Brought to you by a bunch of Tubes.

For the second time, this entry is inspired by the letter E, for Economist (I promise they aren't paying me, but that would be nice.  Or give me a print subscription that keeps up with my vagabonding ways)

Earlier this year, they ran a review of the book Tubes, by Andrew Blum, on the history, infrastructure, and geography of the Internet.  This is an issue that has fascinated me ever since the Internet broke when I was in Cairo thanks to a couple of ships whose anchors nicked the undersea cables connecting us to Europe (that's the most widely held story, though conspiracy theories abound).  That experience, not unlike the one that sent Blum in search of the internet, alerted me to the existence of the cables, and to the idea that if we couldn't connect to Europe, then it was very possible my emails were traveling the other way around the planet, through Asia.  Mind. Blown. 

 I just got around to reading Tubes recently. I highly recommend it if you have the time.  It's a mix of tech, history, geography anthropology, and makes me think about using the web, such as writing this blog or the seemingly instantaneous communication with my friends, family, potential graduate schools, and favorite news sources with Email, Facebook, texts and calls via Google Voice (Google should also pay me), very differently. 

In short, "the cloud," is a myth.  Your pictures, videos, emails and personal data, and this blog entry, are stored in very real places, real server farms somewhere, close to you or not.  And when you access this data from wherever you are, it is transported through very substantial fiber optic cables under the ground, above your heads, across the ocean, connections wrought and managed by very real people.  Yes, much is now wireless, but the tubes and the people who make them work, although invisible to the naked eye, are always in the mix, somewhere.  

So now when I get to videochat (again, thanks to Google) with three of my wonderful friends from DC who have dispersed throughout the country (image and likeness used with permission, kind of), I picture the tubes. . . how the signal, composed of pulses of light, is somehow making its way to London, bouncing between New York and London, and winding its way to my friends' homes in three very different cities in the Midwest, South and East.   A company called Telegeography maps global connections and information flows.  It's really cool, and you don't even need to be a map nerd like me.  Check it out. 

Map produced by Telegeography. 
Check out the interactive version.

The reality of the connections tests the limits of my imagination. I understand just enough to think it's an incredible marvel, and be intrigued about the politics and people behind it. 

And I understand just enough to have a real sense of awe and gratitude for it.  I can't really imagine this experience without it. I am grateful that I am getting to travel the road less traveled, but don't have to put my relationships on hold, or miss the chance to get support from afar and share my journeys with friends and family. None of that "I'm going to Africa forever and will write you letters occasionally, and they will possibly reach you," nonsense."  I know intellectually that people have done it for thousands of years. . . many without hope of seeing each other or communicating at all, ever again.  But the actual sensation of doing so is foreign to me.  The modern world has its challenges, but I am happy to have the opportunity to travel through the Tubes to my friends, family and the maybe 2 strangers out there reading this thing.