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by Rebecca Taras | May 29, 2019 | Beauty, Beauty Products, Beauty Tips, Cosmetics, Health and Wellness, Rebecca's stories, Skin Care, Skincare, Travel
by Rebecca Taras | May 29, 2019 | Charming French Villages, Cote d'Azur, France, Historic, History, Luxury, Luxury Hotels, Perfume, Rebecca's stories, South of France, Travel
There's no shortage of charming villages in France and while there are still many on my bucket list, I'll never tire of Saint-Paul-de-Vence. Between the winding cobblestone streets, the remnants of some of the greatest artists and literary greats, and quaint restaurants with breathtaking views, Saint-Paul-de-Vence is worth venturing the short (and beautiful) drive on the winding roads if you're visiting the South of France. Perched high on a hilltop, It just might arguably be one of the most beautiful villages in the Cote d'Azur…if not the entire country itself.
Singer Line Renaud: © Office de Tourisme de Saint-Paul de Vence – Photographe: Jacques Gomot
—Originally known as Saint-Paul, the village acquired the name Saint-Paul-de-Vence because of its proximity to the commune of Vence. This was a smart idea as it differentiated this dream world from nine other French villages bearing the same name. The cognomen Saint-Paul-de-Vence became official in 2011.
—Saint-Paul was a border stronghold in the Middle Ages (1388) when the County of Nice switched its allegiance from Provence to the County of Savoy. It remained a border town until 1860 when Savoy was annexed to France.
—The village became more accessible in 1911 due to a newly erected tramway between Cagnes-sur-Mer and Vence, via Saint-Paul. Aside from attracting curious visitors, the new method of transportation also made it possible to export
—During the roaring '20s, Saint-Paul started to attract what we now know as some of the greatest artists in the world— Paul Signac, Chaïm Soutine, and Raoul Dufy were among the artisans at the forefront. Captivated by the rich array of colors and natural lighting, the tranquil village was their muse.
—While the Côte d'Azur has long been associated as a playground for the rich and famous, Saint-Paul-de-Vence was on their radar, too. The paradisiacal village has attracted the likes of an array of notable personalities, to include Ernest Hemingway, Zelda and F Scott Fitzgerald, Yves Montand, Simone Signoret, James Baldwin, Marc Chagall, Charlie Chaplin, Vittorio de Sica, Curt Jurgens, Orson Welles, Line Renaud, Liza Minnelli, Kirk Douglas, Gene Wilder, and Michael Caine, to name a few.
—When you're walking on the beautiful Provencal-style cobblestone streets, take note that they were barren until the '50s when Mayor Marius Issert turned the streets into what you can see today. Also interesting, the very first cobbles were brought back from the beach at Cagnes sur Mer.
Photo courtesy of La Mas De Pierre
La Colombe d'Or: One can't discuss lodging options in Saint-Paul-de-Vence without suggesting this historic gem. Back in 1920, the property was known as a cafe and bar called Chez Robinson. In an effort to support his wife Baptistine (Titine), its proprietor—painter/art collector Paul Roux—made additions to the property so that it could facilitate a small three-room inn known as Colombe d'Or. At this time, it served as an artist's playground for legends such as Picasso and Matisse. Their work, along with pieces from several other greats, still resides in the hotel today for your viewing pleasure. Over the years, the property became a sought-after retreat for celebrities and A-listers alike. Luckily, the Colombe d'Or of today can accommodate more guests—it boasts 13 rooms and 12 suites to be exact. You'll find modern-day conveniences such as dry cleaning and room service. Speaking of food, even if you're not a guest, you're going to want to eat at the on-site restaurant. The menu features quintessential Provencal-style dishes such as stuffed baby vegetables, baked Provençal tomatoes, and a variety of fresh fish and meat dishes. If you visit in the warm weather months, you'll be treated to the secret garden-like outdoor terrace. As of the this post, room rates range between 250 and 430 euros per night depending on room selection and season.
Le Saint Paul: Also conveniently located within the village, this five star property (a previous residence from the 16th century) possesses 16 rooms and terrace suites with sweeping views of the Medieval village and area surroundings. Take a meal out on the sprawling terrace where you can choose from menu items that correspond with the season. It's worth taking an extra cup of coffee (or glass of wine) to soak up the awe-inspiring environs the French way—by taking your time. As of this post, room rates range between 250 and 630 euros per night depending on room selection and season.
Le Mas de Pierre: I had the pleasure of recently staying at this Eden and let's just say that I didn't want to leave! Le Mas de Pierre is a five-star boutique hotel (Relais and Chateaux) that's located just on the outskirts of town. A mas, to be clear, is defined as a Provençal-style farmhouse, which is exactly what this place feels like on an elevated level. The property is surrounded by spectacular landscape that includes commanding mountains; centuries-old olive trees; and aromatic fig, orange, and lemon trees that dot the hotel grounds. As there are less than 60 rooms (cleverly divided amongst several buildings for the utmost in privacy), the feeling here is more like staying at a private estate than a big hotel. The service is impeccable, the decor is on-point, and I love that every room has a private (and generous) balcony or garden. Flying doves (literally) make their way around the grounds, on-site herb and vegetable gardens provide inspiration for the chef, you can visit the hotel owner's birds in the exotic garden, and the last greenhouse in this historic area of greenhouses is used to cultivate all the orchids and plants in and out of the hotel. As of this post, room rates range between 215 and 1848 euros per night depending on room selection and season.
Le Tilleul: Photographed by Rebecca Taras
Le Tilleul: Not only is this charming eatery perfectly positioned for people watching and immersing yourself in village life, the food is fantastic. The seasonally changing menu is gastronomic, yet comfortable—you can even find a simple sandwich on the lunch carte if you aren't in the mood for a feast, but still want to enjoy the views. When I visited with my boyfriend, it was a crisp fall day, but blankets were available at all of the chairs. We used ours (and a bottle of red wine) to keep warm. Along with the complimentary olive tapenade, we shared two of the starters of the day: shrimp with avocado cream (artfully nestled in a small, clear glass) and cured salmon gravlax, which was served with a mini salad lightly tossed in a zesty citrus dressing. For the mains, my S.O. had a filet with nicoise olive mashed potatoes and I opted for the linguini con le vongole—aka linguini with clam sauce. Even though we cleaned each and every plate, we still managed to save room for one of the house-made desserts: a berry coulis and cream trifle.
La Brouette: While this restaurant is not exactly French, the Danish cuisine is as delectable as the owners (and hosts) are charming and hospitable—it wouldn't be around for 40-plus years otherwise! Specialties include Baltic herring, house-marinated and smoked salmon, smoked trout, and a selection of Danish desserts. During the warm weather months, make a reservation for the rustic, lush patio where you can catch the fireworks on selected nights during the summer. When the chill hits the air, the inside is just as cozy, thanks to a warm burning fireplace.
(See above for information on the restaurant at Colombe d'Or.)
La Maison Godet: Photographed by Rebecca Taras
Galerie Frédéric Gollong: This illustrious gallery one of the first art spaces to open in Saint-Paul de Vence. Along with works from historic greats such as Matisse, Picasso, Valodon, Alechinsky, Braque, and Miró, you'll also find more contemporary pieces from Van Velde, Wimmer, Berthois-Rigal, and Coignard, to name a few.
Galerie Le Capricorne: A diverse gallery that features a wide array of classic and contemporary works in various styles, to include landscapes, street art, abstract, pop art, and illustrations. You'll find stunning pieces from great masters like Picasso, Chagall, Matisse, and Braque, as well as contemporary creations from artisans such as Michel Dejos, Isabelle Plante, Sylvia Karle-Marquet, Claude Fauchere, and Christophe Gallard, among several others.
La Maison Godet Parfum: A personal favorite, this perfume house dates back to 1901, and has since then whipped up umpteen fragrances that pay homage to everything from cognac (the family's first business) to the muses of some of the greatest artists milling around Saint-Paul-de-Vence back in the day. All fragrances are made locally and it's not uncommon that they contain ingredients found right in the village—like figs from the tree at Colombe d'Or. The current "nose" is the great granddaughter (Sonia) of founder Julien-Joseph Godet. If you're lucky enough, she'll be in the shop the day you visit; brace yourself for a real treat.
La Petite Cave de Saint Paul: Housed in a 14th century wine cellar, this cavernous shop offers an array of wines from the region of Provence. Wine and spirit aficionados will appreciate the well-curated selection of Cognac, Calvados, Armagnac, champagne, Bordeaux Grands Crus, and some of the best bottles from Burgundy and the Rhone Valley.
Cimetiere de Saint-Paul-De-Vence: Photographed by Rebecca Taras
Fondation Maeght: Going on 50-plus years, the Fondation Maeght features the largest and most influential collections of 20th century art in all of Europe.
Musée de Saint-Paul: Take a deeper dive into the artistic history of Saint-Paul by visiting this well-appointed museum that's housed in a stone house from the 16th century. Exhibitions change regularly and typically feature the works of artists whose works are associated with the village.
Cimetière de Saint-Paul-De-Vence: Dating back to the 16th century, this quaint cimetière is the resting place of famous locals such as Chagall (known for his paintings of the area) and Marguerite et Aimé Maeght, art gallery owners and dealers who lost their son Bernard at the age of 11—he is also buried here. Fondation Maeght became their project to get through this tragedy.
Jacques Prévert's House: Ask a local to point you in the direction of French poet and screenwriter Jacques Prévert's house, an unapologetically charming stone abode where he lived with his wife his wife Janine. Prévert was friends with Pablo Picasso and Paul Roux, owner of the Colombe d'Or.
Place de la Grande Fontaine: A vaulted washhouse serves as a memory for the old town square. Today, it's a spot for locals to sell farm fresh produce.
Le Village de St.-Paul-de-Vence
© Office de Tourisme de Saint-Paul de Vence – Photographe: Elisabeth Rossolin
By no means are my suggestions a complete list of what you can eat, do, and, see in Saint-Paul-de-Vence, but they are definitely both personal and popular favorites. Don't be afraid to visit in the off-season as summer can be overwhelmingly crowded, which makes it difficult to book a table at a restaurant, a room at a hotel, or to full enjoy the shops and sites. Have you ever visited this charming French village? What are your favorite places?
Experiencing Ayasofya Hurrem Sultan Hamam: One Of Istanbul's Oldest Bath Houses
by Rebecca Taras | Feb 27, 2019 | Beauty, Hamam, Istanbul, Rebecca's stories, Spa Resorts, Spa Retreats, Spa Treatments, Spas, Travel, Traveling with Style, Turkey
If you've ever been to a fancy hotel or destination spa, then you've probably experienced some sort of treatment incorporating traditions and ingredients from a faraway land. Whether it was a Thai massage, Chinese acupressure, or an Indian Shirodhara ritual, it probably wasn't too hard to feel temporarily transported to another destination—even if just for an hour. While I'll never stop my endless quest for finding the most authentic and results-driven global services that delight the senses as well as the mind, I was almost about to call off the dogs after my recent experience at an authentic Turkish hammam (a.k.a. hamam) in Istanbul.
Dating back to 1556, the Ayasofya Hurrem Sultan Hamam (located between the Hagia Sophia and Blue Mosque) is one of Istanbul's most stunning representations of the time-honored Turkish bath culture. The historical structure was designed and built by Mimar Sinan, the chief Ottoman architect, upon the requisition of Hurrem Sultan (Roxelana), the wife of Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent in the 16th century (1556-1557 AD). Its location is particularly significant, as it was erected where the ancient public baths of Zeuxippus (100-200 AD) used to stand, which also happens to be where the Temple of Zeus once stood.
The Ayasofya Hurrem Sultan Hamam was built in the classical period Ottoman bath style, yet it was an innovation in Turkish bath architecture because it was designed to have the sections for men and women constructed on the same axis as mirror images of each other. My journey began on a beautiful fall evening in Istanbul—which was much needed considering I had just completed a two train, plane and cab journey from Lake Como, Italy, starting at the ripe hour of 4:30 a.m.
There are a variety of individual services and packages to choose from, but having never experienced a hammam, I went for one of the more robust options, which only set me back about $100 for 90-minutes of bliss. Despite being there in off-season, note that you still have to make advanced reservations—though I only made mine the day before and was granted my preferred time slot.
From the moment I walked into the hammam, I knew I was in for something special. My first impressions were: It was as clean as a whistle, the architecture was even more drop-dead gorgeous in person than on the photos I saw online, it smelled like an exotic Garden of Eden, and the traditional Turkish music that was playing softly in the background was the perfect catalyst for transporting visitors into another time and place—including yours truly.
I was escorted to a small changing area where I was given disposable panties and a very small towel (the traditional bath wrap called a pestamal) to cover myself with—let's just say that it didn't quite cover everything. I was then taken to the main room of the bath house where all the magic happens. My therapist instructed me to drop my towel, which was a new experience for an American who has worked in spas where proper draping was non-negotiable. I quickly scanned the room and noticed that women of all shapes and sizes were sporting their birthday suits without any inhibitions, so I let that terrycloth hit the floor and got ready to hammam like a pro.
The therapist left me on a heated marble step near a gold faucet/marble basin, where I was instructed to ladle warm water over my hair and body with the use of a beautiful, gold-plated ottoman bath bowl. Next, we moved to the nucleus of the room—a heated, octagonal slab of marble—where I laid on my back while my therapist gave me a traditional body scrub and relaxing bubble wash scented with essential oil of Melissa, which smells very similar to lemongrass. After I turned over and the process was repeated, I moved to yet another "station" where my hair was washed and conditioned with Judas tree essential oil-infused products.
The next step left my skin as smooth as silk for days—even after showering a few times. My therapist slipped a traditional olive oil bar of soap (again, scented with Melissa E.O.) into a dampened bath glove and vigorously rubbed every extremity of my body in an effort to give my skin a thorough exfoliation. Next, I was rinsed and wrapped in a large towel and escorted to the main relaxation area, where I was served water, Turkish Delight and a local beverage called Ottoman sharbat, a cold beverage made from fruits, spices and flower petals.
After a few moments of of becoming entranced by the hypnotic music in my relaxed state, I was escorted up three flights of stairs to a private room for a Judas tree essential oil aromatherapy massage. The top floor rooms aren't covered, so I was able to take in the glow of the dreamy blue light that filled the beautiful domed ceiling of the hammam itself.
My hammam tips and takeaways:
Get over being body conscious. Trust me when I say nobody is looking at you, and an experience like this is more about wellness than vanity. Refreshing, right?
Take the time to really soak in your surroundings. Chills ran down my spine when I thought of how many people enjoyed this amazing ritual in the exact same spot over the past 400-plus years.
Go for one of the larger packages of services. You can receive a full hammam experience in less than it costs for one service at a traditional spa or resort; it's completely worth it!
You're going to love how you feel and smell when you leave, so take note of how silky smooth your hair and skin feels afterwards. As mentioned earlier, I still felt the results even after taking several showers. What won't last, however, is the delectable aroma of essential oils that envelops your hair and skin from top-to-bottom.
Each guest receives their own "hammam kit," which includes everything you need for your entire journey, so it's extremely sanitary. You even get to take home body lotion, olive oil soap, your bath mitt and sandals. A perfect souvenir until you can make it back to paradise.


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TAKE-N-BAKE – ORDER ONLINE
MidNord Empanadas was started by Phil Gaffney. Phil is a Minnesota native that spent many years learning life out of a food truck in New York City. He and his former business partner owned a Craft Service & Catering company which was contracted specifically for the film industry in New York City. Among many shows, notables include, Boardwalk Empire, Salt, Get Him to the Greek and Going the Distance.
New York is one of the food truck capitals of the world and while Phil wasn't serving to the general public he still learned the trade and love of food truck operations and philosophies.
As soon as the laws regarding street food in MN changed, his goal was to get back to here and start his own truck. While his relationship with New York was strong, he loved Minnesota and it was home.
During his time in New York, he was taught how to make traditional Spanish empanadas by a Ecuadorian family and began hanging out with the 'MinneApple in The Big Apple' group (A group of MN to NY transplants that have MN themed get togethers and host a Minne-Apple Fair Day – http://minneappleinthebigapple.wordpress.com/about/) These events sparked the idea to combine his knowledge of empanadas, love of food trucks and Minnesota.
The idea, like other food trucks, is to do one item and do it well. Keeping the traditional Spanish style but also infuse some fun creative Minnesota-related empanadas.
The name MidNord came about as a affectionate slang term for Minnesota, Phil loves both Minnesota and empanadas & he hopes after you taste the empanadas you will love them too!
We're A Food Truck
MidNord
What is an empanada?
Traditional Empanadas, Minnesota-style.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


Capture was approached by ITV Studios and The Daily Mirror to create a new motion graphic identity for the prime time ITV1 show. Our concept drew influence from the award founders; The Daily Mirror, as we decided to "Mirror" the Union Jack in the glistening chrome contours of the Pride of Britain Awards statuette, as the camera appears to fly over and around it, as if it were the Angel of the North.
Capture created the 15 second opening title sequence all edited to Coldplay's "Paradise" track. In total Capture created 12 separate pieces of motion graphics and content graphics for HD Broadcast and the live background screens.


Today, I delved into my creative side (or not lol) to come up with healthy Haikus! 5 syllables / 7 syllables / 5 syllables. I'm not much of a poet, but I don't believe these have to rhyme! I had fun though. Enjoy!
Close my eyes and plug my nose.
Hit the road. Don't Stop.
What is your healthy haiku?
LOVE the haikus Alissa!!!!! What a great "first read" of my morning...thank you!!!! Have a good Friday.
I'm enjoying your responses to your challenge. This post was fun, great work!


Bee's Circus: The Natural History Museum. Take Two.
The Natural History Museum. Take Two.
Another trip to London to the Natural History Muesum, this time with the boys' Nana. Second time lucky, we got to see the dinosaur exhibition (though, Joshua spent the entire time clinging on me, terrified of the skeletons.) I think the trick is to go early, we just walked in but a couple of hours later the queue was enormous again!! My other top tips would be to take a picnic (the food options aren't very child friendly and the prices are pretty extreme) and any opportunity to sit down on a bench and eat (there were people sitting EVERYWHERE) Lastly, I took the sling for Joshua and I was so glad I did. He's three now and though he's small for his age we haven't used it for months, but the last couple of times we've been to London he's wanted carrying a lot - especially in the streets and as we had to walk to another tube station after finding out South Kensington was closed, I don't know what we would have done without it. He clung to me the whole time, grinning and telling me how much he loved his sling so he could hold me! The dinosaurs were really cool, and the giant whale was even more awesome without the scaffolding surrounding it. The boys' favourite part of the day, however, was getting their tacky toys in the gift shop. Kids will be kids! I took a lot of video so hopefully a vlog is in the near future, plus Daniel took a bunch of photos too which I think will be cute to share.
I think we've exhausted the History Museum now, at least until the boys are a little older and can understand the information there, any other suggestions? We're about an hour from London, but don't mind an adventure!
#2016ClassicsChallenge, Anne of Green Gables.


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Bogleech.com's 2016 Horror Write-off:
The Last Collection
Submitted by J.D. Stroud
Searlait Bachimont.
It perhaps means nothing to you, but that would be because you never moved in the same circles as I did, wouldn't it?
If you had, that name... you would feel it in your skin. Every time you said it, you would feel it between your skin and shirt. It was a name to conjure by.
I won't say that the fashion scene- that community of artists and seamsters, journalists and social flora- was stagnating before her arrival. It was plenty lively, to give credit to the ones that were already there before her. In fact, we thought it was thriving. It wasn't until Mademoiselle Bachimont that we realized it was only half as alive as it could have been.
She did not materialize personally at first, rather, her echo preceded her. A wealthy woman by the name of Luci was seen in an absolutely breathtaking ensemble, and it was clearly couture, yet she would not reveal the source. Gleefully, she replied to all inquiries that the dress had been "thrown together, as a favor, by a friend."
In this way, Searlait wore her mystery like a particularly alluring coat. It drew anyone eager for attention and novelty (which is everyone). She insinuated herself into the society of the elite without ever setting foot in any of their ballrooms or vestibules or galleries. She circumvented the orthodox in everything she did. Needless to say, the big fashion houses were decidedly perturbed.
Her career continued in this manner for over two years, an eternity in that fairyland where time flows with enchanted celerity. Only after she had become like an old familiar spirit, the smell of the cigar smoke in a dead relative's study, did she choose to manifest bodily in the public eye.
She herself always dressed humbly, but she was not deliberately tasteless. She seemed simply to feel that fashion was something that applied to other people and not to herself. Her hair was stramineous and unkempt, her dress second-hand or worse. She didn't accessorize. As for her actual person, hardly considered as a thing apart by that crowd, it was no more assuming than the rest, except for a certain weirdness she had that almost passed for glamor. Her skin was never very good, and her eyes were pale to the point of colorlessness. Those eyes were huge, and the way they goggled from her small head (she was petite all over) put one in mind of an inbred lapdog. Then again, their milky tint, which almost gave one the impression of cataracts, had the power to sometimes turn them into twin moon-rocks lodged above her snub nose. She did not pluck her eyebrows as far as I know, but they were so thin and silky, little more than wisps of dandelion fluff above those gaping orbs, that they were very nearly invisible.
As to whether or not Searlait Bachimont was her real name, I have considerable doubts. She claimed to come from a pre-huguenot line of the old nobility, and that her most direct ancestors were a pair of alchemists that had been executed during the Affair of the Poisons. Most of us took this as the sort of self-invention that was almost mandatory if one wished to be noticed. I sometimes wonder.
She was a terrible genius, a complete monster, and we loved her all the more for it. She could do anything, and she did everything. Men's wear, women's wear, children's, outdoor, evening, it was all her bailiwick. And she would transform whatever she turned her hand to, breathing life back into dead styles as easily as she fabricated whole new ones as if from thin air. Her shows were always small and private, and she only sold her work to her closest acquaintances. Naturally, this made people very eager to befriend her, despite her idiosyncrasies.
What of those? I was getting to that. She was incredibly superstitious. She avoided mirrors and held her breath when she passed a cemetery. She never wore green on Monday, nor blue on Saturday, and she always clapped her hands over her mouth, as if in real fear, when she sneezed. She seemed to really think her soul might slip out into the aether. She loved rabbits but detested cats, and dogs she was essentially indifferent to with the exception of that Russian breed known as the Borzoi, two of which she kept in her apartments and regularly fawned over.
I never met any of her relatives. In fact, there was no one in the whole city who was able to claim to know her prior to her enigmatic debut. It was assumed she had come from one of the provinces. After she died (oh, of course. For some time now) I did a little digging into her past for reasons which shall soon become apparent. She truly seemed to come from nowhere, except for a pair of aunts she sometimes referenced in her diaries. Allegedly they lived in a château near Tréhorenteuc, but when I went to visit I found the place abandoned, except for a number of odd mushrooms and an overgrown garden.
She passed away from a respiratory complaint. Congenital, if I'm not mistaken. She did not seem especially surprised. I was with her at the time. An accident really. I had come to wish her well only to find that her condition had deteriorated rapidly. She beckoned me over to her, and I of course had no choice but to oblige.
Really, she seemed already deader than any corpse I had ever seen, and her owlish face looked through mine rather than upon it. But still she took my large hand in her tiny one, almost a doll's hand, and whispered in a voice of rapture. "Julien, do whatever you want with this old rag, and all the rest of it too. I think its high time I tried a change of wardrobe." And with that she slipped away, and ceased to suck in those dragging breaths that had been her constant preoccupation throughout her decline.
What she meant by "this old rag" I can only assume to be her own body. As for "the rest of it," I was soon to learn.
We had never been especially close. There were at least ten or twelve others I would have thought more intimate with her than myself. Yet she left everything to me. All the sketchbooks and notepads, the atelier, the apartment (at least until the lease was up). Yes, even the two Borzois. Yes! The very same ones that met you coming in. Sweet? I wouldn't know; Bertha looks after them. Their names are Eos and Astraeus, I think.
I dare say more than a few people were put out with me when news of my surprise inheritance got out (mainly by my own hand, I confess.) And yet when all was said and done, it didn't amount to much. Most of the sketches were things she had already made, although a few seemed not to be of garments at all. What they were I couldn't say, aimless doodles I assumed at the time. Baroque animals with too many face and too many wings. Her diaries I found to be of some interest. They revealed her to be just as peculiar in private as she seemed to be in society. How interesting I would ultimately find them... well, we'll come to that. Some of the entries were encrypted, written in characters so improbable I took them to be a language of Searlait's own invention.
It was a well known fact that before her death Searlait had not produced anything new for over a year, a decided departure from her usual manic pace. People still wore their old Bachimont gowns and jackets with gloating pride, but nothing can remain fresh forever in an atmosphere like that. Little by little, her work began to disappear from the galas and seminars.
Some took these to be a symptom of her failing health. They said she simply did not have the energy to work anymore. Others, myself among them, felt differently. There were whispers of a secret body of work, a new line that was to be her magnum opus, the final culmination of her ethereal and uncanny talents. The rumors said that she had been corresponding with persons unknown, had even flown out to visit certain islands where certain indigenous peoples still lived relatively unmolested by the rest of the world. Since she had never been known to do anything that was not in some way connected with her art, this was assumed to be more than tourism.
But I found no evidence of this. I was more than a little disappointed, but not so much that I was able to lose interest in her affairs. There was some evidence in the unobscured letters and diary notes that she had been seeking something, although as to what she was deeply vague. This was enough to give me hope.
I enlisted the help of my good friend Madame Blanchard, by far my oldest acquaintance. You knew her once correct? The old hag was an inveterate gossip and a narcissistic liar to boot. God I miss her.
With her insatiable curiosity and keen nose for secrets to aid me, Blanchard and I began making progress I'd have never been able to accomplish on my own.
"Julien, dear, come have a look at this" I remember her saying one day as I rifled through a desk I had already rummaged dozens of times. She held a book in her hand, a musty old tome on ancient history. I stuck out my tongue in distaste, as I recall.
"Now, now, don't make that face," tittered Blanchard. "But come and see what I've found."
She had been going through the books in search of marginalia, a truly inspired feat of nosiness completely beyond my own abilities. What she discovered surpassed either of our wildest expectations.
The book was one of those turn of the century anthropological treatises having to do with dusty old crypts and vanished societies. But Bachimont had confined herself to a single chapter, concerning, what else, religious attire.
What she'd written herself was sadly sparse, but what she had circled and underlined shed a great deal of light on her train of thought. In the distant archipelago of Sabaled (a place I had never heard of, but which was apparently known by other names, in other times) an albino people of very peculiar physiognomy live. Because of their extreme defects, which in the priestly caste were exaggerated due to incest in ways seldom seen elsewhere, they had been forced to devise extremely innovative materials and designs for their various rituals and activities. Clothing became such a central fixture in their lives that they even had a cult centered around a deity whose sole domain was textile and craft. The page opposite to the one on which we found all this information graciously possessed an illustration. Oh, just some crude grotesque. I thought it looked a bit like one of those tiki things the Polynesians have. Blanchard said she thought it looked more like a bug of some kind.
"Bal-Sabal, the Weaver," read the caption. This had been both underlined and highlighted. Well, it was a start.
As the book contained no illustrations of what this priestly garb might actually look like, we both assumed that Searlait had gone abroad to see the real thing for herself. And perhaps to gather the materials she needed to make her own version for high society. Blanchard was practically salivating. As her third husband had recently passed and she had nothing else to occupy her, she threw herself even more into the project than I had. This suited me just fine.
A few weeks passed, and I learned from Blanchard that information concerning the Sabaledese natives was frustratingly scarce. The most she had found were references in other works. My own task was to continue looking for the produce of Searlait's final eccentric escapade. This was what lead me to that desolate house in the country. I admit, I was reduced to knocking on the walls of the apartment, looking for secret passages.
Blanchard and I met over drinks, to discuss what little progress we'd made.
"I haven't slept a wink, not even a moment," Blanchard said in typical melodramatic fashion. To me she looked as well-rested as ever. "Apparently they're very close to dying out you know, these island savages. They may be on their last generation."
"Then Searlait got to them just in time," I opined with my characteristic drollness. "If only the little cow had lived long enough for her researches to bear fruit."
Blanchard smiled a coy smile. "She may have my dear, she just may have. I think I've found something in one of the diaries. You see this symbol-" she drew it on a napkin for my edification. I did recognize it. It was four crooked lines criss-crossing over a black dot. I had seen it in the coded diary entries.
"It keeps popping up, not just in her writing but in the scholarly works too. Its sacred to that loathsome-looking demon, this 'Bal-Sabal'. It was used to mark out places sacred to its cult."
"What's your point?"
Blanchard fanned herself a bit with her menu sheet. "Have a little imagination! You know how fixated on this sort of thing the poor girl was. I would bet my second-husband's entire factory, that if we search the apartment and find that symbol, we shall also find a real clue to the whereabouts of all these missing works."
I was less enthused than Blanchard, but I agreed that it was worth scouring the place just once more, on the off-chance that she was right.
She turned out to be more correct than either of us had dared to hope. At the back of Searlait's bedroom closet, so lightly scribbled in faint pencil that it was completely understandable that I had missed it in my previous searches, was the symbol. A moment's pressure was sufficient for the closet to give up its secrets. A trap-door, wide enough to admit one grown man if he were to crawl on hands and knees, that seemed to open onto a much wider passage. We were shocked.
"How can this be here?!" gasped Madame Blanchard. "There's simply no way! The building..."
Of course, there was nothing for it but to investigate. We went in, first myself and then her. The passage wound deeper, disclosing cavernous dimensions that were indeed totally nonsensical when compared to the outward plan of the building. Oh yes, I was very excited.
"This is a very clever trick," said I. "And to hide an astounding assortment of garments behind a closet of all places... that's certainly Searlait's style."
We probed deeper into the tunnel, cautiously at first, but growing increasingly bold and impatient as the walls expanded around us. No one could have entered that place for months, yet there was neither dust nor cobweb in sight. Finally, the passage emptied out onto a lager chamber, at least as big as the apartment we had just left behind. The chamber was carved out of a sort of black rock unfamiliar to me. There was ample light thanks to some candles that miraculously still burned in their niches. Hm? Don't be silly! Of course I realized there was something uncanny afoot. I just cared more about the clothes at the time.
So then, the clothes. Such clothes! I don't know where she found the mannequins. They were very crude, that much is certain. They seemed to be wrought from the same black stone as the cavern itself, like strange stalagmites that had spontaneously assumed roughly humanoid shapes. But we couldn't care less, neither Blanchard nor myself. For the clothes, the clothes were beyond all comprehension.
How can I describe them? The fabric must indeed have been that exotic material referenced by the book, for it was unrecognizable to me. It was like gossamer, thick in places and fine in others, seeming to assume whatever level of opacity the illumination shining on it called for at that very instant. The color was difficult to place. At times there seemed not to be one at all, but like a prism that was sensitive to something other than light, the hues would suddenly flare to life, shifting over the whole in kaleidoscopic arrangements.
The cut and stitching were exquisite as well, Searlait's best work, without a doubt. She had clearly poured the last of her fading energies into this collection. This would cement her as the legend we all already knew her to be. I felt a little bad for those islanders. Once word spread of the incredible arts and dyes, the inimitable stuffs they were hiding on that little rock in the middle of the ocean, the whole place would be stripped bare so fast it would make their pale little heads spin.
They were long billowing gowns and hooded coats for the most part, with here and there other garments that seemed slightly plainer than the others, but still infused by that almost metamorphic quality. Blanchard demanded I turn around so that she could change.
I laughed out loud, and inside I felt it a shame that the first breathing figure the elegant styles would grace would be an ugly old woman (bless her, wherever she is). But I acquiesced nonetheless. After all, she had worked as hard as I, perhaps harder, and it had been her suggestion which had at last lead to the discovery.
At last she signaled that she was once again decent. Imagine my surprise when I turned around to find she had vanished. I don't mean literally, but it was as if the old Madame Blanchard had disappeared, to be replaced by another person entirely. I was flabbergasted. The clothes seemed to transfigure her in ways no garment, no matter how unearthly, should have. To say she pulled them off would be an understatement. She looked... younger, as if the otherworldly lambency of the dress were suffusing her entire being, transforming her into a vision of loveliness to rival the most ravishing models in the entire city.
We resolved to return to the chamber as soon as possible, but Blanchard insisted on leaving so that she could see herself in a mirror. I suppose my stunned reaction had aroused her vanity more than a little.
We found one, and for quite a while she just stared at herself in silence. When she finally spoke, her voice was hushed, overawed by what she saw before her.
"I don't even recognize myself," she said, turning this way and that. She was helpless to pull her gaze away. I was having trouble as well. "It really does suit you," I said inadequately. It more than suited her, it revivified her. Before, she had looked every minute of her 65 years. Now, I would have been fooled if you'd told me she was in her early thirties.
"I must wear it out. This one will be mine. I'm going to wear it to Marie's dinner tonight." It was a statement. Her tone brooked no contradiction.
"Are you sure that's wise?" I hated to suppress the fruits of our labor, but someone had to have a little sense. "You don't at least want to wait for a big unveiling? A little fanfare? This will rock the fashion world to its core."
"I will rock the entire world to its core," she said, and even her voice seemed to have changed. She had taken on a queenly aspect, like a prismatic moon refracting the colors of some splendid, occulted star.. Who was I to gainsay her? I saw no harm in it, at the time.
As one could expect, Madame Blanchard's presence that night caused quite the sensation. We had parted several hours earlier, and I had arrived before her at Marie's little gala. I played the part of the herald, talking up our discovery and whipping everyone's curiosity into a fine frenzy. My powers of description, however, were entirely unequal to the task of preparing the assembled guests for the hallucinatory being that came into our midsts as the clock struck one, especially since Madame's transformation had been far from complete when last I laid eyes on her. The longer she wore the gown, it seemed, the more of its glamour settled upon her. She now resembled her former self about as much as the imago resembles the homely caterpillar.
How can I possibly sketch it with words? The light of the chandelier seemed to dim and shiver before the advent of that semi-divine presence. The dress and she were hardly distinguishable, the one flowed into the other almost seamlessly, such that it seemed that the diaphanous cloth fumed from her like a material mist. Her skin had taken on a pellucid tint, her hair (formerly dull and gray) was as white as snow. Her eyes evinced the same peculiar radiance as the dress. It almost seemed she had absorbed its properties into her person, and now played with the light just as that sublime fabric did.
The dress itself had changed too. It seemed to cleave to her, to accentuate her form-no longer that of an old woman, but rather of some underworld nymph-and compliment her newfound princeliness. Its fractal weave was impossible to look at for long without succumbing to a sort of narcotic hypnosis. Somehow, Searlait, or some daemonic collaborator, had managed to stitch into its design a whelming influence, abetted no doubt by the psychotropic silks and bright, umbral tinctures concocted on that dark isle.
The whole party was speechless. Youthful socialites, artist's darlings and the artists themselves, swarmed around her without daring to draw closer than a meter or so. Blanchard scanned the room, and her gaze at last settled on me. With a cruel, impetuous smile, far chillier than her former pathetic meanness, she glided forward to where I sat with the hostess.
"Well, Julien," she said suavely, and with a certain poisonous note in her voice, "what do you think of me now? Does the dress not suit me?"
I could not meet her crystalline gaze, but had to turn away, somewhat abashed. I muttered something affirmative. She settled on a nearby cushion, alighting as gently as a dragonfly. She exulted in my speechlessness, in the silence of us all, her false friends. I noticed her smell, she even smelled different, a subtle perfume of spice which I could not quite place.
"I can tell what you're thinking," she purred. "You are envious of my beauty. You all thought I was a hideous old widow, ridiculous and used up. Well, now what do you think of me? Now that you see me as I truly am? Am I not a picture? Don't you want me?"
There was no response to this, what could I have said? Marie tried to object to this harsh (although quite valid) judgement, but a single glance from Madame refuted the words before she could utter them.
I did have something to say though. I simply could not find the power to say it. The force of the dress's mesmerism prevented me. What? What was it? Why, a warning. Say what you will about me. I know I'm terrible. But I like my friends. I prefer that they stay sane and intact. And I am possessed of a very refined perspicacity. Even then, blinded by that awful will, I knew that something more than unnatural was taking place. The exotic garment was dangerous. It was not only augmenting Madame Blanchard's aura, it was engulfing it, binding it with subtle threads, invisible threads, to something just out of sight.
But hindsight is 20/20, my friend. No one was more in thrall to the fatal design than Blanchard herself. Any counsel I could have given would have surely fallen on deaf ears. She took one more gloating tour of the hall before vanishing back into the night, evaporating from our midst like the phantom of an opiate dream. I perceived two things as she left, both of which gave me only more reason worry about her ultimate fate. The first was that the gown was visibly growing upon her. I would have missed it had I not been so intent on watching her leave. But I could not deny my senses: the dress's train was lengthening, its collar flaring upward and outward in gossamer laceries, its watery folds contracting; complimenting her physique, yes, but also further binding her in its enveloping grip.
The second was her shadow. It was still hers, albeit somewhat vague and nebulous, but there was something else as well. Another shadow, looming above her own. It swam in space with agile, scuttling movements. From its face, or its front, two long appendages seemed to caress the shadow of Madame Blanchard with ceaseless industry. They worked and worked, almost faster than my eye could trace. They seemed to be weaving.
I excused myself abruptly, I dare say no one minded my absence, and hastened toward the deserted apartments of Searlait Bachimont. I am not a passionate character, but my feelings at that moment were quite discomposed. I was desperate, desperate to uncover some further arcane secret that might yet rescue all of us from the malignant destiny that had wreathed our whole company.
As soon as I entered the sitting room, I could sense that something was changed. The apartment had been hitherto nothing more than itself; a suite of rooms formerly occupied by a bizarre savant. Now it was inhabited, tenanted by the unclean and unseeable. It was as if opening that cavernous burrow had somehow allowed something access to the rooms. I felt watched by an indifferent intellect, or rather, by an indifferent appetite.It seemed to skulk in every corner, and brooded in particular over Searlait's desk, where her journals were stored.
With twanging nerves I now pored over those books once again. No longer did I regard it as the fond remnant of a departed acquaintance. I now saw it for what it truly was, a wizard's grimoire, the holy book of an abominable sect with only one Parisian adherent. It had crossed my mind that perhaps Mademoiselle Bachimont was also a victim of this ancient cunning, that in her innocent quest for novelty she had become the unwitting puppet of its waxen worshippers. But I was not naive enough to entertain this supposition long. Searlait was no dupe. She was far too canny, too wicked. Yes, wicked. I know I sound hypocritical, but believe me when I tell you that as I read and at last fully apprehended the diabolical record she had left behind, I realized finally that she had been more truly degenerate than all the rest of us combined. We were mere sybarites, slaves to politics and pleasure. She was something else, something noxious. What I had thought was mere strangeness in her diluted gaze and porcelain features was really the stamp of evil.
Yes, something told me, still tells me, that Searlait's relationship with the creeping shadow was rather more that of the conspirator than the pawn. She had known what she was doing, known the baleful powers she had invoked in completing her final collection. And she had known I would sniff the accursed works out. It shames me to say it, but I was a fool.
The code was my only hope. I worked furiously through the night to unlock its secrets. Using the notes that Blanchard had compiled I was able, with excruciating slowness, to tease vague information from the diaries, word by word. I learned next to nothing (I am no scholar) but I learned enough.
I scared an innocent coach-driver half to death, and nearly destroyed his hapless beast, in my anxiety to call upon Madame Blanchard. When I at last arrived on her doorstep, I did not even bother to knock. The door was unlocked, and I hurled myself inside, calling out at the top of my lungs.
"Madame! Madame! You must remove the dress! You must remove the dress at once! Your very soul is at stake! Madame!"
At first, I thought she was not home. I was too late, and she had already gone back out, or perhaps had never returned here in the first place. But then she descended.
Not only the dimensions of the dress, but those of its wearer had transformed in ways I could not have imagined had I not witnessed it myself.
The dress had grown more flowing and voluminous, almost fat. The collar now closed over Blanchard's head, hood-wise, like an ivory canopy. The sleeves now trailed so long that they concealed her hands entirely, and with dawning terror I saw that they had even fused loosely together near her knees. The fabric molted around her in a cascading pool, so many meters wide that it should have been impossible for her to walk without falling over. Every pit and contour of her form could be seen quite clearly, so asphyxiating was the the gown's embrace. She reminded me of nothing so much as a mummy swathed in its funereal linens from head to toe.
As for Blanchard herself, it was not so much that she had been covered over by the cloth as that she had been integrated with it. When first I saw her face I thought the fabric had closed and tightened over it like a deathly caul. Her nose was an alabaster mound, her eyes mere recesses. I could see the faint impression of her mouth through the insidious woven silks, opened as if in a wide gasp or shriek.
But as I moved closer, I saw that I was mistaken. Horribly mistaken. The cloth had not covered her face-it had become her face. Her skin had been transmuted into fabric, and the fabric had grown over her mouth and nostrils by virtue of whatever internal chemistry caused the dress itself to blossom ever outward.
The most hideous, the most unbearable thing of all, was that she was still alive. Alive, and somehow capable of muffled, whispering speech.
"Julien," she said flatly. If her expression was one of horror, her tone was as cool as could be. "Why have you intruded upon me in my home? I do not recall inviting you."
I would have stammered, but there was no time. I can be quite collected myself when the situation calls for it.
"Madame, we have but moments. You must remove the dress at once-even if you must tear it from yourself in bloody strips. It is no mere garment. Too late have I learned the true nature of these aborigines and their Weaver god. Bal-Sabal means Queen of Spiders, and her holy raiment is worn only by maidens destined to become her sacrifices. The longer you cover yourself in that monstrous material, the more you become bound to the demon. She feeds like a spider as well, only at a horrifically retarded rate. Invisible, she injects her juice drop by drop, eroding the very essence of the sacrifice and drawing it out in slow, vampiric sips. You must escape!"
Out of breath, I waited for the panicked attempt to disrobe, but it never came. Blanchard laughed at me.
"Despicable," she wheezed. "Your attempts to scare me into divesting myself of my rightful glory are despicable. Do you think I have not glimpsed the Mistress myself? Did you think me an idiot? But you are wrong Julien, laughably wrong. She is no vampire. She is an angel, a muse. She is the patron of Beauty. She strives only to bring all creation into her divine pattern. I am the work of her loom, as are you, as are we all. It is her right to select the fittest fabric for her artistry. Ah, I shall become more beautiful than you could ever comprehend." Though soft and drained, her voice was full of ecstasy. I still thought to rip her from the enveloping gossamers then and there, until I noticed the shadow.
It was unbelievably black, black as the emptiness between one star and another. It was no longer engaged in the rapid spinning I had seen it at before. Now it simply sat behind her, bloated, gargantuan. Its legs were entirely still. Only the massive center seemed to be alive, and it was alive with a slow, rhythmic motion. It was undulating, pulsating, almost in three dimensions rather than two. It was drinking. And it had been drinking for quite some time.
I hope to never again experience the panic of that moment, the moment when, for just the briefest span of seconds, a form seemed to materialize from that void shadow.
It resembled a spider only so much as a seraph resembles a bird. It had eight legs, yes, but the rest was far too alien to collect in a single glimpse. I shall describe for you what I can. The hind-part was swollen like a drum, clearly to capacity. It may have been black, but then again it may have been translucent and brimming with ink black liquid. It had spinnerets issuing from the usual place, only there must have been over a dozen, and the ends of the things were strangely articulated. They bore a demonic resemblance... to human hands. Pair after pair of hands, working to spin and spin, spin that ink and bile into chromatic silks irresistible to foolish mortals, working to pull the delicate threads from innumerable hidden glands. But at that moment they were still, hanging limp as if dead.
The fore-part was worse- I recollect furred appendages, long and lank. There was something mouth-like and slavering. And a face. Yes, a human face. It was grinning at me, and regarding me with inhuman satisfaction and delight. And it bore an incredible resemblance to the gawking visage of Searlait Bachimont.
Well, that is as much as there is to tell. I don't like discussing the aftermath. I fled for my life of course, and didn't dare emerge from my own home for days. The details reached me despite my efforts to escape them, and I am willing to share them with you in brief.
Madame Blanchard disappeared. Yes, the dress as well. No trace of her was found, not even a shred of cloth. I doubt there is even a ghost left to haunt her empty house.
I returned, much against my better judgement, to Bachimont's apartment. All of the journals had vanished, anything in which that foreign writing had been recorded. The mark of Bal-Sabal was gone as well, from the wall at the back of the closet. And there was no trapdoor there at all.
I have moved on, for the most part. Just one thing irks me. Blanchard took only the one dress. There were at least ten other such garments. I wonder, sometimes, what became of them. Where are they now? They would be easy enough to identify, I expect. They were far too gorgeous, even dormant, to ever mistakenly be worn by one who knew of their true nature.
Its the others that worry me. The duller ones. Still exquisite, but more mundane than the jackets and dresses. They would be harder to discern, even for one such as me.
Well, that's enough darkness for one evening, wouldn't you say? How does a little vigorous shooting in the morning sound? To cleanse our palates of this ghastly affair. Worried? No. Its been over three years. I believe I am well clear of entangling myself in that witch's affairs ever again.
My scarf? Yes it is rather fine, thank you. Oh, just some old thing I found lying about. I don't recall where.
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text:
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redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


"Bonanza" bites the dust tonight.
The 430th and final episode in the long-running NBC series airs at 8 this evening, the network having decided to kill the show in the middle of its 14th year.
For a show that was canceled before it ever went on the air on September 12, 1959 — Lorne Greene told me it was canceled after the first six episodes were shot, but then revived — "Bonanza" did all right.
SEE IT: Get Bonanza on DVD, Blu-Ray or instant download!
Michael Landon, who was just a young man when the series started with him in the role of Little Joe Cartwright, wrote and directed tonight's episode, as he did the first one of this season.
In tonight's episode, Joe shares a meal in the open country with a psychotic stranger (played by Tom Skerritt), who the next morning warns the unarmed Joe he has four hours to escape — and then he is going to track him down and kill him.
Landon and Greene are the only two of the four original stars to be with "Bonanza" to the end. Pernell Roberts, who played Adam, the oldest Cartwright son, quit the series in 1965, and Dan Blocker, who portrayed the lovable Hoss, the gentle giant, died last May.
For those viewers who just can't get along without the Cartwrights, Channel 5 carries the series in syndication Monday through Friday at 6 pm.


Last week I was still reeling from another multi-goal thriller at the Bridge featuring us and Aston Villa, nursing a feeling that yet again we had merely papered over some gaping cracks in this crumbling season. Still, three points from the Bolton game and the draw with Villa had kept us in reasonable touch with the pack leaders. So there we were, away to the bottom club knowing a win was vital to ensure it's not game over for the title. I just couldn't see us losing but I did at least expect a draw. I was trying to be positive to assuage my furrowed brow to contemplate what may be the worst defence of a title since last year when Mercedes bought the Brawn F1 team and invested enough to take them from the top to fourth. Coincidentally, fourth is now our minimum target.
The Wolves result was a shock because it had genuinely seemed we were on the way back. But when you watch the game back we were toothless and slow, rather like an old boxer who's gone on just that little bit too long. My previous article drew the analogy between a finely tuned engine and us, and took the view that we were rebuilding the engine using our own produced parts rather than buying in expensive imports. Continuing with car analogies we have gone from being a Bugatti Veyron (powerful, expensive, fast, envied) to a TVR (broken down, living off a name, hoping to be rescued).
I had expected the forums and blogs to see a communal Chelsea fan hand wringing accompanied by catcalls for Ancelotti to be sacked. After all, that's the easy bandwagon to jump on for the newer followers accustomed to nothing but constant success. Instead I saw an outbreak of that rarity in football, old fashioned Common Sense. Whether this is the influence of the more mature fans still able to argue cogently and therefore temper the uber-fickle nature of younger fans or whether Carlo has genuinely got the fans sympathy is undecided, and may never be known. What is nice to see is the general consensus that we want him to stay, with blame being apportioned mainly to the players, a little to the board, a little to the sacking of Ray Wilkins whilst a small minority seems to be genuinely anti-Ancelotti.
Sometimes fate conspires to work in your favour, and the weekend visit of a downwardly mobile Ipswich provided the perfect tonic for us. Scoring 7 is something we got quite used to last season and may just be the turning point we need to go on a long unbeaten run. Carlo seemingly responded to the wishes of the fans and gave starts to Mceachran, Sturridge and Van Aanholt. The misfiring Drogba, Malouda and Essien were rightly dropped to bench duty. One wonders how they must have felt to see those youngsters running at players with speed, playing forward passes and not seeing the ball hoofed long to Drogba. Anelka played better than he has for a while, even remembering how to score a goal. He'd have had 2 but for Kalou emulating David Nugent by knocking the ball over the line when it was 6 inches from doing so anyway. Ramires had his 4th good game on the bounce and is currently doing what Essien is supposed to do. Van Aanholt and Josh put in very decent turns and Sturridge finally showed that he has what it takes to be the next England striker. Kakuta came on and also acquitted himself well.
Lets hope the seniors see the competition for places coming through and finish this season with a flourish.
The futures bright. The futures Blue.


The talented team at Eldis cover a broad range of skills including experience with the development of Electronic Discovery systems for 3rd party vendors through to management of Database Security systems within the major banking sector. We keep in regular consult with leaders in the Legal, Medical and Financial industries and understand the specialised requirements of each business area.
We at Eldis believe that quality solutions and rapid results can go hand in hand when the right knowledge is applied to a particular problem. If you have ever had a negative experience dealing with other IT service providers you will know the costs and disastrous consequences that follow when incorrect solutions or missed deadlines are the outcome.


text:
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Gwynedd and North Wales Growth Deal
North Wales Growth Deal 'must be grabbed with both hands', says Gwynedd economic chief
By Gareth Wyn Williams @LDRMonGwynedd Local Democracy Reporter
Pictured: Gwynedd Council
An opportunity to create a "more robust" economy for Gwynedd and north Wales "must be grabbed with both hands," the council's economy chief has stressed.
With Gwynedd offering its approval to the finishing touches of the North Wales Growth Bid, Cllr Gareth Thomas noted the benefits of the billion pound programme which covers all six north Wales authorities.
The growth deal, consisting of five programmes to be delivered over the next 15 years, is seeking to inject up to £1.1bn to the North Wales economy and create between 3,400 and 4,200 new jobs by 2036.
Gwynedd is the host authority, responsible for much of the day to day administration but requires ratification from all six councils.
But with the economy having taken a battering during the Covid-19 pandemic, Cllr Gareth Thomas told Tuesday's meeting of Gwynedd Council's cabinet that the project represented a "truly excellent opportunity" for the region.
"This gives us the opportunity to build a much more robust economy in north Wales than what we have at present," said Cllr Thomas.
"With talk of high value jobs we need to bare in mind during the pandemic how fragile the region's economy is in terms of tourism and hospitality, as important as they are, which have been severely hit, while also considering Brexit's likely impact on agriculture.
"So the opportunity to attract well paid jobs where we can keep our young people living and working in our Welsh speaking communities helps the language and we need to grab this opportunity with both hands and to make it work.
"Its a truly excellent opportunity over the coming years."
Among the proposed projects highlighted by council chiefs as of particular benefit to Gwynedd are:
Improved digital connectivity
Creating a distinctive and "world-class hub" at Glynllifon, offering a range of facilities and services to strengthen and enhance the growing the food and drink sector
A low carbon centre of excellence at Bangor University
£20m investment at Trawsfynydd for an innovative low carbon development
Providing industrial floor space to meet known demand for units at Bangor's Parc Bryn Cegin to house some of the supply chain for developments in north west Wales.
The six local authorities as well as as well as Coleg Cambria, Grwp Llandrillo Menai, Wrexham Glyndwr and Bangor Universities and the are all part of the deal, securing £240m of Welsh and UK Government funding.
The report concluded, "Covid-19 has had an immense economic impact on north Wales as in other parts of the UK and globally.
"The Growth Deal is designed to address structural, long-term barriers to economic growth. However, the board is fully aware that in the short-term a range of actions will be needed to facilitate recovery and alignment between those short term measures and the growth deal is key.
"The Growth Deal on its own cannot address all the challenges facing the North Wales economy, particularly in light of Covid-19.
"However, such a significant injection of capital investment into the north Wales economy through the growth deal will be a boost to the construction and related sectors at a time when there is likely to be spare capacity in the economy."


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In order to be more Cardiovascular Supplements-conscious, don't just stop yourself from eating what you like. Instead, find healthier versions of those foods. It can be key to know the nutrients of your foods consume, comprehend the right alternatives and select wisely when you swap. Restaurants usually supply this information today.
Try and have protein from many distinct sources within weekly. Try to eat skinless poultry, fish and lean meats. Utilize eggs as a supply of protein. Researchers say one particular egg daily isn't unhealthy for health. Weekly, go a day without meat. In your designated day, buy your fix with peas, beans, low-sodium, reduced calorie peanut butter and unsalted nuts.
Eat more salmon. It really is a great choice due to niacin amounts it includes and the fact that it is rich in omega-3 fatty acids. Omega-3 essential fatty acids have reduced risk for a number of diseases like heart problems, depression and even cancer, and niacin may help avoid Alzheimer's disease. However, ensure that you select wild salmon instead of farm-raised this will help avoid dangerous chemicals.
Definitely make broccoli an element of your daily meals. Merely a medium-sized broccoli stalk offers you greater than a single day's amount of vitamin K. Also, it contains 200% of the required daily dosage of ascorbic acid. These nutrients help your bones stay strong and may even reduce some cancer risks. To find the most Cardiovascular Supplementation bang for your personal broccoli, don't boil it or use the microwave. Make use of the steamer instead.
Cutting your sugar intake is certainly a smart way to get a lean body. Drinking juice is preferable to sugar-filled sodas, only in very small amounts. It can be recognize that sometimes juice might have more sugar in it than soda. We must be aware of whatever we are eating and drinking.
Help your kids to be considering new foods by describing the feel, instead of the taste. Specifically mentioning texture, taste or color can be interesting to a child.
Include salmon in your menu. Salmon contains a lot of healthy omega-3's in addition to niacin. Also, the constituents in salmon reduce cancer and heart issues. Eat wild salmon as an alternative to farmed salmon to avoid exposing your body to chemicals.
You should utilize your everyday calories to feed yourself wholesome fuel. Your computer will react better consuming 1,800 calories of produce, whole grains and protein than eating 1,800 calories work of sweets. The amount you eat is as vital as what you consume.
To compensate for the decline of flavor that might have lowering the fat content, a lot of sugar or artificial sweetener is generally put into perk in the taste. If you opt for low-calorie foods, you should really know what the calories are substituted for.
Microwave ready foods are not often too healthy for you. Prepackaged dishes that only require a simple nuking are chock filled with preservatives that will put in your weight.
Healthy and balanced diets can cause you to look your greatest and feel happy. Refined sugars will not be healthy for that body, so decrease or get rid of them, anytime you can. Don't forget that drinks like sodas and juices needs to be counted too. These have a great deal of sugar, which has to be avoided. Keep sugar out of your diet and you'll notice a major difference. Additionally, you will possess more energy and appear better.
Potatoes really are a popular staple in several people's daily diet. You might think that a meal is incomplete without one of these dishes or a bread one in the table. Reduce a huge selection of unnecessary calories each day by consuming veggies as an alternative to potatoes.
vitapulse reviews you are trying to minimize on the quantity of sugar that you just consume on a regular basis, you need to be very careful of foods that include corn syrup, since that may be sugar at the same time. A lot of condiments are filled with these. Be sure you read all labels carefully.
Should you fail a day, will not worry. When you find yourself difficult on yourself, you might come back to bad habits. Allow it to go and commence again. It's pointless to beat on yourself.
Eating properly really just needs the right type of information. Once you learn the best way to eat healthfully, boosting your eating habits are simple. Utilize the information this information has outlined, and you'll be on the right track towards a wholesome lifestyle.


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Label: Digital Queen Archives Q 003
Recorded: Studio session 1981 & 1982
Sound: Excellent stereo studio recordings
Comments: Interested CD for Queen fans & collectors. Rare demo recordings from 'Hot Space' session in 1981 ~ 82. 2 demo tracks with David Bowie. Some officially maxi versions etc, is also included.
Roots: Demo recordings originally from tapes. Alternatives from records etc..
Staying Power (demo)
Action This Day (demo)
Life Is Real (demo)
Las Palabras De Amor (demo)
Feel Like (demo, early version of 'Under Pressure'. Studio jam with David Bowie on piano)
Cool Cat (demo version with David Bowie on backing vocal)
Staying Power (12inch version)
Back Chat (12inch version)
Body language ('Hollywood' bonus remix 1991, from cd)
Staying Power (12inch US promo extended version)
Soul Brother (b-side single only)
Under Pressure (KEWB radio with Brian plugged 'live' in the studio 1993)
Under Pressure (US classic Queen cd)
back of front sleeve inside sleeve
Review by Collectors music reviews
In common with the other releases from this label, Hot Tracks: Hot Space Sessions mixes long available outtakes and remixes with brand new, never circulated material to give us the most comprehensive Hot Space era material on the market. The first half of the disc presents working versions of well known tracks. "Staying Power" is the basic LP track without the synthesized horn section. It sounds like a slow version of the live performances from the subsequent tour. "Action This Day" again sounds like the LP track but with a different synth line in the middle leading to the solo. "Life Is Real (Song For Lennon)" sounds identical to the LP track. "Back Chat" includes alternate lyrics and a very rough sounding guitar solo.
The real centerpiece of this release are the demo "Feel Like" and "Cool Cat" with David Bowie in the mix. "Feel Like" is a very rough cassette recording in the studio not at all like the others. At this early stage it contains a similar melody to the final version "Under Pressure" but with an ordinary, basic bass line. It begins with Brian tuning his guitar and going into the familiar melody with Freddie following on piano to set the tempo. The rest follow and the essential structure is the same. The lyrics are different; a tale of jealousy, mourning a broken heart and a plea for "a brand new start". "Cool Cat" was the second song Bowie recorded with Queen in Montreux. This version is the album track but with Bowie keeping rhythm and providing a counter melody to Freddie. Both the band and Bowie decided to cut his contribution to the track and I have to say they made the right decision. He sounds very out of place and doesn't add much to the song.
The latter half of the disc collects different versions of these songs that have appeared on official releases in the past twenty years. Most Queen collectors will already have multiple versions of these songs and nothing is really gained here. It's great DQA included "Soul Brother", one of their most clever tracks to never appear on an LP. The KEWB radio tape is interesting, with Brian May playing along to "Under Pressure" for the radio audience. But again there isn't anything new or unique to the second half of the disc. The focus is on the newly released demos on the first half of the disc and for that Hot Tracks scores high points. (GS)
Back to bootleg page


JJ Grey & Mofro Fansite OLD--AS IN NOT UP-TO-DATE--Message Board > Mofro at Bear Creek!?
6:10 AM It's not listed on Mofro's site, or on Bear Creek's schedule, but both Tourtracker.com and Pollstar.com list Mofro playing BC on Sunday 11/15!
7:03 AM Wooo Hooo! Plenty of room for them on the Sunday Schedule! The Amphitheater stage is wide open from 6:45 on... after GALACTIC!
7:28 AM Damn. Scooped by my own wife.
12:03 PM YAY mofro is missing from that awesome schedule.
12:54 PM nice job Trophy Wife!!!!!!!! I was wondering why they were not on there now there's my reason to find the financial means to make it!! I was gonna skip it just because MOFRO was not playing..
12:57 PM Cherry you know what this means ROADTRIP!!!!!
7:01 PM Has anyone heard anything more about this? Since only Dec dates were added to the sched it means this is still a mystery. I checked around where I could and ain't nobody talking. There's one helluva lineup this year...damn!
10:41 AM This is STILL listed on Tourtracker, and also on Jambase.
Couple things... while both sites list JJG&M for Sunday 11/15, there is also a "Bear Creek Mystery Show" listed on their line-up schedule for Saturday nite 11:30-1am. And there's quite a bit of open space on Sunday to plug in, too.
11:53 AM Its still listed on Tourtracker, but no longer on pollstar. Plus I just received the new Hercules Powdercamp News, and no mention of it there either. Im kinda losing faith, but hoping to be pleasantly surprised!
1:20 PM on the bear creek messageboard there's a thread about it. the promoter put up a note sayin that even though they would love to have mofro but not this year.
but than maybe it's a big surprise.
there's only one way to find out...GO THERE !!! sick line-up.
11:53 AM Is this the famous SUE WEBB finally posting on the boards??????
1:55 PM Nope. Firefly's right - the promoter nixed this on the BC message boards. Said they hope to have Mofro back next year, and regarding the "mystery show" all bands are on the lineup list, so it's not someone that is not already listed for BC this year.
That's not to say a band member or two might not show up at some point over the wknd. I mean, a few of 'em are within reasonable driving distance, so it wouldn't be a total shock, but who knows?
2:06 PM So TrophyWife1 :), are you going?
3:08 PM It was posted on facebook that they wouldn't be back until Dec. 3.
4:32 PM I would say welcome SueWebb, but I think you have been here longer than me, lol. But I can say Welcome to Posting on the board!!
9:05 AM Wouldn't surprise me either Clay, best believe I'll be posted up at both Galactic shows fo sho, don't forget Papa Mali is playin on Saturday, wouldn't surprise me to see a sit in on that either... Just sayin.
10:20 AM Well I'll let you in on one little secret that ain't no secret at all. AC's gonna be there this weekend for sure.
Hey skot you gonna make the trek over to Tally on Wed nite to see Daryl's new side band?


openROCK.net is interested in testsites for our monitoring tools. We willoffer free monitoring and reliability to Open Source sites. Our focus is onthe needs of high volume sites. If you would like to set up such amonitoring service then contact Christoph Lameter.


Will Jones is facing the prospect of losing the career he loves - and possibly his life - to a sudden illness. When he meets Leah, he feels a powerful connection to her, and flirting with a smart, beautiful woman seems like the perfect way to spend the weeks before his risky operation.
But as their relationship heats up, Leah still doesn't know the truth about Will's situation. Will their bond be strong enough to face the challenges yet to come?


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'The Collective' as part of East Side Arts Festival
A one night only concert took place in the Park Avenue Hotel as part of the EastSide Arts Festival featuring someone of the most promising young artists in Northern Ireland as 'The Collective', funded by the Arts and Business Investment Programme.
Have a look at the highlights for yourself...
Lucy Bell, Ben Cutler, Michael James Warke and Ronan McSorley have been part of the Forestside Artist Development Programme and for this concert they were partnered with some of Northern Irelands leading musicians to form a house band compromising of Anthony Toner on guitar, Nick Scott on bass, Davy Bates on drums and John McCullough on keyboards.
Support on the night was from Conor Marcus, Jonny Hammond, Eilis Mulholland and Shannon Weatherup.
Keep watch this week for more videos an photos to follow.
Ben Cutler began playing at 12 years of age and in the same year went on to win the U/16 category at Banbridge Buskfest. He became one of the youngest to have ever performed at Belfast Nashville Songwiters Convention.
In 2016 he featured in the UK top 10 of the Song Academys Songwriters Competition which seen him go on to perform at the winners showcase in London.
Ben returned to Banbridge Buskfest in 2018 to compete against over 100 buskers and win overall at the age of 14.
Have a look at his performance as part of EastSide Arts Festival with the all star 'house band'.
Lucy Bell began playing the guitar at the age of 13/14 and from there her love of music progressed. Lucy was awarded Panarts Young Songwriter of the Year 2017 which seen her travelling to Nashville and having the opportunity of playing in the famous Bluebird Cafe.
Lucy was placed first in the female category at Holywood Festival Busking Competition in 2017. In 2018 won overall in the Draperstown Busking Festival which gained her a slot in the Atlantic Sessions.
She has played at various music festivals, featured on TV and local radio stations as well as being mentioned in the Hot Press Magazine as 'a rising star you should watch for.'
Here's Lucy performance at the EastSide Arts Festival as part of 'The Collective'
More fantastic performances to follow next week!!
Michael-James, originally a drummer has been writing his own material but never picked up the guitar till he was 15. He began to showcase his work playing in local coffee shops and bars with other musicians to grow his craft.
He first made himself known in the scene by entering Forestside Singer Songwriter Competition in which Michael James was placed in the top 3. The competition brought with it an opportunity for him to perform at the Belfast Nashville Songwriters Festival.
In May 2017 MJ released his debut EP 'Time.' Being the multi-instrumentalist he is, this was recorded and produced by himself in his bedroom.
MJ was delighted to be asked to join Skinny Living on their European tour in their Belfast Show at the Oh Yeah Centre.
Have a look at his performance of '21'.
Another performance with one of the artists from Forestside Artist Development Programme and the 'all star band' to follow shortly
Ronan McSorley is an 18 year old singer songwriter from Belfast who despite his folk music roots often branches out into various genres including rock, sould and indie drawing inspiration from artists such as Damien Rice and Ciaran Lavery.
In 2017 Ronan reached the semi-finals for the Forestside Young Singer Songwriter Competition and from there has gone on to play at the likes of Sunflowerfest and Eastside Arts Festival, where he got the opportunity to perform with 'The Collective'.
He is currently in the process of recording his debut EP 'I Am Not Free' which will have an upcoming release.
This is Ronan's original 'I Am Not Free'
Four other Young Singer Songwriters performed just before 'The Collective' and below we have a video highlighting some of their best. Eilis Mulholland became the winner of the U20 category, Forestside Young Singer Songwriter Competition 2018.
Her music covers a wide range of genres from jazz to contemporary and folk. Eilis plays either guitar or piano through her performances to accompany her soulful voice.
Thirteen year old Conor Marcus is a Young Singer Songwriter who was introduced to Forestside after winning the junior section of the Warrenpoint busking competition. 2017 seen him named the winner of the U17 category of Forestside Singer Songwriter Competition
By the age of nine Conor had written his first song and went on to teach himself how to play the guitar to accompany his music. Here's a clip of Conor
Next up we had Shannon Weatherup who is 17 years old and been playing the guitar for 5 years now. She's also known to play a bit of bass, ukulele and the flute.
Shannon has a beautiful tone to her voice when she performs.. listen for yourself.
Our final performance is by another amazing singer songwriter - 17 year old Jonny Hammond. Jonny made it into the finals of last years Forestside Young Singer Songwriter Competition. He began playing the piano from the age of 11 and has been writing songs ever since.
Jonny performs and writes songs like someone beyond his years. Treat your ears...


Pacific Rim Agency has been serving Oregon for over 50 years.
The original business was started by Stan Edmark in the 1940s and purchased by the Abbott family in the early 1970s. It is owned by them to this day!
Our agency serves customers all the way from Alaska to California. This is where our agency got its name. We truly do serve all of the Pacific Rim!
As an independent insurance agency, we make every effort to connect our clients with first-tier companies and actively push for affordable rates. We believe in local businesses, so let us help find the right coverage for yours. If you need home, auto, farm, commercial or life insurance, we will find the plan that fits YOU best.
Every employee at Pacific Rim Agency is a licensed insurance agent. We represent over 75 years of combined experience! Meet your friendly neighbors, insurance agents and specialists.
George Abbott started his insurance career with Prudential Insurance Co. in 1970. Prudential Insurance. was a great company to start with as this prepared him to recognize the importance of protecting families and businesses with life insurance. For 10 years, George helped businesses protect the value of their business in instances of unexpected death.
In 1973, George and his wife purchased Stan Edmark Insurance Inc. They developed the name Pacific Rim Agency using a logo containing Washington, Oregon and California to symbolize the area of business. They continue to recognize that their goal is to protect families and businesses with property and casualty coverages.
George's specialty is to work with farm owners in Oregon and Washington to keep them up to date with the many changes that present themselves in today's insurance climate.
Sailing is his favorite hobby, with many trips up the Washington coast to sail in the San Juan Islands and the Canadian Gulf Islands. He also serves as President of Colton Helping Hands, a nonprofit food pantry program.
Lacey Shelton is the customer service specialist at Pacific Rim Agency. She has more than 15 years of experience as a customer service representative and office specialist.
She was born and raised in Boring and has lived nearby ever since, except for four years when she and her husband lived in Wyoming. "We moved back to Oregon because we missed our families too much," she says.
Lacey enjoys family, gardening, camping, cooking, outdoors and their pets and animals. She hopes to travel more in the future and experience and enjoy new places and people.
Kathy Bergstrom has been working at Pacific Rim Insurance Agency since the year 2000. She was licensed in 2001 and is the agency's Commercial Lines Insurance Account Manager.
Kathy has lived in the Molalla area since 1995. She enjoys spending her personal time with family. She likes hiking, photography and pyrography.
Karmin Collins-Eyman has been in the insurance industry since 2003 and has been a licensed agent since 2005. Collins-Eyman specializes in personal lines insurance. Her accounts include auto, home and umbrella packages. Her goal is not to provide the cheapest insurance, but rather strives to deliver great coverage at an affordable cost.
Karmin grew up here in Molalla. She has been married for 20 years to her wonderful husband Jeff, who works as a licensed electrician. The couple enjoys the great outdoors. They have three daughters, Brittnee (29), Mackenzie (25), and Alexis (23). Brittnee lives in Portland, while Mackenzie works locally, in Molalla. Their youngest daughter, Alexis, is in the Navy and her husband Ryan is in the Marines. They are in North Carolina. Ryan and Alexis have given the couple their first grandchild, Holland.
Caleb Runyan has been an insurance agent since 2017. He quickly acclimated and became knowledgeable in the insurance field.
Caleb's specialties include all types of personal and commercial lines insurance including many types of small businesses, such as farms. He also specializes in writing insurance for fishing guides and charter vessels.
Caleb spends his free time with his loving wife and their golden retriever. His hobbies include anything and everything outdoors. He is also a part-time fishing guide and avid archery hunter and skier.


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An uncommon fusion of humor and trivia make for a wildly enjoyable game that's truly for the masses.
By Robin Loro and Douglass Perry
Updated: 23 Nov 2018 4:52 am
Posted: 11 Nov 1999 1:00 am
What would happen if you could play a game that asked you this question: "If judging by the society of Planet of the Apes, what kind of military officer would Magilla Gorilla be?"
If you answered, "General," you're correct, and if you answered anything else, it just doesn't matter. This is an example of the kind of questions you'll experience in Berkeley Systems' You Don't Know Jack, and more often than not, the wrong answers are just as funny as the right ones.
From goofy advertisements in the credits to the sarcastic host, "Cookie," You Don't Know Jack truly gives meaning to a phrase, "It's fun for the whole family" (as long as you're old enough to understand the questions, that is). Enabling one to three players to compete, You Don't Know Jack pits pop culture pundits against one another for funny money to see who knows the most.
You Don't Know Jack is uproariously funny. It's not a complicated game, not by any means. In fact, it's one of the most stripped down games ever. But each and every question is embedded with such goofy, left-field jokes that it's difficult not to enjoy. It's like watching a game show that's not about winning, it's about having fun. The winning becomes second hand.
There are more than 1,500 questions with a unique voice-over for each answer, wrong or right. Players enter into the trivia game, involving one to three players, and once started choose different subject matter categories. A few examples are Mother Goosed, Japanese Movie Muensters, I like Mine Raw and Bloody, Thank You, Make Sure to Flush the Captain's Log, and Q*bert was a weasel. This last one we liked the best because it asked the question, "Which one of these games did not feature the animal mentioned in its title?" The answer selections were Sonic the Hedgehog, Yoshi's Island, Earthworm Jim, and Donkey Kong. Can you guess which one the correct answer is?
Even after two or three times playing alone, you'll want to play it a handful more times, and even then it's still fun to play. The real fun comes when you compete with friends and family. In fact, with 1,500 questions you could play this game dozens of times and still find new questions to answer. In addition to the 1,500 normal questions, there are at least 300 more questions in the mini-games (Three Way, Dis or Dat, and Jack Attack).
The three randomly appearing mini-games add variety and a change of pace. There is Di or Dat: You're given seven questions and asked whether the item is A or B. Here's an example, in the case of Japanese Movie Muensters, you decide whether the item is a type of cheese or a Japanese monster. Wacky? You bet. Three Way: A time-based trivia game involving three randomly lit answers. And finally, Jack Attack: A time-based trivia game involving one question, and randomly appearing answers that match the subject matter of the question. Example: Smurf Accessories. The screen shows a word, in this case "Papa Smurf," and when the correct answer appears, in this case, "Red Clothes," you hit the buzzer and win $2,000. If you miss, you lose $2,000.
Graphics? What graphics? This game is all about text. And although developer Stratosphere does a good job of making this game exciting, with swirling colors and lots of fonts, it's still just a whole slew of words whizzing around your TV screen. But does this kind of game really need spectacular graphics? No. The fact is You Don't Know Jack relies almost entirely on sound.
This is where the game truly excels and upon which the whole concept revolves. First, the jokes are what make this game so worthwhile. In fact, the jokes are some of the funniest I have ever heard. The way in which Cookie, the announcer, phrases his questions and delivers his jokes, is perfect. If Sonic was the first platformer with attitude, You Don't Know Jack is the first trivia game with attitude that's worthwhile.
The music ranges from being silly (yodeling round announcers), to weird (an astronaut reads, "Um, I'm picking up a 16? Over," as he introduces question number 16), to really hip and cool (which includes jazzy, rhyming intros). The music selection is essentially a mixed bag, but what it really does well is mock real trivia game shows and the irony suits the game perfectly.
Doug brought home five games one weekend, including Pac Man, Boombots, Spyro 2, NFL Blitz 2000, and You Don't Know Jack, and my friend and I immediately popped in You Don't Know Jack before any of the others. I played this on the PC two years ago, and it's still every bit as funny. This game is definitely worth buying because it's great for family holidays and it's the funniest game on the PlayStation.
You Don't Know Jack! [1999]
The classic PC quiz game YOU DON'T KNOW JACK! is now available for the PlayStation. There are over 1,500 questions in this game that challenges pop culture knowledge as opposed to book smarts. The host is sometimes annoying and sometimes offensive, but he's always fun and entertaining. The game supports up to three people at once, allowing players to show off their knowledge of some obscure subjects. YOU DON'T KNOW JACK! works well because it balances gameplay and humor, resulting in a great experience for everyone.
ESRB: Teen
Suggestive Themes, Strong Language, Comic Mischief
Jellyvision
Electro Source
Number Of Players, Memory Card, Vibration, Local - VS # of Players
Have you played You Don't Know Jack! [1999]?
58 Movies We Can't Wait to See
What to Expect from Netflix's Vikings: Valhalla Season 1
18h ago - Showrunner Jeb Stuart on his show's depictions of Leif Eriksson, Freydis Eriksdotter, Harald Hardrada and more.
Vikings: Valhalla
Jim Vejvoda


The lion doesn't sleep at night, the jungle isn't quiet…but there is a bit of uwumewe-uwumewe!
Henry, our driver, had warned us that the road from Chipata to South Luangwa was awful; he said that was his least favourite road in the whole of Africa. He complained that it was so bad, that he had rebuffed all requests to visit the national park there for the last four years. Perhaps it was because we were such a good group of people, or we needed to be challenged (after all three of us had already been to Africa and two of those three had lived in Kenya for the past 6 months); maybe it was fear that we would be disappointed if we didn't get to experience sleeping at a campsite that plays host to a whole cast of characters from the animal kingdom. Looking back, we are not really sure what exactly made Henry break his own rule of skipping South Luangwa, but we completely understand his rationale now.
The road did not deserve to be called a road. The 100 km trip, a mere fingertip from our starting point on the map, required us to rise before dawn, pack up tents, prepare breakfast and be on the road by 6:30 am. For the next 6 hours we barely ticked above 10 kph until the last 20 minutes of the journey. Rocking, rolling and jolting on the muddy red tracks; remnants of the infrequent traffic on this clogged artery carved into the dense bush, fringed with grass twice the height of a person, this land was harsh, dusty and mercilessly hot.
Occasionally, a cluster of huts could be seen nestling in a clearing set back from the road. I wondered what the people who lived here ate and how they sustained their families, as even in Malawi, a much poorer country than Zambia, the countryside was a neat patchwork of subsistence arable farms. The interior of Zambia looked comparatively desolate.
As we navigated the obstacle course of rutted dried mud and cavernous holes which looked like they had been formed by meteors, al the while shrouded in choking dust red dust. We stared longingly at the new road, which was nearing completion, to the left of us. Parts of it seemed to be lacking the last cosmetic touches; one could almost imagine a portly official cutting the ribbon at an inauguration ceremony, but Henry assured us that the last time he had been here, the road was also being built. Progress, if any, on this project would be on African, or more specifically, Zambian time. So we trundled along the red earth at 10 km/h mocked by the grey strip of asphalt which ran parallel but off limits to us. Diggers and road building equipment sat idle in the dirt. Not a single labourer was visible on the journey there or on the return trip three days later.
When we arrived at Croc Valley, named after the sly reptiles which ply the river at the back of the camp, it was already dark. After pitching tents and cooking dinner, we headed to the bar, which has been designed to emulate the features of traditional African architecture. It was possible to look out into the inky moonless night and just decipher the river, which hosted a large population of hippos whose grunts travelled across the water to give the impression that they were right next to us.
That night our sleep was fitful as we slept with the flysheets off our tents in wait of the animals which we had heard regularly prowled the camp, including lions. A pride had been sighted days before devouring a giraffe at the entrance to the camp, hippos were known to occasionally wander in and hyenas, baboons, elephants, monkey and others were also sometime visitors. As a precaution we had been banned from buying fruit that day because Henry knew the scent of it could make the elephants wild enough to attack the truck or wreck a tent (and unintentionally kill its inhabitants).
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for us, nobody saw any lions prowling the camp that night (although it might have had something to do with the natural deterrent from nocturnal toilet visits which wild animals on the loose create!). However the next day we woke to find ourselves surrounded by a bouncing group of mischievous monkeys which had to be chased off before breakfast. The most exciting moment of the day was the unexpected arrival of a family of elephants, including a very small infant, which came to graze within the camp. For over an hour we watched them in awe as they strode through the camp eating their fill. In that hour the honour of getting so close to wild elephants made us realise that the bone rattling journey had all been worth it.
This entry was posted on June 16, 2011 by mnmworldtrip. It was filed under Uncategorized and was tagged with Zambia.