Posts Tagged With: Veneto

This and that from re Thai r ment, by 3Th. 15 Shadow 0007 (July 5, 2018)

 
“Midway through our lives journey, I awoke in a dark forest to find the right path had been lost.”
Dante’s Inferno.

 

 

 

 

TODAY FROM ITALY:

A. POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN VERONA:

The train ride from Sacile to Verona was relatively uneventful. Traveling by train is my favorite way to go. I find train stations far more comfortable than airline terminals, don’t you? I mean, despite all the time and motion studies and the ergonomic designs that go into the building of a modern airport, an old train station with their hard wooden benches and old train station smells seem much more comfortable than any airport I have been in — except perhaps for Singapore.

I like standing around in train stations or on the platforms watching people walk about or disembark or board trains. I don’t think much about whatever I see going on around me. I never wonder, for example, where all these people are going to or coming from or why. No, I just watch hoping to see something odd or entertaining.

Come to think of it, I may be one of the oddest things around. Here I am, an old man, older than almost anyone in the crowd passing by, taller than most here in Italy, frightfully skinny like an oddly dressed cadaver, a hunched back becoming more Quasimodo like by the day, a long dour face resembling some ancient sad-faced bloodhound with jowls plunging below its jaw, dressed in a loud Hawaiian shirt, a sweat-stained straw hat on my head, ill-fitting shades and carrying a cane shaped like a shillelagh — Odd I seem, odd indeed.

Verona — As tourist destinations and cities in Italy go, Verona is an also-ran. It never amounted to much. Even during the late Middle Ages and the Renaissance, when Italy in these parts was jumping, Verona nestled comfortably in the shadow of its wealthier and more powerful neighbors. It has, however, a few archeological and artistic treasures of note including a bitchin Roman amphitheater and some fine medieval castles and palazzos to attract the well-heeled tourist.

Most of whatever Verona has to draw the curious visitor it owes to two rather shallow young men and a rather idiotic pair of doomed lovers — all figments of the fertile imagination of a bald-headed English playwright. That’s right, people come from all over the world to Verona to see what never existed — a fiction. Even the greatest of the mad men of Madison Avenue would be hard pressed to top that.

Anyway, I booked into a hotel that billed itself as being a mere four kilometers from the old city and sporting a four-acre garden and at a price that seemed a bargain. I thought that would be great. I could enjoy the garden, take a taxi to visit the old city and save money. Unfortunately, the distance from downtown was somewhat of an under-exaggeration and a $20 taxi ride to boot.

After checking in, I had a delightful lunch in the hotel restaurant overlooking the pool. I ate an interesting pasta, a type that I had never eaten before. The noodles were tightly wrapped pieces of dough about an inch long and quite thin. It made for a very chewy noodle. I think they are called “sparrow.” The pasta was served with a tomato and eggplant sauce. It was quite good.
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Following lunch, I strolled around the gardens. Feeling good about my meal and enjoying my walk, I decided to skip Bolzano, skip visiting the old town of Verona and stay here for the next few days lounging about the pool, walking through the gardens and eating. Having reached that decision, I then returned to my room and promptly made a reservation for new lodging the next day in the heart of old town. With that all behind me, I showered, napped and later ate a dinner beginning with mussels, followed by a pasta in a white sauce with peas and asparagus and tiramisu for dessert. I also had one or more glasses of my beloved prosecco. Then, I returned to my room and went to sleep.

The following morning, just before I left for breakfast, noticed the large painting on the wall of my room that up until then I thought was some hotel commissioned impressionist paint splashing of a crooked vase — suddenly the subject matter of the painting became clear:
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I later checked into a B&B near the inner walls of the old town of Verona. While waiting for the owner of the place to show up and register me, I strolled over to the building that housed the supposed sarcophagus of poor little Juliet. Considering that her resting place remained unknown for 400 years until some enterprising Veronese came up with this one, I have my doubts. About one or two hundred years later, Dickens, after meeting the women in whose keeping the sarcophagus descended, described her as “clear-eyed.” Clear-eyed enough to spot a rube, I would imagine.

After a brief and unsuccessful attempt to connect into the “free” internet promised by the B&B, I set out to explore the town. I ate a lunch of a rather undistinguished risotto at a restaurant on the large plaza near the ruins of the bitchin old Roman Colosseum. Then I strolled around, saw Juliet’s house and searched for poor old Romeo’s home. No luck, the tourist maps were unhelpful and misleading, nevertheless, I enjoyed poking about the alleyways of the old town. I then returned to the B&B for a nap before dinner.
IIMG_4813 The Roman Amphitheater and some Thai woman in a red dress trying to avoid having her picture taken.
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The Adige River with the old Roman Theater at the base of the hill in the background.

IMG_4818                                          The famous and wellphotographed balcony with an old Roman ruin in the foreground.
After again attempting to connect with the internet and getting the same results, I left for dinner. I looked for a neighborhood away from the tourist centers and a restaurant with older pot-bellied waiters and with a clientele that spoke mostly Italian. I found one. It specialized in fish. I ordered cod in an interesting brown gravy and a side of well-made polenta and a glass of prosecco. I enjoyed myself immensely. After a tasty creme brûlée to finish off the meal, I left the restaurant for a walk before heading back to my room. For the most part, there was only me walking the streets in that part of town — just me and the silence except for the sound of my walking stick clacking on the pavement and the thrum of a motor scooter off in the distance. Now and then, I would see someone scurry across the street or cross a darkened intersection. I enjoyed myself as I walked while the gloaming passed into night.
B. BACK IN LOMBARDY — WELL NOT EXACTLY, MORE LIKE BACK AND FORTH:

The morning after breakfast, I walked to the train station and purchased a ticket to Milan. Because I had some time before my train departed, I decided to enjoy a second cup of coffee and a brioche con crema. This was to be my first mistake of many I was to make that day. You see, I misread the ticket and thought the arrival time at Milano was the departure time at Verona. I missed the train. I had to buy another ticket because my original one was for reserved seating and the express. The next train was a local, more cattle car than a train. I bought the ticket anyway.

Among the interesting things, I observed as we rode along was the young woman all smiles and enthusiasm who eagerly attempted to engage in conversation with the young man sitting opposite us. He was most likely a student, deeply engrossed in a book of mathematics. He answered her persistent queries with one-word responses or grunts until he realized what she was up to, blushed, and closed the book. The rest of the trip involved lengthy and animated conversations about train travel and railroads mostly. As the train approached her stop, the young woman announced it sadly and they both hurriedly went on about how fortunate it was to meet each other, how much they enjoyed the conversation and the hope that they would meet again. Alas, neither asked the critical question, “What is your telephone phone number.” It is because of this reticence that many a promising relationship goes unfulfilled. If only Romeo and Juliet had been this timid they could have lived, married others and populated the world with even more blushing lovers — alas. The young woman rose from her seat, stood there for a moment looking forlorn, then turned and got off the train.

Now, with that bit of theater behind me, things got more interesting, but not in the way I would have liked. You see, the person I was to meet who I have been warned not to mention and whom I shall hereafter refer to only as N, was to pick me up at the Milan train station, but on account of that prime mistake, I would now be grossly late. I attempted to call him but I discovered my phone no longer worked, only giving me back several unsatisfying machine responses to my frantic calls and messages.

I arrived at the station and of course, N was not there. Now, I am not going to list each and every one of the cascades of wrong decisions that ensued from my original mistake. You can pick them out yourselves. Anyway, I first decided on another cup of coffee to calm my nerves and to wait there in the train station cafe savoring the espresso and hoping N would decide to return one last time to see if I had arrived. After finishing my coffee, I tried reaching others on my phone in an effort to secure assistance for my plight with the same results as I had trying to contact N. That is, nothing except machine speak. I then decided to find an ATM and withdraw some money in case I had to spend the night. The damned machine merely responded “unauthorized.” I, of course, told myself I obviously was not panicking as I began trying everything I could think of including begging the damned machine for some money — all to no avail. I then thought, cleverly I believed, that I could use a pay phone to call up my bank, call N, and call my carrier and clear everything up and save the day. I asked in several shops if they could direct me to a pay phone. Ha! I learned that in our wireless world, pay phones no longer exist (at least not in Milano). I then began asking people in the station to call N on their smart-phones in the hope that he would respond, pick me up and drive me to his apartment where I could use his computer to fix my modern communication generated crisis. Unfortunately, there was no answer. I continued this every five minutes or so asking startled and suspicious travelers to call — All unsuccessful. It was then I realized with horror, in this modern age anyone without internet access is a non-person. So, here I was, In the Milano Centrale (Mussolini’s great architectural work) penniless, homeless and destitute. I found the predicament quite energizing and in its own way romantic.

After another hour or so of thought and indecision, I decided to search through all my pockets and my luggage hoping I would find enough odd coinage to pay my way back to Sacile. I did find enough, bought a ticket, hopped on the train and about seven hours later popped off at the Sacile station in the dark of night. Not being able to call Vittorio, I made my way to Hank’s house. Although it was late and Camille earlier that day had injured herself and was recuperating, he graciously let me use his internet connection and assisted me in dealing with my problems until sometime after midnight things seemed back to normal. They let me stay the night there and the next morning I again traveled across northern Italy. This made three times in two days I made that damned trip.

I thought it was obvious my phone had been hacked in Verona. (“Hacked in Verona,” a movie starring John Goodman as an aging, fat, inept, hacker hiding out in Verona because of his erroneous belief he was being hunted by the police of several nations. Frances McDormand plays the Interpol receptionist dedicated to tracking him down to let him know that, in fact, no one was looking for him. She locates him in a one-room attic apartment two doors away from the “Juliet” house. They fall in love and she moves into the apartment. The film was so successful that its two stars were contracted to appear in its sequel, “Malaise in Verona.” — OK Peter the ball is in your court.)
C. ST. MORITZ AND MORE ALPS THAN ONE CAN HANDLE:

At three the next morning N and I left to travel to Milano Centrale to catch the 6AM train to Tirano near the Swiss border in order to take the famous tourist train that climbs from there into the Alps and on to St. Moritz and beyond. The train to Tirano passed along the edge of Lake Como and into the mountains. At Tirano, we boarded the amazing train (a World Heritage something or other) that climbs the Alps summer and winter. When we arrived at St. Moritz, we had an excellent lunch at some upscale restaurant. Next to us was a table of six or seven youngish men (Anyone in their 30”s and 40’s I consider young) three of whom sported prison tats including the obvious leader (he paid the bill), a swarthy man with wavy black hair and sunglasses that he never took off. N overhearing some of their conversations said they discussed something about the clothing industry but confirmed they were those people you usually deny having seen. After lunch and a brief walk along the lake, we returned to the train and began the ride down the Alps. We arrived back at N’s apt at about 12 midnight.

I took a lot of photographs. These are some:

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The Alps

 
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St. Moritz

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More Alps

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Still more Alps with a town in the valley
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Even more Alps. This time with the World Heritage train in the foreground.

The next day, we slept late and went for a walk of about three miles from Busto to another town where we had a coffee, watched the World Cup and then walked back. Later that evening, because it was my last day before returning to Sacile, we decided to have dinner at one of the best restaurants in the area. It was Monday and the restaurant was closed as were the eight or so other restaurants we tried. We ended up eating at a fast food place located in a twenty-four-hour supermarket.

The following morning, I left at 5AM for my fourth trip across Italy in the past three days and my fifth since I arrived in the country. It must qualify for the Guinness Book of Records.

 

D. BACK IN THE VENETO:

At about 1PM, I exited the train at Sacile. After a brief stop at Lucia’s for a prosecco, I sat at a cafe in the piazza and ate a lunch of barley salad and ground meat in zucchini along with an iced white tea and cranberry. For dessert, I had a delicious chocolate ice cream drink. Hank found me there and offered to let me stay at his apartment until we leave for Croatia. I thought it was a good idea because it would relieve Vittorio and Anita of the burden of hosting me while also caring for the two women. I would miss Topo Tamai though.
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They put me up in a wonderful garret type room above their apartment with a long sloping ceiling, a large bed with old wood carved headboards and three windows with views across the orange-tiled roofs of the town and into the pre-alps off in the distance.
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The next morning following a breakfast go cappuccino and brioche at Lucia’s, Hank and I drove off towards the old American air-force base at Aviano have lunch with to have lunch with some friends. Along the way, we stopped at a local winery so that Hank could by some wine for household use. Their best wines were arrayed several large barrels. Attached to each barrel was a hose from with you could draw the wine contained their in into your own bottles at About $1.50 a liter.

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We were joined at lunch by a retired American Army officer and his wife who used to be the American military historian assigned to the base. While eating a delightful meal (I reprised the pasta I enjoyed so much in Verona) we talked of many things, where we came from, what brings us here in northern Italy, favorite books, dinner plans and so one. The historian and I discussed Naida’s trilogy. She appeared eager to read it and wrote down its name.

After lunch, Hank drove me to the two headwaters of the Livenza River, the river that flows through Sacile and into the Adriatic. A river that had been a major trade route for over 7000 years since Neolithic times. ( As a side note, perhaps twenty years or so, after reading the book “The Nine Daughters of Eve” I had my mitochondria analyzed by the geneticist author and found my penultimate mother to have been born somewhere around here about 15,000 years ago). The entire river is generated by springs under the mountain. The first source is this spectacular turquoise pool fed by water from the caves beneath the cliff. Divers have gone down up to 250 feet to find the source of the water with no success. If you look closely at the center of the photograph there is a submerged statue of the Christ facing the cave from which some of those divers never emerged.

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The second headwater emerges directly from the rocks at the bottom of the photograph below and alone creates the river you see in the picture.
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That evening Hank, Camille and I went to a restaurant in a nearby town that specialized in fish dishes. We were joined by the couple with whom we had lunch, an Italian gentleman who, as it was explained to me, was the wealthy owner of a local winery, and another couple, a retired contractor for the Defense Department and his wife a very engaging woman from Madrid. I ate a spaghetti with tiny clams and a salad and for dessert a melted ice-cream and vodka drink.

The next day was market day in Sacile. The stalls were set up along the streets throughout the central part of the town. After a cappuccino and a brioche, I set off to wander through the market and the town. I walked over bridges I had never crossed before, down streets I had never traveled before, past restaurants I had never eaten in, past town walls I had never passed before, and took photographs of views I had never seen before. I was both happy and a little sad. Happy to see all these new things and sad because at my age who knows if I shall ever pass this way again.
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Then back to Lucia’s for a prosecco and water with a little ice and lemon and then off to pack and to nap.

Tomorrow we are off to Croatia.
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E. NEWS STRAIGHT OR SLIGHTLY BENT:

Besides the World Cup, the news here these past few days have been dominated by the plight of the 12 member Thai teenage soccer team and their coach that had been trapped in a cave for about 10 days. Through the efforts of an international rescue team, they were eventually found miraculously all still alive. The coverage is ongoing since the students have been determined to be too weak to move according to medical personnel with the rescue team and must remain in the cave for another week or so.

Meanwhile, the media being so preoccupied with the rescue and the World Cup completely missed the news of Trump’s appointment of Vladimir Putin as the US Secretary of State, putting him third in line for the Presidency. When queried about how Putin could ascend to the Presidency of the US given the Constitution’s requirement that the President be a natural born American citizen, the administration’s spokesperson stated that a birth certificate recently had been discovered showing Putin was born in Tennessee, the child of two Russian double agents working in the US at the time. When asked when the birth certificate would be available for review, it was explained that it was in the President’s possession and would be released when he releases his tax returns. Reports that Vice-president Pence and Speaker Ryan, the two people in line for the presidency before Putin have recently hired a team of food tasters and doubled their security detail cannot be confirmed at this time. The President, in announcing the appointment, said that he, Trump, was the greatest President and leader of a nation in all of human history and that Vladimir Putin was “a good guy,” “very trustworthy,” “a true lover of democracy” and a “friend of the United States.” Trump also said of Putin that, “All the prettiest girls in Russia love him almost as much as they do me.”

 

 

 

 

PEPE’S POTPOURRI:

A. Tuckahoe Joe’s Blog of the Week:

While rooting around the internet a few days ago for reasons I have now forgotten, I came across something that quite amazed me — a blog site in which the author attempts to reproduce James Joyce’s Ulysses word for word in comic book form. So far he has transcribed three sections and has a long way to go yet. That he chooses to make the attempt demonstrates a level of obsession and determination of which I am in awe, even if it leads me to question why. After all why Joyce wrote it at all, other then to bedevil the critics, is a question worth ruminating on.

The blog, in addition to the comics, also includes clever “opinion” pieces like this one about famous first lines in fiction:

“I’ve been thinking about first lines a lot lately, and I’m pretty sure I find the first line of Ulysses to be just okay. Here it is: ‘Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.’”

“Now there’s nothing wrong with the line. It’s perfectly serviceable. Joyce wonks like me are fond of pointing out that ‘Stately’ contains the novel’s final word (‘Yes’) in reverse, lending the novel a nifty quasi-palindromic quality. And the densely packed images of the bowl, the mirror, the razor, and the cross each accrete layers of symbolic meaning as the novel progresses. Still, it’s not the sort of first line which, as a line, burns into the reader’s brain in the manner of ‘Call me Ishmael’ or even ‘A screaming comes across the sky.’ The American Book Review recently compiled a list of ‘100 Best First Lines From Novels.’ All the usual suspects are there, including Ulysses, but it seems to me that certain of their selections are simply nods to great books rather than to individual lines. ‘I am an invisible man,’ for instance, from Ellison’s novel of that name. The novel’s a masterpiece, but is the line really so wonderful? I suppose, if we’re taking context out of the picture, we might have to nix Ishmael too—if we want a pure list of this kind, then I say we do it. By contrast, a line like the one that begins Michael Chabon’s ‘Werewolves in Their Youth’ is pretty darned interesting in its own right (and I’ve never even read the story): ‘I had known him as a bulldozer, as a samurai, as an android programmed to kill, as Plastic Man and Titanium Man and Matter-Eater Lad, as a Peterbilt truck, and even, for a week, as the Mackinac Bridge, but it was as a werewolf that Timothy Stokes finally went too far.’”

“And here are a few others not on the ABR list that I’m fond of for reasons both obvious and ineffable:

‘Where’s Pa going with that ax?’ (E.B. White, Charlotte’s Web)”

“Back in the time of which I am speaking, due to our Coordinators had mandated us, we had all seen that educational video of It’s Yours to Do With What You Like! in which teens like ourselves speak on the healthy benefits of getting off by oneself and doing what one feels like in terms of self-touching, which what we learned from that video was, there is nothing wrong with self-welltouching, because love is a mystery but the mechanics of love need not be, so go off alone, see what is up, with you and your relation to your own gonads, and the main thing is, just have fun, feeling no shame!’ (George Saunders, Jon)”

“‘Hellfire hallelujah and halitosis. Mike Schmidt sits to pee.’(Shawn McBride, Green Grass Grace)”

“Are these culled from great works? Does it matter?”

 

There is also a site that lists the best last lines in Fiction. And, while plump Buck Mulligan’s shaving preparation is a pretty good line, I prefer Molly Bloom’s soliloquy that brings Ulysses to its glorious end:

“I was a Flower of the mountains yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls use or should I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another…then he asked me yes would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.”

 

 

B. Giants of History: Peter’s responses to the previous T&T post.
On Pythonism

Interesting chronological confluence: Recently finished reading “The Swerve: How the World Became Modern” by Stephen Greenblatt. It’s about the rediscovery of Lucretius”s poem “On The Nature of Things”, after over a thousand years, by Poggio Bracciolini around 1417, who was a former pope’s secretary and enthusiast for ancient Greek and Roman manuscripts, and the poem’s contribution to and impact on Renaissance and later thinking. Lucretius was a disciple of Epicurus. the poem articulated the radical (for the late middle ages) view that the universe and all things, human and otherwise, consist solely of atoms and the void, that there is no afterlife or resurrection or heaven and hell, God doesn’t exist let alone run things, and after all the right approach to life is to seek pleasure and avoid pain. Find joy in what you can now, ‘cause there ain’t no heaven. Works for me. Monte Python in a Roman toga.

On coffee get-togethers in the Enchanted Forest

Sounds more intriguing than Leisure World or stumbling down Collins Avenue sidestepping doggie do. Do they wear purple hair in the Enchanted Forest? Boy toy sounds like some exotic Asian dish (just watched Anthony Bourdain in Viet Nam eating some fabulous soup in Hue); but cannibals probably wouldn’t eat geriatric boy toy.

On the contention, that beauty can bore

Interesting: Suggests that wandering is a cure for the ennui or boredom of salubrious settlement. Thus, commuting from Heaven to Purgatory to Hell and back, and onward. Or at least to New York and Sacile. Forever seeking beatitude or a good pastry. Unless, of course, one is totally absorbed in one’s obsession, whatever it is: Putin’s grabbing and disrupting others, Van Gogh’s painting and agonizing, Scrooge McDuck’s diving into his money bin….

On negative news about negative people

Years ago I read something about news, and how history shows that people always want to hear/read/see the bad news, disaster news, negative stuff. What I read referred back to news, and pamphlets. And whatever back two-three hundred years. So there’s a psychological basis to take advantage of for slanting the news.

Given US history, as shown e. g by “Fantasyland,” the US is both a testing ground for new corporate-driven forms of domination and, together with its predilection for violence and fantasy, a retrograde movement backward toward more primitive and difficult times.

On corporations and oligarchs

Ultimately, the world corporate oligarchical/dictatorial concentration and continued climate change impacts will result in continued and enhanced mass migrations and consequent population redistributions, and as a byproduct a reduction of “guns in America” as counter-productive. The beauty of the Veneto will provide an oasis in which the “ho hum, another day in paradise” ennui will be reluctantly deemed the tolerable alternative to hemlock or standing on line at the Louvre to gape at the Mona Lisa or joining a futile, isolated white armed resistance cell whose membership includes — by that time — a senile Michael Caine, Leonardo DiCaprio, Brad Pitt, Denzel Washington, Sean Penn, Samuel L. Jackson, Benicio Del toro, Russell Crowe, and Angelina Joli.

On “the cradle of civilization”

Now, China’s new Road (whatever they call that) essentially recreates the old Silk Road by rail and highway from China to the Middle East, Europe, and Africa. The Russians are already building up Kazakhstan with their space program (and even Trump was trying to get some business there!). Iran will be a key, as it was back then, in spite of the Saudi/Sunnis. The US will have a lot to learn from the Italians’ sense of history via “Catch-22”

 

Wisdom from the Kabbala

“Travels With Epicurus”. Has its benefits.

Do the swallows return to Compostello?*

Thus the wheel of Karma turns; what’s new?

How do you spell Medicare in Italian?

*Note: my spell check translated this as composted.

 

 

 

TODAY’S QUOTE:

“Clothes do not make the man, but you need the proper costume if you want to play the part.”

Rothfuss, Patrick. The Wise Man’s Fear (The Kingkiller Chronicle, Book 2) (p. 181). DAW.

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Categories: July through September 2018, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

This and that from re Thai r ment, by 3Th. 15 Jo Jo 0004 (May 30, 2015)

 

“Fearlessness is for the insane and the arrogant.”
Koontz, Dean. Deeply Odd: An Odd Thomas Novel (p. 132). Random House Publishing Group.

 

 

TODAY FROM ITALY:

A. POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN LOMBARDIA:

1. International Food EXPO.

I spent the night in Nikki’s apartment in Busto Arsizio, a nondescript residential suburb outside of Milan.
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It took a day to sleep off jet lag after which we went to the International Food EXPO being held in Milan until October. If you get a chance, you should go also. It is fabulous. What is more enjoyable than a festival celebrating food and wine? It’s also gratifying to attend an international exhibition that replaces “my technology is better than yours,” with, “welcome, eat my food and drink my wine.”
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The exhibition is immense. A large covered promenade extending well over a mile lined with pavilions featuring form over function architecture (buildings with no conceivable use) formed the focal center of the EXPO. I especially appreciated, given that my aging legs soon gave out, that the whole fair was amply supplied with places to rest, to sit or lie down and, of course, to eat and drink.
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The Promenade                                             The mechanized EXPO centerpiece

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A Pavillion

In the twelve hours we spent there, we were able to visit only about six or so of the national pavilions.

At the Czech pavilion, we drank some excellent beer. The pavilion seemed to be one of the party centers of the fair. In front was a large shallow pool surrounded by beach chairs on which fair-goers would sit in the sun sipping their beer. Late at night, tipsy young people would jump into the pool and splash around. Nobody minded.
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At the Czech Pavilion

The Rumanian exhibit featured a log cabin on the roof of the pavilion at which Nikki and I sat, ate some Rumanian native foods and drank a bottle of strong almost black Rumanian wine.
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The Rumanian Pavillion

By the time we got to the Turkish pavilion, I collapsed in a small gazebo type structure with a fountain in the middle where I slumped comatose on the pillows until Nikki revived me with some strong Turkish tea.

We, also visited the USA pavilion (mostly meh!), the Brunei Pavilion, Slovenia (more beer) and one or two others. The various Arab pavilions, which we did not visit, seemed very popular, but I was told they did not serve food or wine. What they did in there I never found out.

By far my favorite place was the immense EATALY pavilion. EATALY, the company that builds and operates emporiums featuring Italian regional foods, created a site containing about 20 restaurants, each featuring foods and wines from a different region of Italy, along with a fabulous collection of artworks. Food, wine, and art, what is more civilized than that? We ate lunch and dinner there and drank lots of wines, Prosecco, Sauvignon Blanc, Chianti and a wonderful red from Piemonte.
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The EATALY Pavilion

We met up with a friend of Nikki’s, the last Count Visconti. The great Visconti family ruled Milano from the Thirteenth to the Fifteenth Century until one of their sons-in-law established the Sforza dynasty. The Count’s father managed to eat, drink, whore and generally misinvest the family fortune leaving Marco, the present Count, penniless and forced to seek work. He is, along with Nikki, a pilot for Alitalia. He was accompanied by his girlfriend a successful attorney, her son a precocious six-year-old who, when tricked into it, speaks English without a noticeable accent and the Count’s daughter, an adolescent who knows her own mind.
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The Count on Nikki’s left, the lawyer on his right, the Count’s daughter and, the Little Prince, Giacomo, above.

The next day I took the train into Milan to meet with Marco Gallo. Marco is the son of my friend Luigi who lives in Sicily and who I expect to visit in about three weeks. Marco is a doctor of nutrition specializing in sports nutrition. He is deeply in love with an attractive young woman the way only the young can be.

We went to the Piazza del Duomo, where we had lunch at a superb restaurant specializing in Neapolitan cuisine. The restaurant is located in an alley off the piazza right next to the Galleria. Unfortunately, I do not remember its name except that it ended with the word Ciminio.
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We at an excellent Mozzarella in Carroza and the most perfectly prepared Eggplant Parmigiana I have ever tasted in a restaurant. When I commented on it, Marco suggested that maybe Americans use the wrong type of eggplant for the dish. Sicilian eggplant has either more or less water, I do not remember which, than other types. We finished off with a Neapolitan pizza and of course espresso — the wonderfully thick kind from southern Italy.

After lunch, I visited Marco’s office located in the city’s canal district. As we passed through central Milan, I noticed a number of extremely tall, thin and unusually long-legged women rushing along the sidewalks. Although they were undeniably attractive, their thin bodies and exceptionally long legs made them appear deformed. When I mentioned this to Marco he explained that most of them were fashion models hurrying between photo shoots.

The canals of Milan long ignored and long derelict are being restored and a new urban waterfront is being created. 40 years ago, I lectured and wrote about the unrealized social, economic and environmental values of the urban waterfronts that most cities had turned their backs on or used for industrial sewers. Since then cities like Denver, San Antonio, New York City and a few others have enjoyed an urban renaissance along their waterfronts. Now Milan is having a go at it. Real estate prices have already sky-rocked.
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According to Marco, the original canal was designed by Leonardo da Vinci to carry Carrara marble from the quarries in Tuscany to Milan in order to construct the Duomo. From this bit of socialism emerged one of the sources of the West’s rise from also-rans to the economic and technological colossus that dominated the world for the next five hundred years.

Marco’s studio, located in the district, contains a consulting room, a waiting room and a small garden. While he met with a client, I dozed off.

We then left the office in search of one of the rent-a-cars (like Zip cars) parked around the city. On the way, we said hello to Marco’s friend, Italy’s arm wrestling champion who owns a vitamin supplement shop nearby. We soon found a car. They are operated by the national energy companies and are quite inexpensive. During the drive back to the train station Marco showed me some of the sights of Milan and demonstrated why he was at one time a championship race car driver.

3. Nikki in pain

The following day Nikki had an operation on his wrist for a cyst so I spent the day as his nurse, chauffeur and companion.
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Then it was time to leave and head for Sacile, Venice and the Biennale.

B. POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN VENETO

Sacile

The train slid across the plains of Northern Italy — the Alps looming all dark gray and white on the left. I arrived in Sacile late in the afternoon.

Sacile is an attractive little city at the base of the Dolomite. A photograph of it adorns my Facebook page. During Venice’s heyday, the river that formed one of the main trade routes between the Venice Lagoon and the North passed through Sacile. The series of rapids located there required trade goods be off-loaded and transported by land above the rapids. As a result, a port and town grew up around the portage. As often the case, first the workers moved into the village, then the merchants and finally it became a favored spot for Venetians themselves to locate their summer homes in an effort to avoid the miasmatic atmosphere of the lagoons. Eventually, it began to be called “Il Giardino della Serenissima.”
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My friend Vittorio picked me up at the train station and we drove immediately to one of my favorite places in the world, Lucia’s bar, “Le Petite Cafe.” Some wines achieve greatness because of the quality of the grape, others because of the location of the vine, still others on the ability of the winemaker, here in Sacile the greatness of the Prosecco is based on the person who pours it into your glass and that person is Lucia who adds a lot of happiness to the wine. If I were asked to recommend places to see before you die, Lucia’s bar would be right up there among the top.
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Lucia and Vittorio

Vittorio, Lucia and I were joined by Professor Hank and a friend. Professor Hank is an economics professor at a college in New Jersey who used to also teach at the huge American military base a few miles north of here and lives part of the year in Sacile. Not only do I enjoy his company and stories but I appreciate his gentle and passionate belief that his economic theories (with which I, less gently but also less passionately, disagree) are a force for good.

After lifting very many glasses of Prosecco, laughing too hard and talking too loud, we said goodbye to Lucia and Hank and set off for Vittorio’s farm in the Village of Tamai where I was to spend the next few days.

The next day was market day in Sacile. I happily lost my way among the flower, fruit and clothing stands that lined the streets of the town until I turned down a quiet little lane that smelled of honeysuckle and found myself, not surprisingly, at Lucia’s bar. Vittorio, Professor Hank and a number of other aging American ex-pats and their Italian wives joined me there. After some espresso to clear my mind, we began on the Prosecco and talk until it was time to return to Tamai for lunch.

After lunch and a brief nap, I walked around the small farm and spent some time talking to the chickens before returning to the house, sitting on the porch and for the next few hours staring at the traffic passing by.
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PEPE’S POTPOURRI:

A. Quigley on Top:

“The economic expansion of industrialization has been based on plundering the natural capital of the globe that was created over millions of years: the plundering of the soils of their fertility; the plundering of the human communities, whether they were our own or someone else’s, in Africa or anywhere else; the plundering of the forest. In 1776 the wealth of forest in North America was beyond belief; within 150 years, it has been destroyed and more than ninety percent of it wasted. And it had in it three hundred years of accumulated capital savings and investment of sunlight and the fertility of the soil.

The energy which gave us the Industrial Revolution — coal, oil, natural gas — represented the accumulated savings of four weeks of sunlight that managed somehow to be saved in the earth out of the three billion years of sunshine. That is what the fossil fuels are. This is not income to be spent; this is capital to be saved and invested. But we have already destroyed into entropy — a form of energy which is no longer able to be utilized — eleven or twelve days of that accumulated twenty-eight days of sunlight. And we have wasted it.”

“Public Authority and the State in the Western Tradition:A Thousand Years of Growth, A.D. 976 – 1976” by Carroll Quigley Ph.D.

B. Trenz Pruca’s Observations:

“Lying to oneself is necessary for survival. If not, how would anyone make it through puberty? “
Trenz Pruca
C. Today’s Paraprosdokian*:

“You’re never too old to learn something stupid.”

*Paraprosdokian is a sickness that begins with a tickle in the back of the mind.

D. Today’s Poem:

Rhyme and alliteration

The sun sits
on worried wings
and soft sings
of dreams of fire
and ghostly things
with deep desire.

Without desire
for all those things.
he banks his fire.
Burned wood sings
through smokey wings
where he sits.

TODAY’S QUOTE:

“Normal human behavior, honed during evolution, is to meet people in the village center — dancing, competing, gambling, sharing food, or just getting water from the well. Those are the people you invite to your house, not a stranger.”
Naida West

Categories: April through June 2015, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

This and that from re Thai r ment, by 3Th. July 9 2011

POOKIE FOR PRESIDENT:

Please see: http://papajoestales.wordpress.com/

TODAY’S FACTOID:

2011: The State of the US Airline industry:

— The peak of US airline employment was in 2000, with more than 650,000 Americans working for an airline. Since then, based on government statistics, US airlines have cut nearly 150,000 employees.

— More than 30 percent of US airlines filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection during the 2000-2010 decade (i.e., 30 percent of airline shareholders were wiped out).

— Many new jobs for pilots will be with “state-owned airlines”; it is forecasted that, “by 2029, 68 percent of air traffic volume will be from the emerging economies in such countries and regions as Asia, Brazil, India, and the Middle East.
Read more: http://www.businessinsider.

As I mentioned in a previous e-mail, the state of the US airline industry is evidence that the 9/11 terrorists may have achieved their goal to wreck the American economy by banking on the American political establishment’s overreaction to their attack, driving the American economy into the gutter. The death of Bin-Laden does not alter that, nor does it change the fact that as regrettable and horrid as it is, his strategy seems to be working. American conservative leadership (Republican and Democratic alike) will continue to blame it on the unions, food stamps, illegal immigrants, the civil service, or almost anyone else other than themselves.

TODAY’S NEWS FROM (THAILAND) AMERICA:

English: In January 2009, President of the Uni...

 In January 2009, President of the United States of America, George W. Bush invited then President-Elect Barack Obama and former Presidents George H.W. Bush, Bill Clinton, and Jimmy Carter for a Meeting and Lunch at The White House. Photo taken in the Oval Office at The White House. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The liberal wing of the Democratic Party continuing their tradition, extending back about 50 years, of turning on the person they helped elect President because he failed to deliver on their favorite single issue, thereby more often than not assuring his defeat, have turned on Obama. Despite shepherding through a balky Congress the most progressive agenda since Lyndon Johnson, the liberal élite are furious at learning that Obama actually is the liberal leaning centrist he said he was during election and not the fire-breathing leftist ideologue they imagined him to be in their mad rush to defeat a representative of the previous administration that they helped elect and then abandoned for committing the unforgivable sin of political realism.

On the right, on the other hand the Republicans seem to almost always forgive their leaders for recognizing political reality or, god forbid, actually doing something right among the stream of disastrous policies that so please their rank and file (e.g., Nixon on the Environmental Quality Act, Reagan surprisingly on Social Security). Only George W. Bush seemed bereft of a single socially positive domestic policy initiative and yet despite the almost universal recognition among even those on the right that his policies were a disaster for the nation and his Party, virtually no significant criticism of either him or his policies emerged from the conservative press.

The liberal journalist icon , Frank Rich in the NY Times recently has written:

The president’s failure to demand a reckoning from the moneyed interests who brought the economy down has cursed his first term, and could prevent a second.”

Never has a conservative journalist so blithely abandoned their leader because of a failure of ideology or policy. If that were not so, George W. Bush would never had won a second term.

POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN (THAILAND)ITALY:

Vittorio and I continued on to Barcis, a picturesque little town by a lake nestled in the mountains at the edge of the Dolomite. We walked about a bit then returned home.

On Sunday, we returned with Hayden. Vittorio’s band, “The Tamai Friends of Music” was featured at the festivities accompanying rowing races on the lake at Barcis. I had bought Hayden a tin whistle in Venice that he happily and forcefully played along with the band until the conductor asked him either to stop or get up on the stage and join them.

A few days earlier, Nikki arrived at the farm. He had a couple of days off between flights. We took the train to Venice specifically to see the model boats exhibited at the naval museum at the Arsenale. Of course, when we arrived it was closed. Otherwise Venice was, well Venice; the food was awful and the people obnoxious but the City looked wonderful.

We had lunch (actually just snacks and wine) at the only place I found where the proprietor appeared to welcome us. As could be expected she was not Venetian but was a Brazilian immigrant married to an Italian. I drank too much wine and struck up a lively conversation with two English spinsters sitting at the next table. (To those feminists among us, there lacks a more suitable description to this throwback to those fiercely independent Victorian woman, usually from England, who strode the world in pursuit of social justice, striking fear into any malefactors of moral impropriety.) One had recently moved to Treviso and the other was visiting her from her home in London. They both were committed socialists, but agreed to support my candidacy for President. Upon leaving the café a little tipsy, I walked into the easel that held the osteria’s menu sign and broke it to bits.

If you would chance to be in Venice in the future, the name of the place is Osteria alla Ciurma at S. Paulo 406 Rialto, calle della Galeazza just far enough from the Rialto to allow its food to be edible. Do not mention that you know me. However, if the spinsters are there (it is their favorite place in Venice) say hello to them for me.

PAPA JOES TALES AND FABLES:

See: http://papajoesfables.wordpress.com/

JOEY’S MYSTERY NOVEL:

On the way back to the office Vince asked Ray how he knew what to do about the photographer and about the note.

“Before I became a legal sec… er administrative assistant, I worked for a private eye.”

“No kidding, who did you work for?”

“Al Pischotti.”

“Fat Al! You worked for Fat Al? How come I did not know about it and why didn’t you tell me when I asked you to assist him?”

“I thought you knew. It was on my resume. I guess you did not have a chance to look at it.”

When they arrived back at the office Nina was waiting with a grim smile playing at her lips. “The Great One arrives tonight. She wants to meet with you tomorrow after finishing some meetings with clients. She suggested dinner at “TWO”.”

Of course, “TWO” was one of the most expensive restaurants in town, lighting too dark to see across the table and portions so small one had to stop and get a hamburger on the way home or risk starving before morning.

The Great One is how most people in the firm referred to the managing partner of the Brussels office. Arabella Le Grande is her actual name. A few that know her well call her Arrogant Bella.

“Also,” she continued not giving him time to groan, “David is in your office waiting for you to return. It’s terrible about Mrs. Coign everyone is very upset. First Mr. Coign then his wife. What a shame.”

___________________________________________

William “Big Bill” McWilliams had just exited his chauffeur driven Bentley and started across to sidewalk towards his office building on Steuart Street in San Francisco when he was blindsided by another pedestrian who obviously was not paying attention to where she was going.

“Dammit, why don’t you…” he began before noticing that his assailant was a most beautiful young woman almost as tall as he was, wearing a very short skirt, large hoop earrings, and a scoop necked blouse exposing the promise of large soft rounded breasts below. Seamlessly he lowered his voice almost one octave to produce that sonorous sound that earned him the additional sobriquet among some as “Golden Throat”. “…ah, excuse me miss, it was all my fault, I should have been more careful. Let me make up for my clumsiness by buying you a cup of coffee”.

“No,no” she said in her deep throaty sexy voice, “It was all my fault. I was in too much of a hurry for my meeting. I wasn’t looking where I was going. I am in a bit of a hurry right now.” She looked at him for a moment with her calm eyes, glanced at the Bentley that had driven off and now was awaiting the change of signals at the stop light on the corner, smiled a broad sparkling smile and added, “But I would take a rain check on that coffee.”

Big Bill, ego aflame, reached into the left hand pocket of his suit jacket where he always kept a few of his overwrought business cards containing besides his name and his office number clear evidence that he was the owner of several businesses, plucked one out and handed it to her, “Here is my number. Please call. I will look forward to it.”

She took the card, smiled, saluted him with it and walked off.

He watched her for a moment, then turning off his smile, walked into the small elegant lobby of the “McWilliams Building.”

PEPE’S POTPOURRI:

a. Philosophical ruminations:

One evening before going to sleep I asked Hayden if there was any questions he wanted answered. He said, “Yes, I know I come from my mommy and she came from her mommy and her from her mommy (Apparently his mother left him with the impression that males have no role in the procreation process, being restricted only to working and providing money.), but,” he continued, “I don’t understand where it all ends.”

So I launched into a lengthy explanation of evolution and modern scientific thought on cosmology.

When I finished he said, “I think I understand. But, what I really want to know is if this was before or after God died?”
b. Testosterone Chronicles:

Young male CEOs appear to be combative… [as] a result of testosterone levels that are higher in young males. Testosterone… has been shown to influence prospects for a cooperative outcome of the ultimatum game. Specifically, high-testosterone responders tend to reject low offers even though this is against their interest.”
Source: Social Science Research Network

(Combative or bags of nuts?)

c. Department of abasement, apology and correction:

(1) I guess I have to apologize for something. So, I apologize for my continued political harangues. Unfortunately, whenever I hear those bells of Boston ringing, I just want to run and warn the British that the Colonists are coming to shoot them for trying to take away our guns. Thankfully, our four fathers (Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln and the good Roosevelt) worked tirelessly to eliminate slavery at the founding of our country. Ah, I just cannot help myself.

(2) According to Wikipedia, the town referred to in the previous post as Veneto later changed to Vittorio Veneto in honor of the Italian victory there in WW I was actually named Vittorio with the Veneto added to commemorate the victory.

TODAY’S QUOTE:

“Law enforcement on Obama’s watch rounded up 393,000 illegal immigrants last year and zero bankers.”
Matt Taibbi.

The question for the 2012 election is could any candidate running for the Republican nomination for the Presidency do as well for the right-wing of their party on either issue as the incumbent?

TODAY’S PHOTOGRAPHS:

Hayden, flute-less in Barcis, watching “The Tamai Friends of Music”:

The boat races on the lake at Barcis:

Pookie in Venice:

Categories: July 2011 through September 2011 | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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