Good Highs, &c.
On artificial intelligence, the Frankfurt airport, a famed soprano, Salzburg, and more
Usually, when we call a company, we get an automated voice, or a “virtual assistant.” Almost always, I ask to speak to a person—a real person. Over and over, I say “agent” or “representative.” Sometimes with agitation (a needless, or in any case a useless, agitation).
I wanted to change my phone plan. I called Verizon. I asked to be transferred to a person. For reasons I could detail, this was difficult. It had to do with scheduling a callback, etc.
The virtual assistant said, “But I can help you. Just tell me what you need.” Ticked, I ignored this, and lamented the whole automatization, or virtualization, of business.
Then I thought, “Jay, why not give the virtual-assistant thing a chance? What do you have to lose? You can always hang up, even after ten seconds.”
I gave it a chance. And you know? The transaction was amazingly easy. Everything was clear, straightforward, and fast. The whole “conversation” went better than most I have with real, flesh-and-blood assistants.
Huh. So much to discuss here. But there will be plenty of time for that later. AI will be with us for a while, won’t it?
(When you write “AI,” as in “artificial intelligence,” it often looks like “Al,” a man’s first name, short for “Albert” or “Alfred.”)
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In New York, I saw an eatery whose sign said “Established in 2013.” Made me smile. Someday, people will see “2013” and think “a long time ago.”
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I was flying from New York to Salzburg, via Frankfurt. The plane out of New York took off two hours late. My connection was going to be fairly tight anyway. I figured I would not make it.
“Well, let’s just see,” said a flight attendant.
Hours later, as we descended into Frankfurt, this same attendant said, “Look for airline representatives just outside the jet bridge.”
The airline was Lufthansa, by the way.
There were indeed representatives. And a woman said, “Salzburg? You’re going to make it. We need to move along, however. Just follow me.”
What a shepherd she was.
Three of us passengers—three of us connectors—went with her. She led us down back staircases to a small shuttle van. We were driven to another part of the airport and led to a room, dimly lit. No one else was around. There was an immigration officer, to stamp our passport.
Then we were led back into the van and driven to yet another part of the airport—where we climbed back staircases to our gate.
Easy-peasy. We then boarded normally.
And our luggage made it too.
“This would never happen in America,” one of the connectors commented. I don’t know. But I know I had never experienced this—such service. Service that was kind, reassuring, even tender.
Amazing.
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Maybe I should now slip into journal mode, using the present tense?
In the Salzburg airport—W. A. Mozart Airport—there is a sign advertising an Alpine vacation. “Your Next High Awaits,” it says. Clever.
I think of my friend Alison Ames, who worked in the music business. She once had buttons made that said, “Beverly Sills is a good high.”
(Sills, for the uninitiated, was a famous soprano, who could go up into the stratosphere.)
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A sign on a little eatery here in Salzburg says, “Laptop-free zone! Time to unplug and make the right connections.” I am all for individual rights, and I have a strong sense of “You’re not the boss of me.” Yet I appreciate the sentiment …
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Salzburg is fairly easy on the eyes, don’t you think?
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Throughout town, there are electric bikes and scooters. Not as menacing as in New York, but still—one or two give me a start.
This is new, these electric transporters. They weren’t here when I started coming to Salzburg about 25 years ago. Hell, they weren’t here last year, that I recall.
But like AI (not a man named “Albert”), they are the future. And the present …
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I like this color, do you? Cheers one up, possibly.
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I notice older kids holding the hand of their mom or dad. I mean, kids who are maybe 12 or 13. A wonderful habit, I think. We Americans start to recoil at this … when?
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From time to time, I see people looking at Stolpersteine—the “stumbling stones” that tell you where Jewish people lived or worked before they were seized and taken away to be murdered.
I first learned about Stolpersteine from Marko Feingold, who was the leader of the Jewish community here in Salzburg. He was a survivor of the Holocaust, and I interviewed him in 2013, when he was 100. He died in 2019, at 106.
My piece about him is in two parts: here and here.
A bridge in Salzburg is now named after him. This summer, there are pictures of him and others on it, with accompanying texts, giving us some history.
This is good. As Feingold told me, Austria has lagged far behind Germany in coming to grips.
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When I look on the below scene, I think of the title of a V. S. Naipaul novel: A Bend in the River.
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Two accordionists sing, and play, for their supper. For tips. They’re good. And I like that they’re offering something, you know? (Whether people like it or not.)
In New York, there are many, many beggars, and some of them just demand money, in belligerent tones.
I sympathize with their predicament, or at least I hope I do. But …
In my Italian journal, earlier this summer, I wrote of a woman in Naples, who, night after night, sits and sings (hoping for money in the box before her).
Begging is a big subject, multifaceted and challenging, but I will skip along …
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… to this statue here in Salzburg, which I’ve passed a thousand times but had never stopped to examine. It is of Johannes Nepomuk, John of Nepomuk, a 14th-century Bohemian clergyman, murdered by Wenceslaus IV, canonized in the 18th century.
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A field, at twilight:
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“A mighty fortress is our God.” Less mighty, but still impressive, is Salzburg’s fortress, its Festung, up on that mount:
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A final picture for today—in town:
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Do you want to hear a great tribute to my mother (who deserves the greatest tributes utterable)? She has several great-grandchildren, and they call her “Grandma.” Little Charlotte announced, “When I grow up, I want to be a grandma.” That is the esteem in which she holds my mother, rightly.
Talk to you later, everyone, and thanks so much for joining me.
Readers, don’t skip the link to the story about Marko Feingold.