finished my PhD, I found an opportunity to work with a very inspiring researcher on several projects at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County (UMBC). When I was considering accepting a postdoctoral research associate position there, I did not know a single person in this city, I had my doubts about the political direction that the country was going towards and I felt unsure about what my next career move should be. After some consideration, I decided to plunge into the unknown. I can’t say I am sorry! In the past few months, I have met many people, mostly colleagues who I work with closely and are amazing, I have also kept contact, mostly from afar, with my partner, my family, and a few intimate friends. However, I have spent most of this time in conversation with myself, my full-time companion and witness!

My experience so far has been rich, overwhelming and nothing like what I expected. In fact, there has been so much to absorb since I moved here that I haven’t really had a chance to write anything on this blog about it yet! However, I feel ready to start writing again and in the next little while will slowly reflect back some of the faces I have encountered in this large beautiful scary rusty antique cracked shiny mirror.

Bologna, Florence and Venice

Bologna is an underrated Italian city with a tumultuous recent history. It is known as “La dotta (the learned), la rossa (the red), and la grassa (the fat)! The first nickname is given to Bologna because of its well-respected university. Founded in 1088, many intellectual heavyweights, Dante, Petrarch and Thomas Becket among them, have frequented this institution. There is a tradition among the university students in Bologna to climb one of the very tall towers in the city. This tower should only be climbed after you graduated, as tradition says that if it is climbed before you might never finish your studies! Finishing my degree a few months back, I felt qualified to torture myself on the endless stairs with no view until I reached magnificent views of the city on top: an experience not unlike doing a PhD!



The strong intellectual tradition of “la dotta” probably supported alternative and progressive ways of thinking that gave the city its second name: the red. While this name was initially given to the city because of the red roof tiles used throughout, later on it became to denote the Leftist tendencies of the citizens. Bologna was a major center of partisan resistance against the Fascists. Being a transport hub, it was bombed extensively during the WWII and was the scene of much fighting. It was the hometown of the controversial director, Pier Paolo Pasoloni (of Salo and Accattone fame), who was viciously murdered by fascists in Rome. Judging from fresh wall graffiti about ISIS and Kobane Resistance, the movement is still strong here. When growing up in Iran, I used to watch Fontamara, a TV series based on the work of Italian Leftist author Ignazio Silone. I later read the novel, and also another one by Silone, called Bread and Wine, and was deeply affected by the pain and suffering that he described. Walking under the cool porticos of Bologna, I think of these books and how we have now forgotten how large parts of Italy were once overridden by poverty, which brings me to the next nickname of Bologna, la grassa.

Screen Shot 2016-09-17 at 12.16.05 PM.png

In my opinion, the beauty of Italian cooking is (for the most part) that it is focused on feeding ordinary people. Many of the best dishes are made with cheap but high quality ingredients. This is apparent in Roman cooking, Carbonara and the Roman Rigatoni con la Pajata (and the many dishes that use the fifth quarter), and also in the excellent food of Bologna, Ragu alla Bolognese (the mother of all red pasta sauces) and Tortellini. Bologna is the center of the Emilia-Romagna Region (of the Parmigiano Reggiano fame) and is close to Modena with the best balsamic vinegar in the world. In short, a visitor will have a hard time staying fit in this area!

For more fun info about Bologna, check out this Italy Unpacked episode.


Florence has been the home to many famous people: Dante, Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Machiavelli, …It’s streets are full of history and a simple stroll through its central part (if you don’t mind the heat and crowds, especially in July/August) is rewarding and rich.


My favorite part of the city was the Piazza della Signoria, which houses amazing statues (in Loggia dei Lanzi), provides excellent people watching and is the gateway to river side walking. A hidden gem is a water fountain that offers free delicious lightly carbonated water!


I enjoyed several excellent galleries in Florence, but two contrasting highlights stayed in my mind. The Uffizi Gallery, perhaps the most popular gallery in Florence, houses an exquisite collection of Renaissance art. One of the greatest experience for me was to see many austere but beautiful Middle Ages and Early Renaissance artwork before coming face to face with the fantastic Botticelli paintings that brought back the celebration of humanity from the Greek and Roman art and put them in a new context.


In contrast to the Ufizzi Gallery, the San Marco Monastery was quiet and pensive. Visionary paintings by the legendary Fra Angelico graced bare-bones monk cells. It is a good reminder that despite Italy’s sensual reputation



Getting lost in Venice is an essential experience. I walk around at least for an hour before finding my hostel. Venice is extremely touristy which makes it a bit hard to enjoy. But if you persist and walk through the crowds and the heat, there are magical spaces here and there: Marco Polo‘s home, a Vivaldi museum with ancient and exotic instruments, old buildings turned into exhibits and little islands that are suddenly empty and feel like medieval mazes.


I take the 6 am water bus which is empty and passes through many great buildings: the old castle in which Wagner died and is now a famous casino, the Muslim and Jewish areas, St. Mark’s Square and the Bridge of Sighs (which connect the palace to a prison).


In a few hours tourists start trickling into the city (from huge cruise ships and via the train station) and the city becomes really full. At first the heat and the crowds make it hard to continue enjoying the sights and then I realize this is part of the experience too. In fact, the “siege of Venice” by tourists is quite controversial and has been blamed for pushing locals out of increasingly expensive real estate. See this documentary for more information about this topic.


Italy is touristy, there’s no denying that. Before modern tourism became accessible to everyone, aristocrats from Northern Europe would travel here on what came to be known as the Grand Tour. On an itinerary that often included Rome and Florence and often ended in Venice, young aristocratic members of society would seek Classic history, art and culture. The purpose of this trips that sometimes took months was more than sightseeing. Often young aristocrats were accompanied by a tutor or learned man and were trained in the Classics, History, Languages, …. The idea was that this privileged experience would get them ready to hold high positions in their society. Of course, an essential part of the trip was socializing and partying with other elite which often happened in Venice in masked balls (from which the concept of Masquerade comes from).

This tradition, which started in the 18th century, continued well into the 19th and 20th century and some would argue the “Gap Year” concept is a modern democratic version of it. Later travelers on a Grand Tour included the Romantics, English poets Shelly, Keats and Byron, and later on the Hungarian composer Franz Liszt who was inspired by his travels to compose his famous Annees de Pelerinage (Years of Pilgrimage) piano album. I often had this piece from Liszt in my head when traveling in Italy.

Given the Romantics fascination with nature as a source of inspiration, later Grand Tour itineraries often included natural scenery, such as the Alps in Northern Italy and Switzerland and more secluded parts of central Italy (for example, the Cinque Terre, which was secluded then but is overrun with tourists now!)

Bonus: Epilogue

At some point during my stay in Italy, I decided to take a break from large cities and spent a couple of days in the medieval village of San Gimignano. This beautiful hill town is set in the rolling landscape of Tuscany and is surrounded by vineyards and olive groves. It is also a popular destination for pilgrims as it is on the Camino di San Francisco di Assisi that connects Florence to Rome.


During my stay, I went for long walks in the surrounding area, tried some local specialties (olive gelato, anyone?) and stayed at a quiet monastery. I also visited an unexpected exhibit about the work of Robert Capa in Italy. Robert Capa was a Hungarian war photographer who  captured many historic moments in photographs, including the Allied landing in Normandy. Capa’s life was one of sacrifice and tragedy. He was in love with the first female war photographer, Gerda Taro, who was killed while covering the Spanish Civil War. He also saw many colleagues and friends get injured and die during the five wars he covered. He famously said, “if your pictures aren’t good enough, you are not close enough”. Unfortunately, he was once too close and blew up on a mine in Vietnam.

San Gimigano.pngWalking around San Gimignano was delightful and I spent a few full days walking beside vineyards and farms and enjoying classic Tuscan landscapes. I once met a fellow traveler who told me about an Italian tradition of planting rose bushes next to vineyards. He said the roses usually catch pests earlier than vines, giving farmers advance warning to save their crops.




Sisyphus in Mauthausen


“Stairs of Death” at Mauthasen Concentration Camp

Touched by kisses,
Covered with bruises,
My body is a chain,
A snake eating its tail.

Step by step,
These endless stairs,
My life is a short sentence,
Written again and again.

Looking at a blind sun,
Talking to a deaf moon,
My tears are drops in a flood,
Evaporating before they hit the earth.

You won’t remember me,
And I don’t remember them,
The ones before and the ones after,
History, a silent heavy rock on our backs.

But I’ll live in your bones,
Sleep in your dreams,
Look through your eyes,
I’ll be the revolution under your skin.

I’ll push you forward and I’ll push you within,
Because we have to find out, we have to know,
What is on the other side of this coin, the meaning of this toil.

If we can’t ask life, let us ask death, and if he is also silent, we will ask our hearts, for they will know:
where do we come from and where will we go.

Note: I wrote this poem after visiting the Mauthausen-Gusen Concentration Camp Memorial. For more about my visit and the camp please see this post.


The country road from Linz to Mauthausen is beautiful and peaceful. My bus stops at small villages and picks up polite and quiet passengers. The landscape is green and hilly. It is hard to imagine I am so close to a place that, for close to a 7 years, was the site of profound human suffering. I’m on my way to the Mauthausen Memorial.The Mauthausen-Gusen Concentration Camp was one of the most infamous Nazi labor camps. During its operation between 1938 to 1945 between 120’000 to 320’000 people died there.

The bus stops. I get off and follow signs up a side road. On the walk up the hill to the gate of the memorial, I pass several beautiful country houses. Later, I find out many of these were built by slave labor for the families of Nazi camp supervisors. I hear a stream flowing beside the road. The sky is grey and I can hear birds chirping before rain. I walk past a beautiful field of wheat. The stalks are dancing in the wind. I see a small red bicycle beside a farmhouse. Life goes on.


Field of wheat, close to Mauthausen Memorial

Austria’s cultural landscape is shifting. This is my second time in Linz. I first came here 6 years ago to attend the International Conference on Computers Helping People with Special Needs (ICCHP). I am attending the same conference again. Since the first time I came here, I notice many more refugees and immigrants in Linz and the villages that I pass on the way to Mauthausen. Here and there, I hear Farsi Dari (from Afghanistan) and I see a large Turkish flag on top of a cafe with mustached men sitting at the front drinking from small cups of strong tea.

I go up the country road and after a few breathtaking minutes see the camp. Mauthausen is located close to stone quarries. Linz was one of Hitler’s favorite cities and he planned to turn it into a center of Nazi culture and art. In his demented vision, his empire would last thousands of years, and so he wanted the best stones that last forever for his neoclassical imposing buildings. The camps were set here, then, as the perfect site of slave labor that would help build the empire. This changed later on and slowly even this absurd vision was lost. Towards the end of the war, the main purpose of the camp was to kill, especially Prisoners of War (POWs), through labor, deprivation and despair.


Mauthausen Concentration Camp Memorial

At the memorial, I join a small group of people for an English tour. Our guide is a German schoolteacher with sensitive eyes who looks a bit like Alain de Botton. His presentation is heartfelt. While he is informative and accurate, more than anything he helps us reflect:  how is this possible? He would not offer explanations for people’s motivations and a few times when people try to over simplify things, he gently reminds us that, “we don’t know”. At one point, when reading the description of the sleeping quarters, he pauses and says, “sorry, I can’t read this. Please search for it online.  This is all documented.” I appreciate his silence: this is a memorial and not a museum.

There are many questions about the people who lived in the surrounding areas. They must have known what was going on here. How could they bear it? Our guide is patient and says there was a range of responses. A few complained, some collaborated (most infamously in hunting down more than 480 Russian POWs who had escaped in what became known as the “Rabbit Hunt”) but mostly people were silent. This silence is easy to judge from a distance. A few days after my visit, I found a short video with interviews with some of the local residents years after the war and they described how they felt about living in such an infamous place. Sometimes a better choice than blaming or dismissing is to stay present.


Stairs of Death

We look down a high hill which is on top of the stone quarries. Prisoners were made to carry stones (sometimes as heavy as 50 kg) up a stairway infamously known as the “Stairs of Death”. Many people lost their lives here. I later walk down the steps and look at the tall silent stone wall. Sometimes prisoners were thrown off this hill to their death. Often SS officers and sometimes the kapos (prisoner functionaries who supervised other prisoners) forced the prisoners to conduct pointless exercises, such as running. Many prisoners died from exhaustion.


Shower Rooms – Many prisoners died of exposure while waiting stark naked and wet in the snow for “hygienic showers”

In the basement of a large building, we visit shower rooms, gas chambers, ovens. In the airless concrete rooms where many spent their last moments, I feel a profound void. Rather than the presence of evil, I feel the absence of God. A place empty of love, light, humanity. Often, people talk of the mystery of God and love, and how mystics seek to experience that. I am in the presence of another mystery, the mystery of darkness and absence of love. This mystery is also part of our existence, the other side of the coin or the shadow of our collective self. Perhaps, to really experience love, one has to experience the lack of it too.


Names of prisoners who died are written in the rooms where formerly bodies were kept before being burnt

Now I know why I am here. I feel an old pain deep in my heart: the pain of encountering darkness and having to incorporate it into your vision of the world. Like many others growing up in the Middle East in the 1980’s, I was exposed to war, revolution and extreme sociopolitical  pressures when I was a child. In a society where most people have experienced these, you don’t think of them as “traumatic”. They are part of “ordinary” life. I did not get exposed to the worst experiences directly: I did not see death first hand, did not get injured, did not disappear. But I was close enough to the people who did experience these to get second degree burns. The idea that people disappeared randomly and that there were other people out there who wanted to invade and kill us was a reality. I am far from being alone in these experiences and worst ones, as this memorial testifies. Everyday in different regions of the world, but especially in the Middle East as I am writing this, thousands of people face the harsh realities of violent human suffering: the darkness of lovelessness.

I survived. I grew up. I left. I forgot. Or so I thought. Years later, I still feel something painful deep inside: a hidden wound that you don’t know exists but hurts and makes you look for relief in the wrong places, a spell that pushes you towards an unknown point in your destiny, a quiet voice in your ear that says, “everyone you love can disappear in a moment!” These elements have created tremendous pressure in my life. Rather than making me give up, they have forced me to run forward. They have made me thirsty for life, but also afraid of disappearing. They have made me feel grateful for what I have but also afraid of losing it. And this fear is something I would like to leave at this memorial. I am tired of running and want to sit down and rest.

I start to make my way out of the memorial. I start to feel a strong bond with the people who have suffered here and with the ones who have suffered in other places and in other times: a bond of common human pain. I remember a book called “Man in the Search of Meaning” by Viktor Frankl who was a Holocaust survivor and a psychologist. Upon encountering tremendous pain and suffering, Frankl identified the search for meaning as an essential part of the human condition. Until we realize that the “unexamined life is not worth living“, we are like Sysiphus dragging the burden of our meaningless existence up the mountain of time. Perhaps our task is to face the mystery, search and find a meaning, the meaning, to our existence.

When walking in the middle of a dark cold night with sadistic guards hitting him with rifle butts, Frankl suddenly had a realization. I quote his book: “A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth—that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love. I understood how a man who has nothing left in this world still may know bliss, be if only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved.” Frankl looked his heart in the face and found his meaning. In the midst of emptiness, he was able to see the one thing that was left and could not be taken away from him. I am inspired by this idea and I also realize that this meaning is something one has to find, to experience, to live, oneself:  while the “song of many poets” are previous road signs, they are not the destination or the road.


As I walk away from the gate, I come by a statue that rises out of the ground by the side of the road. A series of stone human heads are silently peering forward. They are surrounded by growing grass and small fragile flowers. Drops of rain start dropping from the sky. I continue to walk. The essence of the river is to flow.

To live is to love, to feel, to hurt, to hate, to seek, to know, and to love again.