For more pictures of the BusyP's check out my boy Christophe's blog...he camped out with us.
You might even see a dashing picture of a fine young Filipino-ish man, as well.
http://frenchsneakerheads.blogspot.com/2009/07/nike-air-force-1-busy-p-livestrong-camp.html
Cool Cats...
EDIT: Even more pictures... If you look closely enough, I'm the guy with the brown jacket and black shirt while SoMe (yellow shirt) is signing my box...
http://hypebeast.com/2009/07/cool-cats-yellow-store-busy-p-air-force-1-release-recap/
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
17 Hours Later
As I walked out of Colette Friday night, July 25th...I happened upon 3 young French dudes sitting on lawn chairs out front of the shop.
Immediately, I asked, "What shoes?" They responded, Busy-P AirForce 1s in the Lance Armstrong colorway.
Oh! I like those shoes. After first going home to get a jacket, I returned to take my place in line to spend the rest of the night on Rue St. Honore until drop time at 11am.
The nature of these kids who camp out for shoes in Paris is so much different from in the states. It's not brutal, in fact it's a really cool place if you want to make new friends. I met some cool cats: Christoph, Lessandre, Leonard, Thomas, Thomas, Rachid, Ben, (and more people whose French names I can't remember).
The shop even contributes to this jovial atmosphere. At closing time, one of the employees walks out of the store with his size run. Translation: He gives us a list with exactly how many of each size that he was for the shoe that we are waiting for. During the night, we each select which size each of us would like, with the order depending on who got there first. So all that's left to do is wait until morning.
We even all left as a group to eat dinner at KFC around 10pm before we returned to the nest, later. We all developed a rapport and friendship...In fact, friends of the campers would even come by and hangout even though they weren't buying the shoes.
At one point around 2am, while we were sitting in our lawn chairs/against the wall, an old frenchman walked by and tossed us 2€ coins because he thought we were bums.
The rest of the night was spent picture-taking (not really by me), conversing, quick napping, and fighting the Parisian cold (yes, even in July...Global Warming).
After waiting all night long and some more in the morning (17 hours in total), I was treated with this (after trading in some colorful notes of paper):
I was also given the much more comforting information that ALL of the Euros I spent would go to Mr. Armstrong's foundation, the LiveSTRONG Foundation. So I basically donated my entire night to the fight against cancer...
I wish I could post more pictures of the event, but they will have to wait until development. Because as my digital is broken, all I have is this:
...and on an unrelated note, Alleycat, you're still the coolest person I know.
Immediately, I asked, "What shoes?" They responded, Busy-P AirForce 1s in the Lance Armstrong colorway.
Oh! I like those shoes. After first going home to get a jacket, I returned to take my place in line to spend the rest of the night on Rue St. Honore until drop time at 11am.
The nature of these kids who camp out for shoes in Paris is so much different from in the states. It's not brutal, in fact it's a really cool place if you want to make new friends. I met some cool cats: Christoph, Lessandre, Leonard, Thomas, Thomas, Rachid, Ben, (and more people whose French names I can't remember).
The shop even contributes to this jovial atmosphere. At closing time, one of the employees walks out of the store with his size run. Translation: He gives us a list with exactly how many of each size that he was for the shoe that we are waiting for. During the night, we each select which size each of us would like, with the order depending on who got there first. So all that's left to do is wait until morning.
We even all left as a group to eat dinner at KFC around 10pm before we returned to the nest, later. We all developed a rapport and friendship...In fact, friends of the campers would even come by and hangout even though they weren't buying the shoes.
At one point around 2am, while we were sitting in our lawn chairs/against the wall, an old frenchman walked by and tossed us 2€ coins because he thought we were bums.
The rest of the night was spent picture-taking (not really by me), conversing, quick napping, and fighting the Parisian cold (yes, even in July...Global Warming).
After waiting all night long and some more in the morning (17 hours in total), I was treated with this (after trading in some colorful notes of paper):
I was also given the much more comforting information that ALL of the Euros I spent would go to Mr. Armstrong's foundation, the LiveSTRONG Foundation. So I basically donated my entire night to the fight against cancer...
I wish I could post more pictures of the event, but they will have to wait until development. Because as my digital is broken, all I have is this:
...and on an unrelated note, Alleycat, you're still the coolest person I know.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
How Could You Falter, When You're the Rock of Gibraltar?
(Sorry mom and dad for not telling you about this part of the trip before I did it, but I knew you would do nothing but worry too much, which does no one any good. I promise you this is the only time on the trip I've deliberately hid something from you. I am now back in Europe, in Paris, and will be home soon).
So after Italy, I made my way to Valencia where I had an awesome few days. Deciding to shake things up a bit and leave air-conditioning and the Euro as a bit of a memory, I added Morocco to my itinerary.
And to make it even more interesting, I decided to make the trip there by bus/train/ferry/walking/taxi/magic carpet. I thought it would only take 24 hours. It took 36.
Throw in some crazy bus drivers, a couple Canadians, an Irishman, and a swindling Moroccan and you've got an adventure.
As I planned my route from Valencia to Marrakech, I realized that I would have to be on top of my game. This was the first time when I was the slightest bit nervous about travelling alone.
The trip began with a bus ride from Valencia, Spain to Algeciras-the major port city near Gibraltar on the southern-most tip of Spain. The ALSA bus trip was scheduled to take 14 hours with multiple stops between the beginning and end. That wouldn't be too bad if I got to sleep the whole way, but when your entire life for the past 2 months is sitting in a backpack with all the other luggage underneath the bus, you have to force yourself to wakeup at every stop when they open the luggage compartment to make sure some Spaniard isn't running off with your backpack.
The night was pretty uneventful...air conditioning on the bus, not too bad...just major fatigue from waking up every hour. Though there was a nice Moroccan man (I think) who sat next to me and liked me for the fact that I would watch his bags when he disappeared and because I gave him some of my nuts (almonds).
This is my bus.
We got to the port at 8am...plenty of time for me to buy my ferry ticket to Tangier, Morocco. The "fast" ferry was scheduled to leave at 9am...my train in Tangier was at 11am. The ferry was to arrive in Morocco at 9:30am local time (I would gain an hour with the time difference). The problem was that the ferry didn't start boarding until 9am.
Everything would be OK, though, because of the hour I gained...I thought we would still arrive in plenty of time for me to catch what was essentially the last train of the day to Marrakech. Plus, because of the wait, I happened upon a Mike and James...a couple of cool Canadians who were travelling together to Tangier, as well. I had noticed they were speaking English and had backpacks when I walked by, but what attracted me to this set of travellers?
This is James. Hanging out the back of his pack...is nothing other than an orange ShamWow! If you're not familiar with this North American cultural icon...educate yourself here.
These guys were really cool...they had spent the night before in Gibraltar/Algeciras and actually visited the Rock. Well I would get my chance to see it was the ferry would swing around it on our trip across the strait.
Here's the Rock of Gibraltar (as referenced by Jay-Z in the Diamonds Remix by KW...and thus quoted in the title of this post). I also got to know James and Mike on the ferry and learned that they also had to catch an 11am train in Tangier-they're cool cats. The boat arrived at 10:59. Not quite enough time to make it to the train station. So they decided that they'd take the bus to their destination, Fez...while I would weigh my options at the train station. But we promised that we'd see each other in Marrakech, for they were heading there in a few days.
At the train station, I learned that the only other trains after my missed train heading for Marrakech placed me there at midnight or later. I did not want to deal with finding my way in this new town in a relatively poor country at midnight (this was also the first time I was using my money belt). Not to mention that the only directions to the hostel consisted of three sentences...none of which had any street names involved (which I later learned was for good reason: because there are no street names in the Medina in Marrakech).
So I made the prudent choice and decided to stay in Tangier for the day and take the night train over to Marrakech, which would place me there at a much more agreeable 8am. Problem was that I'd have to call my Riad (Moroccan guest house) and let them know I'd be missing the first night, so they wouldn't cancel my reservation.
I walked up to a payphone and tried to use it, but I required a special prepaid card that could only be bought at the store which was conveniently closed. Well sure enough, a nice Moroccan man with perfect English strolled up to me and offered to help (he said he was also going to be on the night train to Marrakech). And he did...in fact, he even tried calling for me from his cellphone. But he said the number was incorrect; he gave me the phone and the man on the other end spoke no English...funny since all reviews of the hostel said the owners spoke perfect English.
Anyway, we spent the next hour walking to an internet cafe (spelled "teleboutique" in Moroccan) and finding the correct number for the hostel. We eventually found an alternate number and Shareef, the man, gave a call for me and to my relief sorted everything out. This guy turned out to be my friend...I was so appreciative of the help.
We got to talking and he learned of my desire to purchase a gelebah (the Moroccan robe looking garments) and he took me a store where I could get one. Now I knew from research that all things bought in Morocco are only done so after a haggling game, but when the shop owner started the game at 900 dirham (roughly 90 Euros), my Spidey sense went haywire. Something like this should not cost this much. I talked it down to 300 dirham, but was still suspicious of what was going on and why Shareef had taken me to this store.
Now my gut had been pulling at me this entire time about whether or not I should trust him, but I kept on hanging out with the very nice guy who I wanted to buy lunch for because of his help. Our first stop was a bar where he knew the bartender; Shareef offered me a beer (I declined...I had already decided I needed my full senses around Shareef, even though he was my friend) and was fed ridiculous amounts of fish and meat. I filled up on the food and when it came time to pay, Shareef paid the 300 dirham bill and said I could get the next tab. Being that there were another 7 hours until the train and that I owed the guy, I agreed.
My security sensors went off again when at the next bar, he was friends with the owner...in fact, he seemed to be friends with most of the people at the bar. But, be strong. Long story shortened, he ended up ordering 7 more beers (to my none) and I ended up paying the tab...300 dirham. It was fine with me, because I owed the guy. In fact, the nice bartender even gave me a little antique souvenir from the bar as a token of his appreciation of my friendship.
Here's Shareef and me. Homies, right?
When we left the bar, Shareef tried to withdraw money from 4 ATMs, but he couldn't withdraw the money. In fact, he even called someone at his Moroccan bank and yelled at them in English right next to me. A couple f-bombs here and there and conclusion was that he was out of cash and needed it.
He asked me for some cash. All I had were the 200 dirhams left in my pocket. I graciously noted that this was all the money I had. He asked if I could withdraw some. I said I have no more in my account. He said "let's go". I said "How about the destination be the bus station" (where I had dropped of my bags at luggage drop desk) "then the train station where we can wait until our train leaves". The drunk man finally relented after I gave him the 200 dirham to "borrow" and to pay for the cab.
I was searching my mind for excuses to ditch the guy who had so nicely helped me out of my situation earlier in the day. Got to the train station where Shareef was explaining to me that he had to sort things out, but the police who'd help me where standing "just over there". I thought to myself that for someone that might be taking advantage of me, it was weird that he was pointing out the police. No matter, as he said I could sit in what he called the "safest" spot in the train station, conveniently located next to the ATM.
While I sat patiently and waited, he kept walking over and giving me food and water bottles. I couldn't wrap my head around this guy. For someone so nice, my gut was screaming at me that something was wrong (700 dirham later, of course).
He came back to me later with his cell phone in his hand and said it was his friend, Abdul, on the line. Turns out that Shareef didn't have money to make it to Marrakech, but had a friend Abdul who would help show me around, there, and would meet me at the train station in Marrakech.
Well, while I waiting, I met Furdia. This Irishman was having a terrible day. In fact, he had spent the day being led around Tangier by 2 of the false tourguides that I had read so much about. These men show you around town (as friends) then ask for money in the end as payment for their services. He had to deal with not one, but 2 of them. In fact, he sprinted away from the last one. We soon became buddies as we seemed to be the only people that we sort of trusted.
And as a side note, we both agreed that we hated this attitude we had. We are guests in this country of Morocco, it is a different world, we'd like to keep an open mind and not gravitate towards westerners every chance we get. But when you have untrustworthy locals left and right, it makes it very difficult.
Funny thing is, when Furdia sat down next to me, Shareef stopped coming to talk to me. I decided I'd call my hostel in Marrakech to confirm everything. Sure enough, when I called, the man had no idea that I wouldn't be making it until that night.
So much for being my friend...Shareef conned me...and he got me good. But I wasn't too angry. Sure, I was disappointed that I let myself get played, but I honestly chalked up the experience to a learning experience with a couple of expensive souveniers. In fact, I think I've become stronger, because nothing like self-experience can help you more to learn how to trust your instincts.
I also met some cool Arizonians in the airport who live in Morocco now. Natalie, Mike, and little Caleb were super nice (and insanely cute in 2-year-old Caleb's case) gave me hints and tricks on spending time in Marrakech.
Finally, time came to get on the train and I couldn't wait to get out of Tangier.
Spent the night catching sleep in my sleeper couchette with someone who looks like Benner. And was so glad when I finally made it to my riad in Marakkech.
Yes, I'm being careful...it's not like I wasn't before. And Yes...I've seen "Taken".
Oh...and 2 epilogues...
Abdul did find me at the train station in Marrakech and tried to talk to me but I told him go away...
And Mike and James did find me in Marrakech...they, too, had a similar story about being ripped off in Fez on a desert trip.
Mom,
Sorry for not telling you that I was going to Morocco...but I knew that it was stories like this that would do nothing but make you worry yourself sick. I'd like to assure you that I am more than fine...I'm great. Marrakech is nothing like Tangier and all the people are for reals nice. At no point in this story did I feel like I was in danger of being harmed. Just a bruised ego and an expensive lesson. But still thought you'd like to know about my story. Love you and be home soon.
So after Italy, I made my way to Valencia where I had an awesome few days. Deciding to shake things up a bit and leave air-conditioning and the Euro as a bit of a memory, I added Morocco to my itinerary.
And to make it even more interesting, I decided to make the trip there by bus/train/ferry/walking/taxi/magic carpet. I thought it would only take 24 hours. It took 36.
Throw in some crazy bus drivers, a couple Canadians, an Irishman, and a swindling Moroccan and you've got an adventure.
As I planned my route from Valencia to Marrakech, I realized that I would have to be on top of my game. This was the first time when I was the slightest bit nervous about travelling alone.
The trip began with a bus ride from Valencia, Spain to Algeciras-the major port city near Gibraltar on the southern-most tip of Spain. The ALSA bus trip was scheduled to take 14 hours with multiple stops between the beginning and end. That wouldn't be too bad if I got to sleep the whole way, but when your entire life for the past 2 months is sitting in a backpack with all the other luggage underneath the bus, you have to force yourself to wakeup at every stop when they open the luggage compartment to make sure some Spaniard isn't running off with your backpack.
The night was pretty uneventful...air conditioning on the bus, not too bad...just major fatigue from waking up every hour. Though there was a nice Moroccan man (I think) who sat next to me and liked me for the fact that I would watch his bags when he disappeared and because I gave him some of my nuts (almonds).
This is my bus.
We got to the port at 8am...plenty of time for me to buy my ferry ticket to Tangier, Morocco. The "fast" ferry was scheduled to leave at 9am...my train in Tangier was at 11am. The ferry was to arrive in Morocco at 9:30am local time (I would gain an hour with the time difference). The problem was that the ferry didn't start boarding until 9am.
Everything would be OK, though, because of the hour I gained...I thought we would still arrive in plenty of time for me to catch what was essentially the last train of the day to Marrakech. Plus, because of the wait, I happened upon a Mike and James...a couple of cool Canadians who were travelling together to Tangier, as well. I had noticed they were speaking English and had backpacks when I walked by, but what attracted me to this set of travellers?
This is James. Hanging out the back of his pack...is nothing other than an orange ShamWow! If you're not familiar with this North American cultural icon...educate yourself here.
These guys were really cool...they had spent the night before in Gibraltar/Algeciras and actually visited the Rock. Well I would get my chance to see it was the ferry would swing around it on our trip across the strait.
Here's the Rock of Gibraltar (as referenced by Jay-Z in the Diamonds Remix by KW...and thus quoted in the title of this post). I also got to know James and Mike on the ferry and learned that they also had to catch an 11am train in Tangier-they're cool cats. The boat arrived at 10:59. Not quite enough time to make it to the train station. So they decided that they'd take the bus to their destination, Fez...while I would weigh my options at the train station. But we promised that we'd see each other in Marrakech, for they were heading there in a few days.
At the train station, I learned that the only other trains after my missed train heading for Marrakech placed me there at midnight or later. I did not want to deal with finding my way in this new town in a relatively poor country at midnight (this was also the first time I was using my money belt). Not to mention that the only directions to the hostel consisted of three sentences...none of which had any street names involved (which I later learned was for good reason: because there are no street names in the Medina in Marrakech).
So I made the prudent choice and decided to stay in Tangier for the day and take the night train over to Marrakech, which would place me there at a much more agreeable 8am. Problem was that I'd have to call my Riad (Moroccan guest house) and let them know I'd be missing the first night, so they wouldn't cancel my reservation.
I walked up to a payphone and tried to use it, but I required a special prepaid card that could only be bought at the store which was conveniently closed. Well sure enough, a nice Moroccan man with perfect English strolled up to me and offered to help (he said he was also going to be on the night train to Marrakech). And he did...in fact, he even tried calling for me from his cellphone. But he said the number was incorrect; he gave me the phone and the man on the other end spoke no English...funny since all reviews of the hostel said the owners spoke perfect English.
Anyway, we spent the next hour walking to an internet cafe (spelled "teleboutique" in Moroccan) and finding the correct number for the hostel. We eventually found an alternate number and Shareef, the man, gave a call for me and to my relief sorted everything out. This guy turned out to be my friend...I was so appreciative of the help.
We got to talking and he learned of my desire to purchase a gelebah (the Moroccan robe looking garments) and he took me a store where I could get one. Now I knew from research that all things bought in Morocco are only done so after a haggling game, but when the shop owner started the game at 900 dirham (roughly 90 Euros), my Spidey sense went haywire. Something like this should not cost this much. I talked it down to 300 dirham, but was still suspicious of what was going on and why Shareef had taken me to this store.
Now my gut had been pulling at me this entire time about whether or not I should trust him, but I kept on hanging out with the very nice guy who I wanted to buy lunch for because of his help. Our first stop was a bar where he knew the bartender; Shareef offered me a beer (I declined...I had already decided I needed my full senses around Shareef, even though he was my friend) and was fed ridiculous amounts of fish and meat. I filled up on the food and when it came time to pay, Shareef paid the 300 dirham bill and said I could get the next tab. Being that there were another 7 hours until the train and that I owed the guy, I agreed.
My security sensors went off again when at the next bar, he was friends with the owner...in fact, he seemed to be friends with most of the people at the bar. But, be strong. Long story shortened, he ended up ordering 7 more beers (to my none) and I ended up paying the tab...300 dirham. It was fine with me, because I owed the guy. In fact, the nice bartender even gave me a little antique souvenir from the bar as a token of his appreciation of my friendship.
Here's Shareef and me. Homies, right?
When we left the bar, Shareef tried to withdraw money from 4 ATMs, but he couldn't withdraw the money. In fact, he even called someone at his Moroccan bank and yelled at them in English right next to me. A couple f-bombs here and there and conclusion was that he was out of cash and needed it.
He asked me for some cash. All I had were the 200 dirhams left in my pocket. I graciously noted that this was all the money I had. He asked if I could withdraw some. I said I have no more in my account. He said "let's go". I said "How about the destination be the bus station" (where I had dropped of my bags at luggage drop desk) "then the train station where we can wait until our train leaves". The drunk man finally relented after I gave him the 200 dirham to "borrow" and to pay for the cab.
I was searching my mind for excuses to ditch the guy who had so nicely helped me out of my situation earlier in the day. Got to the train station where Shareef was explaining to me that he had to sort things out, but the police who'd help me where standing "just over there". I thought to myself that for someone that might be taking advantage of me, it was weird that he was pointing out the police. No matter, as he said I could sit in what he called the "safest" spot in the train station, conveniently located next to the ATM.
While I sat patiently and waited, he kept walking over and giving me food and water bottles. I couldn't wrap my head around this guy. For someone so nice, my gut was screaming at me that something was wrong (700 dirham later, of course).
He came back to me later with his cell phone in his hand and said it was his friend, Abdul, on the line. Turns out that Shareef didn't have money to make it to Marrakech, but had a friend Abdul who would help show me around, there, and would meet me at the train station in Marrakech.
Well, while I waiting, I met Furdia. This Irishman was having a terrible day. In fact, he had spent the day being led around Tangier by 2 of the false tourguides that I had read so much about. These men show you around town (as friends) then ask for money in the end as payment for their services. He had to deal with not one, but 2 of them. In fact, he sprinted away from the last one. We soon became buddies as we seemed to be the only people that we sort of trusted.
And as a side note, we both agreed that we hated this attitude we had. We are guests in this country of Morocco, it is a different world, we'd like to keep an open mind and not gravitate towards westerners every chance we get. But when you have untrustworthy locals left and right, it makes it very difficult.
Funny thing is, when Furdia sat down next to me, Shareef stopped coming to talk to me. I decided I'd call my hostel in Marrakech to confirm everything. Sure enough, when I called, the man had no idea that I wouldn't be making it until that night.
So much for being my friend...Shareef conned me...and he got me good. But I wasn't too angry. Sure, I was disappointed that I let myself get played, but I honestly chalked up the experience to a learning experience with a couple of expensive souveniers. In fact, I think I've become stronger, because nothing like self-experience can help you more to learn how to trust your instincts.
I also met some cool Arizonians in the airport who live in Morocco now. Natalie, Mike, and little Caleb were super nice (and insanely cute in 2-year-old Caleb's case) gave me hints and tricks on spending time in Marrakech.
Finally, time came to get on the train and I couldn't wait to get out of Tangier.
Spent the night catching sleep in my sleeper couchette with someone who looks like Benner. And was so glad when I finally made it to my riad in Marakkech.
Yes, I'm being careful...it's not like I wasn't before. And Yes...I've seen "Taken".
Oh...and 2 epilogues...
Abdul did find me at the train station in Marrakech and tried to talk to me but I told him go away...
And Mike and James did find me in Marrakech...they, too, had a similar story about being ripped off in Fez on a desert trip.
Mom,
Sorry for not telling you that I was going to Morocco...but I knew that it was stories like this that would do nothing but make you worry yourself sick. I'd like to assure you that I am more than fine...I'm great. Marrakech is nothing like Tangier and all the people are for reals nice. At no point in this story did I feel like I was in danger of being harmed. Just a bruised ego and an expensive lesson. But still thought you'd like to know about my story. Love you and be home soon.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Super Neo-Baroque
In Lecce, I happened upon an exhibit called Super NeoBaroque which showcased a number of design pieces from around the world in the ''Super NeoBaroque'' style. The term ''baroque'' possesses much more meaning in Europe (and thus Italy) due to the plethora of examples of the style of creation. The term ''super neobaroque'' was selected by this group of new designers as a way of describing their own contemporary work.
Their ''super neobaroque'' definition design is that it contains meaning beyond simply shape, material, and technique. This idea is based upon a very human-centered design foundation (where that which is being created must serve human needs), as well as empathic design (think the two most-neglected of the three pillars of sustainability: environmental and social, which complement the third, economic) and a more ethereal quality in its connection to art. Lots of the design ethos that they spoke of are things that many people currently studying design can attest already exist and are not exclusive to this group of designers. Though I might argue that their definition of design can be its definition, in general, without the monicker ''super neobaroque'', I did find myself interested in many of the pieces they had on display.
This piece is by Jo Meetsters and is created from old pottery. Like many of the old pieces of pottery I've come upon in some of the museums of Natural History here in this older part of the world, pottery contains stories and history on their surface. Here Meetsters recreates that experience by sandblasting off the old coating to leave patterns with signs of modern society.
This piece by Frank Tjepkema highlights how consumption has become the new religion in contemporary society and has thus created a cross out of gold made from logos of multinational brands.
''The Hitchhiker'' by Hadas Zemer Ben-Ari is a piece designed to take public spaces and feed of off them for your own personal benefit. This is specifically designed to be placed out the window of a moving train which will then rotate the mini-wind turbines to power personal electronics. (While Ben-Ari argues that this is essentially free energy, the engineer and skeptic in me points out that it is actually just causing the train to run less efficiently and thus waste gasoline. But cool idea, nonetheless.)
Sander Lucas's creation is the simple repurposing of an old vegetable crate into a more useful basket.
These stools by Frank Willems were born from Willems' observation that mattresses are very difficult to recycle. Thus he has started to collect them and repurpose them by making them into completely new furniture after coating them with a new soft rubber coating (Wonder what the environmental impact is of that rubber? LCA, anyone?).
This is probably the coolest piece that I saw at this exhibition...it's called ''The Life of a Tree'' by Tomas Traxler. It is a machine that creates little stools that tell the story of the day in which it was made. These stools are made by fiber being wound in the polygonal shape after being passed through a type of epoxy and coloring. The speed at which the fiber is wound depends on the amount of sunlight that exists during the day (as the machine is powered using solar panels)...more sunlight, the faster the fiber is wound...less sunlight, slower it is wound.
Thus if it is a sunny day, the machine will spin lots of fiber and will make a longer stool. And because the fiber is passing through the colored dye more quickly, the stool will be a paler green. The machine reacts in real-time to the conditions, so you can actual read how the sun patterns of the day in which each stool was created by looking at areas where the stool is darker (when there was less sun at the time of spinning) or where it is lighter (when there was more sun at the time of spinning).
It's a piece which can tell the story of its own creation.
Their ''super neobaroque'' definition design is that it contains meaning beyond simply shape, material, and technique. This idea is based upon a very human-centered design foundation (where that which is being created must serve human needs), as well as empathic design (think the two most-neglected of the three pillars of sustainability: environmental and social, which complement the third, economic) and a more ethereal quality in its connection to art. Lots of the design ethos that they spoke of are things that many people currently studying design can attest already exist and are not exclusive to this group of designers. Though I might argue that their definition of design can be its definition, in general, without the monicker ''super neobaroque'', I did find myself interested in many of the pieces they had on display.
This piece is by Jo Meetsters and is created from old pottery. Like many of the old pieces of pottery I've come upon in some of the museums of Natural History here in this older part of the world, pottery contains stories and history on their surface. Here Meetsters recreates that experience by sandblasting off the old coating to leave patterns with signs of modern society.
This piece by Frank Tjepkema highlights how consumption has become the new religion in contemporary society and has thus created a cross out of gold made from logos of multinational brands.
''The Hitchhiker'' by Hadas Zemer Ben-Ari is a piece designed to take public spaces and feed of off them for your own personal benefit. This is specifically designed to be placed out the window of a moving train which will then rotate the mini-wind turbines to power personal electronics. (While Ben-Ari argues that this is essentially free energy, the engineer and skeptic in me points out that it is actually just causing the train to run less efficiently and thus waste gasoline. But cool idea, nonetheless.)
Sander Lucas's creation is the simple repurposing of an old vegetable crate into a more useful basket.
These stools by Frank Willems were born from Willems' observation that mattresses are very difficult to recycle. Thus he has started to collect them and repurpose them by making them into completely new furniture after coating them with a new soft rubber coating (Wonder what the environmental impact is of that rubber? LCA, anyone?).
This is probably the coolest piece that I saw at this exhibition...it's called ''The Life of a Tree'' by Tomas Traxler. It is a machine that creates little stools that tell the story of the day in which it was made. These stools are made by fiber being wound in the polygonal shape after being passed through a type of epoxy and coloring. The speed at which the fiber is wound depends on the amount of sunlight that exists during the day (as the machine is powered using solar panels)...more sunlight, the faster the fiber is wound...less sunlight, slower it is wound.
Thus if it is a sunny day, the machine will spin lots of fiber and will make a longer stool. And because the fiber is passing through the colored dye more quickly, the stool will be a paler green. The machine reacts in real-time to the conditions, so you can actual read how the sun patterns of the day in which each stool was created by looking at areas where the stool is darker (when there was less sun at the time of spinning) or where it is lighter (when there was more sun at the time of spinning).
It's a piece which can tell the story of its own creation.
Ustica
Ustica is a small island just north of Palermo in Sicily. It's a cute little island with pretty much nothing on it. In fact, it's just a rock made from volcanic ash...but it also happens to be the self proclaimed diving capital of the world.
One of my dreams on this trip was to get my scuba certification in Italy. So I went and did it in Ustica where the water is as clear as the big sky. Some of the coolest things we saw in the water...barracuda.
![IMG_3394[1]](http://wizardmydude.wordpress.com/files/2009/07/img_33941.jpg "IMG_3394[1]")
![IMG_3394[1]](http://wizardmydude.wordpress.com/files/2009/07/img_34701.jpg "IMG_3394[1]")
![IMG_3394[1]](http://wizardmydude.wordpress.com/files/2009/07/img_34791.jpg "IMG_3394[1]")
I also met some cool people when we dove. The guy who looks like Fabio is Simone, my diving instructor. He's super cool and is into music. And the other two are Lars and Natasha...Lars was a keeper for a Romanian soccer team and is a total homie. (Find his group on facebook and join it).
One day when I had time, I rented a little scooter and took a tour around the island and saw some cool little gems (and did I mention that the water is clear?).
Thursday, July 9, 2009
So Far
These are my last few days in Italy before I move on and I haven't really posted too much on the places I've been.
Started in Rome then made an unscheduled stop up North in Milan...On my way back down to Rome, I stopped in Cinque Terre on the west coast. After that, I made my way south to Napoli.
Naples is one of my favorite places in Italy. Everyone I had met complained about it being dirty or the people being sketchy...Of course, I ended up loving it. I thought the people there were amazing.
Look at these kids in the street...I met them one night when walking through the city and we had got to know each other as we talked about my new favorite futbol team...Inter...
A few days later, I was walking down the street and heard someone yell ''Americano!'' I turned around and of course, it was my friend and one of the boys I had met the other night, Andrea. This is exactly why I loved Naples, all the energy of the people in the town like Andrea that gave it that special quality.
Also made a quick pit-stop in Pompeii where you caught glimpses of life back in the day, which really doesn't seem to different from life today. Here's a picture of a dog mosaic in front of a house which reads ''Beware of Dog'' in Latin.
After Naples, I made it to Sicily where I stayed in Catania for a few days with a family friend on a Naval base. That was an experience in itself, it was relaxing to pretty much be in a bizarro-America for a few days. We did spend some time in the fish market in Catania, where you see things like a whole Swordfish getting wheeled through the market on a cart.
Next, I made my way to a little island off the north coast of Sicily, Ustica, where I got my diving certification and the water is the clearest in the world...
And then made my way back to the main island where I hung out in Palermo and tasted some of the best traditional Sicilian foods...Anrancina (balls of meat and rice) and Canoli.
I also saw some of the familiar sights from the Godfather series in Palermo...like the Opera House in the background here...
After seeing the Valley of the Temples (and not much else) in Agrigento, I made my way back to the shadow of Mount Etna in Catania before moving on to Lecce.
Lecce is in the hell of the boot of Italy and isn't a real big American tourist spot. But I loved it. This is the only town that I walked into without any reservations as to where I would sleep. In fact, I didn't know where I'd look for accomodations either. I walked off the train with my bags and slowly made my way through the center of town towards the information center. And man, it paid off. Fabio, the tourist center guide, was very helpful and cool. I got a place in Lecce in the center of town for pretty cheap and spent the next day getting to know the nice people and the artistic attitude in the cleanest city in Italy. This is also the town where I feel like my Italian improved the most, as I was staying by myself in a town in the south where I was possibly the only American at the time.
And after Lecce, I made my way back up north to Florence, through Bologna (Ducati factory). After spending a week there with a daytrip to Sienna to watch Il Palio, I made my way back to Milan where I'm staying with an old friend for a few days before I leave for Spain.
Started in Rome then made an unscheduled stop up North in Milan...On my way back down to Rome, I stopped in Cinque Terre on the west coast. After that, I made my way south to Napoli.
Naples is one of my favorite places in Italy. Everyone I had met complained about it being dirty or the people being sketchy...Of course, I ended up loving it. I thought the people there were amazing.
Look at these kids in the street...I met them one night when walking through the city and we had got to know each other as we talked about my new favorite futbol team...Inter...
A few days later, I was walking down the street and heard someone yell ''Americano!'' I turned around and of course, it was my friend and one of the boys I had met the other night, Andrea. This is exactly why I loved Naples, all the energy of the people in the town like Andrea that gave it that special quality.
Also made a quick pit-stop in Pompeii where you caught glimpses of life back in the day, which really doesn't seem to different from life today. Here's a picture of a dog mosaic in front of a house which reads ''Beware of Dog'' in Latin.
After Naples, I made it to Sicily where I stayed in Catania for a few days with a family friend on a Naval base. That was an experience in itself, it was relaxing to pretty much be in a bizarro-America for a few days. We did spend some time in the fish market in Catania, where you see things like a whole Swordfish getting wheeled through the market on a cart.
Next, I made my way to a little island off the north coast of Sicily, Ustica, where I got my diving certification and the water is the clearest in the world...
And then made my way back to the main island where I hung out in Palermo and tasted some of the best traditional Sicilian foods...Anrancina (balls of meat and rice) and Canoli.
I also saw some of the familiar sights from the Godfather series in Palermo...like the Opera House in the background here...
After seeing the Valley of the Temples (and not much else) in Agrigento, I made my way back to the shadow of Mount Etna in Catania before moving on to Lecce.
Lecce is in the hell of the boot of Italy and isn't a real big American tourist spot. But I loved it. This is the only town that I walked into without any reservations as to where I would sleep. In fact, I didn't know where I'd look for accomodations either. I walked off the train with my bags and slowly made my way through the center of town towards the information center. And man, it paid off. Fabio, the tourist center guide, was very helpful and cool. I got a place in Lecce in the center of town for pretty cheap and spent the next day getting to know the nice people and the artistic attitude in the cleanest city in Italy. This is also the town where I feel like my Italian improved the most, as I was staying by myself in a town in the south where I was possibly the only American at the time.
And after Lecce, I made my way back up north to Florence, through Bologna (Ducati factory). After spending a week there with a daytrip to Sienna to watch Il Palio, I made my way back to Milan where I'm staying with an old friend for a few days before I leave for Spain.
Friday, June 26, 2009
9 Kilometers in the Hills Is a Lot of Miles
On the western coast of Italy near Genoa (in the North) are 5 towns that span an approximately 9km distance. Linking these 5 towns is a hiking trail that takes you through the hills that over look the Thyrrenian sea.
You start the hike in Riomaggiore then make your way through Manarola, Corniglia, Vernazza, and finally Monterosso. As you make it through each portion of the hike, you can stop in each little town along the way and soak in the atmosphere of these small towns and their smaller ports or watch the old Italian people watch you. I stayed in Riommagiore...
Started the hike at 9:45 in Riommagiore and started our trek on the Vial dell'Amore. This first of 4 legs was very easy. A simple straight shot on the cliffside above the ocean where you can watch the water crashing on the rocks.
There was also a cool tunnel where people left graffiti and messages where I saw a stencil of John Legend.
From Manarola to Corniglia, the path was a bit more difficult because it's where the uphill portion of the trip started to manifest itself, but it was still pretty simple. Leg 3, from Corniglia to Vernazza is where it starts to get tough. This path is a bit more inland as it takes you through the hills, but you can still see the water and the coast. As you go through the hills, the path becomes much more full with nature...the path is no longer paved with concrete, but total dirt and rocks. We were lucky to have some cloud cover on the day we did the hike, so it wasn't too hot.
As we left Corniglia, we saw vineyards...lots of vineyards. Terraces of grapevines just lined the mountainside. This 4km leg was challenging. Most of the path was narrow and there were multitudes of steps up and down the hillside.
My favorite part of the trek is when you can see the church of the next town a good distance away, but it's at a much higher altitude than you are and you realize you have to climb that high. But then as you turn the next corner, you see steps that lead downhilll. Lots of steps...
This path consisted of many of these moments when you would have to go uphill and downhill the whole time. We finally made it to Vernazza where we were greeted with one of the best harbors.
The final leg to Monterroso was pretty much just as difficult as leg 3. Again with more amazing views, but the path was narrower...with trees, flowers, and brush growing all around you. It was somewhere along this leg of the trip that I decided I wanted to utterly destroy the hike, so we turned on the burners and hustled through. But man, I was so out of shape, the hike was tough. The reason why I have so many beautiful pictures on the hike isn't totally because of the great scenery and views, but it's also so I would have an excuse to catch my breath while I took the picture without hurting my pride.
It was also on this leg of the trip that I got semi-recognized for the Monta-zing Ellis jersey I had on (and while shuffling across a narrow path). Some old guy had asked me who was in the NBA finals...I told him LA and Orlando...to which he responded...really? not the Cleveland Lebron's? His legitimacy rose.
One cool part of the journey for me as an engineer were these metal pipes that were running along our paths along the trip. These lines are what they use to transport things easily from one town to another without having to make the hikes.
Another interesting note of this trip is the amount of recycling in these towns. It's one of the coolest things in the world that these 5 little towns on the coast of Italy have clearly labeled recycling bins all throughout the towns that make it easy to recycle. In the big cities like Rome and Milan it was much more difficult to find any way to recycle.
As we finished the final leg and walked into Monterosso, the sun broke out of the clouds on cue. After treating myself to swordfish for lunch, we made made our way to the beach where we got the treat of a traveling band. Awesome.
You start the hike in Riomaggiore then make your way through Manarola, Corniglia, Vernazza, and finally Monterosso. As you make it through each portion of the hike, you can stop in each little town along the way and soak in the atmosphere of these small towns and their smaller ports or watch the old Italian people watch you. I stayed in Riommagiore...
Started the hike at 9:45 in Riommagiore and started our trek on the Vial dell'Amore. This first of 4 legs was very easy. A simple straight shot on the cliffside above the ocean where you can watch the water crashing on the rocks.
There was also a cool tunnel where people left graffiti and messages where I saw a stencil of John Legend.
From Manarola to Corniglia, the path was a bit more difficult because it's where the uphill portion of the trip started to manifest itself, but it was still pretty simple. Leg 3, from Corniglia to Vernazza is where it starts to get tough. This path is a bit more inland as it takes you through the hills, but you can still see the water and the coast. As you go through the hills, the path becomes much more full with nature...the path is no longer paved with concrete, but total dirt and rocks. We were lucky to have some cloud cover on the day we did the hike, so it wasn't too hot.
As we left Corniglia, we saw vineyards...lots of vineyards. Terraces of grapevines just lined the mountainside. This 4km leg was challenging. Most of the path was narrow and there were multitudes of steps up and down the hillside.
My favorite part of the trek is when you can see the church of the next town a good distance away, but it's at a much higher altitude than you are and you realize you have to climb that high. But then as you turn the next corner, you see steps that lead downhilll. Lots of steps...
This path consisted of many of these moments when you would have to go uphill and downhill the whole time. We finally made it to Vernazza where we were greeted with one of the best harbors.
The final leg to Monterroso was pretty much just as difficult as leg 3. Again with more amazing views, but the path was narrower...with trees, flowers, and brush growing all around you. It was somewhere along this leg of the trip that I decided I wanted to utterly destroy the hike, so we turned on the burners and hustled through. But man, I was so out of shape, the hike was tough. The reason why I have so many beautiful pictures on the hike isn't totally because of the great scenery and views, but it's also so I would have an excuse to catch my breath while I took the picture without hurting my pride.
It was also on this leg of the trip that I got semi-recognized for the Monta-zing Ellis jersey I had on (and while shuffling across a narrow path). Some old guy had asked me who was in the NBA finals...I told him LA and Orlando...to which he responded...really? not the Cleveland Lebron's? His legitimacy rose.
One cool part of the journey for me as an engineer were these metal pipes that were running along our paths along the trip. These lines are what they use to transport things easily from one town to another without having to make the hikes.
Another interesting note of this trip is the amount of recycling in these towns. It's one of the coolest things in the world that these 5 little towns on the coast of Italy have clearly labeled recycling bins all throughout the towns that make it easy to recycle. In the big cities like Rome and Milan it was much more difficult to find any way to recycle.
As we finished the final leg and walked into Monterosso, the sun broke out of the clouds on cue. After treating myself to swordfish for lunch, we made made our way to the beach where we got the treat of a traveling band. Awesome.
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