Now that I think (so to speak), that is one of the reasons why I love to travel (albeit at Logroño), renewing thoughts excited by new impacts and gears again sleepy get up. I spent a few days in Porto. Although symptoms of globalization are felt by all sides, the city continues to maintain his pride decadent imperial port. The streets are paved with cobblestones and old trams operate as public transport.
I arrived on April 25, just in time to see some celebration decadent and full of "saudade" of that revolution of the carnations that both made us dream some.
On the place of Freedoms "a group of ancient sound folkis proletariat sang hymns while a guy dressed in black, crazy, bellowed from atop a scaffold with a bullhorn around a hundred in his hand. Although it was in Portuguese, could understand individual sentences like "rotten lie" and "estafadu us." under a police scaffold equipped ultra mega-handle patients waiting to come down to give him his due. One of them, with the police that both scares parsimony, ordered him to get right. In the square nap some young Che T-shirts and red flags. But the bulk of the sparse crowd was composed of older men looking to have nothing better to do.
Before the movie ended to see how we sat in a nearby terrace and I find the press of a stunning news: Aramaio Aitzol dead.
I had with a brief but fruitful relationship when he decided to make his first short ( "Terminal" ) on a story of mine ("The Girl of the Terminal"). It was an experience of pleasant memories. A couple of quotes to review and adapt the script and a premiere at the San Sebastian festival ended with the audience clapping in the middle. Then came the rewards (abundant and in many countries) and "A Tram in SP", whose script also happened to comment you my impressions. Aitzol machine. Their absolute determination and faith in what was up was overwhelming. One of those deaths that leave you staggering misplaced and push you to spend your time, like it says Calamaro "very little."
I find myself back with the news of the bombing in Marrakech. Flown in the restaurant at the time I drank a few beers watching the bustling square. The script is known. It is neither the first nor the last indiscriminate attack against fanaticism tourism aftertaste wrought with humiliation. However
news is not all bleak in the Muslim world. From Tunisia comes a news of those who do not expect that break the mold, do you reset some beliefs too ingrained:
High Instance for the Achievement of the Revolution, a body representing 155 members across the political spectrum from Islamists in Nahda (Renaissance) to the Communist Party of Tunisian Workers decided to absolute parity between men and women electoral lists for the forthcoming elections to the Constituent Assembly, which as its name suggests is responsible for drafting a new constitution.
I've always had some reservations at the exchange rates imposed by decree-law, but in this case, I have no doubt that we have to a brave and of great historical importance that can help to break many myths. I remember a young vibrant and friendly mixed as could be in a concert in Tunisia Ched Khaled fifteen years ago. Contrasted sharply with those old police (gray interestingly) who treated them like cattle. Back home with me preparing the soil for action the next day 12. (See the right wing).
These things I and others, but I'm going to tell you all. I could not even trying.
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