Gotha

Boarding shortly after ten last night at Frankfurt Airport, our Airbus A320-211 “Gotha” took us back to Sweden and Landvetter Airport, where William and I had a hotel room waiting for us. Considering that it was a Tuesday night in October, I was surprised to see the flight fully booked, leaving me both happy and apprehensive about the future, that people are still travelling even as the sustainability of it all remains an open question.

Watching the departure board at FRA, with flights to both Rio de Janeiro and Cape Town, it still felt good to have shown William a little more of the world beyond all those mindless memes.

End of an era

Returning home to New Jersey with Austrian Airlines in April 2008, the clock ticked over and I was upgraded to Star Alliance Gold with SAS. Since then, I have kept requalifying year after year, although I was granted the standard exemption during the pandemic. Over the years, I have traded SAS for BMI and BMI for Turkish Airlines, but the gold card has always been there, scoring me some incredible complimentary upgrades along the way, most recently on a transatlantic flight in April. But all good things must come to an end, and in four days my status with Turkish Airlines will expire once and for all.

As such, it felt fitting to mark the end of nearly two decades with a visit to the Star Alliance Lounge in Vienna and then the Senator Lounge in Frankfurt as William and I make our way back to Gothenburg.

Dubrovnik

Close to forty years after my last visit, William and I returned to Dubrovnik this morning. Driving up along the coast, entering Croatia and the EU was a breeze (contrary to my fears that the new EU Entry/Exit System would cause delays). With not a cloud anywhere to be seen, we walked through the old town, which brought back lots of childhood memories even as the number of tourists made clear that these were no longer the sunset years of Yugoslavia.

At Banje Beach, we were suddenly alone, with only a Canadian couple from Winnipeg testifying that the water was absolutely lovely, which it was. As a Scandinavian, it is truly unfathomable how afraid people seem to be of cold water, which is particularly strange when the water is not even cold (the coldest my watch registered was 20 degrees). But I am not complaining, as this meant that we got to have the beach more or less to ourselves. After a while, the SUP rental people arrived, and we were able to go for half an hour of paddling for €10 each.

While we would have loved to stay longer, reality back on Sweden's west coast was calling, with the removal company arriving tomorrow morning. To keep cars away from the old town, Dubrovnik has introduced a scheme under which unauthorised vehicles entering the restricted zone are automatically detected by cameras, with fines potentially exceeding €1,600 for rental cars. I find this a very good initiative, even if it meant that we had to walk a couple of kilometres uphill to get back to our rental car. Then it was less than an hour's drive to the airport, where we returned the Fiat Panda without a scratch but with 299 kilometres more on the clock than when we picked it up. All in all, an incredible holiday.

Blue Cave

Today, it was time for the highlight of the trip, a speedboat ride from Kotor to the Blue Cave. Accessible only by boat or kayak, it is located on the outer coast of the Luštica Peninsula and is famous for its iridescent neon-blue glow.

Waking up to an incredible sunrise, William and I jumped into our little Fiat Panda shortly before seven and drove the 50 kilometres to Kotor, a journey that took nearly an hour and a half, leaving us with just enough time for a coffee inside the walls of the old town and to spot the 300-metre-long Italian cruise ship Costa Deliziosa anchored in the port. Setting off in our speedboat, we first headed out to Our Lady of the Rocks and its Roman Catholic church. Built on a man-made island in the middle of the Bay of Kotor, it was exactly the kind of tourist trap that I am willing to pay to visit.

From there, the speedboat took us across the bay to see submarine tunnels, or bunkers, dating back to the Yugoslav era. Abandoned after the end of the Cold War, as they were no longer large enough to accommodate modern submarines, the tunnels nevertheless provided a definite No Time to Die vibe, helped along by the Bond soundtrack our captain played. Heading straight out to sea, we then passed Mamula – prison island turned luxury resort – before facing the Adriatic head-on as we continued towards the Blue Cave.

Luckily, the water was calm enough to allow for a most memorable swim, even if it was obvious that the French tourists on our boat would not have lasted long in Ramsjön ;-) Afterwards, it was a bumpy ride back to Kotor but, in the end, William got his spaghetti bolognese and we could look back on a true morning adventure.

The fear is the mind-killer

Just like when I first went surfing in Hanalei Bay on Kauai fifteen years ago, the key is to let go of your fear, to just be present in the moment and stop thinking about everything that could go wrong. It took me a few minutes, but soon enough I was standing up next to William who – of course – was in perfect control of his own board from the moment he got on it. Paddling around in the bay below the hotel, I was again reminded of how important it is to keep conquering one's fears as one gets older.

Otherwise, today has been nothing short of incredible as we started the morning by driving down to the cable car in Kotor and taking it four kilometres up the mountain to an altitude of 1,348 metres above sea level. Built with Austrian technology, the cable car opened three years ago, and the views were simply stunning (and a bit fear-inducing), overlooking first the airport in Tivat and then the Bay of Kotor with all its cruise ships. After a cappuccino and an orange juice at the top, we drove back to our hotel, listening to William’s favourite music on Spotify and picking up an older hitchhiking woman with relatives in Sweden who told us all about the local monasteries. Now it is time to cash in on waffles and another Americano coffee.

Morning cat

Cyberpunk City

Driving through green mountains and down to the Bay of Kotor, William and I arrived just in time for a swim and a poolside lunch at the Iberostar Herceg Novi. Staying for three nights in the same place feels like such a luxury after the last few months of constant movement.

As grey clouds started to build, I decided to run up the local mountain, gaining more elevation than I used to get during a whole month in Halmstad. Otherwise, William and I have just taken it slow and acquainted ourselves with the hotel and its surroundings.

With “Mexico” being the dinner theme for the evening, I overheard the young Montenegrin woman making enchiladas say that, as the season was coming to an end here, she would be moving to the cyberpunk city of China, the 32-million-something metropolis of Chongqing, to work at a hotel for the winter months. With my globalist days behind me (and perhaps the world's too, one is afraid to add), this little biographical fragment felt strangely heartwarming.

En route to the Adriatic

As a red sun rises somewhere over Austria, William and I are more than halfway through our super-early Ryanair flight to Dubrovnik. Booked back in February for €25 per person, the trip was planned while we still imagined that William would be living with Anna in Västerås and Eddie with me in Halmstad.

As anticipated, the last few days have been jam-packed with seminars and grant-writing workshops but, in the end, I managed to pack up my home and even go for one last run along the sea in Halmstad. Now, William and I can look forward to a few quiet days by the Adriatic Sea. For the first time in my life, I have booked an all-inclusive hotel which, given the shoulder season, was surprisingly affordable. Located just outside Herceg Novi in Montenegro, it means that we will pick up a rental Fiat Panda at Dubrovnik Airport and drive across the border into a country that will hopefully become another EU member state by 2028. Having last visited Montenegro in 2007, I look forward to returning to what used to be the end point of long train journeys when I was a kid and Yugoslavia was still a thing.

At Arlanda, I discovered that Ryanair has set up a new super-low-cost terminal far away from all decency, requiring a 15-minute bus ride from T5. Luckily, I noticed in time while having breakfast with William at La Girafe, but it is definitely something to be aware of for the future. Because of this, Ryanair flights now seem to “board” almost an hour before their scheduled departure time. For all the inconvenience, the value proposition remains unbeatable, and the Lavazza coffee is as good as anything you would find in the sky (with the possible exception of Austrian Airlines, which we are flying on the return journey).

Against excellence

The Swedish Research Council is currently in the process of selecting around ten “excellence clusters” for groundbreaking research that will receive substantial funding over the coming decade. While the long timeframe is laudable, I nevertheless feel frustrated by yet another “fat cat” initiative that risks reinforcing existing imbalances between Sweden’s higher education institutions. Far from necessarily promoting innovation, giving more money to already successful researchers may simply produce diminishing returns, especially when many have their most significant contributions behind them.

Just as with our own internal system for allocating research time at Halmstad, I think incentive structures in academia are often backwards. While incompetence and complacency certainly exist, low research productivity is often a consequence of heavy teaching loads, or simply of caring enough about students to devote time to them, rather than any lack of originality or creativity. Taking into account all the time spent applying for research funding, sitting on committees to allocate it, and then reporting and evaluating everything, I cannot help thinking that simply distributing a substantial share of that money as equal, unconditional research grants would make so much more sense.

AI-hotet behöver inga mördarrobotar

Emma Dahlin har rätt i en viktig sak (SvD 19/10): de procentsatser som cirkulerar om risken för mänsklighetens utrotning till följd av artificiell intelligens är inte vetenskapliga mätningar. De är subjektiva bedömningar som bör behandlas med stor försiktighet. Men därav följer inte att själva risken saknar teoretisk grund.

Det centrala argumentet handlar nämligen inte om enskilda incidenter med dagens AI-system, utan om vad som kan hända när vi utvecklar artificiell intelligens som överträffar människans förmåga att förstå och förändra världen.

Här är begreppet instrumentell konvergens avgörande. Oavsett vilka slutliga mål en artificiell superintelligens har kan det vara rationellt för den att eftersträva vissa delmål: att undvika att bli avstängd, skaffa resurser och framför allt öka sin egen intelligens och beräkningskapacitet. Om den dessutom kan förbättra sin egen konstruktion uppstår möjligheten till en rekursiv, självförstärkande utveckling där varje framsteg underlättar nästa.

Det är här vi måste frigöra oss från populärkulturens föreställningar om mördarrobotar. Den yttersta risken är inte att en artificiell intelligens börjar tycka illa om människor. Det är att mänsklighetens undergång blir en oavsiktlig bieffekt av dess strävan efter helt andra mål.

En superintelligens skulle exempelvis kunna utveckla teknologi för att på molekylär nivå omvandla jordens materia till beräkningsstrukturer, så kallat computronium. I ett sådant scenario förlorar människan inte ett krig. Hon förlorar förutsättningarna för liv, ungefär som andra arter har förlorat sina livsmiljöer till följd av mänsklig verksamhet, utan att deras utrotning någonsin varit vårt egentliga syfte.

Detta är ingen förutsägelse. Varje led i resonemanget kan ifrågasättas, och filosofen Joe Carlsmith har utförligt analyserat just de antaganden som måste vara uppfyllda för att avancerad AI ska kunna leda till permanent mänsklig kontrollförlust i en antologi nyligen utgiven på Oxford University Press. Att sådana scenarier inte kan tilldelas någon tillförlitlig sannolikhet innebär inte att argumenten kan avfärdas.

Här finns också ett djupare politiskt problem. Demokratins kanske främsta styrka är att den erkänner vår mänskliga felbarhet. Vi kan fatta fel beslut, men också ompröva dem, byta regeringar och lära av våra misstag. Denna möjlighet till korrigering förutsätter emellertid att misstagen inte är oåterkalleliga.

Med existentiella risker ställs denna logik på sin spets. Vi kan inte experimentera med mänsklighetens framtid och utvärdera resultatet i efterhand. Men osäkerheten gör det också svårt att avgöra vilka risker som motiverar att utvecklingen begränsas, eftersom dessa måste vägas mot den potentiella nyttan av avancerad artificiell intelligens inom allt från energiforskning till medicin.

Det är detta som gör frågan så svår. Vi behöver kunna fatta gemensamma beslut om risker som vi varken kan beräkna eller korrigera i efterhand. Det kräver ett långtgående internationellt samarbete som i dagens geopolitiska läge framstår som alltmer avlägset. Men att problemet saknar enkla lösningar gör inte risken mindre verklig.