Does This Ring a Bell?

Many years ago, I lived in Rome, Georgia, in the United States. There, I knew a woman named Esther Watson Tipple, daughter of Alexander Graham Bell’s assistant, Thomas Watson. Mrs. Tipple, who was about seventy at the time, took a proprietary view of the telephone. She’d dial your number, say what she had to say, then hang up. She never said goodbye.

I think of Mrs. Tipple from time to time now that I live in Rome, Italy, because it seems to me that the telephone was invented for the Italian people and their gift for gab. Italian people, in fact, say the telephone was invented BY an Italian: Antonio Meucci.


Antonio Meucci

A native of Florence, Meucci studied design and mechanical engineering at the Academy of Fine Arts there and later worked as a stage technician at the city's Teatro della Pergola. He developed a communications system allowing his colleagues at the theater to talk among themselves.

He emigrated, first to Cuba, where, during his work with early electro-shock therapy, he heard a patient’s voice over the copper wire. He began experimenting as early as 1849 with voice transmissions when Bell was only two years old. In 1850, he moved to New York with his wife Ester to continue his experiments.

When Ester became immobilized by arthritis, Meucci set up a communications system between her second-story bedroom and his workshop. He apparently made several working models of his invention, and he gave a public demonstration of his device, which he called a “talking telegraph” and named  teletrofono, in 1860.

The Meucci family was always short of money. After Antonio was severely injured in a ferryboat accident in 1871,  Ester sold some of the telephone models to a second-hand shop for $6 to pay for his care. The others were stored in the laboratory Meucci shared with Bell and Watson.

Unable to afford $250 for a patent application, Meucci filed a caveat for $10 later that year. A caveat was a one-year, renewable declaration of an intention to file for a patent. The caveat contained a brief description of the proposed telephone. Meucci was unable to renew the caveat after 1874 for lack of funds.

At the same time, Meucci sent a model with technical details to the Western Union company because he wanted to test his invention over their wires. He was put off for about three years, and when he requested return of the materials in 1874, he was told they had been lost.

Two years later, in 1876, Bell filed his patent for the telephone. Meucci eventually sued. The U.S. Supreme Court agreed to hear the case, and the federal government moved to annul Bell’s patent on the grounds of fraud and misrepresentation. Bell counter-sued, and the case dragged for years, ending when the presiding judge died and Bell's patent expired. Meucci died a pauper in 1889; Bell went on to fame and fortune.

In 2002, the U.S. House of Representatives passed a resolution that recognized Meucci’s role in developing the telephone and acknowledged that if Meucci had been able to pay the $10 fee to maintain the caveat after 1874, no patent could have been issued to Bell.

Meucci is so esteemed in Italy that his hometown of Florence held a huge celebration in 2008 honoring the city’s great geniuses: Dante, Leonardo, and Meucci.

Plaque Marking Meucci's Birthplace in Florence

Looking Good in Ancient Egypt

The ancient Egyptians invented a whole host of useful products that we continue to use today – from locks and clocks, to plows, paper, and perfume. But because a few months back, I told you about how the ancient Indians invented plastic surgery, I thought this month it was only apropos to tell you about one of our seemingly modern inventions that actually hails from ancient Egypt – eye makeup.

Not just eye makeup but cosmetics in general. Even deodorant.

Personal hygiene and appearance were of supreme importance in ancient Egypt, as much to an individual’s social standing as to what was considered important for good health and good luck. Wearing makeup was also considered necessary to please the gods.

Priests, the servants of the gods, had to bathe and shave several times a day and constantly ensure they didn’t catch parasites or lice from the hair of the mummies they came in contact with. Even after death, one had to present themselves well for Judgment Day. Cosmetics were some of the offerings left in tombs for the dead to use in the afterworld. After death, some ladies of the court were buried with makeup such as body scrubs and cleansing cream, among other royal treasures.

But it wasn’t just the royals, the priests, and, okay, the dead who wore makeup. Even the common man, right down to the poor people, were expected to wear it. The culture practically required it, for both men and women. In fact, the word for makeup also means “protection,” as in protection from the evil eye. Most makeup was made from extracted galena, a bluish-gray mineral that is the principal ore of lead, and applied with sticks. You could tell class distinctions from the kinds of applicator sticks people used.

And while these days, we want our makeup and colognes to smell healthy and natural, not too overpowering, the opposite was true in ancient Egypt, where more was always better. Skin lightening, for example, was popular but it didn’t have to look natural. The whiter or paler the application, the better the look. Many women, not just in Egypt but in lots of cultures, used lead, even mercury, to make their skin appear whiter and brighter. (Obviously, they didn’t know then just how bad those ingredients really were for their health.)

Makeup was also used as a sunblock as well as a disinfectant. Razors, tweezers, and creams were used to remove unwanted hair. Oils and ointments were applied to protect the skin from the hot air. Fingernails were dyed with henna.

Using thin brushes, ancient Egyptians applied black kohl or else green malachite to the upper and lower eyelids, painted on thin lines reaching from the corner of each eye to the edge of the face, and darkened the eyebrows. It was thought eye makeup had magical, even healing, powers, helping to both prevent and heal eye diseases. An eye without makeup was considered the evil eye itself.

Lip gloss made from either animal fat or plant dye and rouge or blush made from red plant dye were also popular items – again, for both genders.

How you smelled was also of great importance. 

The ancient Egyptians rubbed pellets of ground carob into their skin and placed little balls of incense and even porridge to neutralize body odor. 

The first perfumes were Egyptian, and they were famous and in high demand across the Mediterranean in those days, some four thousand years ago. Most of these perfumes were plant based; the Egyptians soaked the roots, leaves, or blossoms of plants such as frankincense, myrrh, roses, almonds, lilies, henna, or cinnamon, in oil, sometimes cooked them, then extracted their oils to produce liquid perfumes, adding wax or fat to make creams and ointments. 

For soaps, the Egyptians used something called swabu (from which the English word “swab” derives), a paste made from clay or ash, mixed with oils and salts, scented, and which could be rubbed in and possibly worked into a lather.

Egyptians walked barefoot so they used clay or wooden foot baths to soak their feet in when they got home.

They produced different kinds of hair lotions using beeswax and resin. These lotions were thought to help prevent, even cure, balding and graying hair.

We may live in a society that places too much emphasis on our appearance, but think how far we’ve come in four thousand years.

Alli...

... is off this week, but check back next Tuesday for more of her adventures from South America and Australia.

Pony Express On The Silk Road

James Farley Building in New York

Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.

The above sentence is inscribed on the James Farley Post Office building in New York City, which opened its doors in 1914 and is now a registered historic site. Considering the inscription’s location, one might be forgiven for thinking it is a tribute to the diligence of American postal workers. But it’s not. The words were written 2,500 years ago by the Greek historian, Herodotus, who was expressing his admiration for the Persian empire’s mail couriers in the sixth century B.C.

The practice of sending messages through couriers probably began as soon as people started writing their thoughts down on physical media, but it was Cyrus the Great (600–530 B.C.), the founder of Persia’s Achaemenid dynasty, who invented the world’s first regular postal system. He’d organized his empire in the form of satrapies, provinces that were granted a certain amount of autonomy and could practice their own religions and customs, but always under Cyrus’s central authority.

To maintain this authority, Cyrus needed a way to exchange information with his satraps (governors), so he came up with a system of relay couriers (chapars) who could cross the empire swiftly and deliver important messages.

He calculated how far a chapar could ride in a day without stopping to feed or water his horse. At each point, Cyrus built a chapar-khaneh (courier house), a posting station where the courier could swap his exhausted mount for a fresh horse and continue on the next leg of the journey or hand his packet of letters on to another courier, relay-style.

Sound familiar? The Pony Express of the 1860s American West used the same principle of speedy horses and relay posts. It was certainly a practical way to get messages to their destinations in a world that lacked proper roads.

The third Achaemenid emperor, Darius I (550–486 BC), expanded Persia’s postal system, adding new routes as the empire grew. He built the Royal Road between his administrative seat at Susa (in present-day Iran) and Sardis, the capital of the ancient kingdom of Lydia (in eastern Turkey).  The road enabled Darius to add horse-drawn carts, known as barids, to the chapar couriers and transport larger amounts of mail than a single horseman could carry.

Persia's Royal Road

A good chapar could cover the 1,600 miles of the Royal Road in seven to nine days, a journey that took three months on foot. As Herodotus wrote, “nothing mortal travels as fast as these Persian messengers.”

I doubt that the life of a chapar was as glamorous or heroic as Herodotus makes it sound. There had to be many hazards along the way as the couriers rode through treacherous mountain passes in the Zagros range, evaded bandits, and passed across desolate plains in Asia Minor. And what did they do if a horse went lame in the middle of nowhere, half a day’s journey to the next posting station? I hope Cyrus paid his couriers well. After all, these men risked their lives to deliver the empire’s precious mail.

Off The Beaten Track: The Spirit of Christmas - Nepal-Style

This week we have another adventure from Tracy Tyson, an American educator living in Nepal, where she trains teachers and helps schools set up Montessori programs. She follows up her account of a Tibetan wedding in Kathmandu with a seasonal tale for the holidays.

A few years ago, I made the trek from Charikot, where I was then living, to Kathmandu just in time for the Christmas. I spent the holiday with some friends – a Nepali family and a couple of Americans who lived with them. In an effort to be non-partisan toward any religion, now that Nepal is no longer a Hindu kingdom, the new government declared Christmas and Eid (which marks the end of the Muslim holy month of Ramadan) national holidays, so schools and government offices are closed during these times. This declaration is a great example of what I love about Nepal – a Maoist government that celebrates two religious holidays! I guess they don't agree with Mao's statement about religion being poison!

My friends cut a branch off an evergreen tree in their yard and decorated it. Although it didn't quite have the desired conical Christmas tree shape, the gesture was in the spirit of the holiday. Everyone got a present – mine was a jar of peanut butter (all natural and "made by handicapped persons" here in Kathmandu, according to the label). The kids in the family squealed with delight at their gifts – and they were teenagers!

Christmas dinner turned out to be an interesting Nepali/American mix. For starters we had chaat, a crispy, spicy, Indian-style party mix. Dinner began with a first course of dal-bhat (rice and lentil soup), plus a very hot pickle made from potatoes. This was followed by meat for the meat-eaters and a tasty veggie curry for the vegetarians. And then for dessert – fruitcake! I don't really like fruitcake, but fortunately you can't get disgusting things here like the yucky dried fruit they put in fruitcake, so the cake just had raisins and nuts, and I actually liked it.

Later, as I made my way home, an older man offered me his seat on the bus. I tried to tell him in my primitive Nepali that I was fine standing, but he insisted. Then he said "Merry....." and turned to his neighbor for help on how to complete the rest of the phrase. "Chreesmus," he subsequently added, holding his hands held in the prayer-like position in front of his chest the way the people here do when they greet each other.

This experience reminded me that one thing I love about Nepal is all the little daily kindnesses people show me here! They are such warm, genuine people. When they smile at you it comes straight from the heart.

A Jungle Match

View from Foengoe Island, Suriname

No matter where I’ve traveled, the one thing everyone seems to agree on is soccer. Not teams, or players, or the proper name—yes, I know it’s really football to many—but a desire to watch. Or even better, to play.

Finding a game is always an easy way to make friends while traveling. And the beauty is, there is always a match, whether in a remote lodge in Patagonia after a grueling twelve-hour hike, an open courtyard in Jordan while smoking shisha, or a stadium filled with screaming fans in Seville.

But my favorite soccer games took place not in front of a TV, or even in a stadium, but on a grass airstrip on Foengoe Island in the Central Suriname Nature Reserve, where I spent six months working with a University of Florida capuchin monkey research project. The matches were always held early evening, since we spent our long, steamy days chasing those monkeys.

Suriname

We had to arrange the games several days in advance so we could get a pick-up by canoe from Foengoe Island—the park headquarters and our civilization. Or at least a remote outpost of civilization, with tourist lodges and a radio that reached the capital. As for our own radio, it barely reached the edges of our study area, certainly not the island.

We’d talk about the coming game all day while following our capuchins through the jungle, excited to escape our isolated cabin. To have a break from nights reading or playing cards. To do anything new. At the first roar of a boat engine, no matter how distant, we’d race down to the river to watch the dugout canoe, made from a hallowed tree trunk, glide to a stop alongside our rock beach.

Capuchin Monkey

We’d clamber onto the wooden plank seats and the boat driver would steer the canoe’s small outboard motor back into the current. Depending on the season, we’d either fly along the top of overflowing brown water or meander carefully around the jutting rocks of the receding riverbed.

We always docked just above the swirling rapids and climbed the hill to the airstrip. I’d sit in the grass on the sidelines, sometimes alone if I was the only female researcher, the surrounding jungle quiet except for the low roar of howler monkeys and parrots, always in pairs, squawking a noisy greeting as they passed into the sleepy sun tumbling toward the jungle canopy. The air always soft and quiet, bathed in a halo of blue.

But on the field, that strip of grass surrounded by jungle for hundreds of miles, the men screamed and grunted and pushed and shoved, their feet bare, their shadows long and tangled.

It was only ever men. The women weren’t invited to play. I didn’t have a problem with that given I’d gone toe-to-toe with ten-year-old girls in Suriname and been outmatched. Plus I already had my war injury from a barefoot soccer game on the sands of Cadiz, Spain—a broken toe that never did properly heal. And the men played to win. Anything allowed.

They were all researchers or Maroon and Amerindian guides and boat drivers, very rarely a passing tourist. The play was rough and sweaty and taken way too seriously. But always beautiful against that backdrop of a jungle sunset, the canopy shadow stretching to cover us in dark as the moon rose over the river. And always followed by a swim and a cold beer, if one could be found.

Those are memories I’ll never forget, the excitement and beauty of a simple game, in a setting with no match.

The Lonely Art of Wrestling Stereotypes

In parks and sporting arenas all over India, you’ll see young people, almost always boys, playing cricket, soccer, even rugby in their spare time or in competitions. But if you walk through certain public cricket maidans (open spaces) in Mumbai, you may see a rare and peculiar sight – a young, rather slight woman sumo wrestling with her brother.

Even more surprising is that twenty-four-year-old Hetal Dave (pronounced "dhaah-vay") is the country’s first competitive sumo wrestler, possibly the only one. No doubt the country’s only female practicing the ancient Japanese sport.

Dave started out learning and mastering judo before moving on to sumo, but not without quite a few obstacles. For one thing, India has no sumo rings for her to practice in or other female sumo wrestlers to practice with. She also comes from a very conservative Brahmin community in which anything unconventional is frowned upon, so imagine their reaction when she announced her new career. Fortunately, her immediate family has been encouraging and supportive. But while Dave practices regularly with her brother, it's been an uphill battle finding steady sponsorship to be able to travel abroad to compete against other women in international tournaments.

Occasionally, she is able to find a sponsor, such as last year, when she competed in Estonia, where she placed fifth. Not having her own mawashi, the cloth belt that sumo wrestlers wear, Dave had to borrow one from the Japanese, who then cheered her on at that competition. The Indian public, especially many young Indian women, have been inspired by Dave’s passion and singular ambition.

Sumo wrestling as a professional, competitive sport is observed only in Japan, where women are not allowed to play except at the amateur level. In fact, women are not allowed to even touch a professional sumo ring in Japan because of the "impurities" they may impart. As a result, it's not a sport that many women anywhere, particularly in Japan, choose to take up.

Not counting Dave though. If she can continue finding sponsors, she hopes to continue competing and improving her skills. In the meantime, she works as a part-time school teacher to support herself. Even as she keeps breaking down barriers – both in sports and in society.

Want to see Hetal Dave in action? Take a look: