A vingança...

... serve-se fria.

Bons tempos...

... de inocência

A different side of Istanbul

«'I have never received flowers in my life', says Macide Açkıra, a thirty-one year old gypsy selling flowers. 'But every morning at nine thirty, my husband returns from the flowers auctions and brings me these... to sell!' she adds laughing with a throaty voice that suggests decades of heavy smoking.
Early each morning, while Macide is still stirring in her sleep, her husband leaves with fellow gypsy men from his neighbourhood, heading out to a different part of Istanbul to participate in the daily flower auctions. Female gypsies do not appear at the site of the auction; it is the duty of the men to do so. As the men bargain and purchase the day's bouquets, their wives meet and begin their half hour walk through the center of the city, to their designated spots on the side-walks of Nişantaşı, one of the poshest neighbourhoods of Istanbul. The men arrive in a shared pickup truck and unload the flowers in plastic vases and rusting tin cans that have been rescued from piles of trash. There is a short commotion as both men and women line up the vases, arranging the bouquets according to stem height and colour. It seems they are all secret experts on colour therapy as the neat rows of vases are shifted into perfect angles to catch the eyes of the hundreds of passerbys throughout the day. The order and angles of their flowers' display seem to take into account the dances of the sunlight and shadows throughout the day, for as the hours change, the flowers seem to as well in both presence and appeal.
'My favourite flowers are not among these here today', she comments, barely looking over the thirty vases that hold over six hundred flowers on that particular day. 'Fresias and hyacinths ares seasonal and can only be found in January to February'.
Macide has been selling flowers in the streets of Istanbul for the past eighteen years. It was her mother who began teaching her the trade and the one who eventually passed the business down to her. Not having children of their own, her husband and she focus their daily lives around the purchase and selling of flowers.
'I work from 9:30 in the morning until about 9:30 in the evening. The day ends when my husband appears to pick me up at night. Then together, we throw out the flowers that haven't been sold that day', she says. The average number of flowers her husband brings her every morning are the same, yet the amount remaining unsold at the end of the day depends on weather and luck... Those and of course unrivaled bargaining skills accompanied by a slick understanding of human psychology.
'I usually don't target particular types of people to call out to. I wait until I notice someone glance over at my flowers at the corner of their eye. (...)
'People buy flowers when they are sad. Women especially - when a women is upset - notice, she will buy flowers. So I also call out to one who look sad or as though they are having a bad day. Sometimes I smile first, to give them a non-intruding sense of kindness. Then I offer them some flowers. I never have to suggest a particular kind, at time slike this, people instinctively seem to know what they want. (...)
The last confession comes as a whisper and is interrupted by the arrival of a woman, a customer dressed in white and black, wearing stiletto heeled sandals and carrying a Gucci purse.
'Give me two bunches of gerberas and three daisies.'
Macide shuts up and begins to wrap up the flowers in shiny wrapping paper.
'Hello, welcome... Okay, okay...' she keeps saying, but there are no compliments. The customer ignores her greetings and almost rudely orders for other flowers to be taken out and wrapped. Once she has her armload if flowers, she strides away without thanks. Macide sits back down, apologizing to me for the woman's rudeness. (...)
I wonder aloud what she would do if her husband were to bring these roses home for her tonight. She thinks for a moment, stands up straighter under the rain and extending out her neck to the darkening afternoon sky, lets out a last throaty laugh.
'I would probably hit him on the head with it! Giving ME flowers is not romantic! That's like your man giving you a newspaper for Valentine's Day!'.»

in TimeOut Istanbul, nº 33, October 2003

A new star was born.

Não haja dúvida que as versões digest são úteis à brava

Como ler oito obras da Margarida Rebelo Pinto em apenas 10 segundos:

Sei Lá – Gosto de gajos mas não faço ideia do que é uma relação estável.
Não há Coincidências – Gosto de gajos mas não faço a mínima ideia do que é ter uma relação estável e excitante.
Alma de Pássaro – Gosto de gajos.
Artista de Circo – Gosto de gajos do circo e com uma elasticidade fora do normal
I’m in Love with a Popstar – Gosto de gajos desde que cantem.
Nazarenas e Matrioskas – Gosto de gajos e não tenho jeitinho nenhum para arranjar títulos para os meus livros.
Pessoas como Nós – Gosto de gajos normais (à falta de melhor).
Diário da Tua Ausência – Gosto de tudo o que mexa.

Restante post no de vagares.... Recomenda-se.

Stew pot

Izmir, Turkey
01/11/2006

A question of motivation

After the defeat against Spain (0-4), this afternoon the Ukrainian players entered in the football field where the game against Saudi-Arabia was going be played with the assurance that the first one to score a goal would win… a female pig (alive!). Result of this encouragement: 4 minutes after the starting whistle, Rusol scored the first goal. The pig was offered by an editor company, which also promised a barrel of honey to each player, in the case of a victory. At this moment, the chronometer shows 49 minutes and the Ukrainians are winning for 3-0 already…

Paulo Camacho
in Jornal da Noite, SIC
19th June 2006

...

Eu sei que sou burro... Eu sei que tenho bastantes cadeiras para fazer... Mas...

Será que tinha de ter 3 exames no mesmo dia?!

Recipe for a strange physical (and psychological) state

Ingredients:

Normal çay, elma nargile, normal çay, kaşarlı gözleme, muz çay, gül nargile, peynirli gözleme, normal çay, muz, nane nargile, normal çay, elma nargile, kumpir, kup balbadem.

Preparation:

Mix all the ingredients, one by one, exactly as the previous disposal. Consume it in a hot and dry summer evening.
Enjoy.

Se quiseres conhecer a pessoa dos teus sonhos,

esconde a tua dor atrás de um sorriso

Alexandre MM Caetano

When, more and more, what is needed is a Grito de Ipiranga* in journalism...

... the sad news keep on. This time the crisis arrived to the newspaper which once had an editorial stating that "Notre pauvreté est la mesure de notre indépendance.": Libération. The founding manifesto of this newspaper was: "Depend on the people, not on advertisers or banks".
After some years of economic problems (which is not surprising in the press), this statement changed to: "L’indépendance c’est très simple : Il faut gagner de l’argent" and the solution seemed to accept the investment of the financer Edouard de Rothschild, who had no experience about working in journalism before and that even had financed rightist electoral campaigns, being also a Sarkozy's close friend (why lately everyone seems to be a close friend of Sarkozy?): "A New York educated, horse-racing enthusiast, Mr Rothschild is a friend of the conservative interior minister and presidential hopeful Nicolas Sarkozy, with whom he had holidayed. He is adamant that his friendship with Mr Sarkozy has not influenced his attitude to Libé."
But, even if the news at the time seemed to try to show the opposite, who can say that this offer didn't have any second intentions? As it is said by Yves Rebours and Arnaud Rindel, it's difficult to believe that the independence of a newspaper is independent of the demandings of profit, which are set by the main stockholder, when these ones are able to affect the jounalists' work condicions, their name and their position.
First of all, it was Rothschild himself who said that one of the reasons for this investment was the "influence sur la société" and that it is "un peu une vue utopique de vouloir différencier rédaction et actionnaire » (France 2, 30.9.2005)".
This was even confirmed by Le Point: "Vingt millions d’euros, c’est beaucoup d’argent, même pour un Rothschild. 'Et en même temps, poursuit ce banquier [a banker who knows him well], ce n’est pas beaucoup pour mettre la main sur une affaire connue.' De celles qui vous projettent en pleine lumière. Libé, c’est une institution du 'microcosme', un journal qui a plus d’influence que son tirage".
However, the mainstream idea was always that Rothschild's proposal was only related with an economic, almost philantropic, interest and that he would respect the identity of the newspaper, as himself stated several times: "Je m’engage fermement et personnellement [à] préserver l’indépendance de la rédaction, [...] Et, à ce titre, sachez que je considère les droits de la SCPL comme inaliénables et qu’ils seront garantis.". About the question "Libération sera-t-il à l’abri des pressions économiques et politiques?", Edouard de Rothschild has confirmed once more this promisse: "Oui, sans équivoque. Je crois avoir été assez clair sur la question de l’indépendance du journal.".
Furthermore, and one of the main contraditions, Rothschild has also stated that Serge July would keep all his fonctions: "Une chance d’autant plus grande que l’offre du financier inclut - 'à la demande d’Edouard de Rothschild', précise Serge July - l’assurance pour lui 'de poursuivre à la tête de Libération, en cumulant les fonctions de président et de directeur général, jusqu’en 2012'...". Even July, after this promise, was convinced that accepting Rothschild proposal wouldn't change anything in the heart of the newspaper: "Notre journal, affirme-t-il dans les colonnes de Libération (22.01.2005), n’entre pas dans un groupe puissant, où nous aurions été contraints, irrésistiblement, de nous fondre, il s’associe avec un actionnaire qui, s’il sera le premier de l’entreprise, sera minoritaire, et destiné à le rester, comme il en a pris l’engagement. Ce nouvel associé souscrit à la charte d’indépendance et au pacte d’actionnaires qui sont les socles de notre indépendance entrepreneuriale et journalistique.".
Surprinsingly, or not, according to the last news, July and Louis Dreyfus will leave the newspaper, under the pressure of Rothschild: "Selon 'L'Express', l'actionnaire principal est prêt à signer un nouveau chèque, d'un montant compris entre 10 à 15 millions d'euros, 'à une seule condition: le départ de Serge July'."

Some links here (fr), here (fr), here (eng) and here (pt).

* "Liberty or death", considered the declaration of the Brazilian independence from Portugal, pronounced by Dom Pedro near the Ipiranga river on the 7th September 1822.

Istanbul through the perspective of a camera

Laundry's day - Fatih
4th March 2006

Momentos...

More! More! More!

World Cup 2006

This is my contribution to the portuguese team.

(Link in the title - don't ask me how did I find it...)

Dunyayi Kurtaran Adam

Your life will not be the same after this movie.

This home-made version of a Star Wars earlier chapter with the Indiana Jones soundtrack and in turkish is, definitly, an art masterpiece.

(Link in the title.)

What is faith?

You can find the answer here (but probably you won't) .

Fraude, como sempre, em Portugal

(link no título)

«Ser ou não ser, eis a questão. Será maior nobreza sofrer as fundas e as flechas da fortuna ultrajante? Ou pegar em armas contra este mar de infortúnios opondo-lhes um fim? Morrer, dormir, nada mais... é belo como dizer que pomos fim ao desgosto e aos mil males naturais que são a herança da carne. É esse um fim a desejar ardentemente? Morrer, dormir... dormir e talvez sonhar. Sim! Eis o espinho! Pois que sonhos podem vir desse sono da morte depois de libertos do tumulto da vida? Eis o que deve deter-nos, eis a consideração que nos trás a calamidade de uma tão longa vida...»

«A felicidade não é a meta, mas o caminho»

Aqui.

Polémica dos professores

Recomendação de leitura aqui.

PP

Engraçado como o Partido Popular é traduzido para inglês. People's Party.

Revolta...

Lusophobia

«(...) which prompted The Economist in 1980 to describe the country [Portugal] as "Africa's only colony in Europe".»

Fonte: Wikipédia

Incêndios

Está aberta a oficial "época de incêndios"

Purple and brown

Vejam isso. Simplesmente, divinal

Prabhu Deva ao poder...

«Les élus portugais aiment le foot»

«A vida imita a ficção, mas nunca ninguém a processou por plágio»

«O mundo visto do espaço é azul. O mundo visto dos mapas escolares é muito mais colorido. Primeira desilusão: Afinal, os países não eram tão pigmentados como os pintavam, nem Portugal cor-de-rosa, nem Espanha lilás, nem Angola roxa, nem a Alemanha amarela... Segunda: Aquelas linhas que serpenteavam entre eles não serviam para evitar que as cores se esborratassem e se mesclassem umas nas outras. Terceira: Essas linhas chamadas fronteiras são invisíveis fora do papel, e não galgam, como fios de esparguetes infinitos, por montes e vales... Basta um desprevenido passo mais adiante e... muda de nome a terra. Há linhas invisíveis, convenções topográficas, limites, muros de cimento muito altos, divisões intransponíveis, vedações de arame farpado, todos guardados por sentinelas vigilantes, a acautelar invasores, clandestinos e demais intrusos. E apesar de tantas divisões, às vezes damos um passo e lá usurpamos um território alheio – e a terra onde caminhamos muda de nome. Os mundos podem estar separados, mas não são paralelos: interceptam-se. E não há fronteiras mais fustigadas, com intrusões constantes e ocupações abusadoras, como aquelas que separam a ficção da realidade. Mesmo sendo o termo que define um dos mundos a negação do que define o outro. Mas é que são tantas as andanças de trás para diante, a arrepio dos paradoxos, que já era tempo de decretarmos a abolição imediata e com efeitos retroactivos desta fronteira, permitir a livre circulação de direitos, pessoas e bens, extinguir as taxas alfandegárias. Em ambos os sentidos.
E o sentido que parece fazer menos sentido é quando a ficção passa para o outro lado da fronteira e invade a realidade. E se confunde com ela. Na verdade nós até sabemos que há coisas que nunca aconteceram – mas podiam ter acontecido. Ou antes: nós gostávamos mesmo que tivessem acontecido. Por isso vão, ano após ano, excursões de turistas até Verona, visitar a varanda por onde Romeu terá escalado até à Julieta. Ou outros viajantes que andam por esse lugar da Mancha, na senda das pegadas de D. Quixote e seu escudeiro. Ou debitam os guias turísticos que foi na Torre de Pisa que Galileu contrariou Aristóteles, para provar que a massa não influi na velocidade da queda dos corpos, lançando lá de cima uma bala de mosquete e outra de canhão. E a saída airosa de Colombo no banquete em casa do cardeal Mendonza, o célebre expediente do ovo, é afinal atribuída a várias personalidades, entre elas ao arquitecto italiano Brunelleschi. E as monumentais escadarias de Odessa, na Ucrânia, continuam a ser atracção mundial, apesar de aí não ter acontecido nenhum massacre dos populares que apoiavam os marinheiro amotinados, em 1905, e de aí não se ter precipitado o célebre carrinho de bebé do Couraçado Poutemkine, de Sergei Eiseinstein. Aliás, aquelas escadas nem dão para o mar. O clássico Casablanca é menos conhecido pela excelência do filme (que nem é assim tanta) do que pela banda sonora, pelo casal Bogart&Bergman e por uma frase que nunca é pronunciada: «Play it again, Sam!». E aqui já temos a ficção que dentro da ficção se torna realidade. Confuso? Num filme que tem como título esta deixa que nunca existiu, Woody Allen convoca Humphrey Bogart para fazer de uma espécie de grilo do Pinóquio da consciência das personagens. Mas é em Maridos e Mulheres que o realizador condensa toda esta invasão da realidade pela ficção: «A vida não imita a arte. A vida imita os maus programas de televisão»... (...)»

Por: Ana Margarida de Carvalho,
Visão Online