Sunday, January 31, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Fishermen's realm
Music by Vangelis - Song of the Seas
With thoughts for the year pointing toward uncharted lands, I found myself remembering a place. One between so many others where one can find the almost perfect mixture of past, present and future. This is Vama Veche. An old settlement on the most Southern Romanian shores of the Black Sea, refuge from the mundane and trendy trends, heart of folk and rock music with all that a bohemian life implies . Or at least it used to be and this is what makes it the almost perfect mixture. Nowadays, hopefully at least half of its soul survives the frantic flow of modern city life. So happens that one can still have a glimpse of the ever sailing boats of fishermen, whom ignore the sounds of the city people, and set sail in a never ending quest for conquering the seas.
I wish their existence does not come true in the entirety of Walt Whitman's song of the seas and that it finds favorable wind to sail within the quoted lyrics.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up - for you the flag is flung - for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths - for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
Lyrics by Walt Whitman from 'O Captain! My Captain!'
Location: Vama Veche, Romania, June 2008
With thoughts for the year pointing toward uncharted lands, I found myself remembering a place. One between so many others where one can find the almost perfect mixture of past, present and future. This is Vama Veche. An old settlement on the most Southern Romanian shores of the Black Sea, refuge from the mundane and trendy trends, heart of folk and rock music with all that a bohemian life implies . Or at least it used to be and this is what makes it the almost perfect mixture. Nowadays, hopefully at least half of its soul survives the frantic flow of modern city life. So happens that one can still have a glimpse of the ever sailing boats of fishermen, whom ignore the sounds of the city people, and set sail in a never ending quest for conquering the seas.
I wish their existence does not come true in the entirety of Walt Whitman's song of the seas and that it finds favorable wind to sail within the quoted lyrics.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up - for you the flag is flung - for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths - for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
Lyrics by Walt Whitman from 'O Captain! My Captain!'
Location: Vama Veche, Romania, June 2008
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Sleigh-riding joy while waiting for Santa
Mozart - Symphony 1 in E flat Allegro Molto
It's almost Christmas and it's that part of the year when most childhood remembrances come to life in a joyful hasty flow. Most of them, for which I am most grateful, are still a live reality of every Christmas. I therefore find very suitable Mozart's Symphony.
Morning of Christmas Eve brought the waking up to another level. Lovely smells, escaping from the kitchen, were surrounding every inch of every room. Then running around and changing clothes to rush out the door and meet friends with their sleighs. The kids council exchanging wishes that we'd like to come true after Santa had visited each and everyone of us. Then riding again for hours just to come back home all wet and frozen, candid smiling at mom and dad. After warming up, it was time to decorate the lovely tree. Success seemed so far away, usually depending on how much I grew in height during the year. Then came that important moment when writing was most serious and the whole world depended on it: writing a letter to that mysterious old man in which a list of wishes was put together with the list of personal good deeds of the year. Next, falling asleep in a hidden corner of the house while trying to catch a glimpse of the beloved Santa, the next day surprise and rush when opening presents right under the tree whose smell I was so in love with, not knowing why my parents were having the time of their life looking at me. Later came the gathering of the whole family at the Christmas dinner and the smell of all those delicious Romanian delicacies. Then going out and bragging about the presents together with all other kids, issuing and arguing on different hypothesis on how Santa got in our homes without us seeing him. And only afterward, last but not least, riding again our sleighs that underwent some kind of personal fine touch tuning during the year (of course made by our dads)...or, in some cases, simply riding our own clothes downhill only to fearlessly endure the cold and wetness for hours of laughter.
This year I am thinking of writing to Santa again, after so many years. How about you do it too?
Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas to you all! I'll be seeing you next year.
It's almost Christmas and it's that part of the year when most childhood remembrances come to life in a joyful hasty flow. Most of them, for which I am most grateful, are still a live reality of every Christmas. I therefore find very suitable Mozart's Symphony.
Morning of Christmas Eve brought the waking up to another level. Lovely smells, escaping from the kitchen, were surrounding every inch of every room. Then running around and changing clothes to rush out the door and meet friends with their sleighs. The kids council exchanging wishes that we'd like to come true after Santa had visited each and everyone of us. Then riding again for hours just to come back home all wet and frozen, candid smiling at mom and dad. After warming up, it was time to decorate the lovely tree. Success seemed so far away, usually depending on how much I grew in height during the year. Then came that important moment when writing was most serious and the whole world depended on it: writing a letter to that mysterious old man in which a list of wishes was put together with the list of personal good deeds of the year. Next, falling asleep in a hidden corner of the house while trying to catch a glimpse of the beloved Santa, the next day surprise and rush when opening presents right under the tree whose smell I was so in love with, not knowing why my parents were having the time of their life looking at me. Later came the gathering of the whole family at the Christmas dinner and the smell of all those delicious Romanian delicacies. Then going out and bragging about the presents together with all other kids, issuing and arguing on different hypothesis on how Santa got in our homes without us seeing him. And only afterward, last but not least, riding again our sleighs that underwent some kind of personal fine touch tuning during the year (of course made by our dads)...or, in some cases, simply riding our own clothes downhill only to fearlessly endure the cold and wetness for hours of laughter.
This year I am thinking of writing to Santa again, after so many years. How about you do it too?
Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas to you all! I'll be seeing you next year.
Monday, December 07, 2009
dancers
The grace. A kind caress for the eye.
The gentleness. An ineffable sense of touch.
Like a dance.
The gentleness. An ineffable sense of touch.
Like a dance.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Caragiale. The (ex-)communists. The tormented citizen. The elections.
T w e n t y years lacking o n e month apart, I get the shivers.
O n e H u n d r e d T w e n t y F i v e years ago, on Friday the 13th of November, the Bucharest National Theater hosted a major success. For the first time, the comedy entitled A lost letter (O scrisoare pierduta - ro.) met face to face with its public, the Romanian people. It was to find its place among the most renowned Romanian works of literature, whereas its creator, Ion Luca Caragiale, found his among the greatest Romanian minds. A vivid mirror of the moment's political struggle, corruption and moral petty theft, the depicted characters and events have been haunting us ever since, but lately they've been more than ever in the bone marrow of the society. Caragiale is either laughing at us or he is ashamed and deeply disappointed. I do all three. I wouldn't be amazed if he does so, too.
Closing in even more, as stated in the very beginning, we find ourselves t w e n t y years lacking o n e month apart from the social movement which, at the origin, some call it la révolution and others call it coup d'état (December 1989). History (people) won't tell. Sadly enough though, we are not far from Caragiale's characters, either. Au contraire. One might see a mixture of it with ex-communist structures still in place. The Romanian people would love to think that communists are a distant memory. Some have probably come to believe it. Whereas some are reluctant to close that eye and come to terms with that chapter. Some things are apparently not completely dealt with.
I believe time will take us on the right path. But this will happen only if one takes responsibility and chooses not to embrace ignorance. I would love to prove wrong the following wisdom quotes:
There is a song which is known by most of the people that were at least 6 or 7 years old at the time of the recent event. I could not load it, but I can show you, dear reader, the path to it and to its lyrics (in Romanian) - song and lyrics. I believe those lyrics have the same meaning if sang today as they used to have t w e n t y years lacking o n e month ago. Thank you Caragiale. Thank you Valeriu Sterian. For not letting us forget.
Unfortunately, Caragiale's tormented citizen is still asking himself as you're reading:
"Eu cu cine votez?" stands for "Whom do I cast my vote for?"
Location: Bucharest, Romania, 21st of November 2009
O n e H u n d r e d T w e n t y F i v e years ago, on Friday the 13th of November, the Bucharest National Theater hosted a major success. For the first time, the comedy entitled A lost letter (O scrisoare pierduta - ro.) met face to face with its public, the Romanian people. It was to find its place among the most renowned Romanian works of literature, whereas its creator, Ion Luca Caragiale, found his among the greatest Romanian minds. A vivid mirror of the moment's political struggle, corruption and moral petty theft, the depicted characters and events have been haunting us ever since, but lately they've been more than ever in the bone marrow of the society. Caragiale is either laughing at us or he is ashamed and deeply disappointed. I do all three. I wouldn't be amazed if he does so, too.
Closing in even more, as stated in the very beginning, we find ourselves t w e n t y years lacking o n e month apart from the social movement which, at the origin, some call it la révolution and others call it coup d'état (December 1989). History (people) won't tell. Sadly enough though, we are not far from Caragiale's characters, either. Au contraire. One might see a mixture of it with ex-communist structures still in place. The Romanian people would love to think that communists are a distant memory. Some have probably come to believe it. Whereas some are reluctant to close that eye and come to terms with that chapter. Some things are apparently not completely dealt with.
I believe time will take us on the right path. But this will happen only if one takes responsibility and chooses not to embrace ignorance. I would love to prove wrong the following wisdom quotes:
'Ignorance is bliss'
'A people has the leaders it deserves'
There is a song which is known by most of the people that were at least 6 or 7 years old at the time of the recent event. I could not load it, but I can show you, dear reader, the path to it and to its lyrics (in Romanian) - song and lyrics. I believe those lyrics have the same meaning if sang today as they used to have t w e n t y years lacking o n e month ago. Thank you Caragiale. Thank you Valeriu Sterian. For not letting us forget.
Unfortunately, Caragiale's tormented citizen is still asking himself as you're reading:
"Eu cu cine votez?" stands for "Whom do I cast my vote for?"
Location: Bucharest, Romania, 21st of November 2009
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