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Azambuja, Portugal

So I slept like a baby in the tiny little single bed in the huge room in the very strange hotel. Must be all the starch I devoured last night. The morning starts with the included breakfast – thank goodness for the little gems of pasteis de nata, because the rest looks pretty grim. The “juice” is a chemical **** storm of note – judging by the colour it has everything but the juice of any fruit in it. The coffee is blue black, when I added the milk it became a dishwatery grey. Well, all the more reason to start with my assignment. And that is what I did today – writing a 2500 word assignment evaluating a modified ADL assessment tool for illiterate people in North India. The less I say about this, the better. It is done. Sela….
At about 16h00 I give up and go for a walk. Opposite the hotel is a bullring (!!!!), with crowds of people queuing to get in – my heart sinks. If there is a bullfight opposite me tonight….I might have to go and look. On the way back I hear it is some or other “pop” concert. (With my knowledge of popular music it might have been one of the biggest stars ever – who knows). I am glad my room is on the other side of the hotel, where the high speed train passes every hour making the entire room shake!
The town is fast asleep, shutters down, only the young and restless out and about here and there. I walk up to the church, beautiful old building with the interior walls all done in the most beautiful traditional Portuguese tiles. Serene. A very friendly young priest greets me with the most endearing smile.
Walking back I realise that I am actually quite scared of what lies ahead. I have no idea what it feels like to walk for 30 kilometers with a backpack Tomorrow it is predicted to be 29 degrees, and I only took a black t-shirt. WHY – I have no idea. Looking at what I can ditch from my bag – it will have to be the hair product. (Only teasing). The handbook for my assignment can go, and I realise that my electric toothbrush and charger weigh too much. As for the hair dryer and tongs – TEASING!!!!
Now I am going to see what the friendly non English speaking gentleman has on the menu for Sunday night supper. Mmmmmmm – just realised that I only ate two little de nata’s today….

A new soul in the restaurant tonight. Google translate helps to choose what looks like “larded streaky…. something”. I am holding my breath – it could mean anything. It is such a shame to not speak the local language. I am now so confused between Spanish, Portuguese and my smidgen of Italian that I give up all together and try sign language. It does not go down well. Trying to blend in in a truck driver bar in a far-off motel in the middle of nowhere with one Spanish word that I learned from the obnoxious Vida e’Caffe waiters is just not going to cut it.

Walking through the little town today I am astounded at the simplicity of life here. Washing hanging from windows in the tiniest little houses, no garages or huge gardens or swimming pools. Not a single house has seen a lick of paint in years – quaint enough to take photographs of it here, at home we stress about “maintenance”. And work ourselves to a standstill to pay the bills of more maintenance.

Of course there is soccer on the television, the fluorescent lights are all on the brightest possible setting. This is so typical of rural Europe – at home I would not be seen dead in a “restaurant” like this. Here I take photographs because it is so different and “European”. Joke! I just need to go to Rugby or Brooklyn and find rows upon rows of places just like this one. What would the difference be? Nothing.

So I figured it out – the truck drivers change shifts here, I see them waiting for one another, quick chat and the new driver jumps in and off he goes. Those finishing their shift pop into the bar for a few beers. The hotel is remarkably clean and well kept considering that there cannot be more than 10% of the rooms occupied. The Indian theme is quite surprising, but hey, a theme is a theme. It could have been Hawaiian for all I cared last night! And at 35 Euros, disgusting breakfast included it is a bargain.

So dinner was greasy and starchy – more carbo loading. But hey – who am I to complain? I love grease, add chips to anything and I am the happiest junk food eater. Apparently I said yes to a huge slice of melon – certainly would not have asked for it. I cannot imagine what this chunk of lemon and the gallon of beer will do in my stomach….

The end of an eventful day. Assignment – laat hy val waar hy wil. Nou is daar nie omdraai nie.

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El Prat de Llobregat, Spain and Canary Islands

My 50th birthday is celebrated with friends in Spain. A feast of culture, food, music and friendship. To end off our time together, Victor and I spend a week in a quiet village on the coast, before he heads back to South Africa and start my Portuguese Caminho.
So the minute Victor leaves, things go pear shaped. I make it back to Castelldefels and decide to have another Doner Kebab, as the one we had at lunch was wonderful. I make it to the bus, get on, want to pay and the driver refuses to take a 50 Euro note. He duly tells me to get off at the next stop! Of course I now try to get change, even trying to buy a chocolate. Everyone bloody refuses the 50 Euro note. Austerity??? Eventually I buy an ice cream and sit waiting at the bus stop to go to the hotel, all hot and bothered and feeling sorry for myself.
I wait, and wait and wait. Alone. Feeling more sorry for myself. A bright moment tells me to look at the time table – only to see that the bus I was so politely told to get off from, was the bloody last bus!!! Well, taxi it was, also not without some difficulty trying to explain the name of the hotel…
This morning I sleep late, treat myself to coffee and a beautiful croissant, and make for the airport. All goes according to plan, and even though my backpack feels as if it weighs 800 kg’s, it actually only weighs 8. Vuelling is like being transported in a cattle truck, with absolutely no leg room, and because I was too schnoep to pay for an allocated seat, I end up in a middle seat. Serves me right I suppose.
After a four year stint of doing my Master’s Degree in Dementia Studies, I have one final assignment to hand in before I can start walking. This has been hanging over my head like a sword, carrying a stack of research papers and handbooks with all the way through Australia and Spain. I will get it done – even if it kills me. (Famous last words…). I have two days in Lisbon to sit my ass down, concentrate, write, submit!
Lisbon is a heaving 27 degrees, and so completely different from Barcelona. The city is loud, much much more cosmopolitan that Barcelona, and alive with sounds of hooters and scooters. I figure out the metro, and realise how much easier it is to travel with someone.,.. Now suddenly, I have no one to blame when things go wrong, or to stand back and let someone else figure it out. The instructions on how to get to the air b&amp;b are not very clear, and considering the heat I decide to take a cab. Only 6 euros, but for the life of me I cannot find the street name that I am supposed to be in. Eventually, now very hot and bothered, I get someone who speaks English, to tell me that I am on the wrong side of the mountain. (Well, their idea of the mountain). Another taxi – this time with better instructions off the email – drops me in what looks like lower Salt River in the days before the Inner City Improvement District was thought of. I scramble up a very dodge staircase, knock and wait. Eventually Ratata (yes, that is his name) opens the door. Very friendly, lots of dreads with a soft sweaty hand I am welcomed. The apartment is a dump. Ratata leaves me in the welcome company of Zeaonor (I think it is the name of an anti-depressant at home) who has more dreads than Ratata, and comes out of his bedroom in a vapour of smelly shoes. (I do notice that his room has no window, in his defense). The place is really disgusting – something from the movie “Witnail and I”. Ten minutes later I depart back into the heat of the Lisbon day. (I think the bedsheets did it – they were not ironed. JOKE!!!! The bathroom was just too bloody awful, disgustingly dirty. mouldy and damp. The kitchen looked as if the last time someone did dishes was when Vasgo de Gama left Portugal to travel to Mosselbay).
On the spur of the moment, and with the dreaded assignment lurking in the back of my head, I decide to skip Lisbon and make for Azambuja, from where I will actually start the caminho. Plan is that I will book into a hotel, write the assignment the whole day tomorrow and start walking on Monday morning. Good plan. Only problem, I get off at what looks like Azambuja, but is actually a truck stop on the way to Azambuja. Yes, trucks. And trucks only. In the spirit of the Caminho I sit quietly, no swearing, and decide to wait for the next train that will come in an hour. I did think for a moment I should hitch-hike, but changed my mind when I stood next to the highway for a few minutes, looking at the cars (more the drivers) and was to petrified to put my hand up.
Twenty minutes later the next train arrives – and in another ten minutes we are in Azambuja. Where there is as much as at the truck stop – a few bars with men screaming at a soccer game, and for the rest the town is just about boarded up. Season is over. Not that anything could have a season in Azambuja. On the way in I saw a sign for a hotel. I ask – yes it is the only hotel. Yes, it is three kilometers out of town. No, there are no taxis, Yes, I am walking the caminho.
The hotel is dead quiet, not a soul in sight. A few huge trucks outside the door…. I get a room – 35 Euro breakfast included. The room is HUGE – two tiny single beds and a BATH!!! And aircon. It is like something from a 60’s thriller movie – who on earth stays in a place like this? But, it has wifi, it is clean, and they have cold beer. I go for dinner – a man that reminds me of James from “dinner for one” who speaks no english, patiently waits for me to translate the very elaborate 7 euro menu with about seven choices, only to tell me once I have laboured through every option on google translate, that they only have the pork leg left. God knows what Spain and Portugal and Italy would have done if pigs did not have legs. Well, it turns out to be delicious, especially the smidgen of a side salad (the only bit of fresh greenery in what seems like months) even thought it is drenched in oil, not even olive.
A full tummy, a hot bath, clothes on the washing line that I bought in Melbourne courtesy of the good advice of my friend Sally, and I am ready to end this day. Tomorrow will be a mini caminho all by itself, trying to write a decent assignment on my ipad. With little help from stacks of books and articles.
Let the journey begin. Good night!

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Tullamarine, Australia

Ten hours away from Abu Dhabi, flying over the north west coast of Autralia. The monitors in economy class have all packed up, and the flight attendants are stressing. It is -35 degress outside, about 40 degrees inside. I cannot help but wonder what I am inhaling – coughs and ***** and smelly breaths abound. I cannot for the life of me sleep on a plane – it is incredibly uncomfortable, I feel squashed and sqeeuzed and sweaty. I eat everything that is put in front of me, ending up with an aching stomach. When I think it is breakfast, dinner is served, at breakfast I crave red wine. Flying across timezones totally messes up my body clock! Abu Dhabi airport is a but like Canal Walk – over the top and ostentacious, everything so expensive and glitzy you eventually want to really throw up. Like with most airports, there is not nearly enought places to sit. I end up lying flat on the cool tiled floor – can remember having done this a few times. Within seconds I snore myself awake. The lay-over gives me time to catch up on a few last work things to be done…. The flight from Abu Dhabi to Rome is delayed – of course the immediate panic sets in about my connecting flight to Barcelona from Rome. Eventually we take off – the plane is packed to the brim, a united nations of “moor, jood en mohamedaan” as my Ouma would have said. Screaming children and Muslim men trying to say their prayers in the aisles. We almost never see light on this equally long (seven hour) flight, so have one dinner after the hour. Eventually we get breakfast as light breaks over Italy. By now I have had about eight meals. We arrive in Rome exactly an hour before my connecting flight – I don’t have a boarding pass so am stopped at customs by a very scary man who stops everyone to argue with me. I have to switch on my phone to find the email with my booking (yes yes yes I know – I had the print out somewhere). He duly takes my phone and walks away – the clock ticking and a few hundred people fuming behind me…. All’s well that ends well – he comes back to tell me that I can go through, my name is on the list of a man who is collecting passengers for the connecting flight. We do a half marathon through the airport, only to get to the check-in counter where the very smart and elegant Italian ladies are all talking (at the top of their voices) ignoring me. I eventually start waving my arms around trying out my best Italian (which is worse than my best Xhosa which is non-existent). So now I am on the plane, flying over the Mediterranean. Oh – we should have gone to Sicily, or Sardinia, or Portofino, or Amalfi!!! It is a crisp, clear day, the ocean being its true Med blue. I have legroom. Life is so good…getting ready for the ninth airline meal in 48 hours.

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Tullamarine, Australia

Sommige mense help ons dra aan ons stories. My vriendin van dertig jaar is een van daardie mense in my lewe. In hulle huis in Melbourne sit ons aan die kombuistafel in ons pajamas, soos van ouds in die Paarl se pastorie of die skakelhuis in Dorpstraat Stellenbosch. Of Tamboerskloof. Waar ook al – Kobie help my onthou wie ek is en was en waar ek vandaan kom en hoe die plooie dieper is as wat ek onthou. Ons Volkswagen beetles, die liefdes wat ons laat wroeg het met Old Brown Sherry. Ek is deel van Kobie se gesin, hier ver van ons Moederland. Ons eet hoenderpastei en soetpatats met te veel rooiwyn. Kobie gee onwetend ‘n geborgenheid deur herinneringe, oomblikke, gedagtes en gebeure wat ek lankal diep vergeet het. Ons lag vir ons weemoed en storm en drang. Skielik duik gesigte weer op, is oomblikke helder en seerkry onthou. Is ons weer studente sorgeloos besig met ons seerkry, glo dat dit die einde van ons wereld is. Dertig jaar later loop ons mekaar weer raak in ons stories, sien ons dat so baie verander het, en eintlik het niks verander nie. Nou is daar drie beeldskone kinders, ‘n gryser man, twee stofsuiers, ‘n strykyster en strykplank, wasmasjien en tuimeldroeer. Die ketel is stukkend maar die kastrolletjie werk beter. Die rooiwyn duurder die koffie sterker. Die rekenaar. En weet ons, niks het verander nie. Ons is nog 18. Ons weier om groot te word. En my rugsak voel loodswaar toe ek hom op my rug swaai by die lughawe. Dankie Kobie dat jy my stories help dra, dat ek van hulle kon inpak vir hierdie reis, dat ek nuwes kon kry wat ek in jou linnekas bere tot volgende keer. Al die klein stukkies legkaart is nou op hulle plek. Dis ‘n mooi prentjie.

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Camberwell, Australia

Spending time with my fellow Eden Regional co-ordinator Sally Hopkins and her husband Al for a few days was like manna to the soul. After the hype and buzz of the conference I could sleep late, stay up late and just be. Well, that is in between being spoilt rotten with roast lamb dinners, beautiful red wine (too much of it) and great conversations. Sally has been a mentor to me on this Eden journey, and sharing thoughts and insights with her always give great clarity to my own musings. On Saturday I was treated by Sally and two of her girlfriends to the most exquisite high tea at the Windsor Hotel. A whole morning of stuffing our faces with the finest of baked goods, delicious salmon and cucumber sandwiches, chocolate eclairs, custard slices, strawberry tarts, cheescake and lemon meringue and and and… I am still stuffed. Yesterday we visited an exhibition of the Catherine the Great collection at the Melbourne Art gallery. A very well executed exhibition that makes of you feel as if you are walking through the splendour of the Hermitage. The day started with another “Tea House” small little Parisian shop with beautiful displays of cakes and tarts – yet another Sally treat! The arcades in Melbourne are so well preserved with unique shops that are a great escape from the Malls and chain stores. Having said that – I totally lost myself in the Uniqlo shop…where the Chinese fall short of quality for mass production, the Japanese make up for quality, incredible value and the softest of soft fabrics. I could not get out of the shop – eventually did with a shocking green down jacket. I already feel attached to the jacket like a three year old to a teddy bear. One of the most intersting observation thus far is listening to the Australian news – it sounds JUST like home! Sex scandals in posh schools, rascism, seriously retarded Prime Minister, huge issues with trade unions, crime etc. It really is just like listening to the news at home, just with a funny accent. Our issues are universal. The plight of the Syrians – well Australia will “only take the Christians”. So when you get off the boat, hold up your religious flag or be sent back. Wherever back is – only christians are welcome here. I will not labour the point. I love this city, and would love to explore more and more of it.

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Camberwell, Australia

Spending time with my fellow Eden Regional co-ordinator Sally Hopkins and her husband Al for a few days was like manna to the soul. After the hype and buzz of the conference I could sleep late, stay up late and just be. Well, that is in between being spoilt rotten with roast lamb dinners, beautiful red wine (too much of it) and great conversations. Sally has been a mentor to me on this Eden journey, and sharing thoughts and insights with her always give great clarity to my own musings.
On Saturday I was treated by Sally and two of her girlfriends to the most exquisite high tea at the Windsor Hotel. A whole morning of stuffing our faces with the finest of baked goods, delicious salmon and cucumber sandwiches, chocolate eclairs, custard slices, strawberry tarts, cheescake and lemon meringue and and and… I am still stuffed.
Yesterday we visited an exhibition of the Catherine the Great collection at the Melbourne Art gallery. A very well executed exhibition that makes of you feel as if you are walking through the splendour of the Hermitage.
The day started with another “Tea House” small little Parisian shop with beautiful displays of cakes and tarts – yet another Sally treat! The arcades in Melbourne are so well preserved with unique shops that are a great escape from the Malls and chain stores. Having said that – I totally lost myself in the Uniqlo shop…where the Chinese fall short of quality for mass production, the Japanese make up for quality, incredible value and the softest of soft fabrics. I could not get out of the shop – eventually did with a shocking green down jacket. I already feel attached to the jacket like a three year old to a teddy bear.
One of the most intersting observation thus far is listening to the Australian news – it sounds JUST like home! Sex scandals in posh schools, rascism, seriously retarded Prime Minister, huge issues with trade unions, crime etc. It really is just like listening to the news at home, just with a funny accent. Our issues are universal.
The plight of the Syrians – well Australia will “only take the Christians”. So when you get off the boat, hold up your religious flag or be sent back. Wherever back is – only christians are welcome here. I will not labour the point.
I love this city, and would love to explore more and more of it.

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Perth Airport, Australia

So it is farewell Perth, a stimulating and exhausting week that will leave deep traces in my mind. I am amazed at how sitting, listening to people can be so tiring! Even this morning I still battle to wake up. Suppose that is what happens if your brain does a bit of overtime. I still reflect on a lot of what was presented, especially the harsh realities of indigenous people in Australia. Looking at the news surrounding asylum seekers it is heart wrenching to see so much desperation across the globe. What is more heart wrenching are the levels of ignorance and intolerance. Perth will be remembered for the beautiful King’s Park and the birdsong! Or rather birdscream – very loud screeching like cockatoos! Couldn’t quite catch a glimpse of any of them, but they were all over the city all right! So now it is off to Melbourne – a week of rest with friends AND writing a bloody assignment! Second last one – not going to be easy fitting that in…

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Perth, Australia

Rubbing shoulders with world leaders in Aged Care, hearing research experts speak, talking to Service Providers whose ROI (return on investment – I had to ask someone what that means) can feed an African country for a few years and sharing stories with like minded passionate people is an indescribeable experience. In fact, this morning I am so exhausted that I can hardly open my eyes. Some of the techonological inventions are truly mind boggling. The equipment and computer systems, beds, trolleys, incontinence wear products are what we can only dream of. And yet, I walked away from the conference with an overwhelming awareness of how the developing world is missing the point. The very fact that so much research, technology, development of new models, conferences and debates are needed to focus on improving CARE, means that there is something fundamentally or inherently wrong. The concept is flawed within its very foundations. We can throw all the money in the world at this model, it will not work. Why? I challenged a number of delegates from the so called “developed” countries on their notion of “community”. There is a lot of talk about “retirement communities” at these conferences. In my opinion, the fundamental flaw lies in the idea of a “community” where people are grouped together because they have one thing in common, namely their chronological age. When age (or as is the case in a “Nursing Home” where disease) is the common factor, it simply does not bode well for growth, meaning, joy, identity, connectedness, autonomy or security (the Eden Alternative domains of wellbeing). In order to restore a vibrant sense of life, researchers and academics now start disseminating more and more data to engage more and more money in finding less and less answers. At the very start of the conference I was already pulling my hair out at the research forum, where with serious academic faces, researchers proclaimed the future of aged care: tecnology that moniotors every move, robots that can “feed” you, wash you, talk to you. Even a ROBOTIC SEAL (because people usually think seals are “cute”) that you stroke and it purrs! A top researcher came up with an eighteen page competency document that Caregivers should comply with…without any refernce to GENUINE HUMAN CARING. Creating a human habitat for a healthy community should be based on intergenerational living, where life revolves around close and contuinuous contact with animals, plants, children in order to create meaningful relationships. Simple. In my humble opinion we run the risk of training the humanity out of people. regulating every breath into tick boxes of competencies. Yes we need skills, but how do you teach someone to really CARE? It only comes through meaningful, authentic relationships. Honouring the life story, engaging the sacredness of the human spirit through “zorgzame zorg” or PRESENCE (presensie) that Prof. Andries Baardt of the Netherlands so beautifully describes. The conference was stimulating in so many ways. And in the closing plenary the panel did actually acknowledge that there is a huge gap in the proposed future models. And I walked away with an overwhelming feeling that we are doing something right in South Africa. We might not have the beautiful buildings, the technology or the legislation, but we have UBUNTU. We know instinctively about what it means to consciously engage, care, honour the spirit of our Elders. Listening to Femada of TAFTA and Sister Lucia of St. Antonine my heart was overflowing with joy in the recognition of kindred African spirits. I saw on the audience how they touched the hearts of the delegates with beautiful stories of creating a life worth living in areas where even running water is a luxury. Let us not stand back for one second and think that we are backward – we are indeed developing in the truest sense of the word. We have not arrived, we are on the most wonderful journey towards creating a world of connectedness for our Elders, celebrating the life of our Caregivers who do their work because of a spiritual calling in the most humbling of caring ways. It is my wish that more and more people from the African continent will be able to attend these conferences, like the 16 delegates who were given a scholarship by CommonAge to attend this year. I salute Andrew Larpent who saw the need, collected the money and made this possible. Delegates from Mauritius and India and Africa came to learn – I think they taught more in the humble honesty than they would ever realize.

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Perth, Australia

The day starts with a leisurely walk through the city of Perth, more rain falling and GOOD coffee (one thing they well here_. The city is beautiful, incredible buildings – old and modern together in a well desgined fit with one another. I stoll over to the convention centre for the afternoon session of the Research Forum and meet up with a bunch of friends from other parts of the world, as well as some of the CommonAge delegates from South Africa, Sr. Lucia and Femada from KZN. It is so exciting to see familiar faces and to know that they will also now have experienced the buzz of such a large conference. The Research Forum is disappointing, and I (trust me) stand up and say so. I get a few nasty looks, but afterwards a number of people come to me to say that they actually agree with my sentiments. I was under the impression that we were way beyond substituting robots and fake animals for people living with dementia, but it seems that there are a hard-core bunch of researchers who are trying their damndest to proof that it could work. At our table we have lively discussion of like-minded people agreeing on this point. The afternoon is ended off with a cocktail party at King’s Park with beautiful food and wine, lots of wonderful conversations and meeting new people. Day four: Believe it or not – the day starts with the confernce centre not getting breakfast out on time! 1000 very ****** off delegates swarm the little kiosk that cannot cope with the masses at all. I smile secretly – first world countries also get it wrong. The opening sessions are interesting – Robyn Stone, famous researcher opens the day with a session on staff retention, followed by the patron of ACSA, a retired judge who advocates wildly for gay people who need to go into Care Homes. Again, I don’t agree with the whole LGBTI (he adds Q for queers) notion. Why why why do we have to categorize people in this manner? It makes NO sense to me, and I strongly object to it. We advocate against this on grounds of race of ability, yet we are happy to categorize this very diverse group of people in one camp. In the afternoon I attend a heart warming play of short depictiions of life in a Care Home – brilliantly performed by four actors. The issues are exactly the same all over the world, they could have been from any Care Home in SA. The conversations are wonderful, especially spending quality time with gurus. There are so many truly inspiring people at a conference like this, it lifts the spirits and truly encourages. The afternoon plenary session is in my opinion again missing the point completely – a new home in Denmark that looks like a minimalist hotel with every possible gadget, where clearly no one consulted with the residents on what it is that they want. This is followed by an interesting discussion. The highlight of today is the presentation of the research award to our Sanet du Toit from Bloemfontein, who is on a three year fellowship in Sydney. Not only is it so exciting to see her here, but to be part of the acknowledgement of her work is a privilige. We have some drinks and snacks and then make off to a Tapas bar that Al Power knows. Another great evening of laughter, intelligent conversation, sillyness and lots of wine. New friends, old friends, reassuring that we are all in this for the right reasons. The Dutch contingent always makes for very stimulating conversation – we are indeed closely related. Diana, Freek and Ardt are such solid people who speak their minds, are critical thinkers and can appreciate the value of the industry, without being schmaltzy about it. Tomorrow is my presentation…

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Perth, Australia

Perth looks better after a night of good rain….and 12 hours of total jetlagged sleep! (In fact – I slept right through an important breakfast date!). The city is full of beautiful green pockets – little parks dotted all over. I am intrigued by the number of people living on the streets – some with obvious drug problems looking very much worse for wear. The inner city is a buzz of multi-cultural restaurants, shops and people, with a very strong Asian influence/presence in the restaurants. I chose Mexican last night – bad menu choice combined with very mediocre “pulled pork”. That pig was chopped, not pulled! Tonight we went to Halo on the waterfront with my dear friends Al Power and Jack York. We had great scallops and bouillabaise (yes I had to look up the spelling) and some good red wine. More important though – the conversations around our shared passion. Al Power is a world leader in dementia care, his authenticity and genuine humanness shining through everything he does. What an honour to consider him a friend! I also met with Corne de Haas, ex-GERATEC employee in the magnificent King’s Park. It feels as if Corne is still part of our team. Tomorrow the conference kicks off with the research forum – I look forward to hear of the latest research and people from all over the world sharing ideas and knowledge. What a privilige.

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