Some of last December photos, still in the Xmas rush, that were lingering in my hard drive.
Nestes debates eleitorais em modo de duelo há sempre uns de um candidato particular que se esticam bem mais que os outros…
No pasa nada…
“Vão ao meu Instagram” Facho no debate, deve ter aprendido com a outra negacionista das alterações climáticas.
January is an insanely long month, the longest of the year, so long it feels like it has been 90 days since I returned back home from another of my winter solstice trips, with so many happening in between. Without further ado, some random shots with no particular order or meaning of that lengthy month.
Dos mesmos autores de “duas horas de directo de autocarro em dia de derby”, se havia dúvidas que estamos numa era onde o entretenimento é mais importante que a informação…
Feels good to get to my commute snaps after a trip, even if a rather short one. Somehow is the reminder I’m back to the routine, a good one.
“It turns us into the worst version of ourselves while convincing us that we’re at our best."
Despite travelling I’ve started to grow a kind of love/hate relationship with it, and this article kind hits the nail on many of my dilemmas. At some point I thought that travel makes us more tolerant, by having a wider perspective and experience other realities, and while that’s not wrong it isn’t as straightforward as I once believed. Often is more self-centred that people like to say (and I’m including myself in it…), both for the one who travelled or those back home: the questions usually are more in the “what have you done?” than the “what’s it like?”, and I don’t really like love talking about myself.
A quite relevant, and forgotten, topic: somehow we forgot the vulcanic activity may have a bigger impact on people than “look at that neat fire spewing from a hole in the ground”…
[In Iceland, we got used to enjoying our ‘Disney volcanoes’. Now the threat is real]
Dia de coisas novas na Narrativa: o grande “Jamaika” do José Sarmento Matos, pendurado nas paredes e num belíssimo livro!
Beber vinho branco a acompanhar o cozido? 🤦♂️
Esta é a minha indignação de hoje.
Random shots from last week, lingering in my camera roll
The first weeks of the year are always a time for retreat for me, a time to lay low and look ahead. Last week was just that, after the rush of the end of year, with festivities and travels, eagerly waiting to slow down, so much that even the desire to go out and take photos was put on hold. The exception is when you get a nice view from the window.
Como vejo pouca TV, em especial em horário nobre, é fácil ficar surpreendido quando acontece. Achava que meia-hora de directo da CMtv, só com um reboque de um carro, seria uma das maiores perdas de tempo de sempre. Até começar a inutilidade desta coisa na SIC onde famosos cantam mascarados…
Spoiler: it’s Alice in Chains. But I agree with James, AIC is definitely the 90’s Seattle band I return to more often these days. Jerry Cantrell is a genius.
[The grunge band James Hetfield called “timeless”] faroutmagazine.co.uk/the-grung…
In a territory that gets emptier each year, where traditions slowly dwindle, every one of those that still thrives, or is even recovered by people that are not willing to give up yet, feels like a sign a hope that not all is lost. Really happy to finally see this red mask back to the streets of Vale de Porco, hoping to be able to see it again and again in the upcoming years.
One of the most beautiful masks of the winter traditions of Trás-Os-Montes is also one of the most challenging to photograph.. The single masked figure is constantly running from door to door, with very few breaks, and always surrounded by men who guide him through the streets, because of the very limited visibility of the heavy mask. Except when there’s something in the costume that needs some urgent repair.
The fog that has been the norm throughout Trás-Os-Montes this end of year.
Estamos quase em 2024, e ainda há malta a meter posts nas redes sociais que o telemóvel avariou e perderam todos os contactos… 🤷🏻
Someone once told me at Constantim that the problem isn’t finding people to dance at each front door of the village, is having someone that actually opens the door…
All these Winter Solstice rituals are very different but have one thing in common, at least here in Portugal, there’s always one or more characters that go to each house, where who lives there welcomes them (and their entourage) and celebrate together. If those doors remain shut, which is more and more common, then all this becomes just another parade.
The two kinds of roads you get at Trás-Os-Montes.
