Mama Maria Anselmia da Kunya from Sikka showing off her own weavings.

The Flores experience starts at the airport in Bali where we board a twin propeller plane and suddenly feel as if we are back in the 1960s. The Lion Air flight has no inflight magazine or Duty Free list but it does have an “Invocation Card”. This lists for passengers of any of seven different faiths the prayers to be said to ensure a safe journey for us all.

A couple of nuns and a tall blue eyed priest are on the flight and remind me of the fact that this island is not Muslim like Java, not Hindu like Bali, but strongly Roman Catholic.

Of course, that’s where it got its name – it has been in the hands of first the Portuguese and then Dutch Jesuit missionaries for a very long time – and it was the Portuguese who gave it the name of Flores.

Diane, Jim and Susi at the top of Kelimutu volcano

Let’s be clear about the reason we’re here – its not for the wonderful scenery and the amazing chain of volcanoes to trek up, its not for the tropical beaches or the diving, we’re not even here to hunt the famous Komodo dragons – no, we’ve come to wrong end of the island for that. We are here to hunt down something else entirely… ikat weaving. I’ve long been a fan of Flores ikat, which I’ve bought from shops in Bali. The colours are delicious – deep earthy browns and reds, just my cup of tea and the cotton is heavy and hand spun. I’ve finally got the chance to come to the place it ‘s made.

Maumere airport is tiny and we’re soon through and delivered to the tender mercies of the taxi drivers and guides who are waiting for fresh tourist meat. Its not long before we are nestled firmly and inextricably under the wing of guide Hieronymus (yes, he says, like Bosch) and driver Vincent (de Paul, no doubt)

It soon becomes clear why there are so many different languages on this island – nobody ever got to meet their neighbours, what with all those volcanoes and jungle in the way.

It is made clear to us that independent travel in Flores is just not for the likes of us. For a start self drive hire cars are out of the question – nobody would let a foreigner loose in their car on these roads. Secondly the public transport is shit. Sorry, let me rephrase that… yes there are extremely cramped and very small minivans, very bad roads, and very slow journeys which, were we 20 years younger and had 3 times as much time (and possibly 3 times less money) we could choose to travel by.

But, (and it’s a Big But) we have only got a week here, we want to get to some pretty remote villages and there are 3 of us. Susi, our Javanese friend from Jogya has come along just for the craic. So we open negotiations and soon realise that we might as well give in to the fact that we are going to have to part with a not insignificant sum to engage these two chaps for the next 5 days.

We next realise that there is only really one road through Flores and we have made the schoolboy error of buying a return ticket to and from the same airport. Never mind… once we get going and experience the state of the roads, the wild standards of the driving and the frequency of the land slides, we are quite happy not to be setting off on an epic journey.

As for the ikat, I am immediately reassured by the number of women I see wearing that beautiful characteristic cloth– worn either slung over one shoulder toga fashion, or bunched up as as sarong skirt. At Maumere market there are plenty to look at, and I keep Hieronymus (our Melanesian Eddie Murphy lookalike guide) occupied while Jim slips off to the textile stall to do a preliminary recce on what’s available and grab a bargain to establish the prices. Susi immediately starts chatting to a lady selling something who comes from Java. This is to be a pattern which is repeated everywhere we go – Susi makes lifelong friends very easily.

Women in Maumere market wearing fine ikat

Before we can leave town for a few days upcountry, though we need a few supplies – snacks for the journey, mozzie spray for the rooms and what else … what about alcohol? Hieronymus, by now known as Hero,  takes Jim down an alleyway to see his mother in law who brews up arak palm wine spirit in her village. He comes back with a big grin and a large 1.5 water bottle full. Cost? about £3.

So well fettled for the days ahead, we set off to the first port of call – Sikka. It’s on the southern coast, white sand, coconut palm trees, a typical bloody paradise. There’s no work here though, only fishing for the men and ikat weaving for the women, so, lovely but maybe not paradise.

In most parts of Flores the women weave their own sarongs to wear. Indeed it is traditionally seen as a pre-requisite for marriage – a boy has to be able to plant enough crops to feed a family and the girl has to be able to ikat and weave to clothe the family.

A few villages though, have gained a reputation for weaving. Maybe the dyestuffs or the cotton plants are plentiful, or the women are particularly good weavers. Sikka village is one of these places, and the guides like to bring their charges here.

In the centre of Sikka is a huge wooden church founded in 1899. The interior walls are painted with the designs of the local cloth – its a strong reminder of the way ikat is part of life here

The small market place is between the sea shore and a very large Catholic church.

At the market, the women are demonstrating – they spin cotton, tie the ikat,show us the local natural dyes and weave. Even the complete textile novice can’t fail to be impressed, and so I am completely bowled over. A quick walk around the village is rewarded with views of ikat in various stages of production. The red dyed warp threads are hanging on washing lines, the tying is being done with thin but strong strips of palm leaf, the cloth is being woven on back strap looms or the women run out bringing cloth to sell. It’s all I could possibly hope for!

If you know me well enough, and have read enough of my blogs, you will know that you don’t get too far before you will be made to read some technical explanation of how a textile is made. Well that’s the point we’re at here. So look away now if you just want an amusing account of exotic travel.

The ikat they make in Flores (and the neighbouring islands) is warp ikat – that means that it is the warp threads (the lengthways ones) which are ikatted. Ikat means “to bind” in Indonesian and that is the essence of the technique.

The threads used to weave the cloth must first be bought or made. If you’ve got some spare cash you may just go to market and buy some yarn. If not, you will have to start by growing and then picking cotton. It looks like cotton wool with big seeds which have to be taken out. Next it has to be fluffed up with what looks like a little bow, and formed into a roll ready for spinning. It always surprises me how similar textile techniques are in completely different parts of the world. I’ve seen women spinning cotton in Laos, Java and Turkey and its just the same. The cotton may be spun either with a wheel or a spindle to make a nice strong and even thread.

The tied yarns are dyed, dried and re-dyed many times to achieve a really deep rich colour.

The yarn may be spun by hand using a spindle

Next, the thread is stretched onto a frame which is half the length of the finished cloth. Bunches of threads are then bound up with little strips of lontar palm. This tied binding acts as a resist to dyes in the same way that wax does in batik. If a tie stays on all the way through it will keep the yarns underneath it white, if it comes off half way through the process, the yarns may be dyed another colour.

The different regions of Flores and even individual villages have their own designs – so women get to learn how to do their patterns without too much head scratching. It’s still pretty tricky to get it right though.

In Sikka and quite a few other places in Flores, the dyes used are plant dyes. Indigo of course and the very commonly used mengkudu (morinda citrifolia) This tree produces a green fir cone shaped fruit which also makes a common remedy for stomach ailments. The roots can be selectively harvested while the tree continues to grow. The bark of the roots is peeled off and then crushed and beaten up into pulp which is then just soaked in water to make a luscious red dye. The addition of various mordants – tannin from other local wood, aluminum from the leaves of the lobah tree (sorry I can’t find out what that is apart from “lobah”) and protein from candle nuts may be added to give various shades of red.

Bunches of warp yarns are tied with little strips of lontar palm leaf.

In Java, the small northern coastal town of Lasem became famous for its red dyes and batik cloths were sent there specially to be dyed, possibly because of minerals in the soil and water. There are places in Flores where the red is wonderful too, the ikat around Maumere and Ende is particularly wonderful and the colours are brilliant. The other plant dyes used are mangrove bark (deep brown or black) and mango leaves (pale green). Turmeric is used for yellow.

Well we can’t leave without buying something here, and in fact we end up buying quite a lot. Once you start you just can’t stop (or is that just me?) But if you buy from one woman it seems churlish not to buy from another.  The cloths are all so lovely and the women are desperate to sell, so it’s hard to leave somebody out. I try to get some of their names, most of them sound Portuguese but the best of all is Mama Maria Anselmia da Kunya who sells me a wonderful cloth with a design of horsemen and cockerels. And she models it so fetchingly for me!

The weaving is done on a simple back strap loom. A plain coloured weft is woven into the patterned warp.

AA: Trenton lost 8-3. Zach Nuding 4 R, 3 ER in 6 IP. 8 K. 1B Kyle Roller 2 H, double, rbi. RF Tyler Austin 2 H, rbi. DH Ramon Flores 2 H, double.

High A: Tampa lost 5-0. Ben Gamel got their only hit of the game. Sean Black with four scoreless innings.

Low A: Charleston lost 2-1. They got only four hits tonight.

Reblogged from Montaña Montaña:

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Mi amiga Tania me ha hablado muchas veces de las flores de Bach y sus remedios, así que he querido compartir con vosotros este artículo que le he pedido que escriba, sobre las flores de Bach en la cordillera Cantábrica, que espero poder ampliar mas adelante con detalle porque me parece apasionante.

Flores de Bach

Las Flores de Bach son…

Read more… 489 more words

My four rules of travel:

1. Never miss the opportunity to wind up a Canadian by asking them where in America they are from. This can then be further enhanced by stating upon their reply that ‘Canada is one of the northern states, isn’t it?”

2. Eat as the locals do.

3. Travel as the locals do.

4. No matter where in the world you are or however remotely far flung you may be, there will almost certainly be an Irish pub nearby.

From the grubby backstreets of Hanoi to the cobbled alleyways of Dubrovnik, there are small doorways of green within which you’ll always find a selection of ghostly white characters eating stew and potatoes and drinking overpriced warm Guinness in 35 degree heat. As strange as that may be, it’s just a fact of life, they are everywhere. So it was with no great surprise that on arrival in Gili Trawangan, one of a trio of stunning drops of sand off the coast of Lombok that amongst the roadside stalls and the shacks selling Bintang and the local moonshine, Arak, that we came across Tir na Nog and its four leaf clovered decor. So much for an exotic island escape. To be fair to Trawangan, at least you knew what you were getting.

We’d just spent three nights in Nusa Lembongan, from which we had expectations of the Balinese beach paradise that perhaps once was (and I’m sure still is, in places). It was naturally beautiful; clear warm waters licked at white sand beaches around much of the island, beaming smiles from the locals greeted you everywhere and an abundance of sealife surrounded the mangrove forests and coral reefs around the island. The problem was, it was horrendously polluted. We snorkelled amidst schools of plastic bags; spotting Manta Rays, Turtles and even a discarded toothpaste tube or two. I’ve swum in some pretty grubby places in my time – a teenage habit of drunken skinny dipping has seen to that – but there have been none as heartbreaking as this. Back on dry land we explored the island – Dream Beach, Mushroom Bay, Sunset Beach – each sounding more idyllic than in reality. It’s not that there was anything particularly wrong with the locations, but when each strip of sand is crowded by an expensive resort with a swimming pool to boot, you tend to lose the effect of that perfect setting that it was put there for in the first place. Nusa Lembongan was no doubt once blissful, but has since started to succumb to the all too familiar over commercialisation that these places tend to suffer from. But that’s the great irony of travel I guess; visiting somewhere as a tourist and then moaning that it’s too touristy.

We went east from there, motoring across the Bali Sea to the Gili Islands. Trawangan is the liveliest of the bunch with a reputation as a party island. With a bustling strip of happy hours and knock off sunglasses, it was evident from the outset that this was a justified reputation, something which was only furthered upon check in at our guesthouse.

“The room is 200’000 rupees a night, OK?”
“We’ll take it”
“Breakfast is between 7am and 10am”
“Great, thanks”
“You want drugs? I have drugs”
“Erm, it’s 11am and I’m not sure I want to risk the death penalty today, but thanks anyway”

Finding some bicycles we set about circumnavigating the island, a fairly risk free option with a lack of any motorised traffic. A sand swept track made the going slow – the smooth cycle paths at home in Cambridge this was not – but deserted beaches and coral reefs, welcoming local villagers and possibly the most glorious sunset I’ve ever seen were the reward. Looking back towards Bali we watched the sun sink behind the imposing silhouette of Mount Agung, and to be honest, only a picture can do it justice.

We ate well on Gili Air, the next island, that will be my endearing memory. That’s not to say there was nothing else here – for the little that was here was it’s key – we enjoyed quieter living with long lazy beach days and tremendous snorkelling off the beach. But it was here that we discovered seafood barbecues, a continuation of the outstandingly good food we’d found so far. Asian cuisine is something that any visitor will invariably crow about, even more so for the ridiculously cheap prices, and Indonesia is no different. Having had a few, ahem, ‘incidents’ with curries in Thailand in years gone by, the relative safety of milder Nasi (rice) dishes here has been welcome. With a general proximity in most places to the ocean it makes sense to opt for seafood, and whether its fresh snapper grilled within banana leaves, catfish fried at a roadside Warung or mammoth prawns and marinated Jackfish barbecued at your request, it’s pretty impossible not to eat well for very little cost. So with bellies full we spent some time in the sunshine, content. It was to be some welcome respite before what was to be a typically arduous Indonesian journey onward.

A step by step guide to Indonesian travel

Step 1: Public boat to Bangsal harbour, Lombok – a mere 8000 rupees (about 60p) and barely enough room for the rapidly accumulating sweat to make it down your back. Bonus points if the boat doesn’t sink.

Step 2: Fight off (often physically) the attention of the notorious Bangsal touts and find a Bemo, the Indonesian public bus service.

Step 3: Bemo to Mataram over precariously winding hilltop roads, clinging on for dear life as pedestrians, dogs, monkeys, pigs and other road users dive for cover. Snack on some mysterious looking luminous green bread you’ve been gifted by a fellow passenger.

Step 4: Another Bemo across Lombok to the eastern port of Labuhan Lombok. Watch a fascinating world flash by from either the open doorway, hinges too rusty to close, or the gaping hole beneath your feet. As locals come and go with a bewildering array of goods, restrain yourself from attacking the driver who has an obsession with beeping his horn at apparently every single thing he sees. And I include empty clear air in that.

Step 5: Make the ferry to Sumbawa by a matter of seconds. Enjoy a largely uneventful boat ride to what you perceive to be the bustling harbour of Poto Tano, where you’ll easily arrange passage through to Sape, from where your next ferry departs.

Step 6: Arrive in Poto Tano to find a large empty car park, a few market stalls, a worrying amount of lifeguards and a goat. The only buses here are local ones heading in the wrong direction. Wait for four hours before a bus going the right way arrives with room to take you.

Step 7: Take the remaining two seats on the bus, which are naturally next to the toilets on the back seat. Settle in for six hours with a surprisingly large Indonesian man dribbling in his sleep next to you, agonisingly bad karaoke videos playing at ear piercing volumes, and the ever growing stench of urine.

Step 8: Wake at 2am to find you need to change buses. Your new bus doesn’t leave until 5am. Try and sleep inspite of the Mosquitos and more god awful Indo-pop, this time from someone’s phone. Travel final two hours on the now heaving bus through villages and markets before descending into Sape with breathtaking views of the sun rising over rice paddy lined hillsides.

Step 9: The final leg. Eight hours on a ferry that after a relatively calm start, soon looks like a war zone. Bodies lay scattered amongst litter, caged hens, food scraps and cigarette ash, phlegm, an insufferably noisy rooster, vomiting children and an elderly blind woman selling peanuts.

Step 10: Arrive at your destination, Labuan Bajo in western Flores after a few hundred kilometres, 32 hours, barely any sleep and a journey as rewarding as it was arduous. Grab a beer, watch the sun set over an impossibly picturesque harbour and reflect on the last few days. You’ve travelled like a local, eaten like a local, ticked off that obligatory Irish pub…now where’s that Canadian to wind up?

Cone-shaped of Wae Rebo houses.

After I stayed one night in Labuan Bajo, I continued my journey eastwards. My next two stops were Wae Rebo then Ruteng.

Way to Denge

I left Labuan Bajo with Benny, my guide, by a motorcycle at 7 am. Wae Rebo is located 60 km (straight distance) southeast of Labuan Bajo. To go there from Labuan Bajo, take the Trans Flores highway, the road conditions are generally good and well maintained with a few potholes. There are many blindbends along the route. We passed a hilly road until we were near Lembor.  There the scenery changes to vast flat rice field terrain. Lembor is a district in West Manggarai and the biggest rice supplier for East Nusa Tenggara. We made a stop there to buy meal for our lunch. Once we left Lembor, we went through a hilly road again.

After Waenakeng, we turned right to a village called Enteer. This is a local road. The conditions are not too bad, although there were more potholes now. The width is only enough for one car, but it’s not a problem since there are not many vehicles that pass through this road. Follow this road until Pela then turn right in the junction (the left turn will take you back to Trans Flores highway). We followed this road until we reach the southern coast. The road was getting worse. But for me, it is still not that bad. Some parts are not paved yet. From 1 to 10 scale i give 7 for this road, with Trans Flores highway is a nine.

On the way to Denge we can see Mules Island.

Once we arrived on the coast road, we drove westwards to reach Dintor. From here you can see Mules Island. This island is very magnificent with a 200 m (my rough estimation) cliff soared from the island’s hilly terrain. We had lunch at a beach, somewhere before Dintor. The beach here is not a sandy beach. The beach filled by pebble-couble stone, a kind which originated from volcanic stone. Arrived in Dintor, we turned right going north to go to Denge (there is direction board). From here we saw a misty mountain, Benny said Wae Rebo is located up in that mountain, whose peak couldn’t see due to the mist that covered it. The scenery on the way to Denge is very beautiful, with Mules Island in the south, misty mountain in the north and large golden rice fields surrounding you.

Denge is the starting point to hike to Wae Rebo traditional village. There is a homestay that is also an information center in Denge, managed by Pak Blaisius, who is also a teacher in the nearby elementary school. When we arrived in Denge, it was already 03.15 pm. Pak Blaisius said it usually takes 3 hours hike to go to Wae Rebo village for local people. I was a bit worried that if I cannot make it in 3 hours, means I have to walk through the forest in the dark. Actually I don’t mind that, but the problem is neither me or Benny brought a flashlight. With a dense forest and canopy along the path, it would be very dark inside the jungle. But Benny convinced me it will be ok. Then after I left some of my stuffs in the homestay (I only brought water, jacket, sleeping bag and first-aid kit within my bag), we left Denge at 03.30 pm.

Hiking to Wae Rebo

The first part of the path to Wae Rebo is an unpaved local road. It is 3-4 m width, it seems that the local government plan to build car access until the first rest point at Wae Lomba river. It took me less than an hour to reach Wae Lomba, since it’s been a while didn’t do many outdoor activities, it was quite a hike up for me.

It was foggy when we hiked up to Wae Rebo.

Next we entered the jungle, a dense tropical forest. It is a narrow path inside the jungle with one side edged by valley and a bit slippery. We had to walk uphill, but it wasn.t very steep. It was foggy when i hiked, so I could not see the far view. Especially when we arrived in Pocoroko, the second rest point. Benny said, usually people can see the ocean from there, but we could only see white fog. Pocoroko also known for village people to look for mobile signal, since there is no signal in the area.

After the last resting point in Nampe Bakok, the path went downhill. Just before Wae Rebo village we entered a coffee plantation. Some of the coffee beans were already turning red. Then behind the mist and after three hours hiking (yes, I made it in 3 hours!), I finally saw the cone-shaped houses of Wae Rebo.

Ameh was talking to the ancestors in Nyiang Kendang.

It was already dark when I arrived there. All the people were already inside their houses. Benny knocked at one of the house door. It’s apparently the main house, called Nyiang Kendang. They were quite surprise that there were visitors that arrived in the night. But then they welcomed me into the house and we us to introduced each other. Before I could start any activity in Wae Rebo, I needed to pass a permit ceremony first. The village head, Ameh, talked to their ancestors spirits, in Manggarai language, to let us (me and Benny as the visitors) alone during our visit, because we are his and village people guests.

The circular, cone-shaped buildings were built in a traditional way. The massive roof, made of ijuk (palm fiber), is supported by a central wooden pole. This wooden pole usually made from Worong wood, according to Ameh. Ameh said, the circular shape is very important for Wae Rebo people, not only for their houses but also for their farms. He said it is easier in heritage division. Nyiang Kendang is a house for eight families. There are eight rooms in this house, one room for every family. Other houses, called Nyiang Gane, only has six rooms. In front of every room they hang chicken feather as ancestors guardian. The kitchen is located in the center. They still use fire woods for cooking and using stones as the stove. They have small windows around the house as ventilation.

After small talks, Ameh brought us to one of Nyiang Gane. There is one house built specially for visitors, since there are more and more people who visit Wae Rebo village. Unlike other houses, the house where we were going to sleep at has no room. There is only one large room without border. There is also no kitchen in the center. They built the kitchen in the back of the house. There is also typical Indonesian toilets beside the kitchen. Mama Nina and Yustin cooked a dinner for. We had dinner with Ameh, mama Nina, Yustin and Bapak Huber. They cooked us cassava leaves and green pumpkins soup. It was very nice, also the rice. To be honest sometimes, food cooked by firewood are not as good as cooked by gas stove, because you still can taste the firewood burnt, especially if you drink water boiled with firewood. But I think, this time all tasted perfect for me.

We slept on a tikar, a woven mat made from pandan leaves. The also have pillow made from tikar and filled by kapok. At that night, me and Benny were the only visitors.

Bapak Huber, Ameh, Mama Nina and Yustin told me many things about people in Wae Rebo. These are some facts about Wae Rebo:

• Their new year named Penti, indicates the beginning of planting period.
• The average married age of Wae Rebo people is 25 years old.
• People in Manggarai started to plant rice in 1938, and people in Wae Rebo started eat rice in 1957.
• They sell their coffee in Dintor market for 30 thousands rupiah per kilogram.
• Although they have Luwak coffee, they do not sell them.

Coffee beans being dried.

The next day we left Wae Rebo at 09.30 am and arrived at 12.00 pm in Denge. We left Denge at 01.00 pm and arrived in Ruteng at 06.30 pm. I said goodbye to Benny in Ruteng.

Ruteng

New day in Ruteng, I started my day at 9.30 am. I planed to go to Cancar and Liang Bua today. Cancar is the place where you can see the spider web rice fields and Liang Bua is excavation site of Homo florensis.

Spider web rice field in Cancar.

I went to Cancar by bemo (car used for public transport  in Flores). I went to Ruko to take a bemo to Cancar. I arrived in Cancar market after an hour. You can ask people where is the look out point for spider web rice field. It is only 300 m from the market. I walked to the look out point and went straight up. There is stair path way to the look out point. It was only 10 minutes walking up. It was very nice view. The only circular rice field in the world. Too bad I didn’t find anyone to ask about the meaning of this shape, or why they built the rice field like this.

After I finished taking pictures, I went back to Cancar market and took bemo to Ruteng. Initially I wanted to stop between Cancar and Ruteng. Because I saw direction board to Liang Bua between Cancar and Ruteng. But people in bemo told me better to go back to Ruteng and to find an ojek or bemo from there. Since I was in a hurry (I had booked a travel car to Bajawa at 15.00), I decided to take ojek. Then everybody in bemo tried to help me to find the ojek.

I took an ojek from Ruko. Then the road to Liang Bua led to a local road, I rated 7 for this road. It took 45 minutes to go to Liang Bua. There is an information center in Liang Bua. A guy from information center welcomed me then brought me to the cave. The 50 m width cave is fenced, so you need key to open the gate.

Replica of Homo florensis bones.

There was only one active excavation hole when I was there. The cave has 50 m width, 20 m height and 30 m depth. There are many stalactites on the cave roof and some tree roots penetrate the cave roof. In the information center you can find many information about the archeology activity in Liang Bua and about Homo florensis. Discovered on 2003, Homo florensis has height less than 1.5 m. Their fossils found at Holocene horizon at 595 cm depth.

To Bajawa

Back to hotel, I was waiting for half hour until the travel arrived. It arrived  at 3.30 pm, 30 minutes late, but it was ok.

The road to Bajawa has a beautiful scenery. It passed through mountainous hill with rice fields between the valley. Too bad It was getting dark after 2 hours. I arrived in Bajawa at 9.30 pm.

Labuan Bajo-Wae Rebo-Ruteng Route

-edited by ment0w-

Where to Stay

• Che Felix Hotel in Labuan Bajor for Rp 150,000/night include breakfast.
• Hotel Ranaka in Ruteng for RP 150,000/night exclude breakfast.
• Denge Homestay for Rp 200,000/night full board.
• Wae Rebo for Rp 275,000/day full board.

Transport

• Ruteng-Cancar by bemo for Rp 5,000 one way.
• Ojek Ruteng-Liang Bua for Rp 30,000 return.

Recently, American artist David Flores was commissioned to create two of the four murals that will cover the walls within The Reserve L.A. Formerly a U.S. Post Office, The Reserve L.A. is a 20-acre site that will house Microsoft and TMZ offices. The project concept states, “The Reserve has all the elements required to act as a catalyst for creativity while supporting business needs and the corporate vision.”

In preparation for the grand opening on May 8, 2013, Branded Arts was commissioned to organize and curate the creative workspace. Using a photo of Albert Einstein as inspiration, Flores created this two-story mural that can be viewed through the glass front building. From a distance, it’s easy to make out Einstein’s eyes, nose and mustache. Then, up close, visitors to the building can appreciate the texture of the bold blocks of bright, vivid paints, set off by thick, black outlined edges.

via Bold Two-Story Einstein Mural by David Flores – My Modern Metropolis.

Así que este post es referente a lo que las tiendas tienen ahora en los aparadores y mi interpretación de las tendencias de acuerdo a eso. Así que el nombre que le pondré a esta temporada son “Rayas y Flores”, porque esa es la tendencia, estampados principalmente flores y de todos tamaños y rayas de todos los anchos y en su mayoría horizontales.

 Hablando de colores vienen mucho los tonos azules, rosas, rojos y los llamativos, el vestir de color es lo de hoy. jajaja En los pantalones el corte más popular es el Skinny y corto, en todos los colores y también de todos los estampados.

Y en el caso de los jeans es algo muy similar, mucho color, y mucho estampado.

La tendencia en los tops, son blusas sueltas, o camisas delgadas y amplias, las telas tejidas y pegadas no están figurando mucho.

Pasemos a los vestidos, vienen los colores llamativos, y también estampados; en cuanto corte hay de todo, pero podría decir que predominan los de falda ancha y los sueltos.

Así que ahora ya saben que esperar cuando vayan de compras.

En plena guerra Yugoslava una mujer viaja hasta Bosnia, (el pleno centro de la guerra) en busca de su marido al que han declarado muerto tras el derrumbe de un edificio. Allí, se reúne con antiguos amigos y no tan amigos de su marido que le acompañan hasta el hospital donde puede que estuviera ingresado Harrison (reportero de guerra).

En la película se pueden ver muchas escenas que muestran a los riesgos a los que se enfrentan los fotógrafos de guerra cada día que pasan fuera de casa. Cruzar una frontera, andar por lugares demasiado abiertos, o incluso estar en casa protegido puede ser un peligro. Sus mejores amigos: la cámara y los pases de prensa, sin ellos los protagonistas de la película no sobrevivirían a todo lo que les acontece.

En esta ocasión ellos son los invisibles, ya que detrás de las fotos de guerra que nos llegan, en lo que menos pensamos es en las condiciones en que las habrán hecho, o cuánto tiempo llevará ese fotógrafo fuera de casa.

Desde mi pequeño espacio invisible, os recomiendo la película, tanto a los que os planteáis ser corresponsales de guerra, como a los que no lo habéis pensado nunca… quién sabe, alomejor sentís la llamada de la cámara mientras la veis.

Fotografar flores proporciona uma paz rara.

Aquietam-se os pensamentos enquanto procuramos a simetria, quando se tenta enquadrar a beleza e detalhar a gama de cambiantes e cores.

Suspendo a respiração antes, durante e depois.

Resplandecem acariciantes, vibrantes de vitalidade.

Tão solene é esta beleza, tão serena no seu estar, simples e meigo de nada pedir…

Flores, Londres

Hello everyone!

Enjoy this presentation from Lyndon Larouche…

Laurie

Lyndon Larouche’s, May 3, 2013 Webcast ….
The British Empire’s New Concentration Camps – http://larouchepac.com/node/26435

Anda despacio, lento, como si no tuviese un lugar fijo a donde ir, como si el tiempo le esperase, paso sosegado y sigiloso, no se oyen sus andares ni cuando lo tengo enfrente. Yo sigo sentada en ese viejo y gastado escalón, con las piernas abiertas y los brazos apoyados sobre mis rodillas mientras le tiento con la mirada, me gusta incluso cuando le hago enfadar, sonrío y me mira, alzo la cabeza y le veo pasar por mi lado, en cualquier momento podría propinarme una patada o apagarme el cigarro en la cara, pero no lo hace, sé que se muere de ganas, pero es más bueno que yo, se contiene y sigue andando.

Le noto alejarse tras de mí, no me giro, no le miro, ya he provocado bastante, me quedo quieta, sin mirar, sin apenas respirar, un movimiento en falso y ese hombre podría arrebatarme la vida como me arrebató el corazón. Oigo cómo abre la puerta de su rojo y deslumbrante cadillac descapotable, es hermoso y elegante, atractivo, casi tanto como su dueño, enciende el motor del coche, pero no oigo el movimiento, el silencio me inquieta y decido mirar, observar y buscar. Le veo, está justo tras de mí, con el coche apagado esperando sin cesar, me mira serio con el cigarro en la boca, respira hondo y hace un gesto con la cabeza indicándome que suba, me tienta, me incita, me mueve y me maneja, me pierde y me enloquece. No me resisto y subo.

Arranca y vamos a pasear, no dice nada, sólo conduce y fuma. Su tez morena mantiene sombras en la noche y su pelo plateado se ondea con el viento, las tenues luces de la ciudad embellecen su mirada y hacen resplandecer sus dorados ojos. No puedo dejar de mirarle, es atractivo y un despiadado ladrón, tiene todo aquello que me pertenece, se cuelga mis recuerdos de collar y guarda mi alma en un cajón.

Conduce durante horas, no hay lugar donde llegar, solos en la noche eterna, no hace falta más, alarga el brazo y me acaricia la cara con los dedos, lento, muy lento, tanto que se para el tiempo, respiro fuerte, me seduce, es una escalofriante sensación. Alargo mis pequeña mano y las poso sobre su cuello, lo acaricio suavemente y noto como estremece, acelera un poco más, ya no hay rumbo perdido, ha encontrado el camino, ya sabemos donde irá.

Llegamos de madrugada a su casa, un piso nuevo en las afueras de la ciudad, una plaza grande al lado y poca vecindad, aparca el cadillac en la calle y me acerco a su portal, negro como el cielo nocturno y pomo de plata, entramos serenos sin nada que contar, huele a rosas y a humo, las flores y el tabaco de un duro día de trabajo, entro en aquella guarida con el lobo enfrente mía y me adentro en su oscuridad, le veo sentarse en la cama y mirarme sin cesar, esperando en cada momento que me acerque un poco más. Me mira y sonríe tímidamente, es mi dulce despertar.

“Buenas noches” digo al mundo mientras cierro la puerta del más allá y aturdida y aún nerviosa le escucho susurrar “esta noche es nuestra… y nada lo va a cambiar”.

¡Exlposión de colores! En esta carterilla se juntan el morado del interior, con el verde de la cremallera, el blanco del cassette y los muchos colores que tiene el vinilo. Es un vinilo con flores tropicales y mariposas, creo que a quedado muy veraniega ¿Qué os parece?

Flores en Chapultepec, 2da- sección, Ciudad de Mexico

I wouldn’t be mad or anything if you clicked on the link to check it out.
http://outsideinmagazine.com/issue-thirteen/poetry/twenty-avocados-jason-braun/