Egoquae – Life, Laughter & Lessons

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  • Sparks, Cages & Curiosity – A Day at Technorama

    If you have ever been to a museum where every sign says “Do Not Touch“, you`ll know the frustration. You stand there with your hands twitching like you`re resisting a giant red button. Now imagine the opposite: a place where the signs as well scream “Go ahead! Push the button! Twist the knob! See what explodes!” That, my dear children, (as you can guess) is Technorama in Wintherthur.

    This is no dusty hall of ancient artifacts, not at all. It`s three whole floors of interactive science experiments – a paradise with an amazing garden full of other experiments, for anyone whose inner child is still alive and demanding sugar 🙂 From the moment you step in, you`re surrounded by contraptions that whirl, bang, spin, splash, and generally defy the “serious science” stereotype. The air is alive with the hum of motors. You can hear the clunk of gears. There is also the occasional whoosh of something that has just launched across the room.

    You can freeze your own shadow on a wall using a flashlight. You can make a rainbow dance in a misty spray. You can create a tornado in a giant water column. Magnets, which are my personal favorites, strong enough to yank paperclips from your pocket, are scattered around like little temptations. You can play with gyroscopes until you feel dizzy. You can also trap soap bubbles big enough to step inside. These activities make adults suspiciously competitive with the kids.(at least me each time I go).

    But among all these wonderful gadgets, one event has the star billing: there`s a Zzzzzz – CRACK! Zzzzz- CRACK! sound that`s impossible to ignore. It`s like Thor is having a bad day in the next room.

    You join the crowd in a darkened theater. In the middle of the stage stands something that looks like a giant metal mesh. This is the Faraday cage, named after a man we`ll meet in a minute.

    The presenter wears a calm smile (always suspicious in a high–voltage environment). He/she explains that this is a safe way to experience real lightning. Then, to the crowd`s delighted gasps, he/she selects three living, breathing volunteers inside the cage. The presenter wears a metal armor-looking suit from medieval times. The doors shut. Everybody is quiet. Tesla coil fires.

    Purple forks of lightning leap through the air. They first come to the wand of the presenter. Then he/she directs the lightning into the hand of each volunteer one by one. The noise makes your stomach jump. Sparks crackle along the outside of the mesh. The volunteers inside just stand there, perfectly unharmed. They wave at the audience like royalty in a parade.

    The magic – or rather, the science – is that electricity travels around the outside of a conductor. It does not travel through it, leaving the inside safe. It`s a mind-bending demonstration that makes you want to stand inside yourself.

    Meet Michael Faraday – From Bookbinding to Brilliance

    The man behind this electrifying protection system is Michael Faraday (1791-1867). And here`s the thing: Faraday was not born into privilege, wealth, or a cushy academic path. He grew up in London, in a family so poor that “career guidance” meant “find a job before you starve.”

    He had almost no formal schooling, but he had something much more “dangerous:” relentless curiosity.

    At the age of 14, he became an apprentice in a bookbinding and stationery shop. The job paid little. Nevertheless, it came with an unexpected perk: books, lots of books. Beautiful, fascinating, mind-expanding books. Many people worked around books but never opened them. Faraday was different. He read everything he got his ink-stained fingers on.

    One particular book changed everything for him (we’ll get to that lady genius in a moment). It lit a spark in his mind. It wasn’t the kind you see in the High Voltage Show. It was the kind that powers a lifetime of invention.

    Eventually, Faraday got a chance to attend lectures by the famous chemist Humphry Davy. He took meticulous notes. He bound them into a book and sent them to Davy. He was essentially saying, “Hire me, I’m worth it.” Davy agreed for two reasons. Faraday was brilliant. Also, Davy had injured his eyes in an explosion and needed help. (Note: explosions were an occupational hazard for early chemists.)

    From there, Faraday went on to:

    • Discover electromagnetic induction (without which you wouldn’t have electric motors, generators, or phone chargers)
    • Invent the principles of the electric motor
    • Prove that magnetism can produce electricity
    • And, of course, design the Faraday cage that lets Technorama volunteers survive bolts of lightning.

    He was also famously humble. Once, when asked for his greatest discovery, Faraday replied:
    “The fact that I can live contentedly with so little.”

    His experiments didn’t just stay in dusty notebooks—they changed the way we understand electricity and magnetism and opened the door to everything from lightbulbs to laptops. And when you look at his life, it’s not just about science; it’s a reminder of how far curiosity, stubborn persistence, and the courage to test things with your own hands can take you.

    The Woman Who Lit the Spark – Jane Marcet

    Here’s the plot twist: without Jane Marcet (1769–1858), Faraday never have become… well, Faraday.

    Marcet was a Swiss-born British author. She lived in an era when science was mostly explained in dense Latin. It was intended for gentlemen who already had a degree. She thought this was nonsense. So she did something radical: she wrote science books in plain English — and aimed them at women. Scandalous!

    Jane Marcet started life as Jane Haldimand, born in Geneva, Switzerland. She grew up in a household where curiosity was practically the family pet. Her father was a wealthy merchant and banker. He did not push her toward embroidery and piano lessons only. Instead, he encouraged her to dive into big ideas like natural philosophy, history, and languages. These were all the brainy snacks a young mind want. Later, she married Alexander Marcet, a Swiss physician, and the two moved to London. There, she found herself immersed in a scientific community. This community casually included names like Humphry Davy (yes, the same guy that Faraday asked to work for) and John Dalton (and again yes, the Dalton who gave us atomic theory). She was surrounded by a bubbling cauldron of scientific conversation. This environment inspired her to start writing books. Her sharp wit was also a key influence. She wanted to make science clear, lively, and accessible. Her most famous book, “Conversations on Chemistry”, was written as a dialogue between a teacher, Mrs. B., and two eager pupils, Lucy and Emily. Marcet’s style was friendly, conversational, and full of practical experiments you try at home. She explained atoms, gases, and chemical reactions without drowning you in formulas.

    Young Faraday stumbled upon her book in the shop where he worked. He didn’t just read it — he copied all 300+ pages by hand into his notebook. Imagine the dedication: no photocopiers, no Ctrl+C, just hours of quill-scratching devotion. That book was his ticket into the world of science.

    Jane Marcet’s influence didn’t end with Faraday. Her books inspired countless readers, proving that science is both accessible and thrilling. She was, in many ways, one of the first true science communicators — long before YouTube channels and flashy documentaries.

    Technorama is more than a playground for the curious minds. It’s a reminder that behind every experiment is a chain of people. Some are famous, and others are forgotten. They made that moment possible. Faraday wasn’t born a scientist; he became one because he was curious enough to learn. Marcet didn’t set out to change history; she simply wrote clearly, and in doing so, lit the minds of thousands.

    Lessons to my kids:

    • Curiosity is the ultimate superpower – Faraday had no money, no degree, but endless questions.
    • Great teachers aren’t always in classrooms – sometimes they’re strangers who wrote a book 200 years ago.
    • Science is more fun when you try it yourself. Reading about lightning is one thing. Standing inside a cage while it strikes is another.
    • Be a Jane Marcet for someone – you never know whose future you’ll ignite.

    Note for my 80-plus-year-old self: Sitting in an armchair with tea in one hand and maybe a biscuit in the other: remember the crackle in your bones when you stood in Technorama, the awe when lightning hit the cage, and the joy of discovering that curiosity is contagious. If the day ever comes when you stop wondering “What happens if I…?”, it’s time to find a Tesla coil and stand a little closer.

  • The Rattle of the Dice

    “Alea iacta est” – The die is cast.

    Julius Caesar supposedly said it while crossing the Rubicon. Babacim never said it loud, but I am convinced he thought it every single time he flicked the dice onto the backgammon board.

    Every summer of my childhood was spent in Degirmenalti, a small district of Tekirdag, near Istanbul. The air smelled of the Marmara Sea – a mix of salt, seaweed, and grilled fish – and the soundtrack of my summer holidays was the click-clack of backgammon checkers.

    Babacim had a close circle of friends, but there was one in particular with whom he could play ad infinitum – morning until dusk without a flicker of boredom. Sometimes they played on the small balcony of our tiny summer house, with a breeze coming in and the gulls gossiping overhead. Other times they played at his friend`s apartment terrace – one so close to the water it felt like the deck of a boat anchored right in the sea.

    They never used cups for the dice. Instead, with a casual flick of the wrist, they`d send them bouncing straight onto the wooden board. That clatter was music – part percussion, part suspense. The games were a mix of quiet calculation, bursts of laughter, mock outrage, and occasional accusations of “creative” counting. I sat nearby, pretending to be invisible, absorbing it all like an apprentice in a secret order.

    Backgammon wasn`t just a pastime – it was our summer religion.

    Only years later did I learn that Babacim and his friend were the latest chapter in a saga stretching back nearly 5000 years. Born in Mesopotamia, adopted by Persians (nard, if you want to be historically precise), reinvented by Romans (tabula), and celebrated in Ottoman coffeehouses – backgammon has been everywhere.

    It has outlived empires, survived wars, and been the setting for everything from high-stakes gambling to low-stakes bragging. It`s the kind of game where a quid pro quo move – you trap me now, I`ll trap you later – can feel more satisfying than outright victory.

    And somehow, all of the history washed up in Degirmenalti, right onto our balcony table.

    I learned the game by stealth. No rulebook. No formal lessons. Just hours of watching, memorizing, and trying to guess the next move. Eventually, I dared to ask Babacim if I could play with him.

    “Are you ready to lose?” he asked, smiling in a way that told me he already knew the answer. Ten minutes later, I had been crushed. My checkers were scattered across the board like survivors of a shipwreck. But instead of sulking, I wanted more. I had seen the trick, little feints, the risky plays – and I wanted to try them myself.

    How the Game Works (And How to Survive It)

    There are 24 points, two players, 15 checkers each.

    Roll two dice; each number is a separate move. Doubles? That`s the universe giving you a high-five – you play the numbers twice. The goal is to bring all your checkers home and “bear off” before your opponent.

    The Drama:

    Land on a point with one enemy checker, and you can hit it – sending it to the bar, where it must re-enter before anything else moves.

    Babacim`s Unofficial Rules:

    • Never leave a checker alone unless you want to regret it.
    • A wall of six points in a row is the “no entry” sign of champions.
    • When you roll the perfect number, place the checker down slowly so your opponent suffers longer.
    • look bored when losing – it messes with their head.

    Over time, I became dangerous. I learned “closing the door” – trapping an opponent`s checker so it couldn`t re-enter. I practiced the bait – and – switch: leaving one checker exposed to tempt a hit, only to retaliate harder.

    My crowning moment came years later. Babacim was one move from victory, I was doomed … until I hit his lone checker, built a wall, and raced my way home. He looked at me, raised an eyebrow, and said:

    “Alright. Now you can play”

    That`s the backgammon equivalent of a knighthood 🙂

    In my early years in Istanbul, I played with friends – games full of laughter, bargaining, and enough competitive spirit to fuel a small war. (The loser had to iron my clothes.) Then many years later, I had the pleasure of teaching both of you.

    The moment I play with either of you is the moment my present shakes hands with my past, with Babacim. That`s the real magic of backgammon – a game that connects generations without changing the rules.

    Every time the dice rattle across the board without a cup, I hear Degirmenalti’s summers, I see Babacim`s half-smile, and I feel like the story hasn`t ended – it`s just switched players.

    Lessons to my kids:

    • Protect what matters – don`t leave it exposed without a plan.
    • Luck helps, but strategy wins – the dice decide the numbers, you decide what to do with them.
    • Comebacks are always possible – one roll can change everything.
    • Face-to-face beats screen-to-screen – a real connection helps across the board.
    • Risk smartly- sometimes the bold move is the right one.

    Note for my 80-plus-year-old self:

    • Keep rolling – as long as the dice are moving, you`re still in the game.
    • Don`t rush – the best moves come after a pause.
    • Celebrate small wins – a clever play can be sweeter than victory.
    • Pass it on – teaching is a form of immortality.
    • Always play without a cup – because some traditions are perfect as they are.

    When my hands are slower and my eyes are dimmer, I hope the clatter of the dice still feels like Degirmenalti in summer – warm air, good company, and a board between friends and family that holds more than just a game.

  • The Day I Took the Right Bus the Wrong Way

    Right after getting married – beginning of January 2010, before I went back to be a student in Fribourg – I had some time to get acquainted with the beautiful Zurich and also to be “married”.

    One day, your father came up with a brilliant idea: “Why don`t you meet me at my office? You can see my work environment, meet my boss and my colleagues, and more.” What he didn’t realize at the time was that his company already celebrated a dedicated annual day for that purpose. But never mind—you’ll soon encounter plenty of “I didn’t realize” moments in the upcoming stories—moments that can be both deeply embarrassing and incredibly powerful, naturally pushing you beyond your comfort zone.

    I checked the Zurich transport website, found the bus line, and carefully noted the stop. Brimming with confidence (a notorious flaw of mine), I walked to the station, boarded the bus, and made myself comfortable.

    About ten minutes later—when a nagging suspicion that something was amiss began to creep in—my phone rang.

    “Where are you?”

    “At the last stop—it says Bahnhof Tiefenbrunnen. I thought your office was near the airport.”

    A long pause followed.

    “My Queen… you took the right bus, but in the wrong direction.”

    And that, my dear children, was the day I learned that in Zurich, the same bus or tram number often has two separate stops—one for each direction. It’s surprisingly easy to mix them up.

    Lesson for my kids: Always know your direction. This applies to far more than just public transport.

    Note for my 80-plus-year-old self: Life might steer you off your planned path, but instead of griping about the detour, embrace it—and make the most of the unexpected destination.