Walking through campus at night always makes me sentimental - empty, lit buildings, tower bells chiming, cool empty air -- this could be so many moments in my life and I feel them all cluster around me, the bright solar system of my memories. I walk, alight, to the bus stop and read parts of calvino in the lights of passing cars. And, with ginger in my mouth and my life so tightly held around me, I read this and was overwhelmed, doing only what we can and letting my eyes turn bright and sting and try to let it stay:

Kublai Khan: I do not know when you have had time to visit all the countries you describe to me. It seems to me you have never moved from this garden

Marco Polo: Everything I see and do assumes meaning in a mental space where the same calm resigns as here, the same penumbra, the same silence streaked by the rustling of leaves. At the moment when I concentrate and reflect, I find myself again, always, in this garden, at this hour of the evening, in your august presence, though I continue, without a moment's pause, moving up a river green with crocodiles or counting the barrels of salted fish being lowered into the hold.

Kublai Khan: I, too, am not sure I am here, strolling among the porphyry fountains, listening to the splashing echo, and not riding, caked with sweat and blood, at the head of my army, conquering the lands you will have to describe, or cutting off the fingers of the attackers scaling the walls of a besieged fortress.

Marco Polo: Perhaps this garden exists only in the shadow of our lowered eyelids, and we have never stopped: you, from raising dust on the fields of battle; and I, from bargaining for sacks of pepper in distant bazaars. But each time we half-close our eyes, in the midst of the din and the throng, we are allowed to withdraw here, dressed in silk kimonos, to ponder what we are seeing and living, to draw conclusions, to contemplate from the distance.

Kublai Khan: Perhaps this dialogue of ours is taking place between two beggars nicknamed Kublai Khan and Marco Polo; as they shift through a rubbish heap, piling up rusted flotsam, scraps of cloth, wastepaper, while drunk on the few sips of bad wine, they see all the treasure of the East shine around them.

Marco Polo: Perhaps all that is left of the world is a wasteland covered with rubbish heaps and the hanging garden of the Great Khan’s palace. It is our eyelids that separate them, but we cannot know which is inside and which outside.

I can only identify it by its absence now: that place I had, that peace, where I put words together for him, where I wanted to show him these labyrinths, these dark lit buildings, these brightest pinpricks of memory tinted with red and eagerness. I am lost from the garden and do not know how to return to it. I know that I wrote his name into the stone arch entrance; I know I carved it into the trees. I still hear it when I walk. But I cannot find the half places, the land to grow this autumn peace; I know no longer its paths.

Last night fucking rocked.

After a day filled with details I don't really want to post on here, I went to the pub for some food.  While I was there, I ran into an exgirlfriend and we proceeded to talk and do shots.  We had four shots and I had part of her Jack and coke.  I didn't overly care for it.  Don't think I'll be doing that again.  We were flirting and having fun, and life was good.
Then her boyfriend showed up and we went back to our lives.  LOL.

I started to walk back to the library to get a little work done before Karaoke and talked to my friend Tim about a brand new movie idea.  This one is fucking killer.  I'm excited.  This may be THE ONE, if you know what I mean.  I'm sure some of  you have heard me say that before, but this one really could be the one that puts us on the map.  I'm going to be heavily researching it while finishing FC and trying to graduate and get a job... oh the long months ahead of us!

So I get off the phone, and I run into another ex, Lindsay, who was back in town for D-Days.  She invited me in to her friend's house for some drinks, and we proceeded to drink some Zinfindel (4 glasses each) and talk about her recent move to Colorado.  That was pretty awesome.  She made some comments about me being able to stay the night there, but I had plans already.  I left there and went back downtown, to Maya Jane's for the Karaoke Contest round one.  I ran into Jared and Jeremy and we proceeded to throw a few back.  I had more shots while they drank Morgan and cokes... yucky.

Bryan came down after work and he ordered two pitchers of Blue Moon and one cup.  "Two Pitchers, One Cup" should be a new YouTube video.  Bryan drank them both as we watched [name deleted]dance and I drooled over that ass. :)  We played pool, but we were both so trashed that we were both shooting for the stripes.  Finally, we both tried to take solids and got mad at each other for not just taking stripes.  I hit on M for a while, and she flirted back and I'm still counting down the days til I make a move on her... if I make a move on her.  But I was way to drunk to talk to girls, let alone try to do anything else with them.

We left there at closing time and made our way past the Char, where Bryan informed a black guy who was with a white girl that white girls will let black guys "stick it in their butts."  Then Bryan talked to J and informed her that I was only talking to her because I thought she was twins, but it turned out to just be her.  "But you're both very beautiful when you're both here."

From there, we made our way to a house party, but along the way, I was frightened by a parked boat that I thought was trying to run me over, and Bryan insisted on playing MARCO POLO with anyone who would play.  So I decided to yell "WATER" and wait for someone to get it and yell "POLO" back to me.  I finally met a guy who did, named Adam, who let us go to his house.  Ironically, his roommate was the other guy who had invited us to his house for the after bar, so we ended up at the right place.  We ate pizza and drank some more.  Charlie, the other roommate, was hanging out with our friend Roger, so we were all reunited in a way that only happens in bad teenage comedy movies.

Bryan loaned his phone to Charlie and then found their other roommate's phone and proceeded to prank call the front desks of the dorms asking for crazy things like directions to strip clubs and whether or not the girl at the desk dated black guys.  She did not, so he told her I would be disappointed because I'm black.

We ate a bunch of pizza, being drunk enough to believe it was the greatest pizza ever cooked.  Roger fell down, knocking over the garbage, and I watched him pick it up, knowing I should help him, but being unsure how to go about it.

Finally, Charlie got off the phone, but managed to lose Bryan's phone in the 30 seconds it took him to walk back to the kitchen to give it to us.  So then we got to seach for the phone.  Roger fell over on the stairs and I took a picture of him.  Bryan was given a white russian in a 32 oz glass and I videotaped him trying to drink it.

We laughed.  We cried.  We did that thing where you stand in a doorway and push out and then step out and your arms have to go up in the air.

Then we decided it was time to go to Bryan's and make breakfast.  It was early morning and people were getting up to go to work.  [name deleted] kept texting me and trying to get me to come over when her boyfriend went to work, but I knew I'd just fall asleep anyway, so what would be the point?

Finally, around 6:30 this morning, I went to bed.  I got up at 1:00.  Time for day four.

I DRANK:

3 Rumplemintz

4 Dead Nazis

4 Red Headed Sluts

2 Washington Apples

1/4 glass Jack and Coke

3/4 bottle of Zinfindel

1 Squirt

7 Cherry Cokes.

I posted the mp3 and the trailer a little while back and now here goes the official video to the Marco Polo produced single. Reef the Lost Cauze's A Vicious Cycle is available October 28th. Since I'm a nice guy, I also included the intro track below...

DOWNLAOD: Reef the Lost Cauze - Back At It | MediaFire

In case you didn't know, Reef the Lost Cauze has an upcoming project. A Vicious Cycle drops October 28th. This post revolves around the Marco Polo produced single. A video is in the works and will be premiering October 8th. Hit the jump for the trailer...

DOWNLOAD: Reef the Lost Cauze - I Wonder (prod. Marco Polo) | MediaFire

Slim and I were roaming around this past weekend, looking for food, depreciating the value of the neighborhood we were in with every step that we took. After scouring the block for a place with some decent grub, we stumbled upon a pizza place. A small Mom & Pop pizza joint where the ovens had more space than the customers. Now perhaps this is my prejudiced New York side coming out, but does anyone else expect a pizza place to be owned by Italians? Or at least managed by Italians? Well to my surprise it was owned and maintained by Eastern Europeans. Really son? You're not even close to Italian. If I wanted some premium vodka I would've looked to Russia, right now I just I want some good pizza. Hence why I turned to my Mediterranean friends. And why I abruptly turned around and bounced. When I grew up, if you walked into a Chinese takeout spot everyone there was Chinese. To my knowledge anyway. Same thing with the local pizza shop or the bodega. Now when I stroll into joints, things are all messed up.

Well, this wasn't just an isolated incident. Around the corner from where I used to live, there's a bodega owned by some East Africans. In another neighborhood I used to reside, there was another pizza joint owned by Russians. I swear they just reheated some DiGiornio's and threw it in a box... Think the best example of this type of culture confusion happened awhile ago after a crazy night at a local bar. Some friends and I busted into a Mexican Pizza place owned by Middle Eastern people. Yeah. Let me say that again for you. It was a spot that served both Mexican and Italian food and it was owned by Middle Eastern people. It was either the ninth wonder of the world or the seventh ring of hell depending on how you look at it. Or what you ordered. Like the pizza that tasted like cardboard with Spaghetti O's on top.

Now, I still eat Qdoba and Domino's every now again. When I feel like clogging my arteries. And I try my hand at making stir fry knowing damn well, I have no connection to Asian culture. America is all about appropriating food and other parts of other folks' culture. I dig that. That's why I can buy Goya and Lo Mein noodles all at the same grocery store. But the blatant deceiving, c'mon man? At least be honest. If I saw a sign that said "Russian Remixed Pizza" or even, "You'd Have to be Really Drunk to Enjoy This", I'd appreciate the honesty. I'd keep it moving, but I appreciate the honesty. Don't try and fake the funk and sell me some food that you and I know isn't up to par.

All I'm saying is some things should be left to their owners. But if anyone wants to open an Irish pub that sells Jamaican beef patties and a mean chicken fried rice, holla at me. We can build.

Seattle - Sometimes They Call Me Marco Polo - Washington

L’année 2008 semble propice à des reformations de groupes séparés pour le meilleur et pour le pire depuis dix ans. Les Suprême NTM sur scène ? Oui mais pas seulement eux… Je vous mets sur la piste : Ruck, Rock, Magnum Force

Dix ans d’absence, ça fait beaucoup de choses à dire et les deux membres des Heltah Skeltah paraissent plus affamés jamais. Les temps ont changé, l’industrie du disque plus que le reste, mais le duo garde la même méthode : déposer des bombes. « Everything is Heltah Skeltah » annonce que la guerre est rouverte sur des notes de musique classique, dans laquelle Sean et Ruck ont bien sûr le rôle des méchants MCs qui tapent sur les gentils rappeurs et imposteurs dans ce terrain vague qu’est devenu le rap game. Intimidations, menaces portées à exécutions et provocations sans insinuations, les Heltah Skeltah ne font pas dans la dentelle dans leurs textes. Nombreux sont les name-droppings, comme pour comparer ou montrer du doigt (ou comme pour écraser du pouce de vulgaires moucherons) avec une pointe d’humour qui fait la marque de fabrique du groupe. Ils n’ont absolument peur de rien quand il s’agit de tourner au ridicule certaines personnalités ou situations concrètes du rap d’aujourd’hui. « Da Art of Disrespecktinization », « So Damn Tuff » avec Buckshot au refrain et Ruste Juxx en renfort et « Insane » font mal, très mal, superméga mal. C’est qu’ils sont rudement en forme les cocos, entre moqueries, les singeries de Ruck et les sauvageries de Rock. Dans tous les cas, ils sont pas cools. C’est affolant le nombre de personnes qui en prennent pour leur grade au détour d’une fin de rime, on ne sait jamais s’ils sont sérieux ou ironiques. Peut-être les deux... Pourquoi sont-ils si méchants ? Parce qu'ils le valent bien !

Pas de Beatminerz à la prod de ce disque à l’atmosphère crasseuse et maussade. En contrepartie, on retrouve des beats de DJ Khrysis (sur le titre phare « D.I.R.T. (Another Boot Camp Clik Yeah Song) »), Illmind, Evidence des Dilated People s’occupe du son de cave « Hellz Kitchen », Marco Polo, ainsi que Stu Bangas sur l’énorme « Ape Food » feat Tha Representativz et le second single « Ruck N Roll ». Toutefois, quelques des tueries sont réalisées par des beatmakers méconnus, à savoir Sould Theory pour le « Twinz » aux sonorités ‘troniques’ et M-Phazes (de Low Budget) sur « W.M.D. » avec les Smif-N-Wessun. On a connu mieux comme type de prods, elle pêchent pour la plupart par leur manque d’impulsion, ce qui gaspille l’énergie mise en œuvre par les Heltah Skeltah. Résultat : Un comeback moins fracassant que prévu (à cause des instrus) mais qui fait plaisir à entendre. Suffit d'être un peu maso !

46.) Roc
-noun

a.) A legendary raptor of gargantuan proportions said to be capable of carrying off and devouring prey as large as elephants.*

[Origin: From the Persian رخ rokh or rukh meaning "chariot" or "boat."]

*Tales of enormous flying beasts carrying off large prey including humans appears with curious frequency in ancient Arabic, Sanskrit, and Greek mythology to name a few. Marco Polo gives a wonderful description of the Roc carrying off elephants in the 13th century, and later in 1594, the illustrator Theodor de Bry depicted the roc destroying entire ships in revenge for destruction of its giant egg, as recounted in the fifth voyage of Sinbad the Sailor. Rabbi Benjamin of Tudela reported a story somehow akin to this in which shipwrecked sailors had themselves carried off desert islands by wrapping ox-hides round them and letting griffins carry them off as if they were cattle. Even the scene of mighty Zeus carrying off Ganymede in the form of a giant eagle comes to mind as reminiscent of the roc legend.

i have this song playing over and over in my ipod its poppin thats why its video of the day .
Marco Polo feat. Masta Ace - Nostalgia

Parlavo proprio qualche giorno fa con Federico, che ha da poco finito di scrivere un'altra delle sue guide di viaggio ed è già al lavoro su nuovi e interessantissimi progetti.

Il viaggio è davvero il filo conduttore della sua vita, sembra nutrirlo di grandi energie e anzi, come scrive lui stesso: "i dettagli, gli incontri occasionali, gli aneddoti, le sorprese, gli imprevisti si confondono – alternandosi ad esso e tra loro – al senso ultimo del viaggio, al fil rouge di ogni grande avventura. È confronto continuo tra quanto si pensa di sapere prima di partire e quanto si vede (o si crede di vedere) sul posto. Nella convinzione che la differenza tra turista e viaggiatore sia più di grado che di sostanza". Non male, no? Allora, mi raccomando "stay tuned" on 414!

Europe plans asteroid sample grab

British scientists and engineers are working on a potential new mission to bring back material from an asteroid.

The European Space Agency (Esa) mission, which could launch in the next decade, would be designed to learn more about how our Solar System evolved.

The plan is to select a small asteroid - less than 1km across - near Earth and send a spacecraft there to drill for dust and rubble for analysis.

Mission plans are being worked on at EADS Astrium, in Stevenage, Herts.

A final decision on whether to approve the mission - known as Marco Polo - will be made in a few years' time. The mission would launch towards the end of the next decade.

Asteroids are debris left over from the formation of the Solar System about 4.6 billion years ago.

Studying their pristine material should provide new insights into the ingredients of the early Solar System and how planets like Earth evolved.

"We'll be looking at the best solution for getting there and back," Astrium's Dr Ralph Cordey told News.

"We've got to look at all elements of the mission - how we would design the mission, how to design the trajectory to one of a number of possible asteroids, how to optimize that so we use the smallest spacecraft, the least fuel and the smallest rocket."

Marco Polo would map the asteroid as well as grabbing a sample

Esa has an exploration roadmap for the missions it wishes to conduct in the coming years.

One of its major goals is a Mars sample return mission - a mission to bring back pieces of Martian rock for study in Earth laboratories, where the full panoply of modern analytical technologies can be deployed.

An asteroid sample return mission would have huge scientific merit in its own right but it would also help develop the technology needed for the more challenging task of getting down and up from a large planetary body that has a much bigger gravitational pull.

Not that getting down on to a small, low-gravity body is easy. The wrong approach could crush landing legs or even result in the vehicle bouncing straight back off into space.

Such problems were amply demonstrated by the recent Japanese attempts to grab samples off the surface of an asteroid.

It is still not clear whether the Hayabusa spacecraft managed to capture any material and the probe's return to Earth is still haunted by uncertainty.

The Americans landed on an asteroid with their Near-Shoemaker probe in 2001.

They have also sent the Dawn spacecraft to rendezvous with Asteroid Vesta in 2011 before going on to visit Asteroid Ceres in 2015.

There is even feasibility work going on in the US space agency to look at how astronauts could be sent on an asteroid mission one day.

Former AOP Artistic Director Steven Osgood will take the baton to an upcoming American premiere and new production in The Netherlands. Osgood will conduct the opening of the Miller Theater's season in September with Iannis Xenakis's Oresteia, and will make his debut with De Nederlandse Opera in November conducting Tan Dun's Marco Polo.

Iannis Xenakis: Oresteia
The Miller Theatre at Columbia University
September 13, 16 & 17 @ 8:00

Steven Osgood, conductor
Luca Veggetti, director and choreographer

Xenakis's only opera, receiving its U.S. premiere, throws together one soloist (Wilbur Pauley), 18 women, 16 men, 20 children, 6 dancers, and 13 instrumentalists (from the remarkable ICE Ensemble).  And if that were not enough, everyone on stage has a handful of percussion instruments-- slapsticks, maracas, simantras, and Acme sirens!  At the end of the opera's 70 minutes of singing and shouting in Ancient Greek, 200 lucky audience members are given small mylar flags to wave in celebration.

For more details and to purchase tickets, click here.

Tan Dun: Marco Polo
De Nederlandse Opera
November 23 (mat), 26, 28

Steven Osgood, conductor
Pierre Audi, director

This new production of Marco Polo features an international cast, including my old friends Nancy Allen Lundy, Stephen Bryant and Charles Workman.  The opera is a fantastic and imaginative musical journey from Italy to China which I have long looked forward to conducting.  I am happy to be be collaborating again with Tan, who will conduct the beginning of the run, and am very excited to be making my debut with De Nederlandse Opera.

For more details and to purchase tickets, click here

Tú y yo somos uno mismo

Texto y Fotos Alonso Vera Cantú

Ya lo dijeron los griegos, y lo comprobó el físico Richard Feynman, que todas las cosas están hechas de átomos. Todas. No sólo mi silla y tu periódico, sino tú y yo, y todo aquello entre nosotros está constituido por “pequeñas masas” que se reúnen de a dos o más en algo conocido como moléculas por cantidades que ni podemos imaginar –un centímetro cúbico contiene 45,000 millones de millones de moléculas-. Estas moléculas son fantásticamente duraderas, y se reciclan. De ahí la teoría que todos estamos conformados por átomos que antes pertenecieron a una estrella fugaz, la banqueta y miles de cuerpos y organismos antes de convertirse en nosotros. Todos somos atómicamente numerosos y vigorosamente reciclados al morir, y un gran número de nuestro átomos –se ha sido sugerido que hasta mil millones- pertenecieron a Shakespeare, Buda, Marco Polo, Beethoven o cualquiera que sea tu personalidad histórica favorita. De ahí también, creo yo, nace la frase bíblica: “ama a tu prójimo como a ti mismo” porque, en esencia y sin necesidad de una lectura religiosa, ES lo mismo que tú.

Ir cuando no vayas

Podemos tener una noción particular o prejuicio de lo que Israel y los Territorios Palestinos son y dejan de ser, pero es mejor dejar en casa las preconcepciones de epifanía política y espiritual para no perderse lo más fascinante que hay en éste moderno país o territorio de contrastes, ésta Tierra Prometida, cuna de Jesucristo, bomba de tiempo, o lo que decidas que es.

Mucho me advertían mis colegas de no viajar a Israel en época de celebraciones religiosas, en inclusive de no hacerlo. Sin embargo, mi ruta y mi corazón me exigían ser partícipe del espectáculo que allí acontece y atañe a la tan hermosa y por momentos conflictiva diversidad que ampara nuestro planeta. Y así fue como, en plena Semana Santa, justo cuando comenzaba el Pésaj –la fiesta judía que rememora el éxodo de Egipto dirigido por Moisés- crucé la frontera desde Jordania luego de ser revisado de adentro hacia fuera, y me encontré que no había medios de transporte disponibles para llegar a ninguna parte. Apenas fruncía el ceño a manera de titubeo cuando un rostro por demás amable me preguntaba en cinco idiomas si necesitaba algo. “Sí, un aventón, a donde sea”. 

Tan familiar como extraño

Política y religión son los temas que uno evita, o debiera hacerlo, cuando apenas llega a un país del cual no tiene otra referencia que la mediática o la comprometida. Mis tres nuevos amigos y la pequeña niña, hija de alguno de ellos, fue lo primero que calaron: “¿eres político?”. No entendí, hasta que luego de un tramo de carretera supuse no se referían a sí ocupaba un curul en casa. Y rompí el silencio diciendo “cómo no ser político al estar aquí, donde hacer o decir algo es tan político como dejar de hacerlo o decirlo”. Al parecer mi razonamiento les pareció sensato, y nos detuvimos a comer en un poblado aledaño al Banco Oeste, donde el árabe era la lengua y el hummus una delicia.

Habían pasado dos horas, docenas de kilómetros de hortalizas y poblados bíblicos y yo no tenía idea de dónde ni con quién estaba. Sabía que Talila era fotógrafa, Lymor abogado defensor de los derechos humanos de los palestinos y Esteban programador, y que la niña era de ella con alguno de ellos. Sabía cómo me llamaba y que se suponía estaba en un estado conformado hace 50 años por inspiración del movimiento sionista convocado en las cafeterías de Viena por Theodor Herzl. No más. El resto que supuse o creí saber se desvanecía a cada trecho. Me encontraba, de nuevo, en el confortable regazo materno, flotando en líquido amniótico sin idea del acontecer en el mundo exterior.

Tu casa es mi casa

Caída la tarde llegamos a la ciudad de Haifa y, luego de visitarla, descendimos por la costa rumbo a Tel Aviv. Mirando el Mediterráneo suspiré tras meses de gozar la severidad del desierto. “Quieres nadar”, me preguntó Talila, y al ver mi gesto aparcó el auto para que me diera un baño que me supo a purificación. A la distancia se levantaba un imponente reactor nuclear que me recordó la caricatura que miro desde la infancia. Mi cabeza no me permitía hacer otra relación. Nunca había visto uno en carne propia, pero pensé en la voz de Einstein advirtiendo sobre las amenazas del empleo de los átomos, los mismos, pero en una versión física menos poética, que los mentados en mi introducción. “Es la póliza de seguro de éste país”, me dijo Lymor, no sin un dejo de reconcomio.

Salí del agua y dejé que la fresca brisa de primavera secara mi cuerpo antes de proseguir a la moderna Tel Aviv, donde me invitaron a pasar la noche en su casa en el vecino puerto de Yafo. A la mañana siguiente Lymor me llevó a descubrir este barrio de ambiente árabe que tanto ha sido conquistado y reconquistado a lo largo de su larga historia, con sus bazares y fortines, en donde familias judías y musulmanas convivían en santa paz. “Este es un gran ejemplo de que puede haber concordia ¿no?”, me dijo con los ojos humedecidos y la voz entrecortada mi nuevo hermano judío, proveniente de Alemania, que se instaló en Israel hace 5 años para defender su causa. “Aquí no hay buenos ni malos”, concluyó, “y la paz es posible si a pesar de las particularidades nos reconocemos como iguales”. Hace una semana Lymor recibió un balazo en la cabeza mientras se demostraba pacíficamente en un poblado del Banco Oeste. Un solado israelí le disparó una bala de hule a diez metros perforándole el cráneo, y aunque se mantiene con vida está en condiciones que desconozco. Su mensaje lo sobrevive. Muchas fueron las experiencias en Israel, mientras tanto gracias, y hasta la próxima.

Marco…Pollo

Por Alonso Vera Cantú

Uno como viajero agradece a quienes marcaron la pauta y sentaron las bases que hacen del turismo moderno un conglomerado de simplicidades. Antes de cumplir los 21 años ya conocía más de este planeta que Magallanes, Vasco de Gama y Marco Polo juntos. No es que tenga un mecenas poderoso. Transportase a la velocidad del sonido, contar con mapas exactos y otras tantas maravillas que damos por hecho hacen de nuestros viajes, al menos a diferencia de los suyos, pan comido. Pero explorar es la sustancia que sostiene la vida, como imagino lo fue también para ellos. Vivir, por ende, es el lapso entre la preparación de una siguiente travesía y el regreso. Y esto no implica realizar una expedición a la Antártica, sino apreciar la propia cotidianeidad como una aventura inigualable, como lo aprendí de aquel gran viajero veneciano, icono de nuestro arte errante.

La cuna del experto

Recuerdo haber visto el retrato del –me pongo de pie- maestro Marco Polo realizado por Tiziano en la galería Doria de Roma cuando apenas aprendía la diferencia entre mirar y observar. Su barba canosa acentuaba un rostro afable, con la mirada fija en el horizonte y un dejo de nostalgia por el Asia Oriental donde vivió 17 años al servicio del Gran Kan Kubilai luego de atravesar Mongolia desde su natal Venecia.

Efectivamente el diplomático y explorador de apellido “pollo” en latino, quien llevó la pólvora, el papel moneda y el espagueti a occidente, era veneciano. Pero no capitalino de la poderosa república medieval, sino oriundo de Korcula, una pequeña isla en la Costa Dálmata del Adriático que ahora pertenece a Croacia y que miraba acercarse desde proa abordo de un vacilante trasbordador.

Sus verdes colinas ataviadas de viñedos y casas entejadas de piedra blanca le valieron el nombre de Korkya Melaina, o “Korcula Boscosa”, en griego. Y aunque muchas de sus coníferas ya flotaron y se hundieron en campañas mercantes y bélicas por el Mediterráneo desde la antigüedad, aún se muestra primigenia.

Tras descender en el puerto de su capital homónima divagué por los callejones en el corazón de su ciudadela medieval cobijada por torreones y murallas, y embellecida entre los siglos XIV y XVI por el artesano Marko Andrijic. En torno al campanario de su catedral de San Marcos vislumbré fachadas y plazas góticas y renacentistas donde el tiempo pareciera haberse detenido. Las piernas me temblaban no sólo por lo gélido del soplo invernal al atardecer. Es que era aquí donde Marco Polo había nacido, comido, estudiado, peleado e iniciado sus viajes.

Los placeres del invierno

Pasé la noche bebiendo licor de moras y comiendo higos con la familia Keser, escuchando sus anhelos por la futura integración de su patria a la Unión Europea y su gusto por las telenovelas mexicanas, disfrutando el carácter bondadoso de quienes me procuraron refugio tras descubrirme acurrucado frente a su portón.

Me desperté por las olas que rompían violentamente en la bahía y, luego de un café envuelto en cobijas de flores que me recordaron a la abuela, volví a la ciudadela para rastrear al maestro. Todo parecía abandonado, y es que no hay mucho que hacer allí durante el invierno para quien ignora la historia. Pocos barcos llegan con esas olas, los turistas no se animan por el frío y muchos de sus habitantes se repliegan a las grandes ciudades. Ni un dejo de los famosos festivales de verano que animan sus plazas y palacetes transformados en bares y restaurantes. Tan sólo un par de gatos, palomas gordas y los 12 habitantes permanentes dentro de las murallas.

Pronto hallé un discreto escudo con el perfil de Marco Polo que resaltaba del sitio donde se dice abrió los ojos a este mundo y lo recuerda con un museo cerrado. Simón de Polo caminaba presuroso por el callejón, protegiéndose de las ráfagas bajo su chaqueta azul. Las mejillas sonrojadas de vino y su cabellera blanca sobre unos ojos afables prometían “un Millón”. Y no se qué sonrisa le habré mostrado cuando nos miramos que de inmediato me invitó a tomar una historia y unas copas de vino tinto en su casa.

Unas copas con Simón

“Luego de la batalla que se libró frente a esta ciudadela el domingo 7 de Septiembre de 1298 Marco Polo fue aprisionado por los genoveses”, me dijo mientras me mostraba su escudo de armas en la pared. “Fue entonces cuando mi tátara tatarabuelo dictó sus memorias a Rusticcello”, el escritor romántico de Pisa quien dio forma a la obra que, de no haberse llevado a cabo dicha batalla, tal vez hubiese sido olvidada. Aún no podía creer que él fuese descendiente directo, como otros tantos en la isla, del mismísimo Marco Polo. Y él, más de 700 años después, no podía creer que la flota genovesa al mando de Lamba Doria, superada en hombres y galeras, pudiera vencer a los venecianos en aquella que es considerada una de las más grandes batallas de la Edad Media.

Luego caminamos por el centro del pueblo y comimos una pasta en la playa, intercambiando suspiros y anécdotas de aventuras y nostalgias derivadas de las palabras de su antecesor. No fue mucho más lo que pasó allí, pero para mí lo fue todo. Muchas fueron las experiencias en Croacia, y el mundo en general. Ya serán suyas. Mientras tanto gracias, y hasta la próxima.

Cebu is blessed with very nice beaches, flatlands big enough to accommodate 5 or 6 booming cities, and pristine hills and mountains which give us a commanding view of the metropolis.

One of the most popular highland districts in the city is the Nivel Hills. Nivel Hills is a system of almost-connecting hills in the Lahug-Busay area. All vehicles headed for Busay, Cantipla, Manunggal, and Balamban pass through these hills from Lahug. The Nivel Hills are in close proximinity to PC Hills, Betania Hills and the gated posh community in Beverly Hills.

A few of the very popular establishments on these hills are the Marco Polo Hotel - previously Cebu Plaza Hotel, the showrooms of Honda and Ford, Mr. A and Mr. B., a few factories, restaurants, and bars.

This is the back part of the  Marco Polo Hotel.

A hill just behind the City Lights Garden Condos.

 Some of the very nice houses in the area.

Marco Polo Hotel and the city.

Towers 1 and 2 of City Lights Garden.

View of the city. Awesome!

Tower 4 is almost complete!

Tower 4 and Tower 2.

 The swimming pool for the tenants. Nice. :)

Office (?) and the tennis and basketball courts.

View of the towers from below.

The old Casino FIlipino. This will become a multimillion discotheque. Will open in December.

Some of the very nice houses in the area. With view of Mr. A and Mr. B.

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View from the Top.

The IT Park Giants and view of the Mactan Channel.

Waterfront Lahug and the CBP cluster.

Pagibig, Cebu Tower, and Parklane Hotel.

Golden Peak Hotel, and the IT Building behind JY.

Gaisano Country Mall and UC Banilad Campus.

Marcelo Fernan Bridge and the Hilton Towers.

Cebu Doctors' University