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I can see why all those authors, poets and painters found themselves in the Greek isles some times. There’s something very peaceful about the Mediterranean. I found myself this week in Matala, a tiny little village in the south of Crete. The place isn’t much more than a handful of houses, hotels and restaurants around a beach and a cliff face, and ( Read more... )

The Greek typefaces are lovely. Symbols familiar from mathematical contexts and college fraternity movies suddenly given life as meaningful words. Deltas and omegas do thetas and mu, and deciphering signs becomes an algebraic equation with infinite variables. One sign results in “Exodus” and the biblical reference strikes before you realize it is ( Read more... )

This is a reworked version of a recent entry of mine. I had brought it over to my creative writing workshop for review, and revised it according to the (excellent) comments I received. Now I wanted to have this version up as well, for comparison.

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I cross the Golden Horn to Galata,  escaping Sultanahmed's twisting alleys and tourist traps. ( Read more... )

Galata is across the Golden Horn, very different from Sultanahmed's twisting alleys and tourist traps. First thing that greets me is the underground shopping mall, crammed tight with consumer electronics and handguns, one shop next to the other, each proclaiming new sales, new models, just for you. Outside two young men push their cart and hawk ( Read more... )

In recent years there have been many discussions of the place of art in everyday life. Should a tool that's functional also be beautiful? Is there place for art in the workplace? Once we've gotten something working well, how much more should we invest in making it pretty?
More and more, in the 21st century, people recognize the importance of ( Read more... )

In William Gibson's Neuromancer, the protagonists take a detour through Istanbul's Grand Bazaar. I can see why. It meshes it wonderfully with Gibson's claustrophobic oldnew dystopia. Narrow streets, winding, rising, falling, interlocking. Old shops selling leather goods, silversmiths, hookahs. Children's clothing, leather goods, Turkish delight. ( Read more... )

Japanese tour guides are in something of a pickle in this Mediterranean weather. It's too hot an dry for rain, but what will they raise up in the air to lead their group but an umbrella?

Well, they find a way. Sometimes they carry an umbrella anyway. Sometimes they find substitutes. Long sticks with something eye-catching at the end, like a flag, ( Read more... )

They are a humble people, the Christians. A cheek-turning, brother-loving, genuflecting lot. How appropriate, then, that in order to share their humility with all and sundry they would build gigantic, overwhelming, towering edifices to honor their modest carpenter.

Oh, but they sure knew how to build, those Christians of old. Vaulted archways 15 ( Read more... )

I do apologize for my last entry, written while stone drunk in the middle of the night. I will try to make this better. I make no promises ( Read more... )