Why is this blog called "Souvenirs of a Black Cat"?
Because I've always a particular affection for black cats, a real soft spot.
Their shiny and soft hair, with the colour of the night, their intense and intelligent green eyes, are like the apotheosis of the felinity to me.
Whoever knows and loves cats, is aware that the black ones are usually charachterized by a particular intelligence, by a curious predilection for everything made of paper and by an even more adventurous and rebel spirit than the feline average.
So, if we ever want to humanize it (even if I'm nor actually sure I would give it any advantages in this way), the black cat would no doubt be a traveller and writer cat - therefore my perfect alter ego, the ideal mascotte for my blog about travels, observations and mysteries.
But it's not just this...
Showing posts with label legends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label legends. Show all posts
Monday, 10 November 2014
Tuesday, 14 October 2014
Bamburgh Castle: on the top with ghosts
We get in Bamburgh on a double-decker bus - which, as far as I am concerned, is one of the peculiarities about travelling in the UK which mostly enthralls me.
Ginger Cat & me have an almost childish taste about travelling on double-deckers - obviously upstairs, where it feels like flying.
Just like kids.
And in fact in the seat next to ours there are Batman & Superman - or, better, two young boys wearing the caps of their fave superheroes.
And we fly with them.
Somehow.
After all, as it's known, also Batman doesn't fly, if not with the aid of some technological Bat-gadget. Or with a double-decker bus, come to that.
Anyway the landscape we are crossing is amazing: fields are enlighted by the golden kiss of the sun, and everything is so beautiful that we are able to enjoy it, ignoring for once that tiny voice that keeps on complaining about how you cannot take pictures of this beauty, because of the army of kamikaze mosquitos committing their last sacrifice on the bus's windshield.
Ginger Cat & me have an almost childish taste about travelling on double-deckers - obviously upstairs, where it feels like flying.
Just like kids.
And in fact in the seat next to ours there are Batman & Superman - or, better, two young boys wearing the caps of their fave superheroes.
And we fly with them.
Somehow.
After all, as it's known, also Batman doesn't fly, if not with the aid of some technological Bat-gadget. Or with a double-decker bus, come to that.
Anyway the landscape we are crossing is amazing: fields are enlighted by the golden kiss of the sun, and everything is so beautiful that we are able to enjoy it, ignoring for once that tiny voice that keeps on complaining about how you cannot take pictures of this beauty, because of the army of kamikaze mosquitos committing their last sacrifice on the bus's windshield.
Wednesday, 1 October 2014
Betws-y-Coed and Gwydyr Forest: the real soul of Wales
Wales is the land of the Red Dragon, it's the land of Merlin and King Arthur, it's a land of myths and legends, of wizard druids and heroes.
It's a land full of legendary stories, where you don't really know whether supernatural was used as a metaphor of what was actually happening, or if was what had actually happened to be then transformed in supernatural.
These stories have been handed down orally, from father to son, sliding through one generation after another, with no stopping even in front of the advent of Christianity, but simply changing face to the protagonists: no more druids but saints, with no more dragons to fight but with Satan as adversary.
Because they are not simply stories, they are connected with the identity of this Country.
They are connected with the green of its valleys, the mellowness of its hills, the shadow of its woods.
With the flowing of water and the blooming of the bluebells.
When you are surrounded by so much beauty it's not difficult to believe that magic actually exists...
It's a land full of legendary stories, where you don't really know whether supernatural was used as a metaphor of what was actually happening, or if was what had actually happened to be then transformed in supernatural.
These stories have been handed down orally, from father to son, sliding through one generation after another, with no stopping even in front of the advent of Christianity, but simply changing face to the protagonists: no more druids but saints, with no more dragons to fight but with Satan as adversary.
Because they are not simply stories, they are connected with the identity of this Country.
They are connected with the green of its valleys, the mellowness of its hills, the shadow of its woods.
With the flowing of water and the blooming of the bluebells.
When you are surrounded by so much beauty it's not difficult to believe that magic actually exists...
Saturday, 26 April 2014
Tell me why I don't like Mondays... if this does count
It's been a while I wanted to start a new serie of posts called "Tell me why I like Mondays" or something like that, since in the past 2 months I've been collecting some interesting material about how blissful a Monday can be in spite of its bad fame; but then I've realized it would have actually been a sort of bummer.
I'll explain you.
I guess that 99% of workers who spend 8 hours a day / 5 days a week in an office might suffer from the so called Monday Syndrome.
I actually also know someone who suffers from a Friday Syndrome, because he kinda freaks out at the idea of leaving his office life - but now I don't mean to do shallow psychological interpretations nor be judgemental about the proportion of satisfaction that his private life might have compared to the professional one.
Let's talk about me, and I surely belong to the 99% suffering from the Monday Sydrome, starting feeling gloomy already on Sunday night, willing to smash the alarm against the wall as soon as it rings (if only it wasn't a 400 € smartphone), and feeling like being at the dentist's as soon as I step inside the linoleum hall of my office.
I actually once felt relieved at the idea of having to go to the dentist, because it meant being able to go out from work earlier. See how wrecked I am??
Well, but since a couple of months my Monday Syndrome no longer exists.
I know that now you might with eyes wide open and you're about to beg me to tell you the magical recipe I've found to longer suffer from it; but, well, the point actually is that my counterpoison is not really a medecine: it's a sort of surgery, which has cut out the trouble at its roots.
That is, since March I've only been having just a working Monday.
So do you understand the logical contraddiction behind it?
I cannot boast for having found the cure to my allergy while I've actually simply kept myself away from the allergen.
But I wanted to share with you anyway the (ri)discoveries made during these Mondays of freedom; so, avoiding to proclaim obvious healings for the Monday Syndrome, I'm just inviting you to follow me during these strolls along an alternative Turin, half-desertic and charming.
I'll explain you.
I guess that 99% of workers who spend 8 hours a day / 5 days a week in an office might suffer from the so called Monday Syndrome.
I actually also know someone who suffers from a Friday Syndrome, because he kinda freaks out at the idea of leaving his office life - but now I don't mean to do shallow psychological interpretations nor be judgemental about the proportion of satisfaction that his private life might have compared to the professional one.
Let's talk about me, and I surely belong to the 99% suffering from the Monday Sydrome, starting feeling gloomy already on Sunday night, willing to smash the alarm against the wall as soon as it rings (if only it wasn't a 400 € smartphone), and feeling like being at the dentist's as soon as I step inside the linoleum hall of my office.
I actually once felt relieved at the idea of having to go to the dentist, because it meant being able to go out from work earlier. See how wrecked I am??
Well, but since a couple of months my Monday Syndrome no longer exists.
I know that now you might with eyes wide open and you're about to beg me to tell you the magical recipe I've found to longer suffer from it; but, well, the point actually is that my counterpoison is not really a medecine: it's a sort of surgery, which has cut out the trouble at its roots.
That is, since March I've only been having just a working Monday.
So do you understand the logical contraddiction behind it?
I cannot boast for having found the cure to my allergy while I've actually simply kept myself away from the allergen.
But I wanted to share with you anyway the (ri)discoveries made during these Mondays of freedom; so, avoiding to proclaim obvious healings for the Monday Syndrome, I'm just inviting you to follow me during these strolls along an alternative Turin, half-desertic and charming.
Saturday, 5 April 2014
Percé rocks!!
Percé is a small village overlooking the Gulf of St. Lawrence, in the region of Gaspesie, Quebec.
St. Lawrence feels like the sea, but it is not : I was about to describe Percé as a "seaside resort", because this is actually the kind of impression one gets at first, with the mirror of water looking infinite in front of you, the seagulls fishing for crabs, and lobsters as the main local specialty; but the St. Lawrence is actually a river.
Percé is a pretty little place, a holiday place that has a bit of old England taste (despite being in the French-speaking part of Canada), with colorful wooden houses, a creaky bridge that takes you along the shore, a few souvenir shop with a sort of modern kitsch taste, and some friendly small restaurants specialized in poutine .
St. Lawrence feels like the sea, but it is not : I was about to describe Percé as a "seaside resort", because this is actually the kind of impression one gets at first, with the mirror of water looking infinite in front of you, the seagulls fishing for crabs, and lobsters as the main local specialty; but the St. Lawrence is actually a river.
Percé is a pretty little place, a holiday place that has a bit of old England taste (despite being in the French-speaking part of Canada), with colorful wooden houses, a creaky bridge that takes you along the shore, a few souvenir shop with a sort of modern kitsch taste, and some friendly small restaurants specialized in poutine .
Monday, 17 March 2014
Hello St. Paddy, I'm the Lucky Black Bog Cat!
Happy St Patrick's Day everyone!!
No, we don't celebrate it in Italy: I guess they do something in some random pub, but that's nothing like "real" celebrations. I usually wear green on this day, but, since it's something I like doing on a regular basis, I guess nobody really notices that it's made on purpose.
Then, here, March 17th (besides being my best friend's birthday) should be the birthday of our country as a nation, since Italy got unified on this day in 1861 - but nobody cares about this either.
But - well, since I usually like boasting around telling that I have Celtic blood in my veins (I have no evidence of that, besides my pale skin, my green eyes and the way my heart skips a beat whenever I reach what I call my homeland - but who needs scientific proofs after all?), and since Irishs have a legend about a big black cat wandering around their bogland who is supposed to bring a very big amount of luck to whomever meets him (and living in a country where black cats are ignorantly considered as a symbol of bad luck, I can't help but being grateful about it); here I go, following the flow and doing what every single travel blogger on the planet is doing today - an Ireland related post!!
I guess this should have been part of the "Down the Memory Lane" section, since it's been since 2005 already that my paws don't step over the Emerald Island's soil (OMG); but to me it still feels like yesterday, so here we go with some random impressions and memories about some of the places that I've liked the most.
No, we don't celebrate it in Italy: I guess they do something in some random pub, but that's nothing like "real" celebrations. I usually wear green on this day, but, since it's something I like doing on a regular basis, I guess nobody really notices that it's made on purpose.
Then, here, March 17th (besides being my best friend's birthday) should be the birthday of our country as a nation, since Italy got unified on this day in 1861 - but nobody cares about this either.
But - well, since I usually like boasting around telling that I have Celtic blood in my veins (I have no evidence of that, besides my pale skin, my green eyes and the way my heart skips a beat whenever I reach what I call my homeland - but who needs scientific proofs after all?), and since Irishs have a legend about a big black cat wandering around their bogland who is supposed to bring a very big amount of luck to whomever meets him (and living in a country where black cats are ignorantly considered as a symbol of bad luck, I can't help but being grateful about it); here I go, following the flow and doing what every single travel blogger on the planet is doing today - an Ireland related post!!
I guess this should have been part of the "Down the Memory Lane" section, since it's been since 2005 already that my paws don't step over the Emerald Island's soil (OMG); but to me it still feels like yesterday, so here we go with some random impressions and memories about some of the places that I've liked the most.
Monday, 10 February 2014
Torino and its Magic - Some hints about the mysteries of a mysterious city
Torino is defined to be a magical city.
There are tons of books and even tours about this aspect, and there are plenty of legends and credences that justify such definition.
But is it magical just because it is charming and bewitching, with an arcane and suggestive halo which can become very attractive for some, or because it actually hides secrets from occult science, both from white and black magic?
I'm not going to answer to this question, simply because I haven't found an answer myself yet: I am a totally rational and concrete person, but still I admit I get charmed by such topics. Like, I don't believe it, but it would be bewtiching to - somehow as when, during your childhood, you have already found out Santa Claus doesn't exsist, but a tiny part of you still hopes it's not your parents that bring the presents under the tree.
So - here is an overview of some of the legends, the myths and the facts that have contributed to create Turin's magical halo. Then feel free to make your choice - whether to believe them or not.
After all it wouldn't be wrong to state that magic is just in the eye of the beholder: if you believe it, it does exsist; if you'll look for it, you will find it; prodiges do not show up to everyone, but only to those who will follow an effort, a path to look for them. And this surely applies to Turin's magic - both the esotheric one, and the one related to the sheer charme of its discrete and regal beauty...
There are tons of books and even tours about this aspect, and there are plenty of legends and credences that justify such definition.
But is it magical just because it is charming and bewitching, with an arcane and suggestive halo which can become very attractive for some, or because it actually hides secrets from occult science, both from white and black magic?
I'm not going to answer to this question, simply because I haven't found an answer myself yet: I am a totally rational and concrete person, but still I admit I get charmed by such topics. Like, I don't believe it, but it would be bewtiching to - somehow as when, during your childhood, you have already found out Santa Claus doesn't exsist, but a tiny part of you still hopes it's not your parents that bring the presents under the tree.
So - here is an overview of some of the legends, the myths and the facts that have contributed to create Turin's magical halo. Then feel free to make your choice - whether to believe them or not.
After all it wouldn't be wrong to state that magic is just in the eye of the beholder: if you believe it, it does exsist; if you'll look for it, you will find it; prodiges do not show up to everyone, but only to those who will follow an effort, a path to look for them. And this surely applies to Turin's magic - both the esotheric one, and the one related to the sheer charme of its discrete and regal beauty...
Monday, 13 January 2014
Turin & the Tabby Cat
Sometimes you can travel without even leaving your hometown.
That usually happens when a friend comes to visit you: the first exciting part is choosing the itinerary to show her/him, in order to include all your favourite places - those that are meaningful to you, those that you find prettiest, but also those that you think she might particularly enjoy. And this part already requires an exercize of seeing your city with another kind of glimpse from the one you can have everyday, because you have to think about what is beautiful about it, what is valuable, what is special.
But then it's when you actually put in practice this plan, and start exploring your surroundings with your friend that the adventure really begins - because you start seeing everything with new eyes, with the eyes of someone that doesn't see your city daily, that maybe even sees it for the first time, and then it can happen: you will be able to discover things you had never found out before, and, what's perhaps even more interesting, giving a different shade to the things you usually do.
So - these are the new things I've done and seen (or maybe just put under a brighter light) during this weekend's visit of my friend Tabby Cat...
That usually happens when a friend comes to visit you: the first exciting part is choosing the itinerary to show her/him, in order to include all your favourite places - those that are meaningful to you, those that you find prettiest, but also those that you think she might particularly enjoy. And this part already requires an exercize of seeing your city with another kind of glimpse from the one you can have everyday, because you have to think about what is beautiful about it, what is valuable, what is special.
But then it's when you actually put in practice this plan, and start exploring your surroundings with your friend that the adventure really begins - because you start seeing everything with new eyes, with the eyes of someone that doesn't see your city daily, that maybe even sees it for the first time, and then it can happen: you will be able to discover things you had never found out before, and, what's perhaps even more interesting, giving a different shade to the things you usually do.
So - these are the new things I've done and seen (or maybe just put under a brighter light) during this weekend's visit of my friend Tabby Cat...
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