Strolled around The Pearl yesterday and it’s a great place to dawdle in, there were people performing, as well as the many cafes and the high-end stores were plenty.

lol this guy reminds me of Chris Carrabba :p

I liked the way this fella danced with his electric guitar.

Alõ galere, voltei, após duas semanas desaparecido, volto pra falar sobre o Phoenix,  e vim trazer 3 remixes incriveis.

• Phoenix – Fences ( OURSONTHEMAN  Remix)

A música começa com um teclado classico misturado ao vocal “perfeito” do Phoenix, depois temos linhas de baixos e distorções eletrizantes, com certeza algo bom de se ouvir.

• Phoenix – Fences (NONEWYORK Smooth Groove Mix)

Com NONEWYORK começamos a música com batidas tropicais e pequenos loops do vocal, pórem não fica só nisso, pois temos algumas dirtorções um tecladinho eletronico ao fundo, que deu um charme especial ao remix.

• Phoenix -  Armistice (Yacht Remix)

Linhas de baixo ao estilo Justice, além de alguns assobios marotos e de quebra alguns breakdowns no estilo Boss in Drama, um remix no minimo DVNO, Yacht com certeza não brincou quando fez essa transformação com Armistice.

OBS: Quarta feira o Fluo estará discotecando juntamente com o Rogermultiuse no Maria Pickup

End: Rua Algusta nº 765

linkeds

OURSONTHEMAN

NONEWYORK

Yatch

phoenixacrosstheuniverse!rs

Today, this print by Robert Kelsey seems to have my attention. Perhaps the stillness of the scene and the appearance of tranquility is what makes this print for me quite unassuming yet charming, it fills me with a wash of calm.  All this from a piece of art, it doesn’t just look good – it makes you feel good too !

Evening, Loch Crinan Art Print by Robert Kelsey is a signed limited edition print run of 250. Size 9″ x 9″.

Esta mañana al ir al trabajo me he quedado sorprendido al ver atracado en el puerto de Málaga un barco que llamaba la atención. Cual ha sido mi sorpresa al ver que se trataba del yate Octopus de Paul Allen, uno de los fundadores de Microsoft con Bill Gates.
He tenido que pararme y hacerle un par de fotos, que no son gran cosa pero sirven para documentar esta visita.
Objetivo con zoom

Málaga Hoy – llega el lujoso yate del socio de Bill Gates

Noah and the Whale – Blue Skies ( Yatch remix )

Noah and the Whale – Blue Skies ( Twelves remix )

Noah and the Whale – Blue Skies ( Death to the Throne remix )

Recomendada, la versión de los brasileños The Twelves !

As buscas da Policia Maritima em Maio de 2007

Os detectives privados contratados por Kate e Gerry McCann, depois de terem lançado um alerta mundial para localizar uma mulher que esperava receber uma criança em Barcelona, interessam-se agora a um yatch alegadamente de nacionalidade sueca que esteve no Algarve na noite em que Madeleine desapareceu.
A nova linha de inquérito que os detectives contam aprofundar visa saber se Maddie poderia ter sido transportada num barco de recreio da Praia da Luz até Barcelona depois de ter sido raptada do apartamento onde se encontrava a dormir – uma hipótese que Dave Edgar, um dos ex-policias que trabalham com os McCann, até agora não considerava credível e que revela a confusão e a dificuldade em que estão mergulhados os investigadores privados.
De acordo com uma fonte próxima do inquérito, o interesse dos detectives recai sobre o yatch “Fun Too” que saiu da marina de Portimão a 4 de Maio de 2007 com destino a Albufeira mas que nunca ai terá chegado. O nome do barco não é conhecido nos registos do Royal Swedish Yacht Club (Kungliga Svenska Segel Sällskapet), nem na maioria dos registos suecos para este tipo de embarcação.
Das seis embarcações cujos movimentos foram considerados como “possivelmente suspeitos”, e de acordo com uma fonte do Comando da Policia Marítima em Portimão, apenas o “Fun Too” ficou por controlar, desconhecendo-se a sua rota e o seu destino final apesar de existirem registos da sua passagem em Barcelona em 2007.

Duarte Levy também no 24horas

I had become pretty goddamn attached to that jackass. He used to tell us that his name was Sindbad. Like that comedian from the 80s. Sindbad was my buddy, We used to take him to the bakery and throw pies in his face and just laugh. It would crack him up as well. He was sort of a pretty boy so we dressed him up like a woman and paraded him around town and see how many Iraqi men we could get to follow him home.

I was never quite sure about whether or not he was a good interpreter. He could speak Arabic and all, but we always had the feeling that he was pulling our leg. Maybe it was an excessive love for the most colorful adjective, or the conspiratorial air that he assumed when he was translating: the low, low voice, those rolling r’s, those moistened d’s.

Like I said, we were having interpreter problems in Al-Anbar. Big time. Worse than the IEDs, worse than our inability to recruit halfway competent people for the Iraqi army, worse than all our problems combined, was our interpreter problem.

All our interpreters got body armor. Just like all the recruits for the Iraqi army. Same as ours, except from way back in the early 90s. If they paid (for the armor) they could probably get the same stuff our boys had, but they almost never had the money for that. Hell, we didn’t have the money to replace any equipment that got damaged.

Sindbad was saving up to buy himself the most state-of-the-art body armor available. Never could figure out why, because apart from the whispered conspiracies, and the obsession with body-armor, he was a pretty chill person. Like he had not a care in the world. Or so we believed until we got him drunk our last day in the province.

Sindbad said he was born in Basrah. We didn’t know much about Basrah except for the fact that Basrah was the place where all the Brits were stationed. I also gathered from the combat-game that was being circulated among some of our younger recruits that Basrah was a shit-hole with a little shit of a port.

Sindbad used to help unload ships that rolled into port. He was around twenty then. From a well-off family that started seeing some hard times around the war with Iran. It was a family of professional musicians. Made their own drums and banjos… they called them rhubarbs. They used to tour all the middle-eastern countries and play music for rich emirs and ambassadors and such. Like I said, business had not been (much) since the war with Khomeini, and Sindbad was stuck going to public school. He spent most of his time hanging out with the bad kids from his neighborhood, smoking cigarettes and hash and playing hookie on the beach and digging dungeons through the sand, and watching the ships roll by.

“Basrah. The city of Sindbad the sailor.”

The sailor?

“Also Sindbad the porter, it would seem.”

I guess he was a kind of porter. Loading and unloading boxes and people and stuff at the shipyards of Basrah. Said it was hard work. I believe him. Said he got a bad back because of it. Tall,scrawny guy. Walked around with a stoop so he probably did. But, then, all of you guys walk around with a stoop…

“Then, one day, Sindbad met Sindbad.”

Dude, how did you fucking guess? There was a another Sindbad that he ran into. With a yatch…

“And this Sindbad was…”

…a businessman who had moved to Dearborn Heights to avoid his three hot daughters and a very demanding siberian husky. He still owned a house back at his village near Fallujah in Anbar province. When our Sindbad met him, he was getting ready to close a deal with some guy in the South of France. He wanted to import good wine at black-market prices into Iraq through Israel. The Iraqis were getting quite fed-up with
having to go all the way to the Shatt-Al-Arab Hotel in Basrah to get decent wine. Too many of them contented themselves with drinking themselves to an early grave with their noxious moonshine… There was, however, one small problem with the plan.”

“Sindbad the sailor, owing to his closeted Iraqi upbringing, could speak neither Hebrew nor French.”

And Sindbad the beach-bum could. Man, you’re on fire today. Quite the sharp little sand-nigger.

“Thank you.”

In any case, the older Sindbad took the beach-bum under his wing to teach him how it was that he made his money. Not that the beach-bum needed much tutoring at making money. He just needed to be taught a little bit about where to throw his weight and what to walk away from. You don’t need to screw everyone. Just the people who matter.

So, Sindbad came to live in a nice little country home in the North. He would listen into the backroom conversations between Sindbad Sr.’s French and Israeli visitors, then report their bottomline to the boss who would then fleece them for all they were worth in a manner that did credit to his Arab instincts.

“How Colin Powell of him!”

The elder Sindbad was good friends with General Powell as well. The general would come and hang out at his spot outside Fallujah every chance he got to shoot the shit about the stock-market over mugfulls of 90-proof Jamaican rum. Our Sindbad told us that he learned his first cuss-words from General Powell. And the general must have done a fine goddamn job because our man was all mother-fuck this and kiss-my-big-black-ass that.

Every night, Sindbad would hangout in the out house with his boss’s hot daughters, smoking the finest Afghan hash and playing chess. Just having a goddamn hell of a time. The oldest daughter had just come back from Wharton with a degree in marketing and was looking to start some kind of consulting firm in Manhattan. Sindbad was interested in getting in on the action, so he started tapping that ass. While banging her in his boss’s bedroom, Sindbad started to make plans. Big plans. For a huge wedding in September and inducing her to save up to buy a nice house in Long Island. This must have been around the summer of 2001.

In the meantime, things became a little hostile. Sindbad started banging the youngest sister as well. She was fourteen. The middle sister, not so hot as the other two, got a little pissed at not seeing any action for all her troubles. She happened to be paying for all the wonderful Afghan hash. She got the feeling that they were sending her out to get some everyday just to get her out of the way. Maybe they were selling some of it and making a tidy profit from her pains as well. Needless to say, she started a stink. The wedding was called off. Sindbad lost his job. The eldest daughter was left knocked up and husbandless with grants to write and bills piling up from the piece of property rotting in Long Island.

But she had lost the will. Or maybe it was the infidelity, the unwanted pregnancy, the sheer volume of the work to be done. She spent the long August days moping and dragging her laptop about the house pretending to work. In fact, all she was really doing was watching the Siberian Husky gnaw down the furniture. By the first week of September, she had recovered sufficiently from her grief to drive down to the local supermarket in Fallujah and buy him a chew-toy. Not a fake synthetic one, but genuine raw-hide and silver-tipped water-buffalo bones. She would watch it grind these down from the couch while flipping the channels on her 42-inch plasma tv.

No one grinds like a dog grinds water-buffalo bone. For hours and hours. Until all that is left is a darkened shard. That darkened shard is God. But there will always be another bone to grind. The dog will leave his chewed out diety rolling in the dust. The shard, bedraggled, exposed to the natural elements, becomes suddenly incandescent with an inner enlightenment. It acquires a vegetable greenness, an intelligence that elicits it to blossom and give forth so mucha s a grain of wheat.

Have you even ground a bone down to nothing. Not for the marrow, no, but for the sharpening of your teeth. The bone from a goat’s hind-legs, if chopped correctly, will release a fragrant chemical along the lining of your throat that will make you want to chew harder, faster, indefinitely. There is a spell threaded into its hardened, desiccated dying cells that invites disintegration. This instinct is the political activity of a vulnerable cell reclassified as a specialized cell that will die when the company dies. Thus they
are invested, through their classification, in the hope of not becoming redundant.

Shortly after the 11th of September, feeling the flush of patriotism for her adopted country with its apple trees and the crisp scarlet dawns that fell like Autumn leaves in the backyard of her small Long Island cottage, she decided to pursue a premature, albeit fruitful deal with Halliburton. Such crises have an uncanny way of generating jobs for lazy people. With the prospect of feeding her husky over-processed, over-priced rubber-ducky flavored dog-food, she and her dad contrived to shoo off the younger sisters into a dormitory outside Baghdad University and launched into their new career as media-consultants for a coalition of security contractors.

As for Sindbad, he tried to make contact with the fourteen-year-old in Baghdad before resigning himself to make a return to Basrah as the new manager for the Shatt-al-Arab Hotel. He would still make a weekly trip up to the capital to try to catch a glimpse of that coy impetuous smile through the scrambled lure of thick black hair.

Then one day he spotted her waiting impatiently at the bus-stop clutching her trigonometry book. He could gauge her impatience through the activity of her newly-formed breasts, rising and falling underneath the tight-fitted niqab. He stepped out of his peach-colored Corolla and strode confidently towards her with a bouquet of roses.

The roses were red like the lipstick smeared tartishly across her full mouth, discretely covered by the folds of her hijab. A tall dark hunk of sixteen stepped out of the bus and wrapped his arm salaciously around her waist, slender like the long and starkly curving Aleph of the earliest moon of Ramadan. Sindbad was devastated. On the eve of the US invasion of his country, Sindbad returned to Shatt-al-Arab Hotel and drank all the liquor on the premises down to the last drop. The next morning, he oozed out of his bed to the news of shock and awe and his unfaithful fourteen year-old’s dormitory being reduced to rubble in the dead of the night. He drove in tears first to Baghdad, the embattled lotus of the Muslim world writhing in the tyrant’s flames, and then to Fallujah where his lover lay poolside underneath a lady-bird encrusted umbrella in the arms of her boyfriend from Baghdad, whispering, “‘Tis the nightingale, ’tis the nightingale,” hotly cheek to cheek and jointly fantasizing over the prospect of being torn limb from limb, a glorious and youthful death at the hands of the most riotous of villagers, incensed at their radiant fabulousness in being so young and so much in love.

This is the love of Laila and Majnun, a love that devastates whole cities, leveling them to dusk-ridden expanses of dust just because the lover’s nights are sleepless as his eyes are tearful. Because he is more than walking distance from his beloved. They cannot steal into the library and fuck over the couches at a whim. They will have to wait.

And that is how cities are tormented by plague and ruled over by brutal tyrants: because the lover’s thoughts are dark.

But Sindbad would bide his time. He would wait past the fall of Baghdad, the raising of Muqtedar Al Sadr’s battle cry against the foreign infidel, the discovery, trial and execution of Santa Claus, Declausification and the subsequent breaking out of the insurgency, and the unleashing of General Petraeus’ war-plan in Anbar province.

He showed up at the recruiter’s line for four days straight, eager like a toothless canvasser on election day itching to collect her $120 for a day of riding around in the back of a van and eating as many of the brown-paper lunches provided by the campaign as she can get her clammy hands upon.

On the fifth day he was hired. An Arab with no spine, willing to work for the sole purpose of getting paid (rather than collecting materials to make IEDs and take a couple of those goddamn Americans out) was an asset for our growing team of Iraqi mercenaries. Here was a born opportunist, embued with fear in his heart, and a proud member of the lukewarm, passionless, heartless fraternity of the scum of the earth.

He didn’t want a gun. Just more and better body-armor. He would accompany us on each one of our raids: to the clay mosques off the dirt roads and through the tall grasses, to the public schools surrounded by moats and barbed-wire, to the sweet-maker’s shop in the
bazaar with its bluish milk and the red-eyed flies scattered over the pile of baklava, to the tire-repair shop with the smell of wreckage mingling with that of roadkilll. By now, the fourteen year old had taken advantage of the war by eloping with her boyfriend to a clay-hut, one of many in the squat, featureless shanty-town outskirts of what was left of the shit-hole that is the city of Fallujah.

As though he had placed us under a friggin spell to subdue us for his hidden purpose, Sindbad sent us up and down these parts, knocking down doors in the Sunni neighborhoods to drag out civilians, whimpering yet with the odd impudent dullness in soaked through their eyeballs. Just about all of these could very well have been harmless, but Sindbad was quick to paint them as being sufficiently insolent in their
monosyllabic retorts to warrant a kick in the face or a bullet through the head.

And we couldn’t look into the matter enough either. It helped us fulfill our weekly quotas. We needed to turn in enough numbers to keep our commanding officers from breathing down our throats. Sindbad knew this and slowly became merciless in his penchant for interpreting insurgency and death to Ronald McDonald in the words of every cringing specimen of his countrymen we encountered on the street. It was as though he were steeling himself for the final encounter, when he would be able to carry out his vengeance against that heartless underage infidel without so much as a twitch of his facial musculature.

“Was there such an encounter?”

Hard to say. We knocked down a lot of doors with pubescent girls and boys inside squealing mid-coitus on top of each other.

“And your interpreter problem. Did you have them before the war began?”

Hard to say again. We weren’t doing the door-to-door thing back then. Just curfews and shooting down at sight anything that moved around with a rag on its head. And before then, we were smoking Fallujah back to the stone age.

Thus ended my interview with the Iraq veteran with his fond reminiscings of high noon in Fallujah when nothing human stirred along the rubble-strewn thoroughfares. Just things that crawled. Or hopped about. Or froze up. Or played dead. Just to keep the snipers interested. Like rabbits. Or possums. He told me that he would be back in Iraq. Not for the US army. But for Blackwater. He had met with a nice Iraqi lady from Dearborn that was doing the hiring for them.

I looked over my papers just to make sure that I had them in order for the interrogation at border security. There was no mention of arson, only destruction by fire of several rolls of toilet-paper and paper napkin dispensers. Also considerable water-damage once the sprinklers went off. I had lost the little pink slip that they had given me as a form of temporary ID. But they could always look me up in the system with a social security number… or could they?

I gathered up my documents and headed for the counter where the hot Korean officer was waiting with the top two of her blouse unbuttoned to reveal her torpedoes.

“I don’t find a job”, “this crisis is affecting so much to the economy in my city”, “I don’t know where to look for”. Most of you probably have thought  of taking the first option offered, others can think about they will find it later and it’s better of  just keep looking for…and most of you have the desire of travelling because you feel useless at home waiting for a  call.

If you have this last feeling, don’t think it twice. Despite the economic gloom and doom, there are millions of jobs abroad available these days. If you can afford at least 3 months of living by yourself, it’s time to make a decision (most of the times it won’t be the salary you’ll get in your country, but most of the times it’s not about the salary, it’s about the experience).

Some of the travel jobs on the list you are gonna read below pay better than others. Some demand specific qualifications, while others are available to just about anyone who can speak some specific languages.

• Teaching Languages.
  • Spanish: The Spanish goverment offers some grants to spanish teachers to go to the US, also, there’re a lot of countries who are lack of spanish teachers.
  • English: you can become part of  the cultural assistant program to teach English in Spain, althought there are a lof of countries where you can teach this universal language.

• BabySitting:
  • The International Au Pair Association works to put in contact families with people who want to take care of their childrens. Before taking care of a kid, kust make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into first, because it’s sometimes tough depending on the children.
  • There are also other different networking websites to help new babysitters to find families on their own. One of the best is Great Aupair, and mommymixer,  aupair.com and easy aupair . Never forget that a lot of babysitters work as family assistants and drive kids to after-school programs, planning birthday parties, etc..

• Voluntering:
  • The world needs you and a volunteering escape can help a lot to the organization you are working on and yourself. Volunteer opportunities are practically innumerable and in almost every country. Sites like Volunteer abroad or Idealist are references.
  • Other organizations like the European Youth Portal or the Global Volunteer Network can help to look for the best work. One organization I’d like to mention is Vicente Ferrer Fundation.   Read a little bit about what people says about these  or other organizations before going there.

• Cruising/Sailoring
  • The perfect way to enjoy the good weather throught high seasons in different parts of the world. There are thousands of cruises which weigh anchor everyday in different parts of the world. All cruise Jobs is the biggest job board dedicated to employment in cruises.
  • Another sites where you can be a part of the cruise crew around the world are cruiselinejob,  workoncruiseship and if you want to try something different that just entretaintment, this site allows you to work in platforms and huge non touristic ships.
  • if you don’t like crowds, don’t think it twice and check the opportunity of smaller private yachts. They also need people for the crew, some cool websites I found: crewseekers, findacrew and crewfile.

• Tourguide:
  • Being a tour guide can be really interesting if you like history and you have good social skills. There so many tour companies where you can apply
  • But tour guide does not only mean going to cities and explain the history and the buildings, you can also combine it with your hobby: mountain biking, birdwatching. Some hostels I’ve been offer the opportunity to be a guide and discover the beauty of the region you are in.

• Exchange work for Hostel Beds
  • Maybe this option sounds crazy, but some hostels, like the ones next to my favourite area offer it. Grand Canyon are offering some positions of cleaning rooms or computer work. Some hostels have the option already, if not, ask the hostel owner if it’s possible to exchange work  for a bed. Make sure to mention you are good for this position because there’re a minimum days you have to stay there. You can find more information about working in hostels in the Hostel Jobs webpage.

• Seasonal Agricultural Campaigns
  • Ifyou  don’t like cities and want to feel the countryside, the beginning of seasonal campaigns are your option. It will be tough, but being in contact with nature is always good. The seasonal agricultural campaigns are everywhere. It’s about team work and undertake the tasks of picking, storing and packing the fruit. Check this site for Spain and this post in Australia. Working in an organic farm somwhere around the globe can be also a wonderful experience. Helpexchange is a great site too.

• Commercial Airplane crew
  • This is not a short term job, it’s another career. Cabin crew work for airlines is a very popular option for a lot of travelers. Qatar Airways or British airways are two options, there are so many opportunities and a lot of companies are hiring. It sounds like a really cool job, but don’t forget that the cavin crew are the responsible for the safety of passengers and are specially trained to deal with security and emergency situations. Their work can be stressful but allows you to discover a lot of places in the world.

• Artist:
  • Being an artist can bring you everywhere. You can think about music and check the tours of a lot of artists. You can be one of them too. There are also a lot of people who are going abroad to show their culture or travel as a staff. Also, the circus can be a good way to tour the world showing your talent.

And don’t forget you can always travel without working. Just enjoy your time but first of all check out your budget!!

Wanna see where deposed dictators have settled? Extreme Kung Fu clip. The best part is the music!

Here are some of the world’s finest yachts. I want one so bad!!

There are times in your life when you will think about doing something with no actual intention behind doing it.  There will be the times when you wake up early in the morning for the sole purpose of working out before getting on with your day even though you already know what you are going to do is pour yourself a cup of hot tea, sit down with a good book, and allow a few minutes to pass in a much more tranquil manner than is usual for you.

So, when you read this following blog, please take to heart that there will always be things we think about doing with no actual intention of doing them.
  Terms you may want to be familiar with prior to reading this segment: yatch (derived from the word “b-yatch” which was derived from something else entirely and fell into my vocabulary somewhere near the end of my sophomore year of college).  And here the blog begins…

I thought about apologizing to the yatch.  Then, as my better judgment kicked in, I thought about precisely what a sincere apology from me on the subject would sound like and came to the conclusion that this was most nearly it… “I know you are so horribly incompetent that you feel it is appropriate to stick a needle in a patient who is hyperventilating while taking away the patient’s ability to communicate their concerns so have no respect whatsoever for you or your ability to practice medicine in a professional manner.  That being said, while you continue to stand over there since I don’t trust you as far as my feebly operated body could manage to throw you; that being said I do sincerely apologize for how I treated you yesterday.  I should not have allowed your incompetence or inability to behave appropriately to change who I am. The End.”-like I said, I did think about apologizing to the yatch but I didn’t really think it would help considering the circumstances.

Album: Apply 12″
Genre: A’cappella, Spiritual, Experimental, Dream Pop
Year: 2009
Who: Cameron Mesirow & Matt Popieluch
Label: True Panther Sounds
Rating: 8/10
Similar: Chairlift, Girls, Free Blood, Lesser Gonzales Alvarez, Yacht

Another ‘09 one woman show, once again, blows me away. Garage Band is a bit sad so you may see right through it, but I’ve been swooned. I love this Cameron Mesirow, her lyrics, and her tone. Every now and then somebody comes alone and makes Garage Band work for them. Her occasional AC animalistic vocals are a little typical, but work none-the-less. Her tonal intonation is right on, and for me, that is all it takes. If you like the sexier tracks off Chairlift’s recent album, you’ll love this, and the remix they did of her single as well. As corny as it sounds, Glasser’s sound has just the right amount of tribal/spiritual attitude mixed with enticing vocals and an airy repetitive appeal for me to go all possessive. Her 12” debuts in just a couple days on True Panther Sounds.

Apply

Tremel

Try It.

This 35.6 meters of royal treatment is the new design of the Wally yatching. Not much to say really  

If you want to visit the website for more info http://www.wally.com/default.asp?bflash=1

Lucky 7 (P1000612), originally uploaded by Nguyen K. Do.

Docklands, 2008.
Nguyen K. Do © 2009

As said at my previous entry regarding how i’m gonna spend my Easter sunday, i spent the day out in the sea.

A group of 11, countless bottles of red and white wine, cartons of oysters and a little less of salmon sushi brightened the whole cloudy sunday afternoon.

At such occasions, i never fail to bring my bb along or else i can’t bare to have the thoughts of being alone in the middle of the not-so-strangers group. And lovely enuff, MC is cool with my request to bring my friends along

and not long after that, guess what happened? as expected.. bb cudn’t resist the not-so water sports and she looked all glee..

and the next thing i know.. bb fell into the sea and its all wet wet wet

While me, never fail to enjoy the breeze without getting wet wet wet .. i wasn’t “fully” prepared to get all wet baby.

and last but not least, look what i found floating in the sea?

To Be Continued~

no yatch conceitual

Ah! Como viajar é bom não é mesmo? Eu particularmente adoro, seja pelo Brasil ou para fora! no fim do ano fiz cruzeiro e foi super divertido, conheci um pessoal e tal, não mantemos contato, como é de praxe, (hahaha) e peguei até uma corsinha! Agora começando a trabalhar acaba a farra e o maximo que terei serão viagensinhas de curtissima duração para alguma praiasinho ou algum sítio da vida! que venham essas viagens também! elas são ótimas!

Il magnate del petrolio russo Roman Arkad’evič Abramovič anche quest’anno ha deciso di ampliare la sua flotta di yatch modalità super-lusso.

L’ultimo acquisto, si vocifera costato più di 30o milioni di euro, è un panfilo lungo più di 550 piedi (circa 160 metri), dimensione che per un’imbarcazione privata non era mai stata raggiunta. Il nome di questo “piccolo” gadget da supermiliardari è “Eclipse”, pseudonimo per sottolineare la sua smodata imponenza, destinata a “oscurare” ogni yatch rivale. Tra i vari optional ospitati dal panfilo, pare ci sia un sistema di difesa radar antimissile aereo e, forse, anche sottomarino. Tutti i vetri saranno antioproiettile e sembra ci potrà essere una sorta di rete elettrificata a dissuadere i malintenzionati.

Ciliegina sulla torta, oltre agli usuali garage per i tender, l’Eclipse sarà dotato di un sommergibile per permettere al magnate ed alla sua fidanzatina una eventuale possibilità di fuga. Il sommergibile sarà in grado di navigare fino a 160 piedi di profondità. Per ovvi motivi di sicurezza la sua collocazione è assolutamente segreta.

Abramovič è anche proprietario del Pelorus, uno fra i più lussuosi yacht al mondo. Costruito dalla tedesca Lürssen nel 2003 e dal costo stimato in 100 mln di euro.

Lo yacht Le Grand Bleu, invece, acquistato nel 2000, è fatto costruire dai cantieri Vulkan ed è stato il primo acquisto del patron del Chelsea. Questo yacht è lungo 112.8m ed è famoso per i 7 tender che contiene: 3 gommoni, 1 sottomarino, 1 elicottero, 1 barca a vela (Bellatrix) e 1 miniyacht di 14m a motore.

Ma ciò che rende famoso Abramovič non è la sua passione per le imbarcazioni lussuose, bensì il suo immenso patrimonio: nel marzo 2008 viene indicato dalla rivista Forbes come uno dei più ricchi della Russia e la quindicesima persona più abbiente nel mondo con un capitale di 23,5 miliardi di dollari. Tra l’altro, in questa lista, chiunque ha almeno 10 anni in più del petroliere russo.