#russian river restaurant

[scotianostra]

On May 2nd May 1901 The Glasgow International Exhibition in Kelvingrove opened.

The second of 4 international exhibitions held in Glasgow was opened on 2 May and ran until 9 November, covering roughly 73 acres of ground in Kelvingrove Park. Among the multitude of temporary buildings was this concert hall on the banks of the River Kelvin, with seating for 3,000 people. A full programme of concerts was organised for the duration of the exhibition, featuring performers from all over Europe.

Its centrepiece was the new Art Galley and Museum which appropriately housed the Fine Art section, including work by the “Glasgow boys” who were by now acknowledged as internationally important artists. But the exhibition’s main building was the temporary Eastern Palace; its architect was James Millar who won an open competition with his design which satisfied the extravagance demanded by the public. This Oriental fantasy, with its strong suggestions of 16th century Spanish Renaissance architecture, was topped by a grand dome adorned by an electric-torch wielding golden angel of light. There were also separate buildings for industrial and machinery displays, concert halls, foreign pavilions, numerous restaurants and cafes, as well as many minor buildings covering subjects such as agriculture and heating and lighting. Some idea of the sheer scale and grandeur of the enterprise can be realised in examining the exhibition plan in the first picture.

It’ hard to imagine the planning that went into this and the scale of the whole thing, for example, a whole Russian village of 7 buildings, there was a model farm complete with working dairy, windmill and grieve’s house, a Grand concert hall with seating for more than 3,000, and a new sports ground at Gilmorehill with a four-lap cement cycle track, cinder pedestrian course, football pitch and stand accommodation for 25,000 spectators. The suggestion of limitless resources was enhanced by the breathtaking electrical illuminations which lit up many of the attractions by night.

Although it lacked the novelty of 1888, Glasgow’s second major exhibition was still enormously popular, resulting in attendance figures of over a staggering 11,000,000.

Thanks to the railways, journeys were now relatively easy and inexpensive, and tourism was growing. Visitors from afar were encouraged to explore further, and the beauty of the surrounding countryside was heavily promoted in the publicity literature.

The Palace of Fine Arts at the exhibition remained as a permanent legacy, now known as Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum

#scotland #scottish #history #Glasgow #Kelvingrove

[kittycutiehaha]

Welcome to my blog!♡ All photos here are made and edited by myself.

I also have the art blog (only +18) @kittycutiebutforadultsonly

And the blog with girly reblogs @kittycutiestuff

༻ ♡ ༺

Here some info about me:

♡ I speak Russian/English/German (learning Norwegian ahhaha)

♡ INTJ-A

♡ Big pagan black metal fan

♡ LOOOVE girly fashions (menhera, dark girly, ryousangata, coquette-lana del slay-my year of rest and relaxation-black swan fashion XD, hime gyaru and more!)

♡ LOOOVE luxury cosmetics, perfume & silver accessories; REALLY like matcha latte, mint latte and vanilla latte!^^

♡ enjoy drawing, playing guitar, reading historical books and war memoirs, playing horror visual novels, watching horror films, cooking, dancing, doing yoga and writing poetry

♡ in my depressive periods spend amount of time in bars & restaurants, have derealization attacks and faint a lot

♡ dream about becoming an adorable forest fairy and living near by a river while eating strawberries & flower nectar

༻ ♡ ༺

#jiraiblogging #landmine girl #ryousangata #jirai kei #jirai #地雷 #地雷系 #girlblog #girlblogger #girlblogging #girlblog aesthetic #this is what makes us girls #just girly things #im just a girl #dark girly #girly kei #jirai girl #just girly posts #sweet girly #girly stuff #jirai onna #jfashion #lana del rey #lana del slay #my year of rest and relaxation #black swan #coquette #hime gyaru

[sixminutestoriesblog]

ides of march

well, its tumblr's favorite holiday and who can blame us? The assassination of Julius Caesar is probably one of the only group projects that ever went down the way it was supposed to with, well, not complete group participation (there were said to be upward of 60 people involved but only 23 stab wounds - obviously someone was not carrying their weight) but at least a good effort was made at it. But lets take a moment, between our jokes about salad and Animal Crossing butterfly nets to look at what else has happened in history on the Ides of March. For instance, did you know, on March 15th:

1493 - Columbus returned to Spain after 'discovering' the new world.

1580 - Phillip II of Spain put a bounty on the head of Prince William I of Orange for 25,000 gold coins for leading the Dutch revolt against the Spanish Hamburgs

1744 - King Louis XV of France declares war on Britain

1767 - Andrew Jackson, who would go on to be the seventh president of the US, was born.

1820 - Maine became the 23rd state in the US

1864 - the Red River Campaign, called 'One damn blunder from beginning to end' started for the Union Forces in the American Civil War

1889 - a typhoon in Apia Harbor, Samoa sinks 6 US and German warships, killing 200

1917 - Czar Nicholas II abdicated the Russian throne, bringing an end to the Romanov dynasty

1955 - the first self-guided missile is introduced by the US Air Force

1965 - TGI Friday's opens its first restaurant in New York City

1991 - in LA, four police officers are brought up on charges for the beating of Rodney King

2018 - Toys R Us announces it will be closing all its stores

2019 - a terrorist attacks two mosques in Christchurch, New Zealand, killing 51, and wounding 50 others

Oof! Pretty bleak, isn't it? It would almost make you think that the day is just bad luck, start to finish and its probably just as well, we're all focusing on assassination instead of other horrors. But wait - its not all bad news! The Ides of March has some tricks up its sleeve yet (joke intended). I'd be telling you only half the story if I didn't add:

1854 - Emil von Behring is born and will eventually become the first to receive the Nobel Prize in medicine for his discovery of a diphtheria antitoxin, being called 'the children's savoir' for the lives it saves

1867 - Michigan is the first state to use property tax to support a university

1868 - the Cincinnati Red Stockings have ten salaried players, making them the first professional baseball team in the US

1887 - Michigan has the first salaried fish and game warden

1892 - the first automatic ballot voting machine is unveiled in New York City

1907 - Finland gives women the right to vote, becoming the first to do so in Europe

1933 - Ruth Bader Ginsberg is born and will go on to become a US Supreme Court justice

1934 - the 5$ a day wage was introduced by Henry Ford, forcing other companies to raise their wages as well or lose their workers

1937 - the first state sponsored contraceptive clinic in the US opens in Raleigh, North Carolina

1946 - the British Prime minister recognizes India's independence

1947 - the US Navy has its first black commissioned officer, John Lee

1949 - clothes rationing ends in Britain, four years after the end of WWII

1960 - ten nations meet in Geneva for disarmament talks

1968 - the Dioceses of Rome says it will not ban 'rock and roll' from being played during mass but that it deplores the practice - also in 1968, LIFE magazine titles Jimi Hendrix 'the most spectacular guitarist in the world'

1971 - ARPANET, the precursor of the modern day internet, sees its first forum

1984 - Tanzanian adopts a constitution

1985 - symbolics.com, the first internet domain name, is registered

The Ides of March turns out to just be a day, like any other day in history.

Unless you're us. In which case -

#ides of march #happy ides of march #julius caesar #today in history #please take some of my 'bad' dates as tongue in cheek #we love you maine #and a few of my dates fit both the good and bad side of the things so I just went with whichever I was on at the time #feel free to wiggle them around to a more appropriate column

[mr-m-murdock]

Hiii so am the anon who asked about opf. So firstly am greek and I absolutely adore you for putting Greece in this masterpiece of yours. I was wondering if you could do more of their time in Greece like doing simple things like going to a park and Natasha teaching r how to live cause I adore some cold hearted widows being soft for each other

those hands pulled me from the earth

| natasha x reader | only pretty faces

warnings: none

a/n: Γεια σας, anon! I have never been to Greece (never left my country lol) but I will do my best! I've heard that it's beautiful, so it's the perfect place for r to find her soul again <3 (again, Duolingo level Greek, please forgive haha)

"I love you," Natalia says into your hair. Then again, in Russian. The breeze moves the rushes of the date palms like dancer's fingers against the sky. Her arm, where it is slung around your shoulder, hasn't shifted since you pulled it around you.

 Σ’ αγαπώ. You mouth it at the slow wind, let the breath leave your lips and tumble off in the river of the world around you. Your eyes track a woman walking the path with her baby slung to her chest. She is singing, only quietly, but you can hear her. You can hear everything.

The thud of Natalia's heart in her carotid artery is the loudest. Slow, unreasonably steady, just like yours. You'd be able to find it from the end of the world. You already have - it mirrors yours. Imitates you. Your hand goes to your shoulder where her hand hangs free, and you trace the lines of her fingers. You imagine you can see the bones, where each knuckle is bound and wrapped with muscle and cartilage. Gun callus on the inside of her thumb.

Each touch you keep as light as air.

Eventually she pulls away - only to tug you to your feet - and insists you walk.

"This is what people do at parks," she says, hands in both of yours, that infuriatingly familiar teasing light in her eyes. The sun catches her face, throwing her attention from you.

"I'm not an idiot," you grunt, and you loop her arm around your shoulder once more. "I know what parks are for." You glance at her. "I've studied urban form," you add, for good measure. Her slight smile fades somewhat.

"Sure," she says. "Haven't we all."

"You should. It will allow you to recognise the-"

"I know what parks are for, too, you know."

You raise your eyebrows. "Ambulation, exercise and socialisation?"

The odd look she throws you is practically amusement. "You're messing with me."

"You started it," you say.

"Oh, good. We've reverted to our twelve-year old selves."

"I'll snap your neck if you snap mine." It's almost in poor taste, so it surprises you when she laughs, mouth-open-head-back kind of laugh. The hair she's pushed behind her ear falls forward over her face and you have a sudden, incomprehensible and almost irresistible urge to take it in your fingers. You already know how soft it is.

Disappointingly, she tucks it away.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

"We're going to dinner," she says. You pause with a piece of honey-dripping toast halfway to your mouth. You place the toast down.

"What if I say no?"

Natalia blinks once, slowly. The smallest of smiles curls at the edge of her mouth. "I'll persuade you," she says. She seats herself in the chair across from you. "It doesn't have to be a restaurant. It can be street food, souvlaki, anything." She tilts her head at you. "Pretty please? I promise it's a normal person thing to do."

"As if you would know," you say, eyes still fixed on her mouth. She touches your shin with the tip of her foot beneath the table.

"That's mean. I'm perfectly well-adjusted."

"In this room, maybe." You drag your gaze up to hers and shrug lightly. "Go on, then." You practically see her swell with delight, even though she doesn't move a muscle. You can't help but smile. "Persuade me."

Natalia slumps and sighs, exaggerated. "Devil," she says. The afternoon sun on her face gleams on the tiny little scar above her eyebrow, one that you've kissed a hundred thousand times before.

"Of the worst kind," you agree. You reach across and touch her lightly on the nose. "Okay. I give in." She laughs. Your chest clenches and you know, without a doubt, you'd commit atrocities to hear it again. Murders.

But you don't need to.

Dizzying thing, desire.

Tell her, you urge yourself. Tell her you want to make her laugh. Tell her what she means to you. You'd never be able to put it into words.

So instead, you let her take you out to dinner. She buys you a mountain of food and watches with delight as you devour it all. In an afterglow of satisfaction and evening-cooled streets, you play poker on the balcony and lose to her drastically, on purpose.

You can't help but notice that her bluff face is real. It's one you've seen through the scope of a long-range rifle, or across the green expanse of a casino table with your heart in your throat.

It's almost easy to forget how fucked up she is, too.

"I lose," you say, and her face makes the shift. Practically imperceptible. Smallest of smiles. You spread your hands. "Come and take your prize."

Now her face splits in a grin, and she leans across the card table to kiss you. "Loser," she mumbles against your lips. "You know what happens to losers?"

You open your eyes to see her filling the whole world. Beautiful, impossibly so. "I think I'm going to find out," you say. Fuck me against the railing, you don't say.

Somewhere in the city, a dog howls, so lonely in its grief. But you don't hear it. Her hand is up beyond the hem of your dress and she is against you, all warmth and that glorious wave of red hair.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

"We're going to the library. Expanding horizons and all that."

"Are we going to learn about urban forms?"

"We're going to learn about whether or not you can keep quiet when I tell you to." Her gaze rakes you like a laser, suggestive.

You think it's a joke. It forces you to flush anyway. She laughs.

"Heart on your sleeve, huh?"

You slap at her shoulder. "You're incorrigible."

"Do you love me, though?"

It takes you by surprise. She's been doing that a lot lately, alongside all the things you anticipate.

"Yes," you say, with barely a moment's hesitation. You tip your head to the ceiling and let loose a crazed little laugh. "You dug me out, Nata. What a stupid question." I have loved you so long I don't remember not loving you.

Say it. Say it.

You fix your eyes on hers and force yourself not to move. "I have loved you," you say, everything in you trembling, "so long that I don't remember not loving you."

What a thing to say on the couch, on a Saturday morning.

"Good," Natalia says. "I-I thought so." It can't be the first time you've ever heard her stumble over a word, but it feels like it must be. You're so new. Everything is the first time. It's glorious.

requests | masterlist

taglist: @when-wolves-howl @fayhar @maggieromanov @waitingroom-pb @romanoffscottage @blackxwidowsxwife @lizlil @screechcat @maddess @natsaffection @haeva @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @vicmc624  @strangegardentaco  @phantomvael @lorsstar1st  @blckrwidow @ima-gi--na-tion @paryl @aan-myouim @smalls-words @lainjupi  @d1s0nym @meimei-a @the-v01d @kqmui @s1ut4nat @btay3115   @idkjustliving2 @lokisjuicyass @mmmmokdok  @silentwolfsstuff  @olicity-boo @iliketozoneouteout

notes: (I had Like Real People Do on in the background repeatedly as I was writing this)

#m answers #anon cuties #written fic for anon #fic! #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natfic! #fanfiction #natasha romanoff #only pretty faces #x reader #natasha romanoff x you

[empirearchives]

My favorite source notes in The Invention of the Restaurant: Paris and Modern Gastronomic Culture by Rebecca L. Spang

One recent analysis argues that Mayeux, though a “deformed dwarf,” was a “hero of the people”

It is unclear whether the murder of a lingerie merchant by her lover, a Russian servant, happened in a cabinet or in the restaurant’s main salon

Carême, by far the most famous chef and cookbook author of the first half of the nineteenth century, prefaced his books with calls for martyrdom; no sacrifice was too great for the chef’s art

The invasions of 1814-1815 had been “disastrous from the perspective of glory” but nonetheless very profitable

The utopian socialist Charles Fourier had offered a “scientific” perspective on this ideal, arguing that when humanity progressed from the state of “Civilization” to that of “Harmony,” the polar icecaps would melt and fill the oceans with lemonade.

The police also kept Napoleon up to date on conditions in the fan industry

Another of the Almanach’s rare ventures in recipe publishing concluded: “one would eat one’s own father if he were prepared with this sauce,”

The little old lady who followed the First Consul everywhere in the hope of inviting him to dinner

Even a recent, generally friendly, biographer writes of Louis’s “huge size which, if nothing else, was to make him such a remarkable king”

Although the first anniversary of Bonaparte’s coup had not been declared a state holiday, it had nonetheless been spontaneously celebrated by “the fatherland’s real friends”

The numerous turn-of-the-century singing societies have yet to find their historian

The seesaw was a staple of post-revolutionary French political imagery. It was especially common in depictions of the physically slight Napoleon and the bulky Louis XVIII

Physicians claimed that unqualified persons, in reading about diseases, would start to see all the symptoms in themselves. The Gazette de santé decried inexpensive medical dictionaries as “just so many swords in the hands of fools” and reported a case of “cholera induced by reading popular medical books,”

The Swedish monarch was often praised for his sagacity in outlawing copper cookware.

De Jaucourt, author of this article, cites Homeric heroes as dietary role models

An article in the Encyclopédie also made it clear that semen had to be directly replaced with nourishment

He explains, “They are for a financier who is going to do his rounds through the provinces. Can a man of his importance put up with the horrible soups they serve in inns?”

Fights might erupt over other tastes as well; for one over salad dressing

The Marquis de Brunoy famously squandered his inheritance on tinting a river black and dressing his gardeners, cooks, and other servants in lavish, gold-braid-festooned costumes, while he himself dressed in rags

#The Invention of the Restaurant: Paris and Modern Gastronomic Culture #Rebecca L. Spang #Spang #The Invention of the Restaurant #restaurants #napoleonic era #napoleonic #history #Paris #France #french history #napoleon #napoleon bonaparte #first french empire #french empire #19th century #bibliography #notes #citations #gastronomy #culinary #food #restaurant #1800s #culinary history

[pureanonofficial]

LES MIS LETTERS IN ADAPTATION - At Bombarda's, LM 1.3.5 (Les Miserables 1934)

The Russian mountains having been exhausted, they began to think about dinner; and the radiant party of eight, somewhat weary at last, became stranded in Bombarda’s public house, a branch establishment which had been set up in the Champs-Élysées by that famous restaurant-keeper, Bombarda, whose sign could then be seen in the Rue de Rivoli, near Delorme Alley.

A large but ugly room, with an alcove and a bed at the end (they had been obliged to put up with this accommodation in view of the Sunday crowd); two windows whence they could survey beyond the elms, the quay and the river; a magnificent August sunlight lightly touching the panes; two tables; upon one of them a triumphant mountain of bouquets, mingled with the hats of men and women; at the other the four couples seated round a merry confusion of platters, dishes, glasses, and bottles; jugs of beer mingled with flasks of wine; very little order on the table, some disorder beneath it;

#Les Mis #Les Miserables #Les Mis Letters #Les Mis Letters in Adaptation #Les Mis 1934 #Les Miserables 1934 #LM 1.3.5 #lesmisedit #lesmiserablesedit #filmedit #lesmiserables1934edit #pureanonedits

[hauntedhookah]

travel notes

Athens: Athens was not incredibly memorable. I thought of it as a city to live in. 

Naxos: in naxos my hair was curly again, i wore a 2 piece los angeles apparel set and walked around an infuencer's backdrop for 5-10 minutes at a time. i met mormon and canadian assorted girls on the beach, i followed one of them to the top of the hill at the windiest sunset since Albany Bulb winters. in another part of naxos i visited a bustling beachside bar alone one night after a martini at a neighboring beachside restaurant. the bartender was curious about how alone i was, he liked me. i, drunk, was likeable in my giant skirt and silk blouse. i left silently

Santorini: Santorini was an existential crisis. The room I stayed in during the last two days was Peace embodied. Not much else mattered, and the window view of the caldera from the mezannine cannot be captured in any photograph

Crete: in crete i waded through the thigh-deep water, my silver canon tied firmly around my wrist. i marveled at the quite silence of the hotel, at night i went out to sit in the sand. i swam in crete, i sat and read deborah adele's book in crete. i felt lonely and utterly bored in crete. i loved that everyone was allowed to look the way they wanted as they walked aimlessly from one end of the beach to the other-- no one was hiding anything from sight. no body was unwelcome, all bodies were represented. most were burned, even mine got close. in crete we remembered my grandfather and dreamed up the paths he took through the island. in crete we traveled to the pink sand beach, where i hope to have learned a valuable lesson about Wanting What You Don't Have, and Replacing A Feeling of Lack with An Object.

Austria: in Austria we stayed at a hotel with a winding staircase and ate a continental breakfast in that odd room, hushed voices and european stares. Though I care not for the history, for the first time since the start of the trip, I felt good. I felt open to new experience and full of wonder. i kept repeating to myself over the smallest novelties, "fascinating", and stepped out of the smoke-filled echo chamber of the hotel alleyway every day with a sense of calm preparedness. We walked to a big gothic church and that was beautiful, I'll admit. The gargoyles looked friendly against blue sky and in sunlight. 

Armenia: in armenia one of the first nights i spoke to a million people at the new trendy russian bar, of course after harassing the russian bartenders for not speaking armenian. first dea and aleen, then kristik's group of russian repats, then the diaspora mix at the round table and later still walking towards polygraph with Mushegh and his talkative friend who's name i forgot.  it was a marvelous night of speaking in all languages, i enjoyed it very much after weeks of no social interaction. another one of those nights we visited an exhibit in an underground stone cave, spoke to a kind man nextdoor about the power of diaspora contribution to armenia and he gifted us handmade soap. we met kristik's friends on Cascade around midnight and i learned so many different armenian folk dances. we danced around the fountain until we were sweating and tired at 3am, it was marvelous. many full, endless nights full of conversation. so much more social than anything in the US

Georgia: in georgia i disliked the folks. on the second day I walked up the hill, stopping for 2 individual khinkali, and heading up through the forest to the waterfall. I climbed down again, now through sulfur smelling rivers to the baths. I decided to head home as my phone died and stopped by the first place i see to charge it in order to get home-- a little wine bar. I end up staying there from 8pm-3am with ilia, one of the bar's founders. we talked about everything, he had armenian words and when i tried to pronounce georgian ones he was impressed. i haven't had that much wine possibly ever. what a lovely way to get drunk. and what a lovely way to realize after days of lonliness that connection is always out there, especially when you seek it the least. 

[coffee-in-europe]

january: black-and-white films, old records, red lipstick, classical music, gold earrings, city lights, garnet clothing, champagne, glitter, russian literature, snowstorms, art galleries, dimly lit restaurants, high-heels, chickadees, frosted windowpanes, silk shirts, espresso, pomegranates, snowy owls

february: candy hearts, roses, grapefruit, trench coats, mittens, dark chocolate, calligraphy, sealed envelopes, vanilla cake, ballet, romance films, chandeliers, late-night phone calls, musicals, aurora borealis, marshmallows, pink lipgloss, poetry, freesia, movie theatres, ballads, pressed flowers, stained glass, teacups

march: dark comedies, photo albums, lemons, cold rivers, baking, tidying, colouring, movie marathons, nonfiction books, newspapers, clovers, train rides, fashion magazines, pasta, orchids, podcasts, houseplants, sketchpads, yogurt, celestial art, bubble baths, charcuterie boards, moonlight, ice floes, crystal glasses, coffee dates

april: disney cartoons, rubber boots, tulips, mauve nailpolish, fresh vegetables, cold rain, journals, lavender, fresh eggs, pink blush, birdsong, morning frost, rosemary, tulips, foggy mornings, aloe vera, ponds, herbal tea, puddles, lilies, bunnies, floral sheets, marmalade, pastoral novels, frogs, english custard, lily pads

may: picture books, daisies, farms, warm breezes, cherry blossoms, early mornings, fresh-baked bread, gardening, childhood reminiscing, dandelions, honey, meadows, hummingbirds, butterflies, rainbows, sugar cookies, polaroid cameras, wild mushrooms, carnations, frescoes, silver lockets, brown bears, pancakes, rivers, greenhouses, white sheets

june: jean shorts, pop music, white wine, beach days, yoga, sunday brunch, ice cream, concerts, wildflowers, fluffy clouds, morning dew, cotton candy, turtles, popsicles, kayaks, watermelon, pineapples, vineyards, sparklers, bicycles, denim jackets, swans, asphodels, cocktail parties, gooseberries, lilacs, hollyhocks

july: adventure stories, oranges, lakehouses, campfires, festivals, disco nights, strawberries, figs, starry skies, iced coffee, fireworks, street markets, bumblebees, trumpet vines, strappy sandals, sunglasses, patio lights, linen, denim skirts, pizza, fruit smoothies, pizza, rainstorms, peaches, lagoons, white dresses, astronomy

august: golden sunlight, nostalgia, willow trees, nature poetry, sunrises and sunsets, picnic baskets, sunflowers, crickets, cicadas, colourful quilts, cherries, rolling hills, maxi-dresses, tall grass, dragonflies, crochet, renaissance art, vine tomatoes, overalls, roadtrips, hammocks, sunhats, waterfalls, tabby cats

september: coffee, book piles, croissants, long walks, classic novels, braided hair, notebooks, film festivals, apples, pears, farmers markets, forests, jigsaw puzzles, owls, tortoiseshell glasses, orchards, library cards, foxes, tweed blazers, climbing ivy, tea kettles, maple syrup, goldenrod, lanterns, waffles, boardgames

october: pumpkin patches, black turtlenecks, ginger pastries, fireplaces, wet leaves, ankle boots, corduroy, birch trees, cafés, bookshops, castles, caramel, rainy mornings, blustery nights, town fairs, countryside walks, cinnamon, nutmeg, old houses, black cats, bakeries, creeks, thick blankets, city blocks, white chapels

november: candles, red wine, ancient ruins, greek mythology, second-hand books, plaid blankets, mahogany nailpolish, mystery novels, museums, burgundy sweaters, dinner parties, gemstone rings, icy breath, black coffee, language studies, antique shops, white roses, cobblestones, lace, cathedrals, firewood, audiobooks, crescent moons

december: soft snowfall, christmas carols, pine scent, wool socks, irish stew, fairy lights, thick books, fantasy stories, throw pillows, shortbread, comfort films, window shopping, scarves, icicles, peppermint, carrot noses, angels, hot chocolate, skates, pinecones, caribou, gingerbread, crackling fires, hot toddies, cashmere

#something to look forward to in every month #mine #text #personal #vibes #note to self #Aesthetic

[rvps2001]

Russia-Ukraine Daily Briefing

🇷🇺 🇺🇦 Thursday Briefing:

- Putin could face new war crime case as evidence suggests starvation of Ukraine was pre-planned - Czech Republic to freeze all Russia’s real estate assets - Ukrainians in occupied territories forced to take Russian passports -------------------------------------------------- - Ukrainian troops operate in occupied Kherson region after crossing river - EU takes aim at more Central Asian firms for aiding Russia’s war - Russia's Sandworm linked to unprecedented Danish energy hack - Independent survey finds record number of Russians want peace talks - Police raid Voronezh restaurant, hand out 50 mil summonses to immigrants from Azerbaijan - EU proposes Russian diamond ban, tightening of oil price cap - Hungary's call for review of EU policy on Ukraine sets stage for weeks of wrangling - German publisher to stop selling Putin books - Moscow university buys Canadian drone detection system, likely circumventing sanctions - EU proposes banning export of machine tools and machinery parts to Russia

--------------------------------- 📨 More in a daily newsletter: https://russia-ukraine-newsletter.beehiiv.com/subscribe

💬 My socials: https://linktr.ee/rvps2001

#russia ukraine war #ukraine russia war #ukraine war #russian army #russian war crimes #news #newsletter #russia #ukraine

[scotianostra]

On May 2nd May 1901 Glasgow International Exhibition in Kelvingrove opened.

The second of 4 international exhibitions held in Glasgow was opened on 2 May and ran until 9 November, covering roughly 73 acres of ground in Kelvingrove Park. Among the multitude of temporary buildings was this concert hall on the banks of the River Kelvin, with seating for 3,000 people. A full programme of concerts was organised for the duration of the exhibition, featuring performers from all over Europe.

Its centrepiece was the new Art Galley and Museum which appropriately housed the Fine Art section, including work by the “Glasgow boys” who were by now acknowledged as internationally important artists. But the exhibition’s main building was the temporary Eastern Palace; its architect was James Millar who won an open competition with his design which satisfied the extravagance demanded by the public. This Oriental fantasy, with its strong suggestions of 16th century Spanish Renaissance architecture, was topped by a grand dome adorned by an electric-torch wielding golden angel of light. There were also separate buildings for industrial and machinery displays, concert halls, foreign pavilions, numerous restaurants and cafes, as well as many minor buildings covering subjects such as agriculture and heating and lighting. Some idea of the sheer scale and grandeur of the enterprise can be realised in examining the exhibition plan in the first picture.

It’ hard to imagine the planning that went into this and the scale of the whole thing, for example, a whole Russian village of 7 buildings, there was a model farm complete with working dairy, windmill and grieve’s house, a Grand concert hall with seating for more than 3,000, and a new sports ground at Gilmorehill with a four-lap cement cycle track, cinder pedestrian course, football pitch and stand accommodation for 25,000 spectators. The suggestion of limitless resources was enhanced by the breathtaking electrical illuminations which lit up many of the attractions by night.

Although it lacked the novelty of 1888, Glasgow’s second major exhibition was still enormously popular, resulting in attendance figures of over a staggering 11,000,000.

Thanks to the railways, journeys were now relatively easy and inexpensive, and tourism was growing. Visitors from afar were encouraged to explore further, and the beauty of the surrounding countryside was heavily promoted in the publicity literature.

The Palace of Fine Arts at the exhibition remained as a permanent legacy, now known as Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum.

There are videos on Youtube about the exhibition that are worth a look.

#glasgow #scotland #scottish #exhibition #show piece #history

[charlesandmartine]

Tuesday 20th June 2023

Today we sight land at Sitka, Alaska and our first Bear.

We are sitting in a restaurant alongside Brilliance of the Seas enjoying the warm 17degrees, sunshine, the beautiful scenery and the free WiFi. We are waiting for our tour guide to collect us to 'Discover the Fortress of the Bear'. We just might see a real bear perhaps?

Brilliance of the Seas sailed serenely into the Gulf of Alaska to the Alaskan Island of Sitka mooring alongside its sister ship, Radiance of the Seas. So after a day at sea, for the first time we had boots on the ground in Alaska. We were told that for 70% of the year the island is engulfed in cloud mist or fog with or without rain. So it was with some relief that on disembarking the sun broke through the mist and temperatures rose. This is no small island being about 100 miles in length and 31 miles at its widest point. Main industry is fishing but has huge spruce forests. Alaska became American territory in 1867 when Russia sold it to the USA for 7.2m US dollars due to financial problems at home. It's the First Nation people's we should feel sorry for; firstly Captain Cook arrives in 1778 and renamed their favourite volcano, then the place gets taken over by the Russians. Just when they'd learnt to speak Russian, the place is sold to America! Today there's still a Russian community as well as First Nation and American. They did have a McDonald's but it closed. They do have one roundabout now on the island though. When it was first built they organised training for all drivers how to use it. The The tour we went on was to the Fortress of the Bear; a disused timber mill now converted to a bear sanctuary where rescue bears are looked after. They had the only three black bears on the island and they were here, the others were the bigger brown bears who facially appeared to resemble Paddington more closely. They all seemed happy and contented which is probably just as well because due to the centre not having a licence to release them back into the wild, that is where they are destined to remain. Whilst we cannot feel comfortable about the bears remaining in captivity, all these bears have suffered trauma in their lives particularly in the tragic loss of a parent and the concern is that they would not survive in the wild. Apparently in the wild there would be approximately 1.2 bears per square mile. Fascinatingly, alongside these bears coexisted a large number of huge bald eagles, wingspan 8ft, who are by no means controlled by the centre or in captivity but happen to find the centre an easy source of food. As soon as the salmon return to the island rivers to spawn, the eagles will leave to seek a change in diet. Our tour driver was a bit of a wag. She told us the names of the 5 salmon types. One was Chum, which is used in the making of dog food and apparently popular on cruise ships.

[lesmislettersdaily]

At Bombarda's

Volume 1: Fantine; Book 3: In The Year 1817; Chapter 5: At Bombarda's

The Russian mountains having been exhausted, they began to think about dinner; and the radiant party of eight, somewhat weary at last, became stranded in Bombarda’s public house, a branch establishment which had been set up in the Champs-Élysées by that famous restaurant-keeper, Bombarda, whose sign could then be seen in the Rue de Rivoli, near Delorme Alley.

A large but ugly room, with an alcove and a bed at the end (they had been obliged to put up with this accommodation in view of the Sunday crowd); two windows whence they could survey beyond the elms, the quay and the river; a magnificent August sunlight lightly touching the panes; two tables; upon one of them a triumphant mountain of bouquets, mingled with the hats of men and women; at the other the four couples seated round a merry confusion of platters, dishes, glasses, and bottles; jugs of beer mingled with flasks of wine; very little order on the table, some disorder beneath it;

“They made beneath the table

A noise, a clatter of the feet that was abominable,”

says Molière.

This was the state which the shepherd idyl, begun at five o’clock in the morning, had reached at half-past four in the afternoon. The sun was setting; their appetites were satisfied.

The Champs-Élysées, filled with sunshine and with people, were nothing but light and dust, the two things of which glory is composed. The horses of Marly, those neighing marbles, were prancing in a cloud of gold. Carriages were going and coming. A squadron of magnificent body-guards, with their clarions at their head, were descending the Avenue de Neuilly; the white flag, showing faintly rosy in the setting sun, floated over the dome of the Tuileries. The Place de la Concorde, which had become the Place Louis XV. once more, was choked with happy promenaders. Many wore the silver fleur-de-lys suspended from the white-watered ribbon, which had not yet wholly disappeared from button-holes in the year 1817. Here and there choruses of little girls threw to the winds, amid the passers-by, who formed into circles and applauded, the then celebrated Bourbon air, which was destined to strike the Hundred Days with lightning, and which had for its refrain:—

“Rendez-nous notre père de Gand,

Rendez-nous notre père.”

“Give us back our father from Ghent,

Give us back our father.”

Groups of dwellers in the suburbs, in Sunday array, sometimes even decorated with the fleur-de-lys, like the bourgeois, scattered over the large square and the Marigny square, were playing at rings and revolving on the wooden horses; others were engaged in drinking; some journeyman printers had on paper caps; their laughter was audible. Everything was radiant. It was a time of undisputed peace and profound royalist security; it was the epoch when a special and private report of Chief of Police Anglès to the King, on the subject of the suburbs of Paris, terminated with these lines:—

“Taking all things into consideration, Sire, there is nothing to be feared from these people. They are as heedless and as indolent as cats. The populace is restless in the provinces; it is not in Paris. These are very pretty men, Sire. It would take all of two of them to make one of your grenadiers. There is nothing to be feared on the part of the populace of Paris the capital. It is remarkable that the stature of this population should have diminished in the last fifty years; and the populace of the suburbs is still more puny than at the time of the Revolution. It is not dangerous. In short, it is an amiable rabble.

Prefects of the police do not deem it possible that a cat can transform itself into a lion; that does happen, however, and in that lies the miracle wrought by the populace of Paris. Moreover, the cat so despised by Count Anglès possessed the esteem of the republics of old. In their eyes it was liberty incarnate; and as though to serve as pendant to the Minerva Aptera of the Piræus, there stood on the public square in Corinth the colossal bronze figure of a cat. The ingenuous police of the Restoration beheld the populace of Paris in too “rose-colored” a light; it is not so much of “an amiable rabble” as it is thought. The Parisian is to the Frenchman what the Athenian was to the Greek: no one sleeps more soundly than he, no one is more frankly frivolous and lazy than he, no one can better assume the air of forgetfulness; let him not be trusted nevertheless; he is ready for any sort of cool deed; but when there is glory at the end of it, he is worthy of admiration in every sort of fury. Give him a pike, he will produce the 10th of August; give him a gun, you will have Austerlitz. He is Napoleon’s stay and Danton’s resource. Is it a question of country, he enlists; is it a question of liberty, he tears up the pavements. Beware! his hair filled with wrath, is epic; his blouse drapes itself like the folds of a chlamys. Take care! he will make of the first Rue Grenétat which comes to hand Caudine Forks. When the hour strikes, this man of the faubourgs will grow in stature; this little man will arise, and his gaze will be terrible, and his breath will become a tempest, and there will issue forth from that slender chest enough wind to disarrange the folds of the Alps. It is, thanks to the suburban man of Paris, that the Revolution, mixed with arms, conquers Europe. He sings; it is his delight. Proportion his song to his nature, and you will see! As long as he has for refrain nothing but la Carmagnole, he only overthrows Louis XVI.; make him sing the Marseillaise, and he will free the world.

This note jotted down on the margin of Anglès’ report, we will return to our four couples. The dinner, as we have said, was drawing to its close.

#les mis #les mis letters #volume 1: fantine #book 3: in the year 1817 #chapter 5 #sorry this ones late i thought id already posted it here lol

[mariacallous]

POSAD-POKROVSKE, Ukraine—At the height of its destruction, hundreds of rockets rained down on Posad-Pokrovske every day. Things have gotten quiet since Russian troops left the outskirts, and the city of Kherson was liberated this month. Most of the noise now comes from the stray dogs roaming the bomb-cratered streets and the few returnees determined to fix up their battered homes.

Around 80 percent of the houses in this village were destroyed. Shells and shrapnel litter the area. Gas pipes are broken and electricity lines cut. The school was bombed, as was the gas station. Even the trees are burned. But Posad-Pokrovske, in its immolation, helped save Mykolaiv, and in turn, Kherson itself. Americans in Vietnam “destroyed villages to save them.” In Ukraine, they burn from incoming fire. But the bonfire in Posad-Pokrovske in part made the salvation of Kherson possible, the one regional capital taken by the Russians and recently liberated by Ukrainian troops, many of whom were previously in Posad-Pokrovske.

Straddling the highway almost midway between the cities of Mykolaiv and Kherson, Posad-Pokrovske turned into an important strategic front. Soldiers of the 28th and 59th Ukrainian brigades were stationed in and around the village after residents fled or were evacuated by armed forces on March 16. In a mobile front, this town was an island.

“[The Russians] didn’t get through [the village],” said Andre, a press officer of the 59th Motorized Brigade, who asked Foreign Policy to withhold his full name. He explained that while the front moved in other areas of the country, including around the village, it never did so in Posad-Pokrovske itself. “That’s why this was a key strategic village,” Andre explained.

With Russians right on the outskirts, Ukrainian forces fought a fierce battle here to keep the invaders from moving farther along the highway toward Mykolaiv, just a 30-minute drive away. In return, the Russians shelled and bombed the village ceaselessly until Ukraine’s army made a move to liberate parts of the Kherson Oblast this month, with Russian forces eventually retreating to the eastern bank of the Dnipro River.

From a distance, you could “hear the village getting pounded,” Andre said, referring to the months ahead of the liberation. He’s American, from Detroit, and now a Ukrainian army contract soldier. “You’d hear cluster bombs going off. We even drove over where some of the submunitions exploded.”

There were trenches on the outskirts of the village. Now, they are deserted. The troops went over the top.

“The brigade in the village was crucial to help push the Russians past the Dnipro River. It was the first line of defense from where Kherson was liberated,” said Maj. Serhiy Tsehotsky of the 59th Motorized Brigade.

Aleksander Hinkul, a 62-year-old resident, lost his newly opened pizza and sushi joint in Posad-Pokrovske to Russian shelling.

“Columns of Russians were trying to move north towards Mykolaiv with their tanks. I saw it with my own eyes. Their artillery fired in our direction,” he said. He too believes that Mykolaiv could’ve been taken much easier had it not been for his village. He’s proud, but his personal loss isn’t easy to stomach.

“The restaurant was a big investment. Ten million hryvnia [around $272,000],” he said, distraught. He holds a framed photo of his destroyed restaurant in his hands—a memory and a haunting. “I’ll need a few more million [hryvnia] to fix it,” he added, admitting that he’s not sure how to get his hands on the cash.

Hinkul is one of a handful of residents who returned as soon as the Russians fled their positions outside Posad-Pokrovske. He’s out of cash but wants to temporarily fix up his restaurant before the weather turns cold and rainy. A few of his neighbors are helping him seal the roof and windows with wooden planks. Everyone is offering a helping hand as the few villagers who have returned are racing against time to winter-proof their homes.

Larissa Malickovich, 51, also returned to Posad-Pokrovske days after the Russian withdrawal and liberation of Kherson. She believes most residents won’t return permanently as many of the houses are beyond repair. Hers is damaged, but she believes she’ll be able to fix it with the help of her neighbors. Part of her roof is collapsed, the windows are shattered, and the walls are cracked. The rooms smell damp; whatever havoc the rockets didn’t cause, the rain did.

“I haven’t yet asked the government to help us repair our homes. For now, we’re fixing them ourselves,” she explained. She doesn’t have the money for large-scale repair projects anyway. Malickovich was evacuated from Posad-Pokrovske on March 16 with her terminally ill husband who has since died. They had previously spent three weeks sheltering in their basement, unable to count the barrages of rockets fired in their direction.

“I still wanted to come back. Even if I don’t have water, gas, or electricity, I’m going to stay. This is home.”

She stands outside with sister-in-law Tatjana Malickovich, 33, who also lives in Posad-Pokrovske. “This village saved Mykolaiv,” Tatjana said. She pulled out her phone and scrolled to a photo of her husband. “He’s still fighting in Kherson,” she said. “We lost a lot, and it’s not yet over, but we will win this war.”

[bu1410]

Good afternoon TUMBLR - April 23th - 2024

''Mr. Plant has owed me a shoe since July 5, 1971."

Atyrau Kazakhstan – Dec 2004 – Oct 2010 - Kashagan Development Project

Part 2

RESIDENT PERMIT Two months had passed since my first entry into the country, and the day came for me and other Italian colleagues to undergo the procedures for obtaining residency and work permit in Kazakhstan. In this regard, we were summoned to a local analysis laboratory for blood sampling - a necessary condition to ascertain our health and therefore eligibility for the residence permit.

The place had the typical Soviet appearance: two-storey building, large windows, gardens of poor dying plants, peeling walls and the inevitable Eternit roof. So I, Franco Pennacchia, Carmelo Longo, Salvatore Sampirisi, Gallo Santino were present and it was Talgat who led us to the place. NUrse began to call and Franco was the first to go - than myself, Longo, then the nurse pronounced out loud:  GIORGIO BORCHIA! ………and to our utmost disbelief we saw Talgat - the driver! - go into the room to get blood sampled!! We looked at each other in amazement and after 3 seconds we all burst out laughing, giving each other a high five, while Talgat returned to sit next to us, with the sleeve of his shirt rolled up, and his hand pressing the cotton on his arm at the sampling point. I hate to think what would have happened if the result of Talgat's blood test had tested positive for some serious disease…….

VENEZIA HOTEL & RESTAURANT

Time passes, we work hard at the site, we have to watch out for the AGIP Client, the PETROFAC Supervision and the ruthless competition from the local Contractors (politically supported more than us) and from foreign ones like our competitor Bonatti. Every Saturday evening, with our colleagues, we used to have dinner at Venezia Hotel & Restaurant. The owner - Mr. Franco Mancinelli - is was the prototype of the Italian pictured in many Italian movies - a guy who had arrived in Atyrau years earlier as a air conditioning technician and then, having met a local woman, married her and settled in Atyrau (which for the record, until 1991 was known as Guriev, a name treacherously given to the city by the Russians). Mancinelli's wife, like many other Kazakh women had great initiative, invents a small bed and breakfast with an adjoining restaurant, and obviously they call it Marco Polo, given that the Atyrau was one of the city on the routes between China and Italy traveled by the great Venetian. It must be said that Kazakhstan, still a macho nation today, would fail in a short time if there weren't so many activities carried out by women. Who, until a few years ago, were employed in jobs that Western women would not even think to undertake. Such as industrial painter/industrial insulatior - or heavy duty equipment operator. In 2005, sensing the business wind brought by the numerous foreigners arriving in Atyrau, Mancinelli built a new hotel-restaurant near the Ural River. And it is there, in an Italian atmosphere and with that touch of ''Neapolitanism'' that never hurts (the pizza oven was hand decorated by a Russian artist could have been missing with the traditional view of the Gulf of Naples) that we used to spend Saturday evenings: ''acceptable'' Italian cuisine, Caspian sturgeons, occasionally excellent caviar. And then, once some bottles of wine been emptied, life anecdotes, choruses and songs from the most reviled repertoire of Italian restaurant music (with obvious excursions into the military-partisan past) Mancinelli used always to joins us, because in this way he easily manages to circumvent the control over his ''alcoholic'' side exercised by his wife.

NEW BRIDGE Atyrau is a city cut in two by the Ural River, which rises 2,000 km further North, in Russian territory, and then flows into the Caspian Sea, about 40 kilometers from the city. The Ural River also marks the ideal border between Europe and Asia. When we arrived in 2004, only two bridges connected the European and Asian sides of the city. With the progressive increase of city traffic, due to the increase in population following the start of the Kashagan project, the need arose to build a new bridge. It was decided to built it further North than the existing one, in order to reduce chaotic traffic in the city center. During a visit by representatives of the Kazakh central government, the allocation of a significant sum for the construction of the new bridge was established. Months passed, but there was no trace of the new bridge (or at least of the site for its construction). Then one day the news that the local government would never have expected: the President himself, in 4 months, would visit Atyrau, and on that occasion, among other things, he expected to inaugurate the new bridge !!! General panic among local administrators! A few days after the ''feral news'', preparations for the construction of the new bridge began on the two banks of the river - which in the point chosen for the new bridge measured approximately 60 meters wide. At the same time as the construction activities of the bridge began (which were naturally scheduled 24/7) the rumors of a mission to seek funds from the companies present in the municipal territory of Atirau became increasingly insistent. The day came when a delegation from the local administration visited our offices. Four individuals were part of it. The conversation started very distantly - people were trying to get the interlocutor out of tiredness, talking for hours about everything except the crux of the matter. Generally they start by asking about the family, how's Italy, so beautiful and so good at football. (Btw: Italy will win the 2006 World Cup). Then they inevitably move on to the Italian music and singers who are most loved in the former Soviet territories (and who we Italians hate most or who have almost all forgotten in Italy) such as Ricchi e Poveri, Pupo, Cristina D'Avena, Toto Cotugno. And then to give a sign of modernity, the brightest star: Eros Ramazzotti. In the end, when the topics are running out, and the eyelids become heavy (because naturally during the visit numbers of vodka glasses are to be drunk), the real topic of the visit is finally addressed:

The ''spontaneous financing of the construction of the bridge by your company! And here the scene becomes epic and comical at the same time: fearful of any hidden microphones that could record their voices (years of Russian domination do not pass in vain…) the negotiation is done in silence, with the help of a calculator . The other party writes the requested amount on the calculator and throws it across the table to the Director - who must appear shocked by the amount he reads, shake his head noticeably and then write on the calculator a figure at least 1/3 of the one requested. And then of course throw the calculator back across the table, so that the officials can horrify, smile, fill the room with NIET NIET NIEEEEEET…. - The pantomime continues for a quite a lot of time, with throws and relaunches of the calculator then at a certain point, when the parties find a meeting point, everyone gets up, takes glasses, a last round of vodka and big pats on the back sanction the agreement. The bridge was built in record time, and for the (tragic) record it cost the lives of 12 workers engaged in the work: the haste and the lack of safety measures led to the collapse of a span under construction, during a night shift. The rhetoric inherited from the Soviet Union did the rest, with the re-enactment of the day of the inauguration ''of our heroes who lost their lives to give the city its new bridge''.

PRESIDENT'S SITE VISIT

Two years after the start of work on the Kashagan project, the first visit of the President of Kazahstan, Nursultan Nazarbayev to the site was announced. At the time of the Soviet Union, Nazarbayev was considered Gorbachev's ''dolphin''. The one who, in the absence of the famous events of 25 December 1991 when Gorbachev resigned as president of the Soviet Union and declared the office abolished, and conferred all powers and the Soviet presidential archive to the President of Russia Boris Yeltsin. Finally, on December 26, 1991, the Supreme Soviet of the USSR formally dissolved the USSR. Well without these events Nazarbayev would have succeeded Gorbachev. On 16 December 1991, Kazakhstan unilaterally declare independence from the Soviet Union. We, as a mixed Kazakh-Italian JV, were tasked with preparing in a dignified manner to welcome of the Father of Kazahstan on the Karabotan construction site. After repeated meetings, it was decided to set up an area at the entrance to the plant under construction. This area will contain a Presidential stage, one for the VIPs admitted to the President's speech, a stage for the orchestra (which will perform the National anthem) a Yurt, the traditional tent of the Kazakh nomads, where the President he will sit and have a chai surrounded by a few close friends. In addition to all this, we also propose a specially created banner at the entrance to the square, with the words ''Welcome President Nazarbayev''. AGIP provides us with a local architect/artist, who will prepare the drawings of the stages and decorate them with the colors of Kazakhstan, the sky blue, the yellow of the rising sun. We got to work, and I must say that the result was beyond all expectations: the stages were beautiful, the yurt sumptuous, and then the day before the visit the banner also arrived, which we mounted on poles just before the esplanade where President Nazarbayev would arrive. On the morning of the visit we were ordered to be at the site by 6.00 am - after which, for security reasons, all the roads would be blocked by the army and police.

Only two of us were admitted to the ceremony, and therefore fully dressed (and with the new white helmet on our heads…) I and the Vice-President of the Kazakh Joint Venture Mr. Bolat headed towards the square. Unfortunately the weather was inclement, threatening rain, and a notable wind had picked up. We arrived at 9.00 and the security guard placed us in a group like soldiers, in 10 rows of 20 people each. And the long wait began….....which lasted until 11.45, when the procession of cars finally arrived. And where did the President's armored Mercedes stop? Right under the banner we had installed, which at that moment, pushed by the wind, was bobbing and flapping dangerously………. My thought at the moment: ''If the banner will detach from the poles and fall on Nazarbayev's Mercedes, I would be a dead man….'' Or at least I would disappear for a few years in one of the prisons in the Kazakh steppe. ……. Instead it held. Nonetheless, it started to rain, an insistent drizzle, and if on the one hand it got us wet, on the other it probably served to shorten the President's speech, known for being a talkative old man like almost all ex-Soviet hierarchs. After the National Anthem and speech, Nazarbayev went under the yurt, and then we ''mortal '' were given the opportunity to break ranks.

[braggkenny90]

How Does South American Mahogany Can Compare To Teak?

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[gaytravelinfo]

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