An open letter to Jeff Tallon:

After reading this article in the NZ Herald I felt compelled to write to Jeff and ask a few questions, so here it is:


Hello Mr Tallon

Being a fellow scientist and having just read your article on the NZ Herald I felt compelled to write to you.
As you are well aware science is the pursuit of truth and the study of evidence, but I'm having a little trouble understanding how you came to the conclusions you did.

You suggested that the Atheist bus campaign was inconsistent with what we know about our fine-tuned physical and biological world.
In what way exactly? Science is able to explain most of the aspects of our physical and biological world without ever resorting to the supernatural.
Do you perhaps have some greater understanding that the rest of the scientific community is unaware of, if so you should publish this immediate and put it up for peer review.

Secondly you state that there is "just the faintest possibility that we are here by chance". How did you come to this conclusion?
Recent evidence has shown that abiogenesis is certainly possible, and again, it doesn't resort to supernatural, unscientific explanations.
Even if we agree that the odds are slim, how were you able to dismiss them entirely in favor of a creator? And how can you say the conclusion is "clear"?

I noticed you quoted the bible, is that a reputable scientific source that I was not aware of?
You also quoted statistics saying believers were happier and healthier without giving sources.
You then misquoted Habermas.
This is all very disappointing coming from a man of science such as your self.

You state that the primary claim that "there's probably no God" is demonstrably incorrect in the light of what we know about the world.
How has it been demonstrated to be incorrect? In light of the fact that there is no evidence for any gods, doesn't it stand to reason that the only logical conclusion that can be drawn is that there really is "Probably no god".

You also state that perhaps the advert campaign could now be withdrawn on the basis of new evidence? Which evidence are you referring to?
Again, if you have any information that the world scientific community is not privy to then I highly suggest you submit it for peer review straight away. Man has been searching for evidence of gods centuries and it would be selfish to keep it locked up any longer.

And lastly I wonder, are you aware of the quote by George Bernard Shaw:
"The fact that a believer is happier than a skeptic is no more to the point than the fact that a drunken man is happier than a sober one."

Thanks for your time and I look forward to hearing your reply, or reading about your startling discoveries for the evidence for the existence of god if every single scientific journal in the world.

Skiing - Part 2

In many ways Skiing is a lot like Blue Cheese.
Firstly, its hard to imagine what its inventor was thinking the first time he tried it.
Secondly, its even harder to imagine how he got his friends to try it.
Thirdly, the first you time you tried it, it was probably horrible, but after time and the occasional trip to the hospital, you discover you have quite a liking to it.

On the whole skiing is absolutely ridiculous. Its prohibitively expensive, spectacularly dangerous and requires a monumental amount of effort.

The cost of the prerequisite equipment quickly climbs into the thousands, added to that are the cost of daily ski passes and the need to consume vast amounts of calories, provided at outlandish prices, just to maintain core body temperature. Thankfully I was exceedingly lucky to inherit most of the required gear from my new family. And while monopolisticly expensive, the mountaintop cuisine is also remarkably tasty. I highly recommend the Gerstensuppe

As stated in my last post skiing can be incredibly painful, not to mention out right deadly. Its estimated up to 1% of all skiers will suffer a suffer injury or death (wiki), which may not sound like much, until you are standing in a cable-train filled with about 200 people and realize that perhaps 2 of these people wont be skiing tomorrow. Every day that we were out we saw at least one person being dragged off the pistes by the alpine equivalent of life guards.

The Ski areas in Switzerland are incredible to behold, in Davos you can ski the whole day without riding the same ski-lift twice. We know this because we tried, twice. The pistes are immense and immaculate manicured on a regular basis. There are 18 different lifts, 35 different pistes, and some runs are up to 12 km long! And thats just one mountain. All of the effort that goes into maintaining this skiing paradise is completely mind blowing. A vast network of pistes, ski-lifts and gondolas, all working in unison to cater to the thousands of skiers of all ages and levels. And like almost everything in Switzerland, it all works and it works well, its hard to find any faults with the service the army of alpine artesians provide.

And my thoughts on the actually skiing part? In a word, exhilarating. I loved it. It took a few days of hard painful work to learn how to actually control where I was going on the skis, and just as importantly, how to stop. But once I got a grasp of the basics I was actually able to start enjoying my down-hill cannoning, rather than just spending all my time working on remaining upright. Near the end I was even managing the occasional jump.

My heartfelt thanks needs to go out to Romea and her family, for patiently teaching me over five days what it usually takes a Swiss 3 year old only 5 hours to learn. And Romea's father especially, we may not have shared a common language, but his patient guiding, gesturing and unique mix of Swiss-German, German, a little English, and even some Spanish, taught me more in an hour then a whole day of stubbornly trying to teach myself.

Skiing

Skiing, which comes from the Nordic word “Skio” meaning “Leg-Torture”, is an ritual whereby the ankles are tightly bound to reduce stability; long and heavy blades are attached to the feet to remove any attempt at coordination; and sharpened poles are tied to the hands to inhibit balance. Once the subject is suitable prepared, they are then taken to one of the more inhospitable places of earth and thrown from off a mountain in a sacrifice to the Gods of Winter.

This poor sacrifice then tries, largely in vain, to stay upright while hurtling down the side of the mountain at horrifying speeds. Inevitably, due to the afore mentioned attached torture devices, the subject will then topple over and begin an excruciatingly painful plummet which has been said to resemble the final moments of a gravity stricken helicopter plowing into a snow bank.

Great care is always taken to make sure the blades and poles are secured as strongly as possible to the subjects limbs to ensure the don't come free during the catastrophic decent, but instead dig into the snow to twist and jerk the subjects limbs into unnatural positions. These blades and poles are also made out of some of the strongest materials known to man, far exceeding the tensile strength of human bone and sinew, again ensuring no reprieve for the chosen sacrifice.

Death comes slowly on the mountains. The freezing temperatures numb the body and reduce the chance of bleeding out, keeping the subject alive far longer then their wounds would normally allow. After coming to rest, typically face down, with legs twisted in opposite directions and arms pinned by poles trapped beneath their battered body, the subject slowly and painfully attempts to right themselves. This is of course a harrowing sight to behold and one born out of pure animal instinct for survival.

Upon righting themselves the subject is faced with a agonizing decision. Traveling back up the mountain, bound as they are, is absolutely impossible. Their only choices are to remain where the are, either to freeze to death or be devoured by the Snowcats that prowl the pistes; or to launch themselves down the mountain and begin the brutal decent anew. A painful death seems inevitable either way so most up to get it over with sooner rather then later.

Or at least that was what my first impressions of skiing were like.

The Swiss look upon skiing in a whole different light. Indeed, when asked, most Swiss can't even remember learning to ski, either because its ingrained into their genetic memory by force of natural selection, owing to the hostile environment quickly weeding out those unsuitable to such a dangerous practice; or more likely, because they are taught from such a young age and it is even part of their school curriculum.

Despite the pain and injury I did actually enjoy my first time skiing, and was almost getting the hang of it near the end, at least before fatigue, exhaustion and delirium took over. Its an incredible sport, and nothing beats the feeling of gliding over such a beautiful landscape at high speed, its about as close to flying as you can get, at least while still having two feet firmly* on the ground.

* In this instance "firmly" refers more to the tight binding of the ski-boots, and not so much to any inherent connection with the ground. In fact, in relative terms, I'm pretty sure my face spent just as much time firmly on the ground as my feet.

How I met Romea...

Having recently announced our engagement a friend asked me to retell the tale of how Romea and I met, so here it is:

One warm Friday evening, last October back in New Zealand, I received a call from my good friend Phil inviting me out for a few drinks in town with some of his workmates and their friends. Having no other plans that night I thought what the hell, the crew from LCT were always good for a laugh, and Phil did owe me a beer or four. So I suited up and headed out.

Little did I know, exactly one year later I would be sitting in a lovely restaurant on the other side of the world, discussing marriage plans with my beautiful fiancée. But lets not get ahead of ourselves.

So I made my way into town and met with Phil, his friends, and their friends. I ordered a drink at the bar and settled in for what I thought would be a typical night of drinking and chatting. At the time I was working for a brewery and had just spent the day learning about the correct way to pour a beer. As such, I was chatting with the bar maid and complementing her on a perfect pour when three lovely young women, from the 'friends of friends' group each with a different accent, approached me and asked what I did for a living. With casual nonchalance I took a long slow sip of my freshly poured beer and simply replied "I get paid to drink beer."

For some reason the ladies didn't believe a word of it, laughed it off and asked again. This time I gave a more detailed response and the four of us started chatting amiably. One was an American working with Phil at LCT, the other was a Russian exchange student and the third was a beautiful Swiss girl on a working holiday. The four of us laughed and chatted and even danced (well they did, I flailed) for an hour or so, until "that moment", that point in the evening when everything changes.

I was just finding a seat after another session of flailing, when I looked up to see that cute little Swiss girl, walking over to me with a couple of bottles of beer. There are many ways to a mans heart, but a seductive stare over the top of a cool brew has got to be one of the best. In that moment I fell hopelessly in love and have never looked back since.

Romea and I spent the next few hours getting to know each other better over several more beers and I offered to take her out to lunch the next day. She remarkably said yes and in the early hours of the morning I walked her back to her apartment. I then raced home to mine in an attempt to sober myself up enough that I wouldn't have the impending dire hangover that was already threatening. It didn't work, the next morning I woke up feeling awful, or perhaps I was just nervous about seeing this gorgeous girl again.

When I picked her up at noon she looked absolutely stunning. We then drove out to beautiful Kumeu for lunch at a winery and thus began our whirlwind romance. She was only going to be in NZ for 8 more weeks, and two of those were going to be touring the South Island, so we packed in as much time together as possible. In fact she moved in with me that week, we figured we had nothing to lose except time and didn't want to waste a second. So in that short time we had together we managed to tour NZ, visit my parents, and fall madly in love with one another.

Then came that horrible moment when I had to drive her to the airport and say goodbye, not knowing if I'd see her again. I'll skip all the heartache and tears but will mention I gave her something to remember me by that began a series of gestures that would show her I loved her no matter where she was in the world. Messages left at her hotels for her, flowers at work, gifts and surprises that continue to this day. Tonight she off to Italy on business and will be finding a surprise in her suitcase when she arrives.

The next few months were hard for us, we emailed constantly and Skyped whenever we could, until finally in April I boarded a plane bound for Switzerland. We spent another wonderful three weeks together, this time touring her country and meeting her family, before going through another painful airport farewell. The very first day back in NZ I start applying for jobs in Switzerland and preparing to move over there. I was hooked, Switzerland was incredible, and I couldn't bare to be apart from Romea again.

So, in the months that followed I applied for about 100 jobs, started teaching myself German, gave away most of my processions and managed to land a redundancy pay-out. Then in September, I said goodbye to my parents and boarded another plane with everything I owned packed into two small small suitcases. Finally I was coming home to my beloved and this time for good.

Love knows no bounds, immigration laws on the other hand know plenty, so in order for me to stay in Switzerland we're having to get married possibly a little sooner then most people would have expected. But we don't mind and our parents are fully supportive, remarkably enough they even managed to meet each other last July.

So kids, thats the story of how I met Romea...

The night we first me - (Thanks Phil :))

Football

Like the rest of Europe, the Swiss love Football, and last weekend I was fortunate enough to get to watch a live match from the comfort and luxury of a Corporate Box.

Rugby is the game of choice in NZ, but for some reason in my 27 years of living there I never actually got around to seeing a live stadium match. So last weekend was my first big sporting event and it was incredible, and not just because of the decadent buffet and imported Australian wines.

The match was between the home-team St Gallen and the visiting Zurich, and while Zurich is over an hour away their fans showed up in force, all dressed in team colors and relegated to their own cordoned section of the stadium. The die-hard St Gallen fans also had their designated section, prudently placed as far away from the Zurichers as possible. Apparently opposing soccer fans can be less than cordial with one another.

So while the fans were finding their seats, we were enjoying a second helping at the buffet, and more complementary wine, until the fan fares sounded and the teams were led out onto the field amongst the raucous cries of the crowd. We took this as our cue to find our seats and settled in to watch the Beautiful Game. And then the drums began...

The Zurich fans had brought with them great war drums, vibrant flags and battle cries loud enough to echo throughout the stadium. Not to be outdone by the visitors, the St Gallen fans responded with drums and chants of their own. The soccer game below almost faded into insignificance before these two mighty armies, battling each other with chant and drum, and the occasional incendiary device. But these early displays were nothing compared to the reactions to the goals and penalties to come.

At half-time St Gallen was in the lead, and while thousands of fans descended into the bowels of the stadium to fight their way towards the bars and beer stalls, we retreated to the relative safety of the Corporate Box for dessert and coffee. A few minutes later the battle resumed, and now suitable refreshed, the fans resumed their chants and taunts in earnest.

The game continued with both teams and fans putting on an excellent display, but nearing the 90th minute Zurich were leading by two goals, much to the chagrin of the St Gallen fans. Noting the tension in the crowd we opted to leave a few minutes earlier, before the angry masses surged into the parking lots. This turned out to be a wise decision as the fans later went on to blockade a bridge in protest of the way the match was reffed and the actions of the police during half-time.

All in all a fantastic night!

Language

The Swiss don't speak German and who ever told you that is a lying bastard.

Switzerland is a multilingual country, with four official languages, French, German*, Italian and Romansh - though to be fair less then 1% of the population speak Romansh.

*Except they don't speak German. Oh they can, they just don't. They speak Swiss-German, which is like the difference between an standard issue Army knife, and a Swiss-Army knife.

These languages aren't evenly spread throughout the country however, but are instead localized near the boarders of the four countries that border Switzerland. (Ok, so its five countries, but as mentioned earlier, Liechtenstein doesn't really count.) So to the west is France, and in the western parts of the Switzerland they all speak French, the roadsigns are all in French and the advertising is all in French. To the south is Italy, and in the southern parts they all speak Italian, with roadsigns and advertising also in Italian. (Oh, and just as a warning, the transition from one language to another while travelling though the country is pretty abrupt.)

Now, to the North and East are Germany and Austria (and Liechtenstein!), which German are speaking countries, so it would make sense that to the North-East of Switzerland they would all speak German, right? Wrong. Oh, all the roadsigns and advertising are in German, the television and Radio is in German, the movies are in German, but the important thing here is, these Swiss don't actually speak German. The speak Swiss-German.

So what is Swiss-German? Well Wikipedia describes it as any of the Alemannic dialects spoken in Switzerland, or a group of dialects of the Upper German branch of the Germanic language family. Others have less politely described it not so much as a language in itself but more as a throat disease. Essentially Swiss-German is a heavily accented dialect of standard German which only superficially resembles German, at least from a tourists point of view.

I'm told that once I've learnt German, Swiss-German will be easy, its just a matter of shifting some vowels around, dropping some syllables and clearing my throat more frequently. I remain skeptical however. Some of the Germans that I've met have confessed they can't understand their Swiss neighbors, and Swiss-German speakers on TV or in movies are usually dubbed or subtitled if shown in Germany.

So why don't I just learn Swiss-German? Well for one Swiss-German is not a written language. In the 600 or so years the Switzerland has been around they've never bothered to write anything down. Well ok, thats not entirely true, they use standard German when writting, but for speaking is all Swiss-German. So at home children learn to speak Swiss-German, and then at school they learn to read and write in German. This seems to work fine for them, for me its a nightmare.

I've been learning German here for about six weeks now, and had taught myself a little back in NZ. I've gotten to the point where I can understand and reply to fairly simple German phrases, enough to get by day to day, if I was in Germany. The problem is everyone around me is speaking that unintelligible Swiss-German. Luckily, while I might not be able to understand a word they are saying, they can usually understand my halting, mangled German. But then instead of replying in German, they can usually tell they I actually speak English, so switch to that for my benefit. It turns out the fifth language of Switzerland is English, they just don't tend to advertise it.

Click to enlarge.

Liechtenstein

Not far from where I'm staying in Switzerland is a little country called Liechtenstein, and when I say little, I mean tiny. Its listed as the sixth smallest independent nation in the world, and the smallest country bordered two other countries. Its so small, when my partner pointed it out to me the other day this is how the conversation went...

Her: "And over there is Liechtenstein."

Me: "Oh, you mean on the other side of those ranges?"
Her: "No, just there."
Me: "Oh you mean it IS those ranges?"

Her: "No, right there."

Me: "Oh, you mean just that hill side?"

Her: "Yes, but now we've gone passed it, thats Austria again now."

Liechtenstein is only 24 Km long, and maintains no military forces, so I jokingly suggested to my partner that the Swiss should invade and claim is as their own. To which she rightly replied "why bother?" They have no natural resources and already act as a conveniently close tax haven that also uses the Swiss Franc. Other fun Liechtenstein facts, they are the world largest producer of false teeth and they have twice as many registered companies as citizens.

There's not all that much to see and do in Liechtenstein, but in my quest to have a beer in every country (6 down 227 to go), we just had to stop in for a look. The country-side and architecture were pretty similar to Switzerland, but with perhaps slightly more castles per square km. The people were friendly and there was plenty of art and sculptures on display in the capital city Vaduz. But the highlight of the trip however was undertaking that most sacred ritual that all tourists to Liechtenstein are encouraged to partake in, I had my Passport stamped at the information kiosk :)