Little Yurt on the Steppe

On the road to Cyberia I took a wrong turn and ended up on the Great Eastern Plains. Fortunately, a group of Khalkha nomads took me in and taught me the secrets of life on the steppe. Now, I sit in my yurt, eating mutton dumplings and drinking a weak milk tea as I recount my tales of this Mongolian life.

sobota, července 30

Goodbye Lenin Shipyard!

You can climb the Nowy Port lighthouse and peer out of the window from which the first shots of the second world war were fired; look out of that window and put yourself in the head of the German soldier who fired those shots (and then get yourself out again very, very quickly). The cathedral organ has almost 8,000 pipes, and has recitals several times a day; the sound assaults the senses. Vidor's Toccata rattles your ribcage, the Ave Maria nearly made me weep.

A nifty encapsulation of the weight of history and grandeur of Gdansk, from a very fascinating piece in the Guardian on the revivification of the Polish port on the Baltic.

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