sábado, 21 de noviembre de 2015
jueves, 19 de noviembre de 2015
Lake Orta - The Two Faces of the Same Coin
Lake Orta - The Two Faces of the Same Coin
Lake Orta is a modest lake in Piedmont – thirteen kilometres long and less than four kilometres wide. Embraced by wooded hills, soaring mountains and tiny villages which hug the shore or cling to mountainsides, it has been described as ‘God’s Watercolour’ – a title adored by its devoted lovers. In the minds of the romantically inclined, Lake Orta seems to exist in a heavenly state of eternal sunshine and clear, blue skies. It is nature itself, however, with its capricious ability for transformation, that falsifies such a notion. The deep allure of the lake can only be fully and powerfully experienced through the staggering contrast of beautiful with sinister; light and dark – the two faces of the same coin.
Admittedly, what we read about a place influences the way we see it in our minds and makes us build expectations. Thus when I visited Lake Orta for the first time, it unsettled me. Instead of a postcard setting, I was faced with a bleak, sinister landscape shrouded in gloomy cloud. Mist and drizzle smudged all outlines and the jagged mountain peaks were hazy, merging softly into the thick sky. There was no blue sheet of reflective water. The lake was black; bottomless.
The heart of the lake, the town of Orta San Giulio, had a nostalgic feel about it, and beneath the charcoal sky, it seemed like a place in mourning. I walked along Orta’s deserted main street, Via Olina, past an array of empty shops – delicatessen, souvenirs, jewellery, ice-cream boutiques, restaurants and cafés. A couple of forlorn shop owners stared at me as I trudged along the pebble-surfaced street beneath a barrage of heavy raindrops.
When Piazza Motta opened up in front of me, I sheltered beneath the arched portico of Palazzo della Communità, a 16th century edifice with frescoed outer walls. The piazza was desolate, and the only signs of movement were the rivulets of rain water that slithered over the cobbles. A red tourist train was parked by the tree line. Inside, a small group of tourists huddled together against the chill air, pulling long faces and frowning at the sky. I dashed beneath a large awning in front of Piccolo Bar, occupied one of the many vacant tables, and ordered an eye-opening espresso.
Just opposite, the Island of Saint Giulio stood like a mirage. Screened by rain, its ancient edifices were drab; their dark windows like the hollow eye sockets of a skull. At that moment I was flushed by a warm empathy for the long departed saint, as I tried to imagine how, imbibed with the superstitions of the 4th century, he must have felt at the prospect of crossing over to the mysterious island then believed to be the lair of satanic creatures. He had decided to complete his church-building vow by building the hundredth and last church right on that secluded island. Boatmen refused to ferry him across but spurred by his relentless faith, he spread his cloak over the water and rowed himself across with his walking stick. The evil creatures were banished to make way for the basilica that still stands after so many centuries.
Echoing San Giulio’s miracles, the sky opened up like the curtain of a great stage and in the space of a heartbeat I found myself in a different place. Colours brightened up and the thousands of rain drops that clung to everything sparkled like jewels. The lake became a polished mirror that doubled the beauty of its surroundings. The Island of San Giulio stood out of its reflection like Atlantis rising from the depths, crested with virgin, misty cloud; a promise of paradise.
I decided not to cross over to the island on a floating cloak, an item which has long fallen out of fashion since San Giulio’s days, but instead, opted for a more conventional boat ride. The moment I set foot on the island’s jetty, silence rolled over me like a cuddling melody.
Inside San Giulio’s basilica, a group of taciturn visitors gently dispersed to reveal the splendid grey-green Romanesque marble pulpit, with its sculpted, grim-faced figure wielding a walking stick and his entourage of mythical creatures. Beneath, in the dim crypt, San Giulio was still very present, his remains conserved in an ornamental, transparent cask.
I left the basilica to tread the circular Via del Silenzio, the Way of Silence. The route was punctuated by multilingual signs that exalted the virtues of silence. ‘Silence is music and harmony,’ said one of them. Done in reverse, this route becomes the Way of Meditation. Offshoot lanes lead to waterside jetties where the owners of the splendid lakeshore villas moored their boats. As I walked past the Benedictine nuns’ convent, I crossed a newly-wed couple walking with dreamy faces and clasping each others’ hand.
The route brought me back to my starting point and I stepped into Antica Bottega, the island’s only shop. Signora Maria Antonietta is one of the two island’s permanent residents, apart from the nuns. She was born on the island and has lived there ever since, even after her beloved husband passed away. Her shop was spotless. The well-ordered displays of china, lace-embroidered tablecloths, old prints, handmade wooden toys and colourful jewellery boxes were a poignant reminder of better times.
Following the isolation of the island, Orta San Giulio, now alive and cheerful, was a different world altogether. Rambling along the piazza and narrow streets, I was treated with delightful little surprises: the quaint soap shop in the corner whose wafting scents were a promise of happiness, just like the warm-heartedness of the lady inside; the little secluded garden of the Palazzo Communale, that revealed itself unexpectedly to entertain me with its charming roses and picture-perfect views of the lake; the sumptuous villas and gardens of Via Fava overlooking the lake, that filled me with pleasant fantasies.
Lake Orta, with its dark and bright aspects, is highly evocative of human nature. It is easy to think of it as a living being rather than a landmark, and maybe that is why so many people fall desperately in love with it. Japanese storyteller Junichiro Tanizaki wrote, ‘Find beauty not only in the thing itself but in the pattern of shadows, the light and dark which the thing provides.’ Lake Orta, like an intriguing personality, can only be fully understood if its charming face is appreciated in the full realisation of its shadowy, mysterious facet. The sinister provides depth and contrast against which the beautiful can dazzle.
Topic:
Explore locations mentioned:
http://www.italymagazine.com/featured-story/lake-orta-two-faces-same-coin
Three of the Best Villages on the Italian Lakes
Three of the Best Villages on the Italian Lakes
Lake Como sparkles under the Spring sun. Grand Art Nouveau villas and Neo-Classical palazzos in pastel colours cast their tremulous reflection on the deep blue waters, where swans and ducks vie for fish and attention.
Weeping willows dip their leaf-laden branches into the lake, flanked on either side by crimson tulips, Neo-Classical statues and stone urns brimming with pink and red geraniums. Dainty little café tables line the waterside passeggiata, from which narrow cobbled lanes lit by wrought iron streetlamps ascend towards an ancient church and its solitary belltower. Behind all this, the white-capped Alps soar high towards a baby blue sky.
Few places can beat the charm and sheer beauty of the Italian Lakes—which is why they have been a holiday destination for two millennia. Roman historian Pliny the Younger was one of the first celebrities to take to the lakes—he had at least two villas along Lake Como’s shores. But the area’s golden age came in the 19th century, when Europe’s great and good all wanted a place by the waterside. Poet Percy Bysshe Shelley and his wife Mary fell in love with Lake Como, which Shelley described as exceeding “anything I ever beheld in beauty.” And Queen Victoria herself visited both Lake Como and Lake Maggiore.
The late 20th century brought George Clooney, Sting and Richard Branson, the last in a long list of famous people to be drawn by the lake. As they bought lavish second homes along the shores, they helped put small villages like Laglio (where Clooney has his mansion) on the map.
However, while virtually everyone has heard of Lake Como with postcard-pretty Bellagio, and the politicians’ favourite resort, Cernobbio, and Lake Maggiore, with Hemingway’s favourite retreat, Stresa, and the peacock-peppered Isola Bella on Lake Maggiore, there are plenty of little villages left to explore along the smaller Lakes. We have chosen three you absolutely should not miss.
Orta San Giulio, Lake Orta
God’s watercolour. That’s how Markus Werner calls Orta San Giulio in his book, Terraferma. Here, lake and sky are streaks of crystalline blue hemming in the scented pinks and reds of camellias and azaleas, and the stately baby green and creams of grand 18th century mansions. The entire village is a cavalcade along three hundred years of opulent architecture—from the Renaissance to the 18th century—in a triumph of wrought iron balconies, dark slate roofs and soaring arches.
But Orta’s prettiest corner is the islet of San Giulio, which rises from the lake a few hundred yards from the coast. The islet has long had a mistic aura. Legend has it that it once was home to a dangerous serpent which destroyed anything in sight. But one day in the fourth century AD, Saint Julius of Novara reached the lake’s shores and, using his cape as a boat, reached San Giulio. His presence alone was enough to chase the serpent away, and the Saint built his hundredth church on the barren rock.
Six hundred years on, another saint left his mark on the islet—Guglielmo da Volpiano, an early follower of Saint Benedict was born there.
Over time, however, these religious heritage was overshadowed by a military role as the islet became the strategic seat of a fortified castle. Until the 19th century, when the sacred once again replaced the profane.
In 1842, a seminary was built on San Giulio, its cream white bulk taking up most of the islet. The seminary later became a monastery for cloistered nuns and today the islet is a place of peace, quiet and extraordinary beauty, which visitors can savour by staying at the monastery’s guest house. The church founded by Saint Julius in the 4th century is also open to the public. Although the Romanesque building has been lost, the later replacement preserves intact the spirituality of the origins.
Castellaro Lagusella, Lake Lagusello
Lake Lagusello is tiny and the village that fronts it even more so. Castellaro Lagusella (Monzambano - Province of Mantua) is a fortified hamlet that presides over its own waters—a heart-shaped Lagusello, or small lake.
Thick crenellated walls—broken up by a gate with a massive clock tower—have been sheltering Castellaro since the Middle Ages. Ancient homes of exposed stones line the maze of narrow, quiet lanes that coast by rich Baroque church to reach the small piazzetta that is the pulsating heart of the village. Here stands the grandiose bulk of the 19th century Villa Arrighi. The villa, which is now an opulent mansion, was originally Castellaro’s fortress and it shows—the towers, the fortified walls and the mullioned windows that overlook the emerald waters of the reed-lined lake have a distinctly forbidding look.
But if the architecture and views aren’t enough, Castellaro offers some extraordinary salami and wine (Tocai and Merlot).
Monte Isola, Lake Iseo
A mountain in the middle of a lake. It is Monte Isola, hamlet, island and border between Lombardy’s Brescia and Bergamo provinces. This is a place where wild nature meets tamed landscapes of olive trees, orchards and pretty fishermen’s homes.
First in sight are the handful of old homes and jetties of the aptly named Porto, the harbour where the ferry boat from Lovere docks. From Porto, a tiny lane—Monte Isola is a car-free haven—climbs up the hill towards Siviano, the island’s main village.
Once Siviano was just a medieval castle, but it expanded into a hamlet over time. The stone bulk of the main tower, Torre Martinengo, is still there, standing sentinel over porticoed homes brimming with flowers. But it is now dwarfed by the graceful Neo-Classical church of San Faustino e Giovita, built at the very top of the hill that overlooks the village.
Old country roads lead to the other Monte Isola villages—among others, Masse, with its stone homes, courtyards and a large stone rock that legend wants to be a meeting place for witches; Novale with its medieval houses and elegant palazzo, once home to the local bishop; and Peschiera, a lakeside hamlet graced by the exquisite Castello Oldofredi and the pastel-hued homes where most of the local fishermen used to live. And at the very top of the island, perched high on a rocky outcrop, the Sanctuary of the Virgin of Ceriola, has been watching over Monte Isola since the fifth century AD.
Explore locations mentioned:
http://www.italymagazine.com/featured-story/three-best-villages-italian-lakes
domingo, 15 de noviembre de 2015
PAREJA Y SEXO CURIOSA PROPUESTA Love Joule, un bar para que las mujeres se masturben
Ubicado en Tokio, Japón, Love Joule invita a dejar de lado los tabúes en torno a la masturbación femenina: no sólo ofrece todo lo necesario para hacerla más placentera, sino que brinda un espacio para que las chicas hablen del tema cómodamente mientras toman algo con amigas.
"Fish gape", la nueva pose de las famosas para la foto perfecta
La famosa técnica de sonrisa de pato quedó atrás. Ahora la tendencia es colocar labios y párpados de tal manera que el rostro luzca más interesante y natural.
El origen de la cara de pato (duck face)
Por estadística, probablemente tengas una cuenta de Facebook. O tal vez, con una probabilidad mucho menor, una de Instagram. Pero de lo que estamos seguros al cien por ciento (y lo escribimos con letras porque así de seguros estamos), es que tienes amigas que suben fotos en las que posan con cara de pato. Sí. Porque poner los labios uno pegado a otro como dando un beso pero a la vez como si estuvieran siendo apretados por el marco de una ventana tiene más de ovíparo de granja que de modelo de pasarela.
Con una gallardía estética inusitada, las surrealistas promotoras de la belleza ególatra posan enselfies que inspiran los más inescrupulosos prejuicios, pues con su extraña mirada a cámara las observamos con cara de científico evolucionista a quien su hijo le pide por favor que lo lleve al museo de Adam y Eva. De moda y en las redes sociales, esta forma de posar nos llamó la atención, así como todo lo que provoca que nuestro sentido de la belleza y la sensualidad se deshilachen violentamente. Pero… ¿de dónde y por qué surge la cara de pato?Menos mística y sobrenatural de lo que quisiésemos, la mundialmente conocida “duck face” (cara de pato en español) deviene del término “MySpace Face”, ya que la cara de pato se comenzó a utilizar en MySpace y en Facebook por adolescentes y jóvenes. Según documenta la Wikipedia de los memes, KnowYourMeme, la moda surge en el 2006 y se expande a través de todas las formas posibles en la red, siendo las mujeres las principales protagonistas (por no decir culpables). En 2007 comienza a difundirse ampliamente, tanto como forma de posar sensualmente entre las chicas y como objeto de burla entre varones y, por supuesto, otras mujeres.
Queda claro que en algún punto de la historia del Universo, de ese Universo que dio lugar Rosa Luxemburgo, Simone de Beauvoir, Hipatía o Marie Curie, las mujeres comienzan a poner esta cara que se caracteriza por una mirada sensual en cualquier pose corporal y unos labios fruncidos e hinchados hacia adelante, generando algo muy parecido a ese aperitivo agridulce de la mesa del cumpleaños de la tía que nadie se anima a probar. Huelga decir que aunque la duckface es una expresión típica en mujeres, para Urban Dictionary la versión del duckface en hombres es cuando éstos se toman fotos con la remera levantada mostrando los abdominales y poniendo cara de “macho” mientras guiñan el ojo modestamente.
Sobre los precursores de este fenómeno deplorable para el ojo y la lívido de quien les escribe, podríamos pensar en Ben Stiller en el papel protagónico de Zoolander, donde hace la mirada Magnun o también conocida como “Blue Steel look” juntando los labios. También hay un episodio de la serie Full House donde un personaje usa esta cara y le ponen de apodo “Duckface”. Incluso más atrás tenemos la tapa de un álbum de Little Feat de 1979, donde había una imagen de una “mujer pato” sentada en una silla.
El fenómeno ha copado la red y se ha reproducido como buen meme que es, pero también ha tenido sus detractores (nosotros claramente lo somos luego de este manifiesto), como ser el sitio web AntiDuckFace que se abrió en 2009 tratando de sacar del abismo estético en el que estas mujeres habían practicado un clavado frontal con doble mortal inversa.
Sin más comentarios que los que apelan a que nuestras lectoras no repitan esta conducta, nos despedimos pensando en que es una moda y va a pasar de largo, aunque ya lleve más de 6 años de vigencia y la cara de pato no parece querer dejar de protagonizar autorretratos.
No tan resumido: ¿Qué es el discurso? La polisemia del término “dis...
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