It’s been a while since I put up some pictures of Macedonia – I did promise the aqueduct, and I’d hoped to pull myself together before my final trip to Skopje in June, but alas! It is July and here is the aqueduct.
First, a short background:
The Aqueduct is located in the village of Vizbegovo in the northwestern part of Skopje, about 2.5 km to the right of the Skopje-Kachanik road. It is a part of a water-supply system with a length of about 10.0-10.5km from the piping at the Lavovac spring, between the villages Gluovo and Brazda, all the way to the Upper Town of Skopje Fortress-Kale.The Skopje Aqueduct is the only aqueduct in Macedonia, and one of three largest and well preserved in the former Yugoslavia along with Diocletianus Aqueduct near Split, Croatia and Bar Aqueduct in Montenegro.
What’s interesting is that nobody seems entirely sure on when it was constructed:
Considering the period of its construction there are several hypotheses:
-during the reign of Rome (1st century), according to this theory Aqueduct has led the water to Legionary settlement Scupi
-during the reign of Byzantine Empire (reign of Emperor Justinian I), according to this theory, Aqueduct shipping water to new settlement Justiniana Prima.
-during the reign of Ottoman Empire, according to this theory Aqueduct is built in 16th century for a large number of Turkish public hamams.
In numbers, we get:
The Aqueduct has 2 access ramparts, 53 pillars, 54 base vaults and 42 smaller vaults on the closed and open discharging openings above the pillars. The overall length of the Aqueduct is 387.98m, at an elevation of 279.46m of the southern rampart and 280.48m of the northern rampart, or a delevelling of 1,025m.
… which all sounds impressive enough, and the minimum of info was enough to get me interested (also considering it is reasonably close to Skopje itself, and my Lithuanian colleague and I were up for the walk – 5km in early March is quite nice).
Well, it was an interesting walk, as the straightest route goes through a military facility and thus was closed to members of the interested public, and the circuitous route has… no sidewalks along heavily trafficked roads.
I’m going to stop there for now, because the rest is the actual bricks and mortar (very little water) and I still have to decide if the number of photos I took counts as over-abundant or not. The risk of going somewhere interesting, I suppose. :)
Actually, I’m looking for the opposite in advice, but now I’m reminded of this book (cover illustration here, for some reason doesn’t show up at the link), which was a regular childhood read – less for the text (which, if I remember, was quite sensible), more for the illustrations, which contained a lot of shenanigans and annoyed parents.
Anyway, I was going to make a request to the readership here on ideas on travelling by car in Finland with three children and a tent, but I’ve been outvoted, and it looks like we’re going to try for Poland (the Tatra Mountains, to be precise!) sometime in August. It’s much farther but also much cheaper (so I’ve been explained to).
But what the hell, I’m curious now and I still want some answers for future planning: what is worth seeing in Finland? How might you plan a(n affordable) trip with a timeline of 3 – 4 days? With a small flock of children that need (a) entertainment (castles, animals, food and such are good) and (b) activity (anything that can be climbed is a bonus, this category includes trees, mountains, large rocks, etc.)? Google insists on showing me All the Interesting Things and I don’t have a good grasp of distance and travel time way up North.
(Also any advice on Poland is great, too, although we have a few experts available on location here.)
(The thematic choice, obviously.)
Summer is in full swing one way or another (it’s been sunny, it’s been rainy, it’s been both at once!), I’m on vacation time until the end of the month, and between work (yes, I know…) and the kids and the opportunity for physical recovery (sleep! sleep! sleep!), I have spending a lot of time contemplating my life – for better and for worse.
I don’t know how soon I will return to more regular posts, so the irregularity shall be maintained for the foreseeable future.
It’s been hitting other media sites as well, but I first caught the news of Snowball the dancing parrot at The Atlantic:
His owner had realized that he couldn’t care for the sulfur-crested cockatoo any longer. So in August 2007, he dropped Snowball off at the Bird Lovers Only rescue center in Dyer, Indiana—along with a Backstreet Boys CD, and a tip that the bird loved to dance. Sure enough, when the center’s director, Irena Schulz, played “Everybody,” Snowball “immediately broke out into his headbanging, bad-boy dance,” she recalls. She took a grainy video, uploaded it to YouTube, and sent a link to some bird-enthusiast friends. Within a month, Snowball became a celebrity.
What’s unusual about Snowball is his choreographic development:
Snowball wasn’t copying Schulz. When she danced with him, she’d only ever sway or wave her arms. He, meanwhile, kept innovating. In 2008, Patel’s undergraduate student R. Joanne Jao Keehn filmed these moves, while Snowball danced to “Another One Bites the Dust” and “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” And recently, after a long delay caused by various life events, she combed through the muted footage and cataloged 14 individual moves (plus two combinations). Snowball strikes poses. He body rolls, and swings his head through half circles, and headbangs with a raised foot. To the extent that a parrot can, he vogues.
The article explains more about how his rhythmic ability was noticed and tested, but I will say this: he’s quite the talented bird, I definitely cannot lift my leg like that and still keep headbanging.
What’s interesting is the conclusions being drawn from Snowball’s dancing ability:
“Parrots are more closely related to dinosaurs than to us,” Patel says, and yet they are the only other animals known to show both spontaneous and diverse dancing to music. “This suggests to me that dancing in human cultures isn’t a purely arbitrary invention,” Patel says. Instead, he suggests that it arises when animals have a particular quintet of mental skills and predilections:
- They must be complex vocal learners, with the accompanying ability to connect sound and movement.
- They must be able to imitate movements.
- They must be able to learn complex sequences of actions.
- They must be attentive to the movements of others.
- They must form long-term social bonds.
A brain that checks off all five traits is “the kind of brain that has the impulse to move to music,” Patel says. “In our own evolution, when these five things came together, we were primed to become dancers.” If he’s right, that settles the eternal question posed by The Killers. Are we human, or are we dancer? We’re both.
Parrots also tick off all five traits, as do elephants and dolphins. But outside of trained performances, “do you ever see a dolphin do anything to music spontaneously, creatively, and diversely?” Patel asks. “I don’t know if it’s been studied.” He wonders whether animals need not only five traits that create an impulse to dance, but also a lot of exposure to humans and our music. Captive dolphins don’t get much musical experience, and even though they interact with trainers, their main social bonds are still with other dolphins. But Snowball, from an early age, lived with humans. He seemingly dances for attention, rather than for food or other rewards. And he appears to dance more continuously when Schulz dances with him—something that Patel will formally analyze in a future study.
I say, keep dancing, Snowball! And here’s two dancing songs for the rest of us:
(I am currently again in Macedonia, having not even posted all the photos from my last trip, and it is extremely hot and stressful, so here is something short and full of personal pride.)
It’s been a while since the last time I shared some of my art, and this time around, I must say I am disgustingly proud of myself. Because when Inspiration came, it was inspiration for an image quite outside my comfort zone (not the usual cats and horses, is what I mean) and it really felt like a challenge to complete the project as I imagined it.
The initial sketch happened at work, and came quite easily:
And as big a fan as I am of black-and-white ink sketches, I knew this one needed more. It took another two months (I think?) to turn that drawing into the final painting (not that it took two months of painting, but it took two months to finally have enough guts and enough time to do it; some procrastination may have been involved):
Like I said, I am disgustingly proud of this painting, and yes, I keep using that word, because it almost feels undeserved that it should feel so properly done. I think it’s a bit of imposter syndrome at work, but I also have it on good authority that the painting has been well-received and shall be accordingly framed.
I sent it off with a small story about the official title of the painting, but I will admit that I am still extremely shy about sharing my (fiction) writing. Caine did once share a poem of mine here, and for some reason, that felt very nerve-wracking.
Most of you can probably guess the owner, incidentally – he runs a blog on this network that goes by the title of St Derr (I know, I know, don’t shoot me!), which also happens to be the name of that badger. In a striking case of coincidence, there actually exists a Temple of Derr, most possibly dedicated to the god Ptah, who also happens to be the patron deity of metalworkers.
And I do owe mail to my co-bloggers as well, just don’t expect it within the next 6 months. You all deserve something at least as nice as this.
Or should I say “madrid”? ;D
Second week of May, I spent a full workweek in Madrid for a working group meeting, and it was a fantastic time (as always). Besides the science-y, political-y days (there’s a lot of discussion about legislation and quality standards, not just the fun research and applications stuff), the organizers had planned out a couple of very interesting cultural evenings, and I found myself quite pleasantly surprised by the city in general. It had a very different feel from Rome (last year) – much cleaner, much more organized, more expansive – which I liked, but the organized part works mostly if you’re not driving a car – never mind the six lanes and wide roads, vehicle traffic in Madrid is atrocious (in my opinion!).
Anyway, the weather held out, the people were wonderful, and my first night the lovely hotel staff pointed me towards (what felt like a) very local cafe-restaurant, where, despite the language barrier and despite clearly being not local, I felt very welcome and extremely well-fed (I had octopus). I went back a second time prior to leaving, which I usually don’t do, but it had that perfect mix of being taken care of and being left alone, which was exactly what I needed.
I have a series on chandeliers in the Royal Palace, but for now, here’s just some small details from that particular cultural visit:
One thing that did leave an impression was the collection of Stradivarius instruments – it’s true that brands are often over-rated, and I’m not too big on the detailed decorations on my instruments, but as a former violinist, it still left an impact to see these famous instruments in one room. I’d have to hear them to judge their quality, but the craftspersonship of the construction (and the artistry of the detail) is undoubtedly something else.
Today’s music selection, which felt like it suits the historical theme, is from Latvian Voices – I found this particular performance of theirs via a post answering the question “what is it like to be a woman in the music business?” (that’s a link to their FB page, I don’t know how to link to that post specifically):
As a female group, we’ve been questioned many times about the topic of “how it is to be a woman in the music business?!” We took it very seriously and made research in music history looking on our female colleagues back in the day. As a result, we found ourselves willing to perform more music written by female composers or music which is dedicated to strong and powerful women all over the world.
Please, enjoy our contribution to Frau Fanny Hensel-Mendelssohn – the song “Die Mainacht”, poem by Ludwig Heinrich Christoph Hölty.
Video: Kaspars Teilāns
Sound: Andris Ūze
Make-up: Ilona Zariņa
Style Cita Rota
We seem to have got our summer early, although next week is supposed to cool down significantly. I am using this time to try not to melt and to gather materials for a few posts – still have the Skopje Aqueduct to present, then some things from Madrid (basically a series on fancy chandeliers), and a couple other things.
For the moment, though, I’m trying to get back into something like a routine after being sick and after the frequent travel – the good news is I have one more trip to Skopje during the second half of June, and then I get to not go anywhere for a couple of months at least. Looking forward to that, because I can’t get anything done in the summer anyway. Which seems to have arrived with a blast of hot air (30 in May, I’m sorry, too much!).
The heat also discourages Ronja from her usual energetic antics, so I got some nice poses, for your enjoyment. She’s a beauty. And she still hasn’t shed all her winter coat, no matter how much we brush her.
Coins is nice, but the Museum has a few other exhibits – it’s not a large museum or particularly stunning in its collection, but I liked the feel of it. I do have some commentary about the art depicting life in the Stone Ages, though. About half the population seemed to be missing in most paintings, and you can probably guess which half.
But the exhibit design was, as with the coins, quite interesting:
I did not take photos of everything, as it was mostly different kinds of pottery and metalwork, but allow me to present a few of my favourites:
You can read more about the museum itself here.
Also known as a coin collection. I don’t have much to comment here, except that they really know how to set the mood for learning about history:
While there was quite a bit to learn, the focus was on coins. So here we go: be as amazed as I was at the variety of designs, the visible cultural influences, the intricacy and the detail, the mastery and the metalwork.
Since a few years ago, when I read a very intriguing article, Eastertime has become a time for experimentation – for experimenting with natural dyes! For the eggs, obviously.
Now, tradition has it that you use onion skins – gives a nice warm reddish-brown tone, and if you stick little leaves and shoots and spring flowers around the surface of the egg and wrap it in some extra onion skin and gauze (or old pantyhose), you can get some wonderful imprinting and marbling on your egg, in tones of yellow and green.
My original break with tradition occurred about 5 years ago, when I read about red cabbage – apparently, using boiled red cabbage produces a lovely shade of blue, plus you can also do the usual addition of shoots-and-flowers, and also get marbling effects.
That blue tone at the bottom? If you use red cabbage correctly, it gets even more vivid.
However! In subsequent years I have read about other plant-based materials that can be used as dyes: beets (for raspberry red), turmeric (for deep yellow), blueberries (for dark blue/black), etc. This year I decided to experiment a little again, since I have transferred my knowledge of red cabbage to the immediate family, and it’s time to try something new (the blue colour is no longer original once everyone is doing it).
Meet this year’s subjects:
To review the results:
A few close-ups:
So there you have it – low effort and high quality coloured eggs from ordinary things you can find in your kitchen (or get for cheap). If I don’t forget, I might do a tutorial post for next year, because the whole process is ridiculously easy.
(Choir Juventus cover, original here.)
This is the final post from Canyon Matka, a couple of views of the dam, and some random items I saw along the way.
As mentioned before, never believe anyone if they tell you there is nothing to see: I was thoroughly impressed with my visit to this canyon, and I would certainly plan to see other parts of the country (especially the mountains!) if I had the chance. Maybe I’m just easily pleased, but the sheer beauty of Macedonian nature – so different from the one up here – is enough to keep me satisfied.
Farewell to this adventure, and here’s to the next one!