Karavansara

East of Constantinople, West of Shanghai


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Paris, when it sizzles

Cover of "Paris When It Sizzles"

Cover of Paris When It Sizzles

Paris, when it sizzles is the title of a movie featuring William Holden and Audrey Hepburn.
Weird sort of comedy, very strange development history, confused and yet fascinating.
Sort of meta-fiction way before anything even marginally meta-whatnot ever happened in movies.

Anyway, the title comes from a Cole Porter song (more details tomorrow), and it’s also the title of the pinboard I built to collect photo references, about Paris in the ’50s and ’60s, for my writing projects.

And here it is…
Some of the pictures are absolutely gorgeous.

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Languages of the Silk Road

9781741046045_p0_v1_s260x420I was trying to bring back some order to my bookshelves yesterday afternoon, and as it usually happens, I stopped working because I started browsing the books I was supposedly moving around to clear some space.

From a box of assorted langage books popped out a small wonder I thought lost forever: my own copy of the Central Asia Phrasebook, by Lonely Planet.

A small paperback, this book packs in 240 pages a wide selection of essential phrases in Uyghur, Uzbek, Kyrgyz, Kazakh, Pashto and Tajik, plus a very brief selection of Tashkorghani, Turkmen, Burushashki, Khowar, Kohistani, Mandarin, Mongolian, Russian, Shina and Wakhi.

I normally think of this sort of phrasebooks as a relic from the Victorian Age – and I do mean this as a compliment.
They speak of a more civilized age, one in which travel was a thing of the mind, and not only of the body. When you could flip out your handbook and fix a room in a hotel, give directions to your taxi driver, chat aboout the weather.

There is all that, in the Central Asia Phrasebook – general utility phrases, special boxouts with medical terms and a big selection of all-purpose phrases.
There’s also a lot of cultural observations, local customs, national festivals, assorted tips and other useful stuff.
Surprising, in such a small package.

I bought my copy back in the days when I was planning my TurinHong Kong train trip.
My project went nowhere, but this booklet is still highly useful – as a reminder of the variety of peoples and cultures along the Silk Road, as a tool when I write my stories and I want to drop some local color in the dialogue.

Finding it again – I thought it lost when I moved house – brought back memories.
Which is what old books will do for you – even phrasebooks.

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The night history (and fantasy) became solid

I’m stealing a leaf – or a post, actually – from my friend Claire’s blog, Scribblings.
A few days back she published her memories about the day history became something real for her, it became something happening around her.
Strong stuff.

We talked about it, a few nights back, and I came to the realization that for me, this sense of “My, this is history happening!” also clicked, more or less at her same age, but in quite a different circumstance.

It was on the night of the 26th of April 1986.
I was in Geneva – dreary town on a Saturday night – and it was raining.
We had spent – my school pals and myself – the day in CERN, and now most of the guys were either revelling in their hotel rooms, or having a wild night somewhere in Geneva.
I was alone, I was under the rain, and I had just learned the Chernobyl reactor had blown up that morning.
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Two Bottles of Wine and a Box of Biscuits

avventurieriLast night I did a presentation based on my first ebook, Avventurieri sul Crocevia del Mondo – an informal look at the history of the Silk Road and at the weird chaps that ran along it between the First and the Second World War.

The venue was the hall of the UniTre – the Senior Citizens University – of Incisa Scapaccino, a town roughly three kilometers from where I live.

I did a two hoours gig, the audience was well pleased and entertained and I was asked to do some more presentations on a number of subjects.
It was done pro bono – actually, it was done for two bottles of fine wine and a box of local pastries.

Now, I’ve been called a few weird names – online, mostly – because I do this sort of free gigs, and yet I often affirm the writer must be paid.
Some have called this a double standard.
I do not think it is – the fact that I am doing free voluntary service for my community, basically paying back the welcome I have ben given in these hills when I moved from the big city, does not make me particularly dishonest when I ask a fair price for my work.
Two bottles of fine wine and a box of biscuits is a fair price for my time, in this particular situation, as it is the warmth of the welcome that was given to me.
I’m liable to ask higher fees when dealing with a publisher – it’s not that weird, I think.

And yet, some people do not seem to understand.
Usually, they are those requiring professional services for free.

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The Abode of Snow

What’s Christmas without snow?
Should snow be scarce – just as it is where I am sitting right now – we can always find it in a good book.

Scotsman Andrew Wilson was a Journalist for the Bombay Times and later with the China Mail, in the second half of the 19th century.
Later still he became editor for the Times of India and the Bombay Gazette.
He chronicled the campaigns of Colonel Gordon in China, but his literary fame rests on a collection of travel writings that goes under the title of The Abode of Snow: Observations on a Journey from Chinese Tibet to the Indian Caucasus through the Upper Valleys of the Himalaya.

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You can find it, in a number of handy electronic formats, in the Internet Archive.
It’s quite an interesting read in these long winter nights.


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“I’ve suffered from my share of personal disasters: the loss of love, the death of a wife, the failure to realize in my writing the high aspiration of my intentions. But these misfortunes can be borne. There is a certain animal vitality in most of us which carries us through any trouble but the absolutely overwhelming. Only a fool has no sorrow, only an idiot has no grief—but then only a fool and an idiot will let grief and sorrow ride him down into the grave. So, I’ve been lucky, as most people are lucky; the animal in each of us has a lot more sense than our brains.” [Edward Abbey]


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How the West was Pulp – The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr.

Brisco: Please excuse Comet. He does not know he is a horse.

An image of a cowboy, leaning with his arms on...

These nights, trying to let off some steam, I’m re-watching the old The Adventures of Brisco County Jr., a steampunkish series that does have quite some pulp to it.
It features Bruce Campbell as the titular character, plus a solid cast of co-stars.

The set-up: it’s 1893 and something’s moving in the American West. A mysterious orb has been unearthed which seems capable of granting weird powers to those that touch it. A gang of ruthless outlaws, led by the sinister John Bly (Billy Drago) seeks to use its power to achieve some nefarious ends.
And against them, law-school dropout and bounty-hunter Brisco County Jr. – a man looking for “The Coming Thing”… after all, soon it’s going to be the 20th century!

The Adventures of Brisco County Jr. lasted only one season, but had quite a lot going – probably too much.
And yet the over the top stories (or, as per producer’s directions “just under over the top”) – presented in chapters with weird titles, like an old matinée serial or a dime novel – were ok because the series was clearly set in a pulp universe.
One in which you can have an underwater fistfight, meet the members of a secret tong in the Chinatown of San Francisco, ride a rocket down the tracks, or have a staring match over a pack of dynamite, the fuse burning…
This is clearly pulp magazine territory – and therefore even the crowded scripts and over-complex plots find a way to keep going, and do not crash to the ground.

A pity the total is sometimes inferior to the sum of its parts – low budget, the scriptwriters probably uncertain whether to go all the way into parody, or retain a modicum of straight face.
Maybe a little less whackyness could have helped – but as usual, who can say what would have become of the series, had it laster another season.

Instead, after 23 episodes, it was gone.

But it’s good to watch – for Campbell, for his leading ladies, for the bad guys,  and for the ease with which the outrageous is slipped into the mundane in some episodes.
In particular, Bruce Campbell’s tongue-in-cheek delivery and easy attitude help suspend the disbelief even when things get really weird.
And the West, even its final years, has room enough for action and comedy.
Maybe this is not the way I’d do it – but it’s a way to do it, and when it works it’s very very good.