Data roaming abroad can be scary expensive, so I kept it turned off. Free wifi was thin on the ground, and for the few minutes that I was able to connect to a local wifi service in the office, many of the internet functions of my iPhone still didn't work. Firewall issues, perhaps?
And so, my miracle handset was reduced to being a truly mediocre mobile phone. I should note that when I worked with Nokia, I spent months trying to justify the idea that the company's multimedia Nseries devices were not, in fact, phones -- they're computers, and that we should always refer to them as such. (I still believe this.) The answer from those in the company who were dubious was: "But even Apple calls their handset a phone."
Indeed they do, because if they didn't, no one would. It sucks as a phone. (Whereas Nokia devices are fantastic phones.) The truth is, the iPhone has never gotten high praise as a phone or even as an SMS device -- so when you strip out the really good stuff, the computer stuff, what's left is shockingly bad. Whether its 02 or Apple or the local operator who's at fault isn't the point, nor am I going to waste time ranting. It's not the point of this post.
Suffice it to say that I felt a profound sense of loss.
Because, here in the UK, I've had a taste of the realtime future. Location-aware services. A spectrum of ways to communicate with friends, clients, business partners. Useful navigation through unknown streets. Walking directions. Fresh apps on demand. Stuff that I need, the moment I need it.
A classic trick in marketing is to examine a brand's "negative space." To imagine removing (and sometimes to actually remove) a product, a service, a brand from the user's life - and then to investigate what the impact of its absence is. This is where the famous "got milk" insight came from. Take milk away and cookies lose much of their cookieness, cereal is tasteless, etc etc. We don't drink milk because its healthy. We drink it because it the ONLY thing to accompany certain comfort foods.
Life without unlimited data is worse than cookies without milk. Take my datastreams away and not only is my iPhone a lemon, but my world is utterly diminished. I'm cut off. I'm out of touch with people and things and experiences I love. I'm at the mercy of hotel concierges and street signage. I have to scribble things down on scraps of paper and carry them in my pocket. I have to think about where I can connect, plan for it. Spontaneity and serendipity go out the window.
To be fair, I did have a lovely walk through the snowy gaslit streets of Stockholm's Old City, and when I got lost, I had to look carefully at street signs and address numbers. I found my way without Google to guide me. But when I wanted to tweet about the time-travel sensation, and to upload a picture of candles flickering in a 300-year-old window in a fairytale medieval square -- to enhance the moment by sharing it with my friends -- I couldn't. It was not only frustrating. In no small way, the lack of connectivity diminished my time.
In a way, being disconnected from others made the physical experience feel less real, more like a movie I was watching or a dream I was experiencing solo, because I couldn't instantly have the satisfaction of including others in the moment.
This is profoundly shocking to me. I would like to think of myself as someone who knows when to turn off and just be in the moment. Perhaps you think there is something wrong with me.
But just as we now take electrical lighting, central heating, and fresh fruit and vegetables any time of year for granted (do these comforts detract from our essence?) so too do I expect a level of connection to the people, places and information that matter to me.
This is not inhuman -- quite the opposite. It is deeply human.
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