I grew up in Africa. West and East. I was born in what my family called India, Pakistan after the Partition, but I left at too young an age to really remember. See here for my earlier days in Karachi: https://equinoxio21.wordpress.com/2017/08/17/snowball/ Africa is where I was raised. First in Conakry, Guinea, in West Africa then…
American History. Guarani art, Asunción, Paraguay. Look at life through pink glasses. Mexico city. Putin was here. Or was it Kilroy? Mexico. Guarani eyes, Asunción. Gimme your hand. Asunción. Fly, little bird, fly. Asunción. Imperialism shall prevail. Mexico. “Alas, poor Yorrick. I knew him well, Horatio. A fellow of infinite jest, of excellent fancy.” (Hamlet).…
In the old days, Montmartre was the end of some Metro lines. “Direction Montmartre”. Not any more. It’s actually hard to find the appropriate station to go to “Matha’s hill”. I recommend Lamarck-Caulaincourt. No stairs, just walk up from the back. (The first half of this post has just been wiped out by WP. Grrr.…
Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois. This pretty little church sits at the side of the Louvre. Though the oldest standing part dates back to the 12th century, there was a church there as early as the 6th century. It is often closed, for lack of personnel but well worth visiting. No queues. Adam and Eve at Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois.…
Security guard at the Palace. The pay is good but the uniform heavy. Glamour. Commuting. Bangkok art and culture museum. War. 1914. 1939. The centre has very fine modern art and had an expo with photos of the late King Bhumibol, who was a keen photographer. The delicacy of Wat Arun temple. The Jim…
Notre-Dame, from Saint-Julien le pauvre. The sculpture is a fountain (c.1993) by Georges Jeanclos) The stryge. As mentioned before, (see first post), the chimeras on the Chemin de ronde between the towers are creations by Viollet-le-Duc. c.1844. The engraving comes from the book I found in the gutter and restored, a while ago. I’m not…
Our Lady who art in heaven… Notre-Dame in 1482, as seen in ‘Notre-Dame de Paris’, by Victor Hugo. A long, long time ago, I found this old book in the gutter, downstairs from my parents’ flat in Paris. The cover was gone. I opened the book, saw the engravings, picked it up and brought it…
