<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
9201100368
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
920315
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Sunday, March 15, 1992
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
COM
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1G
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1992, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
IN GLOBAL VILLAGE, EVERYONE GETS CABLE
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
I guess getting away from it all just ain't what it used to be.

  I have just returned from five weeks in Europe, and here is the thing I
remember most: It was not a French schoolboy skipping  down a cobblestone
street; it was not a lovely serenade on a canal boat in Venice.

  It was CNN.
  That's right. Cable News Network. Wherever I went. Every hotel room. Every
airport. Every bar. Every  store window. CNN. It is wrapped through Europe
like one long extension cord, blasting its images of anchorpeople and charts
and news footage that reads "Cairo" or "Alabama" or "Charles Bierbauer
reporting."
  I may not have been able to find a bathroom, but I could easily find how
Wall Street closed. Morning, noon and night, I would intersect this CNN voice
urging me to "stay in touch with your world."
  Hey. I work for a newspaper. And even I don't want to be that in touch. Not
when I'm on vacation. That's the whole point, isn't it?
  Italy was one of the places I went. I had been there many times.  The
first, as a college kid, I got stuck with no money, nothing but a Eurail pass.
So I took the midnight train from the port city of Brindisi. I shared a
cramped cabin with six Italians, a grandmother,  two brothers, their wives and
a kid. They spoke no English, I spoke no Italian. But the ride was long and I
was desperately hungry, so we passed around a dictionary, pointed to words,
laughed, and wound  up sharing a salami and bread. Afterward, they went to
sleep by taking their shoes off and plopping their legs in between the people
across from them.
  So there I was, between two sets of smelly feet,  on a hot train, trying to
nod off. That train rocked. It shook. It sucked the breath out of you with its
cramped quarters. But when I think back to it now, at least it was different.
It was an adventure.  It was fun. There was so umbilical cord to home.
  Nobody turned to me and said "Americano? . . . Si? . . . Wolf Blitzer?"
Need to know, need to know now
  I have this nightmare: I am crawling across  the desert, my throat parched
and dry. Looking over a sand dune, I see a tent. I stumble toward it, pull
aside the flap -- and find a bedouin sitting in front of a TV set.
  "Water . . . " I rasp.
  "Just a sec," he says. "I want to catch the sports."
  And now, I discover, it's true!
  Really. In the Kuwaiti desert, a bedouin sheepherder named Abdullah Ali
Ahmed Rashed was recently found  in his tent, with a coal fire, a pot of tea,
and a Sony Trinitron, tuned to CNN, thanks to a generator that was left behind
by U.S. troops.
  "Six o'clock, CNN, seven o'clock, CNN, eight o'clock, CNN," Rashed told a
reporter who visited him there. "No time for sheep."
  Great. The world's first sand potato.
  Rashed, who sleeps on old burlap pillows, admitted he was now neglecting
the duties of  his ancestors, who were content to wander the desert without
the latest stock prices. But, he said, he'll be ready next time Iraq threatens
to attack. He'll know about it first.
  Great. Then what  does he do?
  Shoot them with the remote control?
  Which is kind of my point here. Do we really need to know all the news
every minute of every day? Aren't there some situations where  it might  be
better to concentrate on the real life around you, the smells, the sun, your
own heartbeat? I know certain people who tell me, "Hey, when I'm on vacation,
I like to keep up with what's going on back  home."
  To which I say: Why take a vacation?
  Why not just spend two weeks in the CNN tower in Atlanta? I hear they have
a great commissary.
Just try to get away from it all
  Whatever happened  to getting away from it all? To exploring the outback
of Australia, or strolling the streets of Shanghai, or looking for the snow
leopard high in the Himalayas?
  Call me strange, but I always enjoyed  going places where I didn't speak
the language, where I had to use my imagination, where the people seemed
strange and wonderful and saw me as this mysterious traveler from the New
World.
  Now I  tell an old Swiss gentleman that I am American and he says
"American? You goot da right one, baby . . . uh-huh!"
  I travel a lot, but I get the sense I am not traveling as far as I used
to. It feels  like the world is looped with a big shoelace now, that keeps
getting tugged, tighter and tighter. 
  And more than anything, TV is responsible. It is connecting a living room
in LA to a tent in the  Kuwaiti desert. I know Marshall McLuhan talked about
this, TV creating the "global village." And maybe some people think it's good.
  Here's my question. If the world is one big global village, where  do we
go for vacation?
  Personally, I'm looking for a train.
</BODY>
<DISCLAIMER>

</DISCLAIMER>
<KEYWORDS>
TELEVISION; CABLE; VACATION; ITALY; REST; RELAXATION
</KEYWORDS>
</BODY.CONTENT>
