2007年9月30日 星期日

越南經濟

我無法忘掉5年前2002寶成工業Nike事業部經營團隊在越南機場到工廠沿路上所說的:越南的開路等建設能力幾乎是中國的十分之一。

其實,我可以從機場的改進了解越南基本上是不斷改善的。20066月之旅,我比較注意的是市內的傳統市場和工業區。還是一很友善的城市、國家。


越南領導人更新觀念抓經濟
2007年09月25日14:27 | |
越南總理阮晉勇(Nguyen Tan Dung)說﹐越南經濟過去幾年之所以能有卓越表現﹐是該國領導人的思想發生深刻轉變的結果﹐越南還需要進行更多改革。

在對《華爾街日報》所提問題的書面答復中﹐阮晉勇說越南政府正在努力淡化它在指導該國經濟方面所扮演的角色﹐政府支持私營部門在推動越南經濟發展方面扮演更重要的角色。

這是阮晉勇去年就任越南總理以來首次與國際媒體進行交流。現年57歲的阮晉勇是越南迄今為止最年輕的總理。雖然越南的國家元首是國家主席阮明哲 (Nguyen Minh Triet)﹐但卻是阮晉勇負責管理越南的日常事務及該國欣欣向榮的經濟。阮晉勇在出任總理前曾擔任越南的央行行長。

阮晉勇說:“我們正在加快改革政府管理經濟的方式﹐減少政府通過行政命令對企業經營的直接管理﹐轉而通過法律手段管理經濟。”他還說:“私營部門是經濟的重要組成部分﹐政府十分關注如何為私營企業的發展創造便利條件。”

身為越南經濟政策最高制定者的阮晉勇說﹐越南已經在朝上述目標努力﹐並出台了一系列法規﹐包括創辦新企業的規定、勞動法、一部新的民法以及保護知識產權的法律。他說﹐自2000年以來﹐越南已成立了約24萬家私營企業。

阮晉勇說﹐在今年早些時候加入世界貿易組織(World Trade Organization)以後﹐越南正在努力改善其司法體系﹐使其進一步向國際標準看齊。

James Hookway / Nguyen Anh Thu

Rinkeby

2007
諾貝爾獎文學大師與少年歡聚
諾獎得主帕慕克(左一)被林克比中學學生逗樂。
陳文芬/提供

每年初冬,新科諾貝爾文學獎得主除了在斯德哥爾摩音樂廳從國王手中領獎、到市政廳享受晚宴,另一項驚喜的行程是:到林克比中學(Rinkebyskolan)去!

林克比學校迎接貴客,學生穿起桑塔露其亞日的白袍、戴花環,頭上頂著燭光,歌聲美麗非凡。學生代表獻上替諾獎得主集體編寫的手工書,書中交織這群林克比新移民少年閱讀大師名著的感動。多位諾獎大師造訪林克比,回顧童年,流淚或歡笑,印象深刻。

林克比的學生熱愛文學,每年十月諾貝爾文學獎揭曉後,圖書館很快蒐集整理當年得主的作品,請出當地作家來學校陪學生細讀。學生讀後,自己編寫自己畫,集體 製作一本獲獎者的傳記手工書,簡單但富創意。他們寫的書是雙語對照,贈給2000年得主高行健的,是中文與瑞典語並列,還將高行健的身世與創作《靈山》的 過程畫成漫畫。他們獻書時,高行健感動含淚。

2002年匈牙利作家卡爾特斯聽到學生朗讀他十二歲在納粹集中營的故事《非關命運》,感傷地哭個不停。2003年南非作家柯慈說:「親愛的林克比少年們, 《少年》原是我的傳記小說,現在已經屬於你們了。」林克比學生去年獻書給土耳其作家帕慕克,學生先以瑞典語朗讀獻書,再以土耳其語朗讀,逗得帕慕克樂不可 支,頻頻追問:「莫非我來到了天堂?」

位居斯德哥爾摩西北角的林克比是很奇特的地區,原是瑞典首都最破敗的暗角,林克比中學的學生98%是新移民,來自六十八國有三十種語文背景。1980年代 學校遭遇危機,因大興土木環境差,老師接連求去,學生脾氣很壞,搗亂在空教室放火,鬧了場火災。新校長到任,召開民主會議,找來家長跟學生老師,問大家想 要一個什麼樣的理想學校,答案要乾淨要有安全感要有好的知識。

強悍的新校長有不可思議的愛心,他要老師愛學生,並且要從內心真正的愛。他看得很清楚,學生能識別老師是不是真心愛學生。他特別重視語文,學生的瑞典語夠好,就能展現自信,就有創造力。

Shed Mahmod是土耳其庫德族少年,一歲時全家逃難來瑞典。有段時間他功課退步,老師打電話問家長,才知道Shed在土耳其的親戚遭到殺害,堂兄弟處境很糟,影響了他的情緒。老師就特別疼愛他,喚起他學習的熱情。

林克比的校長說,這麼多不同民族的學生聚集,容易出現紛爭。「世界的種種紛爭,如伊斯蘭與西方的文化衝突,少年少女們有同樣的能力可以感受到那些衝突的訊 息。學校要做人與人之間的橋樑,要讓學生感覺人與人、宗教與宗教之間,有相同的橋樑存在。」老師會指定某些題目寫報告,要學生表達意見,像「女人與男人有 相同的性自由」、「同性戀伴侶可以撫養孩子」,這些孩子與一般瑞典少年看法不同,擁有民族宗教傳統背景的孩子就覺得瑞典孩子太不守規範、缺少道德感。

林克比學校還重視數學。紐西蘭來的數學老師發現林克比的學生不如城裡的學生有自信。他鼓勵學生參加每年春天有三十五國參賽的國際學生數學競賽,一連四年他 有好幾個學生得到滿分,瑞典八年級(國二生)唯一得滿分就是他的學生,九年級瑞典七個滿分當中六個是他學生。學生知道他們跟城裡的學生一樣聰明,甚至還勝 過他們。「數學與生活與愛,還有語言,像血液循環一樣重要。我只是說愛他們,他們就會好好讀書。」



Rinkeby is a suburb of Stockholm in Sweden. It is noted for its high concentration of immigrants and people with immigrant ancestry (see definition of Swede) and notably Africans (mostly Somalian immigrants), three quarters as compared to 20 percent for all of Stockholm and a sociolect called 'Rinkeby Swedish' has been named after it. The suburb is organised into Rinkeby borough. The neighbourhood was part of the so-called Million Programme.

The Rinkeby underground metro station was opened in 1975.




2005年右派網

瑞典的糟糕現實

作者:Johan Wennstrom 翻譯:九喻
2005-12-01 03:06:45
發表評論 [0] 推薦本文 簡體


過去幾個星期發布的兩篇文章--一篇登載在英國《衛報》(Guardian),另一篇登載在法國《費加羅報》(Le Figaro)--給了那些崇拜瑞典社會模式的人新的彈藥。兩篇文章,象通常討論瑞典福利社會的文章一樣大錯特錯。

在第一篇文章文章里,《衛報》專欄作者Polly Toynbee描繪了一個低失業率、高增長、頂級公共服務的瑞典,文章的標題也是一點都不含糊︰“世界上已知的最成功的社會”。此外,Toynbee的專 欄還認為瑞典的勞工市場建立在國家、雇主和勞動力之間擬訂的一個“魔術”契約之上。

就在不久前的法國騷亂過程中,《費加羅報》的一隊記者訪問了Rinkeby,那是瑞典首都斯德哥爾摩的一個移民聚居區。這份報紙--一般瑞典出版界認為屬 于右翼報紙--刊登的文章標題是“Rinkeby,一個郊區的模式”(Rinkeby, a Model for the Suburbs),宣稱瑞典的移民模式是一個成功的典範。

他們的描述錯的太厲害了,這對于這些記者以及對于瑞典來說都是令人悲哀的。不過這種錯誤的描述很典型,幾乎沒有人了解瑞典福利社會問題的全貌。

首先,失業率並不是那麼低。官方的數字是大約6%,高于正常的市場經濟體的水平。但是根據和社會民主黨關系密切的“商業聯合會”(trade unions)的真實卻沒有公開的數字,失業率超過了20%。這個有900萬人口的國家里,超過150萬健康人選擇不工作而靠福利生活。

瑞典勞工市場僵化而且規則重重,《衛報》所說的在國家、雇主和勞動力之間的“魔術”契約的引人注目的地方在于,國家剝奪了雇主的一切權利,轉而把這些剝奪 來的權利給了雇員。公司不敢雇用新人,因為老勞工法規讓解雇員工成為不可能。毫無疑問這是導致大量瑞典人失業的一個主要原因。

其次,瑞典的經濟增長率是3%,高于歐洲平均水平,但它依然比較低。如果瑞典是美國的一個州,那麼它將是美國第五窮的州。此外,瑞典總體稅率是63% (total tax pressure)。從這個因素考慮,瑞典自從1970年以後再沒有產生一個象IKEA和Ericsson那樣的大型企業就不足為奇了。

這些象是世界最成功社會的標志嗎?我想不是。還有更差勁的︰10%的瑞典學生在沒有完成強制性教育之前就離開學校,1/3的高中學生drop out。因為所謂“公平”而被海外廣泛稱贊的醫療系統同樣是一片灰暗。從第一次看醫生到動手術可能要等長達一年甚至更長,某些情況下這麼長的等待時間可能 導致病人死亡,其他人被迫用他們的“黃金年華”排隊。同時,政府在努力禁止私人醫療活動。

和法國模式有很多相似之處的瑞典移民模式,因為很多原因導致了它的不成功。多元文化主義(multiculturalism)強大到可以挑戰這個福利國 家。這種多元文化主義和人們共同生活自然形成的多種生活方式的共生現象毫無關系,相反,它來自于一種政治哲學,即一切文化都是同等水平的,在寬容的名義 下,無視我們的自由被侵犯。瑞典這個福利國家正在四分五裂,因為它不顧一切的要努力討好每一個少數群體和特殊利益集團、尊重一切文化表達,即使它是有害 的。這導致了伊斯蘭極端主義(Islamic extremism)有了發言的講台,之後,權力機構對之給予了默認。

不是讓移民去工作並且歸化于瑞典的民主價值觀,而是把他們安置在經濟赤貧的郊區。就是在這些郊區,移民開始仇恨自由並設想在城市里縱火。

那個被《費加羅報》稱贊的社區Rinkeby的失業率是60%。斯德哥爾摩(Stockholm)的一個類似的郊區Tensta的失業率是50%多。執政 的社會民主黨(Social Democratic Party)最知名的移民代表就住在這里,而她因為對暴力和已經在社區扎根的伊斯蘭極端主義的恐懼,正計劃搬出那里。在Malmo郊區,美國 FoxNews電視節目里最近播出了年輕移民向救護車投擲石塊的畫面。但是出于某種原因,法國記者們依然宣稱“瑞典模式的社會融合沒有顯示造成多少不 滿”。

瑞典的福利社會成功不再,或許象這個冰冷的消息一樣,歐洲左派們也感覺冰冷。瑞典經歷了100年的世界最高經濟增長率的時候(1860-1960),那個 社會曾經挺好,但那靠的是企業家。令人痛心的是,那種企業家已經消失了,今天剩下的,就是一個對任何負面評價都大聲批評的社會民主黨總理了。

【Johan Wennstrom是瑞典親市場經濟機構Captus撰稿人。】

原文︰The Awful Truth about Sweden
By Johan Wennstrom (Johan Wennstrom is a writer for the Swedish pro-market organization Captus.)
November 21, 2005
http://www.taemag.com/issues/articleid.18844/article_detail.asp







Okinawa 100, 000 Protest Over Japan Textbook 沖繩大示威



二戰血淚湮滅 沖繩大示威
逾十一萬沖繩人卅日在宜野灣示威,抗議日本政府試圖修編教科書,修改二戰歷史。
(美聯社)

逾十一萬沖繩人廿九日集結示威,抗議日本政府打算修改教科書中有關二次大戰末,日軍強迫當地人集體自殺,以免必須向美軍投降的史實。這是一九七二年美國將沖繩交還日本以來,當地規模最大的群眾集會。

日本歷史教科書記載,二次大戰即將結束時,日軍要求沖繩人以手榴彈集體自殺,以免淪為美軍的俘虜。日本政府去年十二月要求教科書出版商竄改這段史實。沖繩 縣知事仲井真弘多在宜野灣一處公園向示威民眾表示:「日軍曾經向沖繩人分發手榴彈,要求他們集體自殺的史實,不容湮滅。」

參加遊行的人士包括當地民眾與政界人士,另有大約五千人在沖繩附近的宮古島與石垣島示威呼應。這是美國一九七二年將沖繩交還日本以來,當地規模最大的示威。一九九五年,三名駐沖繩美軍輪暴一名當地女童後,曾有八萬五千人上街示威。

日軍強迫沖繩人自殺的敘述獲有歷史研究與大戰生還者及死難者遺族的佐證。史學界指出,日本政府曾經透過宣傳使沖繩人誤以為美軍將對他們施暴,為免淪為俘虜,他們最好集體自殺。

沖繩島戰役發生於一九四五年三月至六月,是太平洋戰爭中死傷最慘烈一役,因而促使美軍使用原子彈結束戰爭;此役也造成約十萬沖繩居民死亡,其中包括五百人自殺。

日本官方的一個小組負責審查新版教科書,得要求出版商修改歷史教科書的內容。日本中學的七種教科書將於明年推出。部分日本保守派人士近年來一再質疑日軍戰時暴行的歷史記載。但一名官員表示,日本文部省並無有關這項修改的即時計畫。

【2007/10/01 聯合報】


100, 000 Protest Over Japan Textbook


Published: September 29, 2007

Filed at 10:31 p.m. ET

TOKYO (AP) -- More than 100,000 people protested Saturday in southern Japan against the central government's order to modify school textbooks which say the country's army forced civilians to commit mass suicide at the end of World War II.

Publishers of history textbooks were ordered in December to modify sections that said the Japanese army -- faced with an impending U.S. invasion in 1945 -- handed out grenades to residents in Okinawa and ordered them to kill themselves rather than surrender to the Americans.

The amendment order came amid moves by Tokyo to soften brutal accounts of Japanese wartime conduct, but triggered immediate condemnation from residents and academics.

About 110,000 residents and politicians attended Saturday's rallies in the prefecture (state) of Okinawa, said Yoshino Uetsu, one of the organizers.

''We cannot bury the fact that the Japanese military was involved in the mass suicide, taking into account of the general background and testimonies that hand grenades were delivered,'' Okinawa Gov. Hirokazu Nakaima told a crowd gathered at a park in Ginowan City.

Accounts of forced group suicides on Okinawa are backed by historical research, as well as testimonies from victims' relatives. Historians also say civilians were induced by government propaganda to believe U.S. soldiers would commit horrible atrocities and therefore killed themselves and their families to avoid capture.

About 500 people committed suicide, according to civic group and media reports.

In recent years, some academics have questioned whether the suicides were forced -- part of a general push by Japanese conservatives to soften criticism of Tokyo's wartime conduct.

The bloody battle in Okinawa raged from late March through June 1945, leaving more than 200,000 civilians and soldiers dead, and speeding the collapse of Japan's defenses. The U.S. occupied Okinawa from the end of World War II until 1972.

New textbooks for use in Japanese schools must be screened and approved by a government-appointed panel, which can order corrections of perceived historical inaccuracies. The publishers of seven textbooks slated for use in high schools next year had been asked to make relevant changes and submit them for approval.

An official of the Education Ministry said Saturday that the ministry has no immediate plans concerning the amendment. She spoke on condition of anonymity, citing policy.

Saturday's rally was the largest in Okinawa since the island was returned to Japan by the United States in 1972, Kyodo News agency said. In 1995, 85,000 people took part in a rally following the 1995 rape of a schoolgirl there by three American servicemen, according to the agency.



2007年9月29日 星期六

Riga

我因為讀一學者的傳記而對Riga 有印象


The Latvian Capital Riga - Restoring The City's Heritage

Most people would be hard pressed to find Riga on the map. But the Latvian capital has an impressive history. It was colonised by German merchants back in the Middle Ages who
shaped the city's historic old quarter. And Riga's art nouveau architecture is credited by UNESCO as being the finest in Europe, listed on the World Heritage List. But the city's residents have also experienced oppression and suffering, not least of all during the Nazi occupation in
the 1940's and then when Latvia was part of the Soviet Union. Today, Riga is the largest city in the Baltic states and since independence it's been rediscovering and restoring its heritage.
(Reporter: Helen Seeney)





Art Nouveau architecture on Central Riga streets such as Alberta and Elizabetes Iela.


Notable people

  • Riga's Old Town at Christmas
    Enlarge
    Riga's Old Town at Christmas
  • Isaiah Berlin - philosopher and Oxford academic

2007年9月28日 星期五

China's epic pollution crisis.

"中國尋找一個水奇跡"

《國際先驅論壇報》以顯著篇幅報道了中國嚴重缺乏水資源的困境。

報道說,中國四處尋找石油、天然氣和礦產資源,以便維持經濟增長,但貿易交易不能解決它的水資源困難。

中國水資源污染
中國水資源嚴重內缺乏和受到污染
在石家莊,去年經濟增長達到11%,但地下水位嚴重下降,每年下降1米,200萬人正逐漸缺水,它所在的華北平原生產全國50%的小麥產量,消耗大量的地下水。

報道說,華北平原的居民超過2億,當地乾旱和缺乏雨水,60%的飲用水來自地下水,專家估計,當地的地下水資源將在30年後枯竭。

中國進行南水北調工程,希望解決北方乾旱的問題,但專家們擔心,這一項目把南方的潔淨水轉移到北方後,將加劇南方水資源的污染。

另一方面,世界最大的水利工程項目三峽大壩已經做成了環境破壞,大壩週圍地區出現了土地侵蝕、泛濫等問題。

不過,在石家莊,和其他中國城市一樣,首要任務是盡快加速增長,該市水利局的官員說,他們出現了缺水的問題,但他們仍得要發展,而且發展是優先任務。



Beneath Booming Cities, China’s Future Is Drying Up

Du Bin for The New York Times

A construction team works an underground tunnel that will allow water to flow beneath a local highway.


Published: September 28, 2007

SHIJIAZHUANG, China — Hundreds of feet below ground, the primary water source for this provincial capital of more than two million people is steadily running dry. The underground water table is sinking about four feet a year. Municipal wells have already drained two-thirds of the local groundwater.

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Above ground, this city in the North China Plain is having a party. Economic growth topped 11 percent last year. Population is rising. A new upscale housing development is advertising waterfront property on lakes filled with pumped groundwater. Another half-built complex, the Arc de Royal, is rising above one of the lowest points in the city’s water table.

“People who are buying apartments aren’t thinking about whether there will be water in the future,” said Zhang Zhongmin, who has tried for 20 years to raise public awareness about the city’s dire water situation.

For three decades, water has been indispensable in sustaining the rollicking economic expansion that has made China a world power. Now, China’s galloping, often wasteful style of economic growth is pushing the country toward a water crisis. Water pollution is rampant nationwide, while water scarcity has worsened severely in north China — even as demand keeps rising everywhere.

China is scouring the world for oil, natural gas and minerals to keep its economic machine humming. But trade deals cannot solve water problems. Water usage in China has quintupled since 1949, and leaders will increasingly face tough political choices as cities, industry and farming compete for a finite and unbalanced water supply.

One example is grain. The Communist Party, leery of depending on imports to feed the country, has long insisted on grain self-sufficiency. But growing so much grain consumes huge amounts of underground water in the North China Plain, which produces half the country’s wheat. Some scientists say farming in the rapidly urbanizing region should be restricted to protect endangered aquifers. Yet doing so could threaten the livelihoods of millions of farmers and cause a spike in international grain prices.

For the Communist Party, the immediate challenge is the prosaic task of forcing the world’s most dynamic economy to conserve and protect clean water. Water pollution is so widespread that regulators say a major incident occurs every other day. Municipal and industrial dumping has left sections of many rivers “unfit for human contact.”

Cities like Beijing and Tianjin have shown progress on water conservation, but China’s economy continues to emphasize growth. Industry in China uses 3 to 10 times more water, depending on the product, than industries in developed nations.

“We have to now focus on conservation,” said Ma Jun, a prominent environmentalist. “We don’t have much extra water resources. We have the same resources and much bigger pressures from growth.”

In the past, the Communist Party has reflexively turned to engineering projects to address water problems, and now it is reaching back to one of Mao’s unrealized plans: the $62 billion South-to-North Water Transfer Project to funnel more than 12 trillion gallons northward every year along three routes from the Yangtze River basin, where water is more abundant. The project, if fully built, would be completed in 2050. The eastern and central lines are already under construction; the western line, the most disputed because of environmental concerns, remains in the planning stages.

The North China Plain undoubtedly needs any water it can get. An economic powerhouse with more than 200 million people, it has limited rainfall and depends on groundwater for 60 percent of its supply. Other countries, like Yemen, India, Mexico and the United States, have aquifers that are being drained to dangerously low levels. But scientists say those below the North China Plain may be drained within 30 years.

“There’s no uncertainty,” said Richard Evans, a hydrologist who has worked in China for two decades and has served as a consultant to the World Bank and China’s Ministry of Water Resources. “The rate of decline is very clear, very well documented. They will run out of groundwater if the current rate continues.”

Outside Shijiazhuang, construction crews are working on the transfer project’s central line, which will provide the city with infusions of water on the way to the final destination, Beijing. For many of the engineers and workers, the job carries a patriotic gloss.

Yet while many scientists agree that the project will provide an important influx of water, they also say it will not be a cure-all. No one knows how much clean water the project will deliver; pollution problems are already arising on the eastern line. Cities and industry will be the beneficiaries of the new water, but the impact on farming is limited. Water deficits are expected to remain.

“Many people are asking the question: What can they do?” said Zheng Chunmiao, a leading international groundwater expert. “They just cannot continue with current practices. They have to find a way to bring the problem under control.”

A Drying Region

On a drizzly, polluted morning last April, Wang Baosheng steered his Chinese-made sport utility vehicle out of a shopping center on the west side of Beijing for a three-hour southbound commute that became a tour of the water crisis on the North China Plain.

Mr. Wang travels several times a month to Shijiazhuang, where he is chief engineer overseeing construction of three miles of the central line of the water transfer project. A light rain splattered the windshield, and he recited a Chinese proverb about the preciousness of spring showers for farmers. He also noticed one dead river after another as his S.U.V. glided over dusty, barren riverbeds: the Yongding, the Yishui, the Xia and, finally, the Hutuo. “You see all these streams with bridges, but there is no water,” he said.

A century or so ago, the North China Plain was a healthy ecosystem, scientists say. Farmers digging wells could strike water within eight feet. Streams and creeks meandered through the region. Swamps, natural springs and wetlands were common.

Today, the region, comparable in size to New Mexico, is parched. Roughly five-sixths of the wetlands have dried up, according to one study. Scientists say that most natural streams or creeks have disappeared. Several rivers that once were navigable are now mostly dust and brush. The largest natural freshwater lake in northern China, Lake Baiyangdian, is steadily contracting and besieged with pollution.

What happened? The list includes misguided policies, unintended consequences, a population explosion, climate change and, most of all, relentless economic growth. In 1963, a flood paralyzed the region, prompting Mao to construct a flood-control system of dams, reservoirs and concrete spillways. Flood control improved but the ecological balance was altered as the dams began choking off rivers that once flowed eastward into the North China Plain.

The new reservoirs gradually became major water suppliers for growing cities like Shijiazhuang. Farmers, the region’s biggest water users, began depending almost exclusively on wells. Rainfall steadily declined in what some scientists now believe is a consequence of climate change.

Before, farmers had compensated for the region’s limited annual rainfall by planting only three crops every two years. But underground water seemed limitless and government policies pushed for higher production, so farmers began planting a second annual crop, usually winter wheat, which requires a lot of water.

By the 1970s, studies show, the water table was already falling. Then Mao’s death and the introduction of market-driven economic reforms spurred a farming renaissance. Production soared, and rural incomes rose. The water table kept falling, further drying out wetlands and rivers.

Around 1900, Shijiazhuang was a collection of farming villages. By 1950, the population had reached 335,000. This year, the city has roughly 2.3 million people with a metropolitan area population of 9 million.

More people meant more demand for water, and the city now heavily pumps groundwater. The water table is falling more than a meter a year. Today, some city wells must descend more than 600 feet to reach clean water. In the deepest drilling areas, steep downward funnels have formed in the water table that are known as “cones of depression.”

Groundwater quality also has worsened. Wastewater, often untreated, is now routinely dumped into rivers and open channels. Mr. Zheng, the water specialist, said studies showed that roughly three-quarters of the region’s entire aquifer system was now suffering some level of contamination.

“There will be no sustainable development in the future if there is no groundwater supply,” said Liu Changming, a leading Chinese hydrology expert and a senior scholar at the Chinese Academy of Sciences.

A National Project

Three decades ago, when Deng Xiaoping shifted China from Maoist ideology and fixated the country on economic growth, a generation of technocrats gradually took power and began rebuilding a country that ideology had almost destroyed. Today, the top leaders of the Communist Party — including Hu Jintao, China’s president and party chief — were trained as engineers.

Though not members of the political elite, Wang Baosheng, the engineer on the water transfer project, and his colleague Yang Guangjie are of the same background. This spring, at the site outside Shijiazhuang, bulldozers clawed at a V-shaped cut in the dirt while teams of workers in blue jumpsuits and orange hard hats smoothed wet cement over a channel that will be almost as wide as a football field.

“I’ve been to the Hoover Dam, and I really admire the people who built that,” said Mr. Yang, the project manager. “At the time, they were making a huge contribution to the development of their country.”

He compared China’s transfer project to the water diversion system devised for southern California in the last century. “Maybe we are like America in the 1920s and 1930s,” he said. “We’re building the country.”

China’s disadvantage, compared with the United States, is that it has a smaller water supply yet almost five times as many people. China has about 7 percent of the world’s water resources and roughly 20 percent of its population. It also has a severe regional water imbalance, with about four-fifths of the water supply in the south.

Mao’s vision of borrowing water from the Yangtze for the north had an almost profound simplicity, but engineers and scientists spent decades debating the project before the government approved it, partly out of desperation, in 2002. Today, demand is far greater in the north, and water quality has badly deteriorated in the south. Roughly 41 percent of China’s wastewater is now dumped in the Yangtze, raising concerns that siphoning away clean water northward will exacerbate pollution problems in the south.

The upper reaches of the central line are expected to be finished in time to provide water to Beijing for the Olympic Games next year. Mr. Evans, the World Bank consultant, called the complete project “essential” but added that success would depend on avoiding waste and efficiently distributing the water.

Mr. Liu, the scholar and hydrologist, said that farming would get none of the new water and that cities and industry must quickly improve wastewater treatment. Otherwise, he said, cities will use the new water to dump more polluted wastewater. Shijiazhuang now dumps untreated wastewater into a canal that local farmers use to irrigate fields.

For years, Chinese officials thought irrigation efficiency was the answer for reversing groundwater declines. Eloise Kendy, a hydrology expert with The Nature Conservancy who has studied the North China Plain, said that farmers had made improvements but that the water table had kept sinking. Ms. Kendy said the spilled water previously considered “wasted” had actually soaked into the soil and recharged the aquifer. Efficiency erased that recharge. Farmers also used efficiency gains to irrigate more land.

Ms. Kendy said scientists had discovered that the water table was dropping because of water lost by evaporation and transpiration from the soil, plants and leaves. This lost water is a major reason the water table keeps dropping, scientists say.

Farmers have no choice. They drill deeper.

Difficult Choices Ahead

For many people living in the North China Plain, the notion of a water crisis seems distant. No one is crawling across a parched desert in search of an oasis. But every year, the water table keeps dropping. Nationally, groundwater usage has almost doubled since 1970 and now accounts for one-fifth of the country’s total water usage, according to the China Geological Survey Bureau.

The Communist Party is fully aware of the problems. A new water pollution law is under consideration that would sharply increase fines against polluters. Different coastal cities are building desalination plants. Multinational waste treatment companies are being recruited to help tackle the enormous wastewater problem.

Many scientists believe that huge gains can still be reaped by better efficiency and conservation. In north China, pilot projects are under way to try to reduce water loss from winter wheat crops. Some cities have raised the price of water to promote conservation, but it remains subsidized in most places. Already, some cities along the route of the transfer project are recoiling because of the planned higher prices. Some say they may just continue pumping.

Tough political choices, though, seem unavoidable. Studies by different scientists have concluded that the rising water demands in the North China Plain make it unfeasible for farmers to continue planting a winter crop. The international ramifications would be significant if China became an ever bigger customer on world grain markets. Some analysts have long warned that grain prices could steadily rise, contributing to inflation and making it harder for other developing countries to buy food.

The social implications would also be significant inside China. Near Shijiazhuang, Wang Jingyan’s farming village depends on wells that are more than 600 feet deep. Not planting winter wheat would amount to economic suicide.

“We would lose 60 percent or 70 percent of our income if we didn’t plant winter wheat,” Mr. Wang said. “Everyone here plants winter wheat.”

Another water proposal is also radical: huge, rapid urbanization. Scientists say converting farmland into urban areas would save enough water to stop the drop in the water table, if not reverse it, because widespread farming still uses more water than urban areas. Of course, large-scale urbanization, already under way, could worsen air quality; Shijiazhuang’s air already ranks among the worst in China because of heavy industrial pollution.

For now, Shijiazhuang’s priority, like that of other major Chinese cities, is to grow as quickly as possible. The city’s gross domestic product has risen by an average of 10 percent every year since 1980, even as the city’s per capita rate of available water is now only one thirty-third of the world average.

“We have a water shortage, but we have to develop,” said Wang Yongli, a senior engineer with the city’s water conservation bureau. “And development is going to be put first.”

Mr. Wang has spent four decades charting the steady extinction of the North China Plain’s aquifer. Water in Shijiazhuang, with more than 800 illegal wells, is as scarce as it is in Israel, he said. “In Israel, people regard water as more important than life itself,” he said. “In Shijiazhuang, it’s not that way. People are focused on the economy.”

Jake Hooker contributed reporting from north China. Huang Yuanxi contributed research from Beijing.

2007年9月27日 星期四

柬埔寨邀國際協助保護文物古跡

柬埔寨邀國際協助保護文物古跡
蓋伊﹒德洛內
BBC新聞網記者暹粒報道

吳哥窟
吳哥窟也有被掠奪的情況

柬埔寨邀請國際執法機構來幫助保護該國的文物古跡。

這些獲邀協助向柬埔寨新成立的國家遺產警察提供咨詢的機構包括美國的國土安全部和聯邦調查局。

他們希望可以制止當地很多神殿中的雕塑被掠奪的情況。

柬埔寨國內幾十年的衝突在1990年代結束,但是和平環境并沒有使柬埔寨的文物古跡得到保護,相反偷盜走私活動越來越嚴重。

柬埔寨政府與聯合國教科文組織迅速采取措施,以便保護世界著名的遺產吳哥窟和附近的廟宇。

但是,邊遠地區的文物古跡則只有聽天由命。

訂單

美國的機構和當地官員已經在暹粒會面,商討保護剩餘的文物的方法。

美國特工赫斯特女士說,他們在處理伊拉克被盜竊文物方面的經驗非常重要。

她說:"我們可以對如何防範這類破壞提供訓練。有一些古畫和錢幣從伊拉克盜竊出來,走私到美國去。"

她說:"我們就起訴那些走私和在美國接贓的人。"

很多柬埔寨的文物都是按照個人收藏家發出的訂單而盜取的。

其他一些則在國際拍賣行出現,所以當局必須阻截這些反走私專家的協助。

柬埔寨警察人力不足,缺少資金。這些專家在偵查和保護工作方面可提供幫助。

對柬埔寨而言,制止偷盜文物古跡事關國家尊嚴,柬埔寨國旗上藍紅藍三色之間的圖案就是吳哥窟,而且隨著遊客日漸增加,保護文物古跡也對經濟有重要作用。

2007年9月23日 星期日

林邊鄉

林邊鄉往昔是樹木蒼鬱的原野,故取名為曰「林仔邊」

2007年9月22日 星期六

聯經報系顧問侯家駒過世三則新聞 其他報系都從缺

經濟學者侯家駒教授於19日凌晨在睡夢中去世,侯教授本周日才剛和家人好友慶祝80歲生日,十分快樂,未料遽然過世,親友和學生都十分難過。

侯教授曾創辦東吳大學國際貿易系、經濟研究所博士班。在經濟學領域,先治價格理論,後專研中國經濟史,著作豐富。生前,侯教授一直擔任聯經出版公司監察人、編輯委員會主任委員。

侯教授於民國17年出生於安徽無為農村。36年投筆從戎,隨青年軍來台,擔任少尉記者。後參加43年的第一屆大學聯考,入台灣省立農學院(中興大學前身)就讀,畢業後再考入中興大學農經研究所。52年獲得澳洲政府獎學金,進入新英格蘭大學,以價格分析為主題再獲碩士學位。

返台後先任教於中國文化學院,59年轉任東吳大學經濟系直至退休。從63年開始,改以中國經濟史及經濟思想史為研究重心,先後著有「中國經濟思想史」、 「先秦儒家自由經濟思想」、「先秦法家統制經濟思想」、「周禮研究」、「中國財金制度史論」等書。七十餘萬言的「中國經濟史」出版於94年,是對中國經濟 發展軌跡的總結。

侯教授除教學研究外,也擔任經建會諮詢委員多年,並為「經濟日報」撰寫社論及每周專欄,對經濟問題提出檢討與建議,影響很大。又為「經濟日報」主編「中華民國經濟年鑑」,編輯委員有費景漢等11人,為台灣的經濟發展留下珍貴紀錄。





經濟學界大老侯家駒19日凌晨於睡夢中,悄然告別人世,享年80歲。
(本報系資料照片)

經濟學者侯家駒教授19日凌晨在睡夢中安祥辭世,享壽80歲。侯家駒先鑽研價格理論,後跨足中國經濟史,驟然過世,讓親友與學生相當感傷。

侯家駒8月6日在子孫簇擁下,回到大陸老家安徽無為歡度80大壽,上周日也剛跟家人一起過農曆生日,沒想到周三卻突然撒手人寰。侯家駒雖然走得突然,但親友都認為他能夠在睡夢中安祥辭世,是一種福氣,也是人生的圓滿。

侯家駒先後任教中國文化學院,59年轉任東吳大學經濟系直至退休,從63年開始,改以中國經濟史及經濟思想史為研究重心,先後著有中國經濟思想史、先秦儒 家自由經濟思想、先秦法家統制經濟思想、周禮研究、中國財金制度史論等書,其中70餘萬言的中國經濟史出版於94年,是對中國經濟發展軌跡的總結。

侯家駒除教學研究,也擔任經建會諮詢委員多年,並為經濟日報撰寫社論與每周專欄,對經濟問題提出檢討與建議,擲地有聲觀點,也影響時局。

由於侯家駒生於亂世,求學過程坎坷,他在89年成立侯門基金會,每年提供東吳大學國貿系與經濟系各一名獎助學金,對於大陸老家無為,侯家駒也提供考上重點大學學子財力支柱,讓有心向學的學子可以完成學業。

不過近來銀行利率低,基金的孳息少,侯門基金會財務成為侯家駒晚年最掛念的事情,因此在侯家駒過世後,侯家三兄弟已決定將父親名下一棟房子捐助給基金會,讓父親的遺愛在人間繼續發揚光大。


經濟學大老侯家駒教授本周三凌晨在睡夢中去世。東吳大學國際貿易系、經濟研究所博士班都是由他創辦。

侯家駒除教學研究外,也擔任經建會諮詢委員多年,並為經濟日報撰寫社論與每周專欄,提出經濟問題檢討與建議,影響時局很大。

他的兒子、台大物理系教授侯維恕表示,侯家駒約在半個月前,回到大陸安徽無為老家,並在家鄉歡度八十大壽,此生應是圓滿無憾。

侯家駒一心扶植國內經濟學教育,不僅一手創辦東吳大學國貿系及經濟研究所博士班,七年前更成立侯門基金會,每年提供三個獎學金名額,給東吳大學國貿系、研究所,及安徽無為老家考上中國大陸重點大學的優秀學生。

侯維恕說,他父親晚年衣食無虞,但始終為了基金會是否能順利運作而掛心。侯家三兄弟已決定捐出父親名下的一棟房產,希望能讓侯家駒一手創立的侯門基金會能夠順利繼續運作。

民國十七年他出生於安徽農村,十九歲投筆從戎,隨青年軍來台,擔任少尉記者。後來參加台灣第一屆大學聯考,進入台灣省立農學院(中興大學前身)就讀,後來陸續取得中興大學農經研究所、新英格蘭大學碩士學位。

返台後,他先在中國文化學院任教,五十九年轉任東吳大學經濟系,直至退休。從六十三年開始鑽研中國經濟史及經濟思想史,著有「中國經濟思想史」、「先秦儒家自由經濟思想」、「先秦法家統制經濟思想」、「周禮研究」、「中國財金制度史論」、「中國經濟史」等書。

Languages Die, but Not Their Last Words

每兩周 就有一種語言死亡
【聯合報╱編譯組╱美聯社華盛頓十八日電】

語言學家十八日表示,全球目前約有七千種語言,每兩周有一種語言消失,其中有五個地區的語言瀕臨最大危險,包括俄羅斯東部西伯利亞、中國與日本這一區。

美國「現存口語瀕危語言研究所」及國家地理學會在十八日的簡報會上列出五大地區。

澳洲北部總共有一百五十三種語言瀕臨消失,包括Magati Ke和Yawuru,各只有三人會說,Amurdag則只有一個人會說。

包括厄瓜多爾、哥倫比亞、秘魯、巴西和玻利維亞在內的中南美洲地區,有一百一十三種語言瀕臨消失。使用者極少、社會上較不重視的印第安語言,被西班牙語、葡萄牙語和較強勢的印第安語言取代。

包括加拿大卑詩省、美國華盛頓州及俄勒岡州的北美太平洋沿岸高原,有五十四種語言瀕臨消失。在此地區的美國部分,會說瀕臨消失語言的最年輕者超過六十歲,其中Siletz Deeni只有一人會說,這是俄勒岡州Siletz印第安保留區原本通行之廿七種語言的最後一種。

俄羅斯東部西伯利亞、中國與日本共有廿三種語言有消失之虞。此地區的政府政策迫使少數民族使用國家和地區的官方語言,導致只剩幾個老人會說方言。

美國奧克拉荷馬州、德州和新墨西哥州,共有四十種語言瀕臨危險。奧克拉荷馬是全美印第安語言種類最密集的州之一,該州奄奄一息的語言是Yuchi,可能與全球其他任何語言都沒有關聯。到二○○五年為止,Yuchi部落只有五名老人能以該語言流暢溝通。

語言學家指出,失去語言意味失去人類思想的累積,目前多達半數語言沒有書寫紀錄,也就是說,假如最後一個會說某種語言的人去世,該語言就隨著此人消失,因 為沒有任何字典、文學或文字記錄這種語言。要使一種語言復活的關鍵,是設法讓新一代會說該語言。全球八成人口說目前通行最廣的八十三種語言,另有三千五百 種語言只有百分之零點二的人口會說,弱勢語言面臨的危險,甚至比動植物瀕臨絕種更加嚴重。




September 19, 2007

Languages Die, but Not Their Last Words

Of the estimated 7,000 languages spoken in the world today, linguists say, nearly half are in danger of extinction and likely to disappear in this century. In fact, one falls out of use about every two weeks.

Some languages vanish in an instant, at the death of the sole surviving speaker. Others are lost gradually in bilingual cultures, as indigenous tongues are overwhelmed by the dominant language at school, in the marketplace and on television.

New research, reported yesterday, has found the five regions where languages are disappearing most rapidly: northern Australia, central South America, North America’s upper Pacific coastal zone, eastern Siberia, and Oklahoma and the southwestern United States. All have indigenous people speaking diverse languages, in falling numbers.

The study was based on field research and data analysis supported by the National Geographic Society and the Living Tongues Institute for Endangered Languages. The findings are described in the October issue of National Geographic and at languagehotspots.org.

In a teleconference with reporters yesterday, K. David Harrison, an associate professor of linguistics at Swarthmore, said that more than half the languages had no written form and were “vulnerable to loss and being forgotten.” Their loss leaves no dictionary, no text, no record of the accumulated knowledge and history of a vanished culture.

Beginning what is expected to be a long-term project to identify and record endangered languages, Dr. Harrison has traveled to many parts of the world with Gregory D. S. Anderson, director of the Living Tongues Institute, in Salem, Ore., and Chris Rainier, a filmmaker with the National Geographic Society.

The researchers, focusing on distinct oral languages, not dialects, interviewed and made recordings of the few remaining speakers of a language and collected basic word lists. The individual projects, some lasting three to four years, involve hundreds of hours of recording speech, developing grammars and preparing children’s readers in the obscure language. The research has concentrated on preserving entire language families.

In Australia, where nearly all the 231 spoken tongues are endangered, the researchers came upon three known speakers of Magati Ke in the Northern Territory, and three Yawuru speakers in Western Australia. In July, Dr. Anderson said, they met the sole speaker of Amurdag, a language in the Northern Territory that had been declared extinct.

“This is probably one language that cannot be brought back, but at least we made a record of it,” Dr. Anderson said, noting that the Aborigine who spoke it strained to recall words he had heard from his father, now dead.

Many of the 113 languages in the region from the Andes Mountains into the Amazon basin are poorly known and are giving way to Spanish or Portuguese, or in a few cases, a more dominant indigenous language. In this area, for example, a group known as the Kallawaya use Spanish or Quechua in daily life, but also have a secret tongue mainly for preserving knowledge of medicinal plants, some previously unknown to science.

“How and why this language has survived for more than 400 years, while being spoken by very few, is a mystery,” Dr. Harrison said in a news release.

The dominance of English threatens the survival of the 54 indigenous languages in the Northwest Pacific plateau, a region including British Columbia, Washington and Oregon. Only one person remains who knows Siletz Dee-ni, the last of many languages once spoken on a reservation in Oregon.

In eastern Siberia, the researchers said, government policies have forced speakers of minority languages to use the national and regional languages, like Russian or Sakha.

Forty languages are still spoken in Oklahoma, Texas and New Mexico, many of them originally used by Indian tribes and others introduced by Eastern tribes that were forced to resettle on reservations, mainly in Oklahoma. Several of the languages are moribund.

Another measure of the threat to many relatively unknown languages, Dr. Harrison said, is that 83 languages with “global” influence are spoken and written by 80 percent of the world population. Most of the others face extinction at a rate, the researchers said, that exceeds that of birds, mammals, fish and plants.





Forget the Vespa: Making Your 2 Wheels a Bike in Rome

Forget the Vespa: Making Your 2 Wheels a Bike in Rome

Chris Warde-Jones for The New York Times

Bikes at the ready on the Piazza di Spagna.


Published: September 23, 2007

CAESAR, clad in a bedsheet toga, lighted a morning cigarette next to a centurion wearing a plastic helmet. Both were leaning against a railing on the slope above the Colosseum. But before anyone snapped their photo, I had coasted 300 yards to the Colosseum’s deserted eastern plaza, where it was easier to conjure the lions’ roars and cheering Romans across 16 centuries. Veni, vidi, bicicletti — I came, I saw, I cycled.

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Rome Travel Guide

Chris Warde-Jones for The New York Times

Bicycles are a good way to visit the Colosseum.

Subways don’t run through the old part of the city, cabs are often stuck in gridlock, and walkers quickly come to rue the fact that Rome was built on seven hills. But for bicyclists, the Eternal City offers eternal rewards. Rome is, after all, a city of contrasts, best appreciated via rapid mobility between medieval alleyways and airy piazzas, oozing marshes and sycamore-lined heights, crumbled antiquities and Baroque expanses.

Although the city’s hills, old cobblestones and dense streets can make biking difficult for some, it’s now easier than ever to enjoy the sights from the perch of a bicycle seat. The number of bicycle lanes and rental shops and the indulgence of Rome’s otherwise aggressive drivers make biking in Rome convenient. Also, the municipal government occasionally bans private motor traffic in central Rome for a day, making the city a biker’s paradise.

“Bike riding has gotten more popular due to the city’s antipollution politics,” said Alessandro Piccione, a Roman engineer pedaling along the Tiber immaculately dressed (of course) in a blazer on his way to work. “I don’t just bike working days, but weekends, too. It saves a lot of time and trouble parking.”

The downside: he’s had two bikes stolen in the past year.

I biked through the city on a busy late-summer weekday and was instantly hooked. I started that morning from my hotel, the Hassler, which crowns the Spanish Steps.

The doorman lent me one of the hotel’s elegant black bikes, and I was off for what I thought would be a short ride through the leafy pathways of the Borghese Gardens, the Roman version of Central Park. But once I started coasting down the glamorous Via Veneto from the park toward the Colosseum, I knew this was the best way to see the city.

Using the bike lane that runs along the east bank of the Tiber through the entire city as my main artery, I darted back and forth between major sites and monuments, seldom more than five minutes of pedaling from the river.

Getting lost was fun, too. Picking my way through the labyrinthine medieval alleys around the Via dei Coronari, I was suddenly hit by the blinding sun and the unexpected vastness of the Piazza Navona, where in the first century crowds of 30,000 cheered chariot races.

After pedaling around the pedestrian square and its Bernini fountain, I swooped back into the darkness of an alley and returned to the sunlight at the Piazza della Rotonda alongside the huge dome of the Pantheon, still intact after 19 centuries.

Then it was back to the Tiber, and within five minutes I had darted into another alleyway leading to the cramped 16th-century Jewish Ghetto before emerging once again into the openness of the Campo dei Fiori. In all, a day of rapid light and shadow with a couple of great meals thrown in.

Rome’s usual traffic jammed almost every major road. But it’s easy to get into the flow: just follow the flocks of scooters that zip between the creeping cars like ranch dogs amid cattle. When pedaling in Rome, do as the scooters do: get to the front at a red light to avoid the crush of cars. When the lights turn green, get over to the right to let the cars pass you.

BUT bikes have plenty of advantages over scooters — like access. Metal bars prevent motor vehicles, but not bicycles, from crossing the elegant Ponte Fabricio, which, since 62 B.C., Romans have used to cross to Tiber Island.

In Trastevere, the lively neighborhood west of the river, most alleys are open only to pedestrians and bicyclists. Zooming around the outdoor cafes and stalls was a bit like flying through the trench of the Death Star, only with the scent of glorious food mingling in the air.

The best part of the ride was the Via Appia Antica, the ancient road — now a regional park — lined with Roman tombs and ruins southeast of the city. These old patches of flagstone once reverberated with the sounds of legionnaires and chariots; my bike became a gentle coda to this ancient symphony.

Rome is courteous to cyclists; unlike in New York, not a single car honked at me all day. The only problem was securing my bike at museums and churches. Most places don’t have bike racks, so I had to chain my bike to banisters and such, once drawing a polite rebuke from an elderly concierge.

Toward evening, I was chaining up the bike behind a cafe at the Piazza del Popolo, the elliptical Baroque square inside Rome’s old northern gate. A waiter spotted me and waved his fingers in mock scolding.

“This is how we do it here,” he explained, walking my ride to the edge of the sidewalk by an empty table. He gingerly propped the bike up by leaning the pedal on the raised sidewalk. Then he sat me down for an al fresco meal of Roman proportions, well deserved after wheeling through 27 centuries.

VISITOR INFORMATION

RENTALS

There are several excellent places for renting bikes around Rome, many offering a selection, from mountain bikes to tandems. You’ll need to leave behind a passport or some other form of documentation.

While the current exchange rate means that Italy is expensive for American visitors, bike rentals are still a bargain. Standard prices start at 4 euros ($5.60 at $1.40 to the euro) an hour and 12 euros ($16.80) a day. Some choices:

Bici & Baci (Via del Viminale 5; 39-06-482-8443; www.bicibaci.com), two blocks west of the Stazione Termini.

Danilo Collalti (Via del Pellegrino 80/82; 39-06-6880-1084).

Bici Pincio (Viale della Pineta; 39-06-678-4374) in the Borghese Gardens.

You can also arrange to have rental bikes delivered to your hotel. The Hotel Hassler (Piazza Trinità dei Moni 6; 39-06-699-340; www.hotelhasslerroma.com) offers guests free use of its bike fleet.

BIKING THE VIA APPIA

The headquarters for the Parco Via Appia Antica (Via Appia Antica 42; 39-06-513-5316) is two miles from the Colosseum, outside the Porta San Sebastiano, and offers bike rentals (3 euros an hour for the first three hours, and 10 euros a day). They have a helpful and detailed brochure featuring interesting bicycle itineraries (online at www.parcoappiaantica.it). Biking the Via Appia Antica is especially nice on Sundays, when it’s closed to motorized traffic.

2007年9月21日 星期五

Bilbao, 10 Years Later

Bilbao, 10 Years Later

Denis Doyle for The New York Times

The Guggenheim Bilbao along the banks of the Nervión River. The river was once polluted by industrial waste.


Published: September 23, 2007

A LIGHT patter bounced off the titanium fish scales of the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao as a tour bus pulled up beside “Puppy,” Jeff Koons's 43-foot-tall topiary terrier made of freshly potted pansies. A stream of tourists fanned out across the crisp limestone plaza, tripping over each other as they rushed to capture the moment on camera. After the frisson of excitement dimmed, they made their way down a gently sloping stairway and into the belly of the museum, paying 10.50 euros to see the work of an artist that most had never heard of.

It was a ritual that repeated itself several times an hour, like a well-run multiplex. And if Anselm Kiefer, the controversial post-war German artist, was eclipsed by the metallic blob that held a retrospective of his work, consider how Bilbao, a rusty port city on the northern coast of Spain, stacked up to the very museum that put it on the cultural map.

“We don't know anything about Bilbao besides the Guggenheim,” said Luigi Fattore, 28, a financial analyst from Paris, who was taking pictures of his girlfriend under the puppy. As if to underscore the point, they showed up at the museum's doorstep with their suitcase in tow. “We've arrived half an hour ago,” he said, “and went straight to the Guggenheim. Aside from the museum, we don't have any plans.”

Such is the staying power of Frank O. Gehry's architectural showstopper, 10 years after it crash-landed on the public psyche like a new Hollywood starlet. The iridescent structure wasn't just a new building; it was a cultural extravaganza.

No less an authority than Philip Johnson deemed it “the greatest building of our time.” The swooping form began showing up everywhere, from car ads to MTV rap videos, like architectural bling. And in certain artistic and architectural social circles, a pilgrimage to Bilbao became de rigueur, with the question “Have you been to Bilbao?” a kind of cocktail party game that marked someone either as a culture vulture or a clueless rube.

“No one had heard of Bilbao or knew where it was,” said Terence Riley, director of the Miami Art Museum and a former architecture and design curator at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. “Nobody knew how to spell it.”

The Guggenheim changed that overnight. Microsoft Word, Mr. Riley noted, added “Bilbao” to its spell checker. And as word of the Guggenheim spread, tourists of all stripes began converging onto the small industrial city — the Pittsburgh of Spain — just to check it off their list.

“I've been down there four times,” Mr. Riley added proudly. “That's probably more than most.”

Even for those who couldn't spell “Bilbao,” let alone pronounce it (bill-BAH-o), the city became synonymous with the ensuing worldwide rush by urbanists to erect trophy buildings, in the hopes of turning second-tier cities into tourist magnets. The so-called Bilbao Effect was studied in universities throughout the world as a textbook example of how to repackage cities with “wow-factor” architecture. And as cities from Denver to Dubai followed in Bilbao's footsteps, Mr. Gehry and his fellow starchitects were elevated to the role of urban messiahs.

But what has the Bilbao Effect meant for Bilbao?

I first visited Bilbao in 1999, a lone, wide-eyed tourist who had read about the “Miracle in Bilbao” on the cover of The New York Times Magazine, in which the paper's architecture critic, Herbert Muschamp, likened the “voluptuous” museum to “the reincarnation of Marilyn Monroe.” And on that cold and dark March afternoon, when the lush green folds of the region's coastal mountains were shrouded behind a gray veil, the Guggenheim indeed glinted like a blonde metallic bombshell.

After loading my 35-millimeter camera, I took pictures of the museum's sinuous curves, surreptitiously ran my fingers across the titanium shingles and marveled at the galleries' lack of right angles. Oh, there was art, too: Jenny Holzer's soaring L.E.D. columns, a collection of sketches from Albrecht Dürer to Robert Rauschenberg and — caged behind a chain-link fence in a parking lot — one of Richard Serra's “Torqued Ellipses” for a future exhibition.

But the thing that struck me most, more than the dazzling architecture or cool art, was the horrible smell. Here was this magnificent museum, the most celebrated piece of architecture in a generation, and yet the river beside it was as brown as sludge and as putrid as a sewer — a world-class museum swimming in third-world biohazard.

The Guggenheim, I later learned, was built on a former shipyard, and the Nervión River, which snakes through Bilbao to the Bay of Biscay, was the nexus of Spain's Industrial Revolution. Blessed with iron-rich mountains, railroads and an excellent port, Bilbao blossomed in the late 19th century with metalworks and shipbuilding. But a century of belching factories turned the mighty Nervión into a toxic cesspool, earning the city the unflattering nickname “El Botxo,” the Basque word for hole.

But the iron mines eventually gave out; shipbuilding moved to Asia. And when the Guggenheim opened its doors in October 1997, what remained was a Dickensian waterfront of rusting cargo rigs and hollow warehouses. Farther up the river, grease-coated factories croaked along its lifeless banks, like a cemetery for the Industrial Age.

The rest of the city hadn't fared much better. The boulevards radiating from the Guggenheim may have evoked grandeur with their neo-Baroque facades and monumentality, but they were caked in soot and sadly devoid of street life. Sure, there were other signs of design — the caterpillar-like entrances by Norman Foster for a new metro system, a sweeping footbridge by Santiago Calatrava — but they only made the city seem dingier, like a polished fork in a tray of dirty silverware.

But if Bilbao wasn't exactly ready for its tourist spotlight, the gray industrial air gave the city a raw authenticity and gritty undercurrent that was charmingly provincial. In the Casco Viejo quarter, on the other side of the river, the urine-soaked cobblestones and graffiti-covered walls (mostly in support of the Basque separatist group E.T.A.) may have needed a good scrub. But it felt like a real neighborhood, warts and all, that was proudly oblivious, bordering on rude, to tourists.

In the morning, stumpy grandmothers waited in line for fresh bread and Bayonne ham at antiquated shops. By noon, old men sat in dingy pintxos bars drinking txakoli, a semi-sparkling white wine. And when the weekend rolled around, the dark alleyways vibrated with roving bands of Basque youths stumbling between pubs and drinking kalimotxos, a local concoction made from cheap wine and cola. The futuristic Guggenheim seemed to be in another city, far removed from the grubby fish markets and well-tended flower boxes that gave old Bilbao its character.

That cultural schism, however, began to dissolve. In its first year, the Guggenheim was clocking about 100,000 visitors a month. And rather than drop off precipitously like a summer blockbuster, attendance rates have leveled off to “a cruising speed of around one million visitors a year,” said Juan Ignacio Vidarte, the Guggenheim's director, adding that the vast majority were from outside the Basque region, and more than half from other countries. By the end of 2006, some nine million visitors had paid homage to Gehry's miracle.

THE impact on this city of 354,000 was dramatic. Charmless business hotels and musty pensions were supplanted by trendy hotels like the Domine Bilbao and a Sheraton designed by the Mexican architect Ricardo Legorreta. The rusty shipyards near the Guggenheim were razed for a manicured greenbelt of playgrounds, bicycle paths and riverside cafes. A lime-green tram was strung along the river, linking the Guggenheim to Casco Viejo and beyond.

And all across the city, a who's who of architects added their marquee names to Bilbao's work-in-progress skyline: Álvaro Siza (university building), Cesar Pelli (40-story office tower), Santiago Calatrava (airport terminal), Zaha Hadid (master plan), Philippe Starck (wine warehouse conversion), Robert A. M. Stern (shopping mall) and Rafael Moneo (library), to name just a few. It's as if Bilbao went on a shopping spree, commissioning a trophy case of starchitects and Pritzker Architecture Prize winners.

A tangle of construction cranes today rises over the city's terra-cotta rooftops, but the changes are already apparent at the street level. Bilbao, a muscular town of steelworkers and engineers, is slowly becoming a more effete city of hotel clerks and art collectors.

The city's main artery, Gran Vía de Don Diego López de Haro, is no longer a soot-stained canyon of bank offices. In the tradition of the Champs-Élysées, the sidewalks were widened, curbside parking removed and stone buildings scrubbed. On a warm Friday last May, shoppers streamed out of countless Zara boutiques. Men in natty business suits sat on benches, smoking cigarettes and reading El País. In front of the opulent Hotel Carlton, a handsome couple was being married.

The beautification was echoed throughout the city. Traffic circles like Plazas Campuzano and Indauxtu had been transformed into piazza-like parks, with sculptural lampposts, ergonomic benches and ultramodern landscaping. In place of polluting cars, laughing children now use them as impromptu soccer fields.

Casco Viejo was almost unrecognizable. The graffiti had been erased. The stone facades sandblasted. And old butchers shared the sidewalk with H & M and Billabong.

At lunchtime, crowds converged on upscale pintxos bars like Sasibil, grazing on octopus and Iberian ham sandwiches, which were exhibited like jewelry under polished glass cases and halogen lights. After sundown, well-dressed couples strolled through the warren of alleyways and tunnels, now brightly illuminated by cheery shop windows and klieg-like streetlamps.

But the most striking metamorphosis wasn't cosmetic: the Nervión River no longer stank. With the sludge-spewing factories gone and sewage treatment plants installed, the river began to heal itself. It may not be as blue as the Danube (the color today is more like a rusty green), but within an hour of my arrival, I spotted a lone sculler in a red jersey, gliding by a pair of cormorants.

The cleaner water, however, hasn't necessarily brought more tourists upriver. Despite a host of tourist information centers, including a glass shed outside the Guggenheim staffed with professional guides and a rainbow of color brochures, Bilbao remains very much a one-attraction town.

On a cloudless Sunday morning, the Museo de Bellas Artes — with important works by El Greco, Francis Bacon and Eduardo Chillida — was nearly empty, despite a 2001 expansion and being just a quick stroll from the Guggenheim. Maybe that's why the museum closes at 2 p.m. on Sundays. (At least it was open. The city — restaurants, grocery stores, cafes — shuts down on Sundays; everything, that is, except the Guggenheim.)

The Maritime Museum, which traces the city's port and sailing history, was completely deserted, save for the bored-looking woman at the ticket counter. Even the Moyúa neighborhood next to the Guggenheim, which should have benefited from the Bilbao Effect most acutely, is far from tourist ready. There's one postcard store across the street and a couple of hip restaurants nearby, but this residential district is otherwise filled with featureless stucco apartments, five-and-dimes and plain bodegas. A clutch of art galleries have sprung up along Calle Juan Ajuriaguerra, but its proximity to the Guggenheim is merely coincidental.

“There's no art market in Bilboa,” said Javier Gimeno Martiñez-Sapiña, who owns the year-old photogallery20. “I don't think the Guggenheim has helped. It's still very hard for local artists to sell art here. They have to go to Madrid or Barcelona.”

No wonder many guidebooks still devote as many pages to the Guggenheim — reprinting floor plans, offering tips and expounding on the museum's design — as they do the rest of Bilbao. On paper at least, Bilbao seems to have it all: world-class museum, fine Basque cuisine, a rollicking night life and lots of shopping. But like the new bike paths that were rarely used during my visit, the city lacks the critical mass of attractions to take it from a provincial post-industrial town, to a global cosmopolitan city. And in the meantime, it is losing the shabby edge that gave the city its earlier appeal.

The concentration of first-rate architecture is astounding, even without Gehry's titanium masterpiece. But architecture alone does not a city make. Bilbao is all dressed-up, but hasn't figured where to go.

“Our local culture still hasn't integrated with the Guggenheim,” said Alfonso Martínez Cearra, the general manager of Bilbao Metropoli-30, a public-private partnership that is guiding the city's revitalization. “This is still an industrial city.”

The disconnect between Bilbao the brand, and Bilbao the city was on display one Saturday night, when the narrow streets of Casco Viejo were once again packed with young bar-hoppers. The smell of marijuana wafted from a crowd outside a bar on Calle de Somera. In the group was Ikel, a 22-year-old studying to be an engineer, like his father.

“I've never been to the Guggenheim,” Ikel said between puffs, as mechanical street cleaners starting scrubbing beer and urine from the cobblestones. “It's for tourists.”

VISITOR INFORMATION

GETTING THERE

Flights from New York to Bilbao, with stopovers in either Paris or Madrid, start at about $700 for travel next month on a number of airlines, including Iberia. From Bilbao airport, a taxi to the city center is about 25 euros ($35 at $1.40 to the euro).

Most attractions can be reached by foot, though the futuristic metro system is an attraction in itself. A BilbaoCard, for unlimited metro and tram rides, plus museum discounts, starts at 6 euros for a day and can be purchased on the city's tourism Web site (www.bilbao.net/bilbaoturismo).

WHERE TO STAY

Iturrienea Ostatua (Santa Maria Kalea 14; 34-944-16-15-00; www.iturrieneaostatua.com) offers Old World charms and exposed oak beams in the heart of Casco Viejo, with rates staring at 60 euros. Ask for a room with a balcony overlooking the cobblestone street.

Gran Hotel Domine Bilbao (Alameda de Mazarredo 61; 34-94-425-33-00; www.granhoteldominebilbao.com) is across the street from the Guggenheim and has 145 modern rooms starting at 140 euros a night. The rooftop terrace offers great views of the museum and surrounding hills.

Hesperia Bilbao (Campo Volantín 28; 34-94-405-11-00; www.hesperia-bilbao.es) is a trendy newcomer, next to Santiago Calatrava's footbridge over the Nervión River, and has 151 boutique-style rooms starting about 90 euros.

MUSEUMS

Guggenheim Bilbao (Abandoibarra 2, 34-94-435-90-80; www.guggenheim-bilbao.es). Open 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. every day except Monday. Admission is 10.50 euros.

Museo de Bellas Artes (Museo Plaza 2, 34-94-439-60-60 www.museobilbao.com). Open Tuesdays through Saturdays, from 10 a.m. to 8 p.m, Sundays from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. Closed Mondays. Admission 5.50 euros.

DENNY LEE is a contributing writer to the Travel section.

2007年9月19日 星期三

耶魯大學同意歸還秘魯印加文物



台灣多稱 它為 "皮卡丘"


(BBC) 耶魯大學同意歸還秘魯印加文物
馬丘比丘
學者認為馬丘比丘是古代印加帝國的發源地

經過一年多的談判後,美國耶魯大學同意將收藏的4000多件印加文物全部歸還給秘魯。。

這些文物取自秘魯馬丘比丘城堡,包括木乃伊、陶器和屍骨等。

1911年,美國歷史學家海勒姆o賓厄姆(Hiram Bingham)發現了這個被遺忘的印加古城遺址,他把數千件古文物帶回美國,並由耶魯大學收藏。

根據雙方達成的協議,耶魯將擔任秘魯政府的顧問,在馬丘比丘(Manchu Picchu)印加城堡附近的庫斯科市興建一座新的博物館,收藏和展出這批被歸還的古物。

預計博物館將於發現印加古城一百周年(即2011年)之際落成。

馬丘比丘位於安第斯山脈的一處高峰,有"古老的山"之意,也被稱作"失落之城"。

它是秘魯最受歡迎的旅遊景點,學者相信,它是古印加帝國的發源地。

多年談判

多年來,秘魯一直在積極索討這批被掠奪的文化遺產,和耶魯大學幾經談判。

秘魯前總統托萊多政府去年與耶魯展開的談判破裂,秘魯當時威脅要在美國採取法律行動,控告耶魯大學。

耶魯當時要求秘魯政府均分這批文物,但現在承認秘魯政府擁有所有的文物。

不過,雙方同意,其中部分文物將仍留在耶魯,作"短暫的研究用途"。

耶魯大學表示,該校將協助秘魯建立一個交換學者計劃,至少為期三年。

耶魯大學校長萊文指出,該校的目的是創建一個解決文化遺產爭議的模式,最佳的方法將是建立共同合作的關係。


Machu Picchu: Yale University to return Incan fortress artifacts to Peru (story)

我們在從聖卡洛斯.德.巴里赫(Barilocke)到蒙特港的山路上,冒著猛烈的暴風雨橫穿安第斯(Andes)山;在邊境佩拉(Peulla)的小客棧中,在德國人(聖誕頌歌中度過1970年的聖誕夜,除一對來自秘魯利馬的夫婦外,我們是唯一的客人。那年除夕,我們在庫斯科(Cuzco)的公眾廣場上度過,第二天白天和夜晚,我們參觀馬丘比丘(MachuPicchu)宏佛的廢墟。


2007年9月18日 星期二

The Age of Rembrandt

Art Review

A Golden Age, Gobbled Up by the Gilded Age


Published: September 18, 2007

With his opulent paint, acute ambition, stumblebum’s mug and pilgrim’s soul, Rembrandt van Rijn was a god of 17th-century European art. Some 20 paintings by him — the largest number outside Amsterdam — pulse through “The Age of Rembrandt: Dutch Painting in the Metropolitan Museum of Art,” a show with an elusive heart.

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Essential Golden Age image: “Wheat Fields” (around 1670) by Jacob van Ruisdael, part of the Altman bequest to the Met.

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Times Topics: The Metropolitan Museum of Art Articles, links and additional information about the museum.

Metropolitan Museum of Art

“Herman Doomer” (1640), one of some 20 Rembrandts at the Met.

Metropolitan Museum of Art

“The Enchantress” (around 1640), by Paulus Bor.

The Met has long advertised itself as a grand art multiplex, a cluster of separate world-class museums under a single roof. This isn’t just hype; it’s true. And periodically we get a demonstration. In 1998 the museum pooled all of its 15th-century Netherlandish paintings for a special exhibition. Even people who knew the material well were swept away.

“The Age of Rembrandt” is a similar show of strength, this time of the Met’s entire 17th-century Dutch painting collection: 228 pictures, of which about a third are usually on view at any time, and some never. A rough checklist tells the story.

In addition to the Rembrandts, there are 11 Frans Hals, 7 Salomon van Ruysdaels, 5 Vermeers, 5 Jacob van Ruisdaels and 8 paintings by Gerard ter Borch. Add to these a sensational Hendrick ter Brugghen altarpiece; major paintings by Jan van de Cappelle, Pieter Claesz and Aelbert Cuyp; and backup reserves of dozens of worthy if less familiar figures, and you have an inventory of breathtaking scope and depth.

How to package it? For the earlier show the Met stuck to linear chronology: early to late. For “The Age of Rembrandt” it has come up with a theme, and a perfect one for our time: money.

The work has been sorted not by artists or dates, but by the names and dates of the collectors who bought and gave the paintings to the museum. In this arrangement the history of Dutch “Golden Age” art begins in the American Gilded Age of the late 19th century, when the Met first opened its doors. The exhibition’s stars are not Rembrandt, Vermeer and Hals, but J. P. Morgan, Collis P. Huntington, William K. Vanderbilt and Louisine and H. O. Havemeyer.

That these stars were rarely in working alignment — indeed were often in rivalrous conflict — creates a problem. Because they bought what they could get, or what was in fashion, or what suited their fancy, their collections were a jumble of genres and styles, which is what we get here.

Apart from a wall of Rembrandt portraits owned by Benjamin Altman, there is no concentration of work by any one artist. The five Vermeers are spread over as many rooms. Fake Rembrandts turn up before real ones do. Trying to piece together an artist’s career, or track a motif, or compare styles becomes a frustrating hunt-and-peck process.

The arrangement has some advantages. It gives a good sense of the overall “look” of Dutch painting: an art that can glow like gold syrup but is mostly the color of sauces and gravies. We get a realistic sense of the crazy-quilt mix of portraiture, landscape, still life and history painting that simmered together in the 17th-century pot. We also gain quick perspective on relative talent. To see Rembrandt next to Bartholomeus Breenbergh or Jacob Duck is to know in a flash who was ahead of the curve, and why.

But the show’s primary theme — Dutch art seen through American money and taste, and coincidentally the wonderfulness of the Met — is a limiting gambit. That story begins in the first gallery, labeled “The 1871 Purchase,” which revisits, in highly edited form, the museum’s inaugural exhibition. After the Civil War, as the country was fast becoming an international power, Americans decided they needed a major art museum, and the Met was founded in 1870.

At that point, though, it was an art institution with no art, apart from a single Roman sarcophagus. So it bought some. Working in Paris the museum’s vice president, William T. Blodgett, assembled a bulk purchase of 174 paintings and shipped them — an instant permanent collection — to Manhattan, where it went on public view in 1872.

A significant part was Dutch painting, which had long enjoyed a vogue in the United States, where it was taken to embody ideals that the nation could identify with: unembarrassed prosperity, a Calvinist work ethic, family values, nouveau luxe. All this was suggested in the 1871 acquisitions: in Jan van Goyen’s view of the merchant city of Haarlem done in paint strokes as fine as embroidery stitches; in the overstuffed nursery scene of Matthys Naiveu’s “Newborn Babe;” in a floral still life by Margareta Haverman that was at once riotous and permanent-press neat.

An economic panic in 1873 temporarily put buying on hold. But by the 1880s business was flush and a collecting craze ensued. When the railroad magnate Henry G. Marquand became the Met’s president in 1889, he brought Dutch pictures with him, including what may have been the country’s first bona fide Rembrandt, the dusky 1650s “Portrait of a Man,” and its first Vermeer, “Young Woman With a Water Pitcher.” (This background is all outlined in an excellent bulletin-style essay by Esmée Quodbach that accompanies the show.)

Other new millionaires were also eager to hitch their names to art, and some of the high rollers are honored in a gallery labeled “Financial Friends.” From the railroad mogul Huntington came a second Vermeer, “Woman With a Lute;” from the robber baron Morgan another, better nursery scene, this one by Gabriel Metsu.

And then there were donors who skipped the art and just gave cash. Jacob S. Rogers, a locomotive manufacturer from Paterson, N.J., for years scrupulously hand-delivered his annual Met membership fee. When he died in 1901, he left the museum $200,000 for art and books.

The 1913 Altman bequest, with more tangible gifts, provides the show’s only coherent installation, mainly because it holds so many Golden Age essentials. Jacob van Ruisdael’s “Wheat Fields” is here, its blocks of platinum grain set out under cloud-bruised skies. So is “Merrymakers at Shrovetide,” the rudest and crudest of rude, crude Hals. Delectably appalling, it would have been locked up if it had got past the door in 1871.

Under the tutelage of the dealer Joseph Duveen, Altman also picked up “A Maid Asleep,” an early Vermeer with a curious soft-focus sheen. Most memorable, though, are his Rembrandts stretching down the gallery, among them “Woman With a Pink,” her face like a trembling teardrop, and a 1660 self-portrait with the tired-eyed artist in a hat as big as a halo. It’s a potent ensemble, though in the pride-of-possession context it still feels like just so many power-paintings in a row

Not all the collection’s gems are in expected settings. In a set-aside reading area that doubles as a gallery you can peruse the splendid new two-volume catalog of the Dutch collection, written by the show’s curator, Walter Liedtke of the Met’s European painting department. And you can simultaneously study some of the paintings that are reproduced in it.

Hals’s portraits of Pieter Schrijver and his wife, Anna van der Aar, pocket size and totally magnetic, are highlights. So is Joachim Wtewael’s oil-on-copper painting “The Golden Age,” depicting twisty Michelangelesque nudes; it looks like nothing special in photographs but practically jumps off the wall when seen live.

This 1993 Met purchase is a reminder that the Dutch Golden Age was part of the larger European Baroque, less a style than a state of aesthetic consciousness that embraced neo-classical thought, Counter-Reformation spirituality and colonialist exoticism. Each is represented, if only glancingly, in the show.

Neo-classicism, with Italian roots, is the essence of Gerard de Lairesse’s “Apollo and Aurora,” a mythological caprice that triples as a political allegory and a family portrait whipped up in saffron and gold. As for religious painting, if the collection has only one monumental example, it certainly has the right one in ter Brugghen’s “Crucifixion With the Virgin and St. John.”

Its emotionalism is about as distant from Calvinist Amsterdam — or Gilded Age New York — as one can get in a Dutch collection. One glance at its ardent, gawky figures and star-pricked sky and you are in a world where devotional rapture survives, the art of Dürer and Grünewald are remembered, and the Italian Baroque has made its mark. Mr. Liedtke has appropriately given it a chapel-like alcove of its own.

References to colonialist travels turn up casually in domestic scenes and still lifes: Turkish carpets, Ming porcelains, African monkeys, Southeast Asian birds, even an American turkey. And the one depiction of a non-European locale, in Frans Post’s “Brazilian Landscape,” looks very ordinary, very Dutch despite its cactuses and spears.

You’ll find the Post picture just before the exhibition gift shop, though the show doesn’t end there. It spills over into the three galleries where the Dutch collection usually hangs, and which at present serve as a kind of annex for pictures of unknown authorship, dubious authenticity or secondary importance.

I found several of them of much interest: a Vermeer that was not a Vermeer; a landscape that looked exactly like an Edward Hicks “Peaceable Kingdom”; a full-length portrait of a grave young woman by an unknown artist, set against a bosky background painted by a different unknown hand. And of course there are several not-Rembrandts that, if they had been placed near Rembrandts, might have had something to tell us about devotion to a master that goes beyond mere copying.

Rarely in these galleries did it occur to me to ask who once owned these pictures, or when the Met acquired them, or their dollar value. Instead I wanted information about what they depicted, about the paint they were made of and about the hands that brushed the paint on. I wanted to know what the artists — Rembrandt, say — might have been thinking. And I wanted to know what 17th-century viewers saw when they looked at these pictures, what these pictures said in their time. I wanted, in short, a different show, one with exactly the same art but with less institutional ego and more art-historical light.

“The Age of Rembrandt: Dutch Painting in the Metropolitan Museum of Art” is on view through Jan. 6; (212) 535-7710.