Apple first unveiled the Touch Bar on the MacBook Pro in 2016.

It's a small rectangular OLED

touchscreen that replaced the row of function keys at the top of the keyboard. Its digital interface
includes other features like text prediction and shortcuts. Apple app developers are able to make
software to take advantage of the touchscreen's capabilities.
Kuo's memo predicts that the Touch Bar is going away in two 2021 MacBook Pro models, a 14-
inch laptop and a 16-inch laptop, and that the old physical buttons will return. Apple didn't
respond to a request for comment.

Apple may be dumping the Touch Bar because of fans' mixed response, said Carolina Milanesi,
tech analyst at research firm Creative Strategies.
"Apple might not have seen as much demand, and of course, the added cost then becomes an
issue for Apple when it is not seen as a value to the user," said Milanesi. The lower demand also
"limited the level of interest from developers, which in turn, limited how useful the bar could
be."
he Touch Bar's controversial legacy was clear from its introduction in 2016.

"When Apple first unveiled the Touch Bar, reception was quite polarized," said Linn Huang,
research vice president of devices and displays. "Many were confused by what problems it was
intended to solve and wondered how developers would integrate it into their software
experience."
Fans eager for a MacBook with touch screen capabilities weren't satisfied by the Touch Bar
either — they expected a full touch screen, said Huang. But loyal fans "found the Touch Bar to
be a nice addition to the vaunted Apple user experience."
Both Milanesi and Huang expect Apple to release a touch screen MacBook again in the future.
Once that happens, "history will remember the Touch Bar as a momentary half-concession
between Apple and its loyal fans," said Huang.

The project was planned in 2015 as part of South Jeolla Province's branding initiative to "create
attractive island destinations" and was inspired by the purple bellflowers (aka campanula) that
are native to the area.
Tiny Banwol and Bakji Islands have fewer than 150 total residents. Since the purple project
began, the farmers started growing kohlrabi and beets, both of which are on brand. The local
government planted 30,000 New England asters and 21,500 square meters of lavender fields.
Visitors can walk between the two islands via -- you may have seen this coming -- another
purple bridge.
Banwol's risky but beautiful move seems to be paying off. South Koreans who leave the country
and return are subject to a two-week quarantine when they come back, so most locals are opting
for domestic tourism.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Enroth told CNN on January 27, just after she found out
she'd been chosen from some 12,000 applicants to spend a week on the Swedish island of
Hamneskär.
Hamneskär is situated off the coast of Marstrand in western Sweden, home to an imposing cast
iron lighthouse called Pater Noster, meaning "Our Father" in Latin -- a reference to the "Lord's
Prayer" often uttered by sailors navigating the rough seas around the island.
Although Enroth knew of Pater Noster, having spent a year studying in nearby Gothenberg, she'd
never been there before and was both nervous and excited about the experience.
On January 30, Enroth boarded a tiny boat with a single helmsman to begin her journey to the
island.
Her heart was pounding.
The ride out to the island, she says, was stunning -- sea, sky and snow stretched out in front of
her.
And her first view of Pater Noster lighthouse, silhouetted in the distance, was unforgettable.
"The first impression of the island? Beautiful, small, just tranquil."
Left alone, Enroth closed the door to her lighthouse cottage and sat down on the couch.
At first, she heard the sound of the boat leaving, engine roaring. Then, nothing.
"It was so silent. It was like someone turned off the sound."
Listening harder, she slowly picked up on the wind whistling, birds swooping over the lighthouse
and the waves crashing on the rocks.
Enroth put on her warmest clothes and decided to survey her surroundings, walking the
perimeter of the island and climbing the 130 something stairs to the top of Pater Noster.
She took deep breaths, and readied to enjoy the week ahead.
Enroth normally lives alone, but her frontline healthcare job means she spends a lot of time
interacting with people on a day-to-day basis.
"I was really looking forward to just trying to reflect and pause for a bit," she says.
Göteborg Film Festival Artistic Director Jonas Holmberg told CNN Travel that for safety
reasons, there was one other person on the island, but they were to keep their distance.
The lighthouse cabin which became Enroth's home for the week was recently renovated by
design agency Stylt, so it was not only stylish, but well equipped.
Holmberg said that a soft bed and good food were part of the deal. "This is not about surviving,"
he added.
As a movie fan, Enroth had seen all the lighthouse-set movies that quickly descend into horror,
and that did play on her mind. Especially because she's afraid of the dark.
That first night, after the sun set illuminating the clouds in a copper haze, the island was soon
shrouded in darkness.
Enroth tried to sleep, but struggled, her ears attune to any unusual sound in the cottage.
But waking up to the sunrise made the sleepness night quickly fade into the background and she
decided to make rising with the sun part of her island routine.
Each morning she watched the sun come up, and then ate breakfast in her kitchen.
"The sunlight is unbelievable," Enroth says.
There was an on-site gym, which Enroth used every day -- although nothing beat running up and
down the lighthouse a few times a day to get her heart pumping.
"After I went up the first time, I went down again, and I had to stay there for a while because my
head was just spinning," she laughs.
Back on the ground, Enroth would tuck into a second breakfast and get ready to enjoy the day,
delving into the Göteborg film festival schedule but also painting, walking and creating a video
diary.
Enroth had left her cellphone and laptop on dry land, as instructed. Being without them was a
freeing experience, "a relief," she says.
"It was great not being attached to your phone, and just watching a movie without the
distraction."
Unable to Google anything, she realized how used we've become to having all the answers at our
fingertips. In her video diary for Day 5, Enroth talked about some of the questions that had
floated into her mind that she'd had to just leave be ("Where do lobsters sleep? How do they
sleep?")
Unable to check the news, or read updates from loved ones, Enroth's movie-fueled imagination
began to run wild. She worried that coronavirus might have worsened further in her absence.
"I was thinking about the apocalypse," she says. "Your mind starts to make up things, 'What if
this happened? And this and that could have happened..."
Producing the video diary was also an new experience for her -- Enroth has a Facebook account,
but says she's not much of a social media user and had little experience of filming herself
speaking to the camera.
"I don't think I ever got used to it," she says.
Still, Enroth did enjoy having an outlet for her thoughts. One of the strangest things, she says,
was watching films and not being able to discuss them with anyone afterward, whether in person
or online.
"I had to try to process [the movies] by myself, and that means they stayed with me for a long
time. And I've never dreamed so much strange stuff."
Highlights of the film program for Enroth included "A Song Called Hate," a documentary about
the Eurovision Song Contest and the Taiwanese drama "Days."
Enroth enjoyed being able to fully sink into her movie watching. She became aware that when
she watched movies back home, even ones she was really enjoying, it was easy to reach for her
phone, or get distracted by something in the house. Not so on the island.
All in all, she reckons she watched about 30 feature-length movies, along with a handful of
shorts.
Being alone on the island suited Enroth, but she stresses that it was enjoyable because it was her
prerogative.
"I'm thinking about is all the people who don't choose to be alone, and they are forced to be alone
-- and that is so much harder than what I did. What I did was just enjoyable," she says.
Enroth made it back home on February 7, and was returning back to work, on a night shift, the
following day.
She says being back in the hospital will be a grounding experience, and she's aware island life
will quickly recede into the distance.
"But I also think that the island has taught me not to rush so much," says Enroth.
"Of course at work, there will be stress and stuff like that. But in my spare time, I do think I
would feel better if I just took it a bit slow. Just relax for a while."
The Basilica de la Sagrada Família is, by a rather large margin, among the world's most
complicated and time-consuming architectural projects ever undertaken -- still under
construction over the heads of four million annual visitors. While technically a basilica (as it
does not have a sitting bishop), somehow even the word cathedral seems too miniscule to fully
describe the overwhelming scale and complexity of both this massive building and the geological
timescales of its construction.

The idea for the building began in 1882 when a small group of Catholic devotees of the Saint
Joseph (the husband of the Virgin Mary) known as the Josephites, dedicated to encouraging
family cohesion in the face of the emerging industrial revolution, sought to build a small parish
church on the outskirts of then suburban Barcelona. In order to promote this familial focus, the
church was to be dedicated to the holy family itself, and thus was eventually named the Basilica
de la Sagrada Família, the Church of the Holy Family.
What the Josephites could not have known was that their modest project, in the hands of an
ambitious young Catalan architect, Antoni Gaudí, whose only built projects at that time consisted
of a gazebo, some furniture, a kiosk and set of lamp posts, would balloon into one of the most
ambitious, visionary, unusual, and long-lived architectural projects in the history of humanity --
currently clocking in at 138 years of construction, which, for comparison, is over six times as
long as it took to build the Great Pyramid of Giza in Egypt. And it's still not finished.