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Sava River, Slovenia

March 04, 2008

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Rivne & Ostroh, Ukraine - Terra Poetica Festival 2

"Poetess and community activist, Les Mudrak , founder and chairman of the organizing committee initiated and coordinated the International event "Terra Poetica" in Ukraine. Which of the "yihalysya participants of 12 countries. The festival was held under the patronage of the Ministry of Culture of Ukraine, Ministry of Foreign Affairs Humanitarian Projects Fund of Culture of Ukraine, Kyiv NSPU organization, Foundation "New Traditions" by Sergei Bondarchuk, publishers' Summit Book, "numerous media partners, and co-founder as chairman of the jury of the festival-contest, editor of "Universe", Ph.D. Dmitry Drozdovsky." This article gives the facts! (with help perhaps from google translate) Many thanks to the authors - Tanya Solovey, Lyudmila Korennay , Anna Grigorov, Anna Dehtyarova Day 3 Kyiv to Rivne I saw the sun come up from the window of my room on the 7th floor of the Hotel Salute, overlooking Kyiv and the rive

Archways and Amphitheatres

Archways and Amphitheatres (Old church, Butrint, Albania) The fast train to Chester heads through the mountains of the lake district. Whether you go by road or rail you always pass through a valley like a natural theatre, where you're not up on the peaks looking down and you're not at the foot of the valley but somewhere in between and there is this very specific feeling that belongs to this location only and it may be because the first time I only really noticed it was one autumn day many years ago, when M and I travelled south in a green car with a sun and moon painted on the bonnet. The music that was playing – and perhaps it's a quality of the kind of tunnel formed by the mountain sides – was amplified suddenly and I went floating upwards on this music, as if it had been a pair of wings. Perhaps I should have realised that its hallucinatory effect was signalling something about this trip – that something big, something important was going to happen. But I did not, so t

Sea Birds and Saint Bees

We take the little Northern Line train south from Carlisle, Cumbria. Just a few carriages, not many passengers, the outside is grimy, giving the impression of being hard working, industrious, no nonsense, no shiny veneer, no immaculate facade. A tall step up from the platform, and windows that can be opened manually. This is just the kind of train I like, although it cannot quite match Balkan trains. It’s a cold, bright and sunny day. Reaching St Bees in late afternoon feels like arriving on a Greek island. A walk along the beach, with glorious colours of sundown. The part of the beach nearest the promenade is made of pebbles, and beyond that, long stretches of sand, some flat sand, some ribbed sand, hard little sand hills with valleys of water. 22, 26 The stones on St Bees beach are mostly round, some of them almost perfect circles. And all smooth, as if carved by a sculptor’s hand. And the sculptor is the sea, its constant movement rubbing away all corners and edges, flattening

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