S4theD: Day 12

Portobello Road
from the soundtrack to Bedknobs and Broomsticks

Portobello Road, Portobello Road
Street where the riches of ages are stowed.
Anything and everything a chap can unload
Is sold off the barrow in Portebello road.
You’ll find what you want in the Portebello road.

Rare alabaster? Genuine plaster!
A filigreed samovar owned by the czars.
A pen used by Shelley? A new Boticelli?
The sniper that clipped old King Edward’s cigars?

Waterford Crystals? Napoleon’s pistols?
Society heirlooms with genuine gems!
Rembrandts! El Greco’s! Toulouse-Letrec’os!
Painted last week on the banks of the Thames!

Portobello road, Portobello road!
Street where the riches of ages are stowed
Anything and everything a chap can unload
Is sold off the barrow in Portobello road.
You’ll meet all your chums in the Portobello road

There’s pure inspiration in every creation.
No cheap imitations, not here in me store.
With garments as such as was worn by a Duchess.
Just once at some royal occasion of yore.

In Portobollo Road, Portobello Road
The fancies and fineries of ages are showed.
A lady will always feel dressed a la mode
In frillies she finds in the Portobollo road.

“Burke’s Peerage;” “The Bride Book;” “The Fishmonger’s Guidebook;”
A Victorian novel, “The Unwanted Son;”
“The History of Potting”, “The Yearbook of Yachting,”
The leather bound “Life of Attila the Hun.”

Portobello Road, Portobello Road
Street where the riches of ages are stowed
Artifacts to glorify our regal abode
Are hidden in the flotsam in Portobello Road
You’ll find what you want in the Portobello Road

Tokens and treasures, yesterday’s pleasures
Cheap imitations of heirlooms of old
Dented and tarnished, scarred and unvarnished
In old Portobello they’re bought and they’re sold

Portebollo Road, Portobello Road
Street where the riches of ages are stowed
Artifacts to glorify our regal abode
Are hidden in the flotsam in Portobello road.
You’ll find what you want in the Portobello Road

A Short Sabatical

Yup, I know. This is not another installment of the 20 Days of Randomness. Let me apologize now. Due to a conference here, a conference there, and the minor tragedy of computer harddrive failure, posting has been anything but proficient these days. And as I am about to flee the country I must confess proficiency will not get any better within the next two weeks. But before I go I just wanted to say that I'm excited. And that while I'm away I have absolutely no plans save getting to my destination. I shall be bringing only the necessities, and I've whittled down the necessary books to equal 5. I was shooting for 3, but justified two more due to the fact that they are rather small and I could probably read them both twice a piece just on the flight over. But don't worry, where I am going there is a rather good and recourseful library so don't think that I'm starving myself due to the fact that each additional check in bag cost one arm plus $25.

Here's what I'm taking to English L'Abri, and heaven only knows what all I'll be bringing back:

Day 12: Sacsayhuamán—J.M.R.

I've often wondered how a civilization can go from producing some of the greatest wonders of the world—the accomplishments of which are for the most part completely undocumented, from being wealthy beyond belief with some of the richest of natural resources, to one of the poorest and most run down, living mostly off of the relics of that past glory. I suppose the most obvious answer is sin. But as I sit here drinking my chicha morada, I wonder specifically about the Peruvian peoples. I first wonder how can a people not document something so great as why their city of Cuzco was built in the shape of a puma, that Sacsayhuamán was more than likely the head and that it's zigzag fortifications may have been the teeth of the beast? Why do we have no plans no notes on something that obviously took up a lot of time not for a few individuals but for most of the civilization because it was such a huge endeavor?

Sacsayhuamán. One Cuzco travel blog had this helpful but true note on how to say this intriguing Quechuan name: "the adultered Western pronunciation being Sexy Woman". Sacsayhuamán is an Incan ruin located just outside the city of Cuzco, Peru, and was allegedly built as a fortress during the time period of the Inca Pachacuti, the man who essentially created the Incan empire. Though the fortress is no where near its former grandeur, there are enough of the foundation stones from the towers, the remains of the bath houses, and of course the three bulwarks or walls left to give us a picture of its former greatness. The walls are the most baffling for archeologist and common man alike—no blade, of steal or grass, can slip in between the formation of these rocks. So flawless is the craftsmanship in fitting the stones together without mortar. It's rather like a giant jigsaw puzzle, no stone could fit in any other place then where it currently sits.

While Sacsayhuamán is a testament to the glory of the Incan empire, it also bears witness to the empire's defeat. Stories say that the Incans finally rebelled against the Spaniards that had settled in Cuzco. Manco Inca and his men took the fortress in 1536, and used it as there central base as they attacked the Spanish. The fighting lasted for weeks before the Spanish—who were outnumbered some say 10 to 1—finally broke free from the city and dispersed out around and into the surrounding countryside only to double back and face the Incas on the opposing hill from Sacsayhuamán. The Conquistadors eventually broke through the native's defences, scaled the walls, and fought them all back into the three towers of the fortress where they put them all to the sword.

And the rest, as we say, is history. A history written by the conquerors. A history that picks up where the undocumented glory of a defeated people left off. A history that left the Peruvian people in a lesser light, one that has left them to a defeated spirit as well as a defeated empire.

Day 11: Quantumfisix—J.M.S.

First of all, how does my little brother know these big words? Second of all, I love him, he’s adorable, and I’m going to petition the International Science Society to change the spelling because Micah’s way is better! He is going to be a very smart man when he grows up if his 10 year-old self is any indication of what he could become.

I have said it before, and I don’t mind saying again: There’s a reason I’m not in the Math Department. Or the Science Department for that matter. God knew just what He was doing when He put me in the English Department. That being said, I don’t mind one little bit sharing what I know about quantumfisix.

Being a child of the 80’s there are a few trendy things that have stuck with me over the years. 80’s and 90’s television is a case in point. I could spend a whole day talking about MacGyver. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and He-Man ranked pretty high up there too. Then there’s Bonanza, Wild Wild West, Star Trek (the original, Next Generation, and Deep Space Nine), The Incredible Hulk, Knight Rider, Remington Steele, and Father Dowling to name a few.

Then there was Quantum Leap. I was fascinated by the notion that someone could jump back and forth across time. The plot was that a quantum physicist named Dr. Sam Beckett was hard pressed to come up with tangible results for the project he was working on or the government would cut his funding, so he rashly stepped into the machine he was developing, called the Quantum Leap, before all the bugs were worked out. He vanished. And reappeared as someone else from an earlier time. Dr. Beckett performed a quantum leap at the end of each episode for five seasons, each time prefaced by his characteristic “Oh boy”, each time trying to right a wrong or fix a problem to make the world a better place, each time wishing his next leap would be the leap home. His side kick all along the way was a cigar smoking, straight talking observer from his quantum physics lab back home named Al who always appeared in holographic form and was Sam’s one link back to the time he came from. We’re left to wonder with the last episode of season 5 as to whether or not Sam ever made it back home or if he kept leaping, righting wrongs, and performing acts of kindness for the rest of his life. As a kid, I hoped he kept leaping just because of the utter fun and adventure of the concept. As an adult, I hope he made it home at some point, if only for a little while.

Day 3: Thubron's Travel Works on Central Asia—D.L.R.

Four days from now, on June 14th, Colin Thubron will celebrate his 70th birthday. Born in 1939, this Eton College grad has for the last forty years been one of Britain's premiere travel writers and novelists. His journeys, across Asia especially, have been vicariously lived through many of his generation who have shared his curiosity to know more about the countries whos politics have dominated the world stage for so long.

"My travel books spring from curiosity about worlds which my generation has found threatening: China, Russia, Islam (and perhaps from a desire to humanise and understand them)." —Colin Thubron
source: British Council Contemporary Writers


"I have been afraid of Russia ever since I could remember. When I was a boy its mass dominated the map which covered the classroom wall; it was tented a wan green, I recall, and was distorted by Mercator's projection so that its tundras suffocated half the world. Where other nations—Japan, Brazil, India—clamored with imagined scents and colors, Russia gave out only silence, and was somehow incomplete. I grew up in its shadow, just as my parents had grown up in the shadow of Germany. Journeys rarely begin where we think they do. Mine, perhaps, started in that classroom, where the green-tinted mystery hypnotized me during math lessons."
—Colin Thubron, Among the Russians

The wonder of Thubron's travel writing is that he does not simply wish to travel to all the politically taboo lands of the world and write about their political alienation, but that he is able to see past the fears, tyranies, and deprevations of politics and can paint pictures of lands and peoples that remind us of our common humanity. Behind his own curiosity there is a suspician that behind every tyrant there is a substantive culture, behind every regiem there is a rich history, behind every politician there are simply people. So while Thubron's generation, and that of his parents, were often left to cower and quake because dots were shifting on a map, little flags were advancing across lines, or because printed headlines cast shadowy fears across their hearts and minds, young Colin sat staring silently up at the wan green mass anticipating the people he would one day encounter there.

Once Upon a Time in My Home Away From Home...

Just Wanna Go home

Point A to Point B. Repeat. Repeat.

In the last month have the following statistics to show for myself:

Monterey, TN: 275 miles
Romney, WV: 1,600 miles
Austin, TX: 1,720 miles
Total: 3,595 miles

My conclusion:

Home: Priceless