“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream” (- Poe)
A prowl through the mystifying and playful El Siq canyon.
On guard! Bright and early, at the break of down..
To conquer the valleys and the suns: the mighty Al Khazneh Treasury View full article »
This city is not unfamiliar to me, and I have never felt a stranger here. From the outsider’s perspective, I know it well, meaning I orient myself well around it, I have dear and favourite locales, and a few tricks. But you would never accidentally confuse me with a local.
This autumn, I am in on a mission to familiarize, explore, and integrate.
Initiation: a sort of public awareness project about cultural and historical heritage of the city.
At first they seem like simple historical postcards. I suspect that this might be the tourist route. On the contrary, it’s a concept that encourages the residents to understand the renowned sightseeing spots and, ultimately, regard them in a different, fresh light. As for the tourist, it’s a more in-depth view, just short of a tourist guide.
The collection, “A stroll through history”, so far contains 3 series, 12 postcards each, representing different historical themes. The postcards depict landmarks, and each is linked on a route map that comes with.
Ah, the clichéd label “Paris of the Southern Hemisphere” you will see only in guidebooks. It does, however, indeed, remind of Paris. But mostly of Madrid. And to me, even of Belgrade. All the big European cities I love.
I suppose this is what it’s like when you’re always on the road: you take what’s dear along with you. Like memories and symbolisms.
My coup de foudre happened in San Telmo, where else? It was just so that I was viewing a room for rent on Calle Defensa on a Sunday.
Las calles de Buenos Aires
ya son mi entraña
-Borges
I think the owner was well aware of the effect of her request. I saw the street, I saw the crowd, I saw the dusty ornate facade and I was ready to cash out 2 months rent. Then I saw the improvisation of a bathroom, and the dream drained promptly.
I went back out on the street, sat on the sidewalk, hugged a glass of tinto, and resumed people-watching.
There is no guidebook that doesn’t recommend spending a day in the ‘impossibly picturesque and charming’ Colonia del Sacramento, a little town in Uruguay just an hour-long boat ride from Buenos Aires.
That very fact made me want to skip it, imagining all the people running around with their Lonely Planets and snapping the same pictures.
- There are no buses back to Punta del Este today, I’m afraid you’re stuck here.
I look down the barren, dusty unpaved road weaving unevenly between the colourful shacks. The early afternoon sun is cutting across so it seems even more desolate than it is.
The huts are in all states of construction, with stuff scattered about, as if everyone just suddenly dropped everything because there was a beautiful swell, and went to surf. But it’s the off-season so they’ll be back only around October.
Too bad. It’s idyllic now. Only a few more open cafes lazily playing some reggae could possibly make it better.
- Bueno.. could you hang a couple of hammocks for us tonight? But right now, I’m going for a swim.
4 hours earlier
I had just broken the water surface when I see Alon from the nearby Rancho Azul, sauntering down the alley towards the beach.
We previously met at a hippie coffee shop Canoa Quebrada, my favourite discovery of the Punta surroundings.
I said I happen to know one Alon, who was a magic carpet salesman. He didn’t believe me, but believe me, he was real. The magic carpets, perhaps, not so much. He was eccentric like that.
I previously wrote about the design and life within Brazilian favelas (large, densely populated unplanned urban districts). There are many of them in Rio de Janeiro and Sao Paulo.
I explored Rocinha, the biggest favela in South America, housing 80K people, according to official statistics (or 200K, unofficially!). It is located in the Zona Sul, the south of the city, interestingly, between the most gorgeous beach, Sao Conrado, and the most affluent neighbourhood, Gavea. These two districts represent highly disparate existences side-by-side.
They are usually built upward into the hills because of the unstable terrain for foundations, which is considered less valuable, and due to their distance from city’s infrastructure and the beaches. Then again, they have amazing vistas, but mostly of the rest of the slum.
More information here, and the visuals:
The view towards Sao Conrado
The back view, the sprawl upwards
It all grows ‘organically’ to the hills. With no more space the residents just keep building atop one another
Their foundations are other houses below
This is an old Michael Jackson video ‘They Don’t Really Care About Us’, in which the background is part-favela in Rio (could be Rocinha but wikipedia says otherwise), and part-Largo de Pelhourinho in Salvador’s Cidade Alta. The drumming and marching bands are really powerful to listen to live and follow down the uneven cobbled alleys.
I didn’t know about the video before, I received it as a reference when I described dancing on the streets of Salvador de Bahia.
hidden courtyards with more treasures
The tireless rolling streets of Olinda, party central: treasure among treasures!
the best night of the Carnaval. [Diego & Jesica, if you're reading this, muito obrigada!]
Olinda is a small colonial town, and a UNESCO World Heritage site. It’s only 20min by city bus from the centre of Recife (and its Miami-like modern skyscrapers seen here in the background). They are located in Pernambuco province on the northern coastline of Brasil.
in the Bahía de Todos los Santos (the Bay of all Saints), these two
The streets in centro storico in Cartagena are named only in segments – after every intersection the streets carry a different name. At first it was terribly confusing, making it hard to find a certain address unless I was actually in its immediate vicinity (so then, what’s the point?)
Despite that, it’s easily traversable as it is quite small.
It is easy to catch a sight of craggy craft vendors, roaring dance parades, street performances, who are normally not opposed to having their picture taken.
The music is known to spill out on the streets, and it’s not uncommon to see barefoot performers running to the next show.
my compass sometimes does have a needle but my feet know where to move
en embrace
yellow canary
speakers corner
Rua Augusta, Saturday noon, the sunny, wind-scattered heat in mid-November feels like a mid-August elsewhere.
Purple jacaranda florets are in bloom.
We are sweating and drinking ginjinha, a sticky, sweet liqueur-like digestive made of sour cherries. I love the soaked cherries, not the syrupy brandy itself, but I’m drinking it all for solidarity with my two sidemen – true Lisbonites – my friends and hosts, Pedro and Luis.
Europe’s westernmost capital, once an imposing colonial and maritime power, feels relaxed and easygoing that I feel oddly comfortable already upon arrival. I love when new places do that, it’s rare.
it will inadvertently tempt you to unveil the hidden truths
-
I receive a text message from a friend elsewhere, asking if I am at the end of the world.
I reply: almost – in Lisbon!
In that case, he says, you better go to Praia de Guincho, rent a board and do some surfing!
I show the message to the guys and they agree that it’s an excellent idea but, after checking with a few sources (or meteorologists on dial?), we are notified that, unfortunately, there are no waves today.
I am certain it is warm enough for a swim, or at least a tan. It is November, but the weather is great – like a perfect Indian summer.
-
As we descend through the winding maze-like streets of Alfama neighbourhood, we get entangled in an impromptu football match near the grandiose Sao Vicente de Fora Monastery with the kids from the neighbourhood.
Their game, as much as their smiles, is fun and warm, a symbol of an agreeable attitude of this city.
Soon enough their mothers jointly call out for them, as in a choir, to come home for lunch, and we wave goodbye to the smiling faces.
