I’m a big fan of postcolonial literature. In fact, you could say I’m slightly obsessed. We never learnt about the British Empire at school, not even in the form of a skewed pride in its legacy. Back then in the eighties and nineties, we were going through a period of outright denial of the empire’s very existence. How embarrassing, then, when I started studying social anthropology at university, that there was this gaping hole in my historical knowledge. The present was completely out of context.

Indeed, the reaction (or conspicuous lack thereof) to recent revelations that the government destroyed records of extreme human rights violations as the empire crumbled, provide more proof – if any were needed – of the trouble we seem to have with acknowledging the past. Simply ignoring it and hoping it will go away is as stubborn and inflexible as the stiff upper lip that got us here in the first place. Living in Germany, surrounded by examples – from architecture to public discourse – of a nation facing up to its past, makes British obstinance seem all the more absurd, hypocritical and outdated.

The debate about how the story of the British Empire should be taught in schools continues, although that it’s even being discussed is progress. My opinion? Brutal honesty, in the vein, perhaps, of Jeremy Paxman’s recent BBC series, Empire.

Some of the most insightful, memorable and original accounts of colonialism can be found in fiction. Postcolonial literature not only lays the foundation for further enquiry; in many cases it provides a unique and otherwise unheard voice that is in itself a valuable cultural or historical product.

In acknowledging that the term postcolonial literature is itself problematic, I use it in its loosest possible meaning – namely, a body of literary writings that engages in the discourse of colonisation. Perhaps the scholarly silence experienced during my younger years has given this kind of story a mysticism that endures no matter how many books I devour. Maybe it’s the gradual realisation of the interconnectedness of people and their histories – again a basic sense of context that was missing throughout childhood, creating a thirst for knowledge in later life. Probably it’s a combination of these factors, plus a ubiquitous fascination with the human condition, upon which postcolonial writings tend to shed a particular light. Whatever the reason, I’ve read countless books that fall into the ‘postcolonial’ category, and will continue to do so, practically inexhaustible as the options are. First, though, I want to pause and share my ten favourites (in no particular order):

The Heat and the Dust by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala

Winner of the 1975 Booker Prize, the story flits between a woman who travels to India in the present day and that of her grandmother, who lived there during the British Raj in the 1920s. Evocative observations of Indian life are brought stunningly to life, with the parallel narratives serving to accentuate both the rapid change and enduring consistencies in Indian society; the ‘before’ and ‘after’ contrasts starkly exposing the strange truths of that most magical country pre- and post-independence.

Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie

The Booker of Bookers and deservedly so. An allegorical work of great depth and complexity (just look at the list of characters), Midnight’s Children may well be the quintessential book on the story of India’s journey to independence and its subsequent bloody partition. The children of the title are those born at midnight on 15th August 1947, the exact time that India was declared free from British rule.

A Passage to India by E. M. Forster

Written in the 1920s about the 1920s, Forster offers a compelling view of colonial India during that tempestuous time, as the independence movement gathered momentum. Based on his experienced in the country, the book is critical of the Raj, exposing its agents as weak and ridiculous. Highlighting the pain of divisive racial and social tensions with characteristic stylistic skill, Forster’s real talent – as always – is in his ability to unite characters in beautiful humanity.

A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry

If you are happy to have your heart broken cleanly in two, read this. Set in Mumbai, India, between 1975 and 1984, the story takes place amid the backdrop of The Indian Emergency, which suspended civil liberties for the population for a period of almost two years. The cruel complexities of the caste system, the politics of the nation and of everyday life are addressed with an unflinching cynicism that rings devastatingly true.

River of Smoke by Amitav Ghosh

Part two of Ghosh’s Ibis Trilogy, River of Smoke is an addictive story about the burgeoning opium trade with China during the period immediately preceding the Opium Wars. A long and engaging read, this novel plays with fascinating references to ancient interconnectedness, fabricating (or elucidating) the origins of familiar phrases and places. An unforgettable lesson in history and in storytelling.

Burmese Days by George Orwell

Burma (now Myanmar) was once a colony, ruled by the British as part of India. This is Orwell’s first novel, but his voice is already dark, critical, and dripping with disdain. He served as a police officer in the Indian Imperial Police in Burma for five years in the 1920s. Burmese Days chronicles one man’s experience of corruption, racism and an insurmountably inhumane system, with tragically Orwellian consequences.

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

Widely seen as the archetypal modern African novel in English, this book chronicles the life of an Igbo community as their traditional way of life is irreversibly interrupted by the arrival of British colonialists and Christian missionaries. Achebe describes the work’s importance in his own inimitable words: [An American] judge was planning with much enthusiasm to immigrate to Namibia after his retirement and accept the offer made to him to become a constitutional consultant to the Namibian regime. He planned to buy a big farm out there and spend his retirement in the open and pleasant air of the African veldt. His neighbor, no doubt considering the judge’s enthusiasm and optimism rather excessive, if not downright unhealthy, asked him to read Things Fall Apart on his flight to or from Namibia. Which he apparently did. The result was dramatic. In the words of the letter shown to me, the judge said that “he had never seen Africa in that way and that after having read that book he was no more innocent.” And he closed the Namibia chapter.

Anthills of the Savannah by Chinua Achebe

The only author to feature twice on this list, Achebe’s importance as a ‘postcolonial’ voice cannot be underestimated. Set in 1987, much later than Things Fall Apart, Anthills of the Savannah can in many ways be seen as sequel to the earlier book, describing military and governmental corruption, censorship and violence in the context of a fictional modern-day African state.

Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Did you know that Nigeria had a civil war for three years at the end of the 1960s, and that the self-proclaimed state of Biafra attempted to secede? Neither did I. The carving up of Africa along arbitrary borders by colonial forces has left a bloody legacy in the aftermath of independence. A heartrending account of that all-too-familiar story of ethnic groups who live in relative harmony until politics turns violent and rips worlds apart, Half of a Yellow Sun won the Orange Prize for Fiction in 2007.

Troubles by J.G. Farrell

The notion of the British Empire evokes stiffly dressed, sunburnt men out of place in tropical, exotic climes. That Ireland was also a colony is another fact they forgot to mention at school. Winner of the retroactively awarded 1970 Lost Booker Prize, Troubles is set in 1919 in an old hotel on the Wexford coast of southeast Ireland. The book’s accomplished, absurd narrative charts the hotel’s decay in parallel to the breakdown of an already strained relationship between the protestant unionist minority and the native catholic population.

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A looming, Berghainian former power station set the perfect scene for one of TEDx’s biggest events to date, as local and international guests and speakers entered awestruck to mutters of that familiar phrase: ‘only in Berlin’.

Out back in the blogger lounge, the retro post-industrial vibe continued in a room that could have been a sixties sci-fi film set.

On to business. We were treated to an introduction and Q&A with some of the speakers before they rushed off to centre stage and the main event began.

First up was Jeff Chapin of global design consultancy, Ideo, who deglamorised design with his story of bringing a latrine to market in rural Cambodia, increasing toilet hygiene and saving hundreds of lives.  Jeff stressed the importance of locally tailored solutions to suit specific cultural and physical environments.  Through astute anecdote, we learnt how design, though unglamorous, has the power to enable longer and deeper conversations about the things that really matter, such as health, family and security.

Next, an impassioned call to action from MEP and German Green Party member, Sven Giegold. Sven explained the link between the global financial crisis and our ongoing addiction to oil.  The financial crisis is, however, not one of scarcity but of abundance – four times the global GDP is now circulating the economy, searching for short term investments and profits and over-complex financial products. We need a new deal to solve the problem, rather than rebuilding the old system, and this involves regulation of the financial markets in combination with a genuine commitment to renewable energy.

Despite disagreeing with Sven on the nuclear question, his talk was compelling and I was encouraged to hear informed and insightful reference to the interconnectedness of the environment and global economy – a key perspective on the Big Picture.

Theo Sowa is CEO of the African Women’s Development Fund, and delivered an impassioned speech about the consultation of women (or the shameful lack thereof) in discussions about development issues. Her point was poignant in its patency and moving in its manifestation: a profile of some of the thousands of women who could provide invaluable solutions to some of the continent’s most pressing problems, if only they were asked. Theo’s standing ovation was certainly well deserved, however, from the Twitter feed it appeared that many in the audience inadvertently proved one of her main points:  Theo pointed out that we don’t ask victims for solutions, and that we need to stop treating all African women as victims; but the phrase that got repeatedly retweeted was that ‘we need to start asking the victims for solutions’.

After a moving performance from Senegalese singer/songwriter, Baaba Maal (which he dedicated to all the world’s women), Melinda Gates, co-chair of the Gates Foundation, who organised this event, delivered the final presentation of the evening.

Having already heard a taster of Melinda’s topic in our earlier Q&A, it was clear that she is wholly devoted to the Foundation and their causes; the top four being polio elimination, vaccination, family planning and agriculture.

Melinda’s talk was on family planning – a topic that is currently hugely controversial, but why? Debates about abortion and population control are both hugely emotive issues and ones that are frequently associated with family planning – making a practical issue suddenly loaded by association.

Family planning is about the freedom to decide whether to have a child. There is, in many societies and cultures, a reluctance to address or accept birth control because it removes the act of sex from the goal of reproduction, thereby condoning promiscuity.  This is not about promiscuity, however, but about the freedom of choice, and women having more control over their bodies and their lives; the ability to “bring every good thing to this child before I have another”.

Despite some unanswered questions about cultural relativity, and ambiguities about where the Gates Foundation sits amid top-down and bottom-up approaches, I am impressed by Melinda’s dedication to this issue.  ”I’ll keep doing this for the next thirty years”, was her zealous response to a question in the blogger lounge about how long the work would need to go on.

Answering another question, Melinda explained to us the role of a foundation, describing it as a ‘catalytic wedge’, to help drive down prices and develop new technology etc. The Gates Foundation’s funds are just a drop in the ocean, and to roll out solutions on a large scale and implement lasting, positive change, takes leadership, and is ultimately down to governments.  Organising and hosting an event such as this, encouraging and enabling so many people (not just us in Berlin but the hundreds of thousands of people who tuned in live across the world) to refocus our local lens and look at the Bigger Picture, is itself an innovative display of leadership – one that can only increase the Foundation’s global influence and impact in its impressive ongoing philanthropic endeavours.

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http://amsterdam.unlike.net/locations/308307-IJ-Hallen

At 27 I didn’t consider myself innocent. Then I left the UK and moved to Germany, and lost something that up until that point I didn’t even know I had. From birth, unquestioning access to free healthcare had instilled in me a sense of worth, value, happiness and security.

In Germany, where the system is an expensive and complex minefield of private and ‘public’ insurance, and where unequivocal advice is frustratingly hard to come by, my NHS security blanket was gone and the game commenced. The wrangling with insurance companies, the fear of going to the doctor in case (s)he diagnosed something I wasn’t covered for, the way they make you jump through hoops like you have to prove entitlement to a treatment that could ultimately save your life. The game in which preexisting medical conditions are shameful aspects of the past to be suppressed like dark secrets. Luckily, the doctors in Germany are more than happy to ‘misdiagnose’ – in other words, you can tell them what you’re covered for and what not, and they’ll write up your medical report accordingly.

In a country famed for transparency, it seems that some of the most respected members of society are corrupted by a system in which access to healthcare is far from equal. Visit the doctor with a private insurance policy and you’ll be seen immediately. The doctor is also likely to refer you to another specialist for another treatment or consultation – they keep you in an expensive loop, passing around patients whose insurance policies will pay out. Those with less cover wait longer and experience far fewer referrals, and in this chaotic mess where financial interests are inextricably linked to individuals’ well-being, it’s impossible to know which treatments are essential and which are frivolous.

I’ll admit I cried a lot at first. To think that there are people out there whose job it is to price up my life, that it can be valued like a commodity. I’d never truly comprehended the value of the NHS not only to my well-being, but also to my sense of it. Leaving the UK stripped me of a naivety I never knew I had, and though the depression lifted, there’s no going back: a bitter cynicism endures.

We already know that the NHS bill is undemocratic. We know that most health professionals oppose it. We know that it will create unequal access to healthcare. We know that it will be wide open to corruption and line the pockets of the already rich and powerful. We know it will allow the Tories that vacuous but apparently essential victory of finally assigning a financial value to everything, abstract and concrete (the environment’s next). We know all this.

The worst thing though, is that it will corrupt the people. Put a price on our kidneys, Mr. Cameron, on our lungs, our livers, our hearts, and what becomes of your Big Society? Strip away the last shreds of our incredulity, and the result will be a malady that no amount of money can cure.

Berlin startup, Coffee Circle, began life in a humble corner of Betahaus.  Two years later, they’re housed in a typically cavernous ex-warehouse office space shared with a handful of similarly youthful businesses. Plenty of room, finally, to host a Gidsy event to share their passion for coffee.

This afternoon’s workshop was led by Robert, one of the three founders of Coffee Circle. The remaining two are currently soaring at speed in a south-westerly direction, bound for the Ethiopian capital, Addis Abbaba, on their annual quest for the best coffees the country has to offer.

Unlike most other coffee traders, Coffee Circle buy direct from growers in Ethiopia. Due to a lack of infrastructure, employment and welfare in the country, people generally have to sustain themselves by growing their own food. Families often club together in cooperatives to farm small plantations, producing some of the world’s best coffee, completely organically.  By cutting out the middle man, the company can source the best coffee and make sure the growers get a fair deal. For every kilo of coffee purchased, Coffee Circle gives €1 back to local development projects. Farmers see the benefits within their community and increase their efforts to produce the best beans, driving up quality of produce for the company and ensuring ongoing investment in local development projects. Hence the name Coffee Circle.

We learnt a great deal about the different coffee producing areas of Ethiopia and the difficulties in finding, getting to, tasting, choosing and eventually purchasing coffee – and that’s before it even gets to the roaster. The process is painstaking, adventurous, competitive (Starbucks is also a major direct purchaser in the region), fascinating and incredibly complicated, requiring expertise at every stage.  Two years down the line, Coffee Circle seem confident in themselves and their product, so it was time to start tasting their fare.

In this spirit of complexity, there were five different coffees to taste and five different brewing methods – far too many variables to elicit a clear winner in both categories without proper scientific process, but more than enough to get us started on the road to coffee connoisseurship.  The coffees included three Coffee Circle products: Limu, espresso and Sidamu; one Square Mile Bolivian filter coffee; and a Kaiser’s common-or-garden filter coffee.



The brewing techniques:

#1 Espresso

A familiar favourite on a particularly impressive La Marzocco machine.  Obviously only the espresso beans were sampled in this test, and we learnt some of the finer points to the barista’s art. It’s called espresso, of course, because of the short brewing time – the water has only a maximum of about 20 seconds to pass through the coffee, so ideally the beans should be finely ground and also need to be roasted for longer during the roasting stage to ensure strength of flavour and aroma.

#2 Drip filter

Another classic and relatively old-fashioned method, the drip filter has been improved by the Japanese invention of adding small ridges to the funnel, which prevent the filter paper sticking to the wall and improve the flow.  The paper must be rinsed by pouring warm water over it before adding the ground coffee, to avoid that papery taste.

#3 The syphon

Also known as a vacuum coffee maker, this method is visually amazing.  It works by varying the temperatures of two connecting vessels, firstly increasing the pressure to force water upwards and then lowering it to allow it to soak back down through the coffee. It’s been around since the 1930s but has recently enjoyed a resurgence in popularity, possibly due to its gimmicky look (apparently it pulls in crowds at events, but I didn’t rate the results – see my verdict below).

#4 Chemex

Much like the drip filter but with thicker paper (which again must be rinsed before use) and a slightly different vessel, the Chemex produces a noticeably smoother cup of coffee by filtering out all the residue. Its diligence as a filter means it does take a while, but the result is well worth waiting for.

#5 AeroPress

Currently a very popular choice of brewer, especially among singletons for whom one cup is just enough, the AeroPress is a quick, simple and highly effective method, even if it does lack the glamour of its contemporaries.  Consisting of two cylinders that create an airtight chamber, the device works much like a syringe.

The verdict

The espresso was perhaps a bad place to start, because it was by far the most overpowering taste and possibly my favourite, though I can’t be sure my views haven’t been influenced by that magnificent machine.  The Sidamu coffee tasted underwhelming from the drip filter but exceptional from the AeroPress, which gave it a cloudy texture and strong taste. Sadly, both the Limu and the Sidamu tasted bitter and burnt through the syphon. The Chemex-brewed coffees were impressive, especially the Square Mile sample, which tasted too fruity for quotidian dosage but perfect for a special occasion.

After all these amazing samples, it was only left to try the supermarket special. I often drink similar coffees and was completely unprepared for the taste that hit my tongue after all the high quality we’d just experienced. To quote one of the other participants, Philip, “it just tastes so… empty”.  Empty indeed, and stale, and bitter and – frankly – awful.

Apparently, in the name of efficiency, supermarkets and other producers of cheap coffee roast their beans at high temperatures for three to five minutes to reduce the roasting time required. In order to get rid of the fruity acid and other toxins, and to preserve a delicate and desirable aroma, beans should be roasted at much lower temperatures for longer – up to 20 minutes or so.  The result of cutting corners during the complex roasting stage is a poor tasting and unhealthy coffee.

So there we have it. Another expensive taste developed in a few short hours. Having said that, coffee is a staple in our household and I’m more than willing to pay the price for high quality, ethical produce, so these few eye-opening hours with Coffee Circle were well worthwhile, as well as highly enjoyable.

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think the unthinkable from ftr.ct.lb* on Vimeo.

Or how I learned to stop worrying about social media and up my game.

Yesterday I had a headache that felt like Twitter. It was, in fact, merely a symptom of caffeine withdrawal: dilated blood vessels in the brain and over-sensitive receptors flailing furiously for their next fix. Thankfully, I’m fine now, but Twitter is still here, and it seems it’ll take more than a cup of coffee to silence this particular neurological cacophony.

2011 was the year that Twitter stole my brain. Since signing up it’s slowly dawned on me that I’ve entered into some Faustian pact, wherein I’ve exchanged access to endless information for my ability to digest it. I can’t say for sure that social media is responsible for the gradual erosion of my soul – that might be a bit extreme – and I don’t even know what I believe about how or whether it is changing our brains. Maybe I haven’t been able to concentrate for long enough to come to a conclusion, but I’ve definitely noticed some changes in my behaviour, many of which are outlined in Assisted Living Today’s excellent infographic, which you can check out below (if you’re still focused enough to bother).

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to kill off my online identities and join the Luddites. We should be celebrating that we’re clever enough to invent and use these new technologies so intuitively. It’s no coincidence that 2011 was also the year that people used social media to shake up the established world order.  What’s more, we adapt so well to this new online environment. Surely, if readers’ concentration wanes, writers have to up their game (really hope you’re still with me). I’m sure I’ve read more than three articles from start to finish over the past 12 months, but these are the most memorable, and for very different reasons.

Slow Travel Berlin’s interview with Ewan Pearson was captivating because of the thoughtful questions and intelligent responses, covering complex topics with rare insight and sensitivity.  Pearson’s comments on gentrification and the new xenophobia have stayed with me and clarified somewhat my confusion about the topic: “…A lot of the rhetoric coming from the more anarcho-left seems uncomfortably close to that of the nastier bits of the old-school right: anger at tourists, foreigners and people who are not from Berlin. It’s pretty unpleasant.”

Okay, this is a pretty predictable and voyeuristic choice, but it kept me glued to my screen like little else. Eyes wide, heart in mouth, I read Popular Mechanics’ What really happened aboard Air France 447. I’ll say no more, except that – for all the wrong reasons – it did help solidify my ongoing boycott of the airline industry.

Talking of which, Grist’s ‘Brutal logic’ and climate communications honed a hugely complicated subject into the most comprehensive and logical argument I’ve yet read on climate change discourse.  I won’t paraphrase because the article is worth a full read to see how author David Roberts reaches the conclusion that “everyone… no matter what role they play, could stand to push the edge a little bit occasionally, reminding their audience, whatever audience, that climate change is some genuinely dire sh*t and that now is the time for ambition and courage.”

To an ambitious and courageous 2012!

Infographic by Assisted Living Today – Assisted Living Facilities

The literary world has gone literally mad.  Ignoring one of the most ubiquitous proverbs in the English language in a desperate attempt to save a floundering industry, book publishers have started eveloping their wares in ever more elaborate works of art.

It may seem like stating the obvious to point out that the beauty lies on the inside of a book.  I could continue with a stream of clichés that convey the idea of not judging a book  by its cover, but there’s no need because we know them all by heart. There’s a good reason that phrase is so popular.

For me, nowhere is it more true than when applied to this issue.   Books are my music; literature my life companion.  I dithered over getting a Kindle for a while but living in a country where English is not the first language, it quickly became a no-brainer as I devoured weighty paperbacks long before the next arrived, complete with hefty shipping bill. Since the Kindle arrived I have spent more on books than ever before in my life, and feel all the more enriched for doing so.

There are a number of troubling implications of this new trend towards the ‘beautiful book’.  Firstly, it is an insult. Are we really all shallow consumers who value form over content, blinded by pretty colours and pictures, effortlessly coaxed into somnambulant shopping?  Secondly, these assumptions actually devalue the real product.  Adding a superficial layer of ‘art’ in order to capture the attention of potential customers is also – I think – insulting to the author, part of whose soul lies within those pages.

That’s why I found Julian Barnes’s recent comments particularly baffling.  Paying tribute to those involved in the creation of his Booker winning novel, Barnes said, “Those of you who have seen my book, whatever you think of its contents, will probably agree it is a beautiful object. And if the physical book, as we’ve come to call it, is to resist the challenge of the ebook, it has to look like something worth buying, worth keeping.”

Resistance? This is not a battle, this is an opportunity. Ebooks are not a challenge to be overcome, they are the means to make access to literature truly democratic, not to mention a new market with huge economic potential.  Just because an ebook can be copied, that does not mean it will be stolen. I could have downloaded the last 20 books I read for free, but I didn’t, because I recognise their intrinsic worth.  If they want to save their industry, publishers (and authors) threatened by this brave new world would do well to do the same.

An eclectic line-up of apparently unrelated topics came together beautifully today at TEDx Berlin, with themes curving in a topical arc through this thoughtfully curated event.

Katherine Lucey, CEO of Solar Sister, ignited our imaginative kindling with a moving account of the power of electricity to change lives in rural Africa.  Her company provides people with solar lights that cost a one-off price of $20, making it a more financially viable option than the toxic kerosene lamps that cost $2 a week to run.  Working with local women in hardest-to-reach communities, the solar lamps improve quality of life and can kick start cycles of increased prosperity and self-sufficiency.  Katherine argued that energy poverty and energy prosperity are gender issues – an angle that seemed to cause controversy amongst the audience, judging from post-presentation conversations.

Next, Alexander Voigt, CEO of Younicos, talked us through the potential of renewables, in particular photovoltaics (PVs).  He showed that the challenge lies not with technology but our relationship to it.  Solar panels are increasingly efficient and affordable, so why aren’t we all installing them?

It may have been due to the moving start that the first TED video talk seemed particularly overwhelming. Using biomimicry, Markus Fischer and his team created their SmartBird, an achievement that has to be seen to be believed:

Design duo Mischer’Traxler create products based on the history visible in the rings of a tree.  A solar powered machine threads and dyes cotton around a mold, so that rings are produced and different colour intensities depending on how sunny it is (thus how fast the solar powered machine feeds the thread). A time lapse video and examples of their work demonstrates the ingenuity perfectly.

To end the first session, climate engineer and director of Trans Solar, Wolfgang Kessling, complemented Voigt’s earlier points well by showing that only 20m2 of PV panels is required to supply a family’s energy for a year.  This would cost just €5000 and, of course, reduce energy costs significantly.  Another 20m2 would be enough for 15,000km in an electric car.

As we shivered uncomfortably through the session, Kessling talked about ‘high comfort’ and making a building comfortable by controlling the air temperature and the radiant environment.  We often underestimate the importance of ensuring the passive efficiency of a building before investing in energy to heat it.  What’s more, he said, “We overestimate what we can do in the future and  underestimate what we can do today.”

Things warmed up in session two as we were told we would be part of a real time experiment in ‘high comfort.’  Fittingly, Nils Lindell was next up to divulge his experiences of attempting to live a One Tonne Life with his family in Sweden.

Martin Cordsmeier of Million Ways, then called for creative tenders to help society move towards a more person-focused system.  There are surely few more focused people than Lewis Pugh, who is widely regarded as the world’s greatest cold water swimmer.  His efforts at swimming in a lake left by a melted glacier at 5,300 metres aim to raise awareness of climate change, “The Mount Everest of all problems.”

Verena Delius, CEO of Young Internet, delivered a thought-provoking analysis of dynamism within companies and that dangers facing those that do not adapt to evolving markets.  Despite its focus on industry, we agreed in chats afterwards that such approaches can be equally applied to interpersonal relationships. Strike while the iron’s hot!

After a musical interlude from Studnitzky, Rune Nielsen, co-founder of Kollision, clarified what is meant by ‘media arcitechture,’ and how it can be used to make the invisible, visible; the abstract tangible and the boring playful.  Projecting interactive light shows onto the sides of buildings provided opportunities to engage the public in a conversation about the facts of climate change, and their interactive nature encourages communication between strangers.

Closing the loop on session two, Lehna Malmkvist of Swell Environmental Consulting, brought us back to the biomimicry theme by arguing that we need to reject one-way systems of resource management.  Ecosystems are the most complex and efficient systems on earth and we should take a leaf from nature’s book and move towards integrated systems where one stage’s waste is another’s resource.  Swell’s project at Dockside Green near Victoria, BC is a work in progress that practices what they preach, and they are learning by doing whilst implementing an economically and socially viable urban design project.

A glance at the programme for the third session indicated a sinister aside that seemed somewhat off-topic. Axel Peterman, criminologist and consultant to cult TV series Tatort, began with an advocation of interdisciplinary criminology that includes profiling suspects’ personalities.  Interspersed with gruesome photos and more captivating than an episode of CSI, the talk was a rare, if somewhat tenuously fitting insight into a world we all find so morbidly fascinating.

Of all the amazingly inspirational and industrious people that spoke at TEDx today, magician Thimon V. Berlepsch, taught me the most valuable lesson; something new about myself. He showed us that our human need for routine also has a detrimental side, in that it can blind us to childlike wonderment.  Breaking the patterns of mundanity brings the magic back to life.  For Berlepsch, this break comes in the form of travel, adventures into the unknown.  I’ve always wondered what that feeling is when travelling; that unique euphoria which melts into an elusive sense of homecoming perspective.  Some people tell me the urge to travel is a sign of instability, unwillingness to settle or a means of escape. They are right, but that’s not a bad thing.

The transition to Pamela Meyer’s How to Spot a Liar video talk was surprisingly smooth.  An interesting speech, whose most poignant argument in today’s context was that in order to avoid deception we must be self-aware enough to know what it is we are hungry for:

J Henry Fair’s aerial photographs make beautiful images out of horrible situations, and it is this dissonance, he claimed, that makes them affective and therefore effective:

Nik Nowak’s presentation, entitled ‘Sound as Weapon’ was not as menacing as it sounds.  The title related more to the recent Occupy events where microphone bans were subverted with creative and peaceful innovation in the form of human mics.  Nowak then demonstrated his Soundtank during the break before the final session.

If we were becoming fatigued by this deluge of inspiration, Benedikt Foit and Habib Lesevic woke us up with a start.  Their game, Energy Streetfight, uses play as a way of engaging people to make real reductions in their CO2 footprint.  Passionate critics of the ‘consumerism virus’, the pair advocate the importance of individual action in combatting simplified but currently dominant notions of progress as economic growth.  Consumerism affects our perspective and leads to psychological passivity and the logic of taking.  While culture spreads the virus, it is also culture that can cure us, one revolutionary mind at a time.

Johnny West is a journalist, transparency activist and proponent of a direct citizen dividend for oil-producing countries to combat the resource curse.

Finally,  Daniela Schiffer’s highlighted the need for energy-saving efforts to be visible and tangible.  Her company, Changers, is an ingenious scheme that makes combating climate change an individual, measurable, comparable process with results that mean something in the real world.  An antidote to the sense of helplessness in the face of this mammoth issue, in a playful format with visibility and economic viability, where the individual feels a sense of worth and community, Changers is, I realised with pleasant surprise, the culmination of today’s discussions.

These ideas have been whirling around for a number of years now, and to see them form into real solutions delivered by remarkable and passionate people gave me hope when I’d almost given up.  As John Perry Barlow pointed out in his closing address, via video from California, today was consistently inspiring and in some places depressing.  The climate crisis is lacking in hope, and events like TEDx are essential for momentum to gather and positive change to occur.  As we teeter on the edge of the tipping point, these aren’t just ideas worth spreading, they are ideas that must spread if we are to overcome man’s greatest challenge yet.

TEDxChange, an initiative of the Gates Foundation, will be in Berlin on 5th April 2012.

My train bends serpentine into St. Pancras and I am intoxicated by the familiar homecoming cocktail of awe, comfort and ennui.  Stepping into the newly refurbished international terminal, that sense of awe is temporarily heightened to the detriment of those other, more mundane emotions.  As the gateway to London from the continent, St. Pancras railway station puts the dreary peripheral airports to shame, so arriving here is well worth the extra travelling time.

These days, the notion of a transport portal being anything more than a necessary but insignificant part of our travels seems widespread, yet we’re often told it’s all about the journey.  My impending stay at the St. Pancras Renaissance hotel seems all the more magical because I’ll finally get to live the reality of that vague but overused cliché.

Railway stations have historically been “our gates to the glorious and unknown”, as E.M. Forster once wrote.  The hotel, first opened in 1873, was surely built in this spirit of adventure.  Designed by Sir George Gilbert Scott, the project symbolised with gothic grandeur the sanguinity of the age.

Surrounded by this movingly restored splendour, we ascend one floor from the Eurostar platform in a glass lift and walk straight through the old Booking Office, now a stylish bar and restaurant buzzing with locals and visitors alike. At reception I am distracted by the stunning attention to detail of both the restored, original features and the unique modern touches.  The staff are welcoming and friendly, with endless patience for their entranced new arrivals.

Although not in the original Chambers section of the hotel, ours was a club room in the converted Barlow train-sheds.  I was not disappointed for long – the room was magnificent.  Dominating the space was an original ecclesiastical window overlooking the concourse and providing an odd frame for the futuristically streamlined noses of the Eurostar trains that arrive keenly and protracted, like greyhounds in the traps.  No expense has been spared in this restoration, even down to the decor and furnishings, which manage to stay true to their era whilst exuding an unmistakably contemporary extravagance.

The St. Pancras Renaissance is a dream come true for trainspotters and architecture fans alike, but its charm reaches many more than the already converted.  Indeed, this hotel will make an impression on anyone looking for luxury and inimitability at the heart of London’s international hub.

As my sense of awe began to subside I was left with another of those feelings with which this adventure started: comfort.  This magnificent building is a reassuring homage to a time past, an epoch of optimism about human triumph over environment.  Spending time inside brings that optimism to life and I was allowed to temporarily forget the familiar pangs of modern guilt.  Here in the centre of London, amid the chaos of King’s Cross, is an unlikely sanctuary that delivers an elusive brand of escapism other hotels can only dream of.

See also my St. Pancras Renaissance photo blog.