Quo Professional Brush How To Clean

denis_le_loup @ 2008-11-17T00: 02:00

Having started the week with good standing with best wishes, more palatable plan on the horizon and even a promise of renewal in apartment , hopes have come to crash, as usual, against the gray wall on Sunday, even more impractical than in past occasions, for reasons that, although would not mind sharing, given my propensities n exhibitionism and cruelty, "I will reserve for myself, not so much modesty Deals as respect for my (s) suffered (s) reader (s) already had / had enough last week when, unannounced and unwanted, they loosened the locks on my conscience, which should flow leaving have remained in the shade.

So, I will only highlight of the last seven days: Lisbon and Sigur Rós. An appointment that had been waiting for over a month and that, thankfully, lived up to all expectations, in part by the city, partly because of the concert, but I think, humbly, that was mainly because myself. I stayed in a hostel in the old town, near the Tajo and the castle of San Jorge, who gave up visit due to the five non-euro lisboetas we were forced to pay. We can say that was the only guest of the said shelter and that, despite occupying a bedroom with four beds in the summer months have forced me to share snoring, farting and god knows what other horrors ; of the night, the site could not look more abandoned and almost ghostly, like the back of the concert, he gave me the feeling of entering a haunted house. And to address the audience-a Bullring, in this case had touched the paranormal, when, on the way to the Via Augusta, where, as the taciturn boy who ran the hostel (who, incidentally, I did not see), there were good places to eat, "I got lost on the streets of Alfama and for a few minutes, maybe half an hour, I wandered without knowing exactly where I was and, more importantly, if get out of there. At one point, while the plane was spinning and even looked to see if, by mistake, had taken one of St. Petersburg, went for a few blocks from the most sordid, in which there were people rummaging through garbage, dark silhouettes exchanging goods on street corners and women who, with a cigarette in his mouth everlasting, I offered her peculiar commodity. That was when I got to thinking that the concert would not, after all, and no longer by my undeniable loss, but the fellow that I had unexpected come his way and that, from my perspective timid, I lurked waiting to strike. Luckily, I managed to find a place that, this time it appeared on the map and, thus, return to the path that, in principle, but I had intended to follow the that, as I discovered with amazement, I had drifted far more than they had imagined.

For the rest of my trip to Lisbon, and was more conventional: I went to get tickets for the concert, no time now to know the restaurant I recommended by the concierge, swallowed a hamburger in the Burriquín. In that time, I did not talk to anyone else, but I amused myself watching the people and, above all, trying to unravel what was said in that language, which supposedly is therefore similar to but whose phonetic Castilian can not be more opaque to the ears of an ignoramus like me. So I came to the event, chose a site near the stage and prepared to enjoy, as no company or conversation, music. Let no one think, however, I missed the human contact or that the concert did not satisfy me alone. Quite the contrary: I believe that, had it been accompanied, it would not have paid so much and I would become so involved in the show, and therefore I would come home the feeling of having missed something. In this way, I went back happy, wanting to go back I will know Lisbon in April, during a conference of Hispanic-and Sigur Rós more excited than ever.

Here you have some photos of my experience, apart from a video, divided into two parts, taken from the documentary Heima , for the song with which the Icelandic group usually ends its concerts ( Popplagið ) that if I had to record in situ was to be enjoyed in all its fullness. Hope you like it.

A Streetcar to the cemetery (literally) Lisbon at night, seen from Alfama