Inarea

Here’s a record that – luckily – hasn’t yet been broken: that of the longest recorded survival alone on a raft. During World War II, a British merchant ship, SS Benlomond, was torpedoed by a German U-boat in the Atlantic. A young Chinese steward was the only member of the crew to survive: he dived into the sea and found a life raft equipped with supplies, including chocolate, drinking water and food. The victuals would not have been sufficient to last for the entire period that followed, but they got him started and he did his bit by collecting rainwater and catching fish which he then proceeded to dry. After 133 days, Poon Lim was rescued by a Brazilian fishing boat. Later, he toured the world teaching survival techniques. But let’s take a step back. While he was adrift, the young man had been sighted also by various other ships which, however, did not pick him up because an Asian on a raft was assumed to be a ‘trap’ set by the enemy. Even solidarity can slip up on a banana skin Name Day: St Clement

An inscription on the façade of a well-known building in Rome proclaims that the Italians are a nation of saints, poets and explorers. Similarly, we find the statues of Vasco da Gama and Bartolomeu Dias standing proud on the Monument of Discoveries in Lisbon. But what about the poets? The category is represented by a certain Luís Vaz de Camões who created the myth of the sea explorer, capable of such feats as rounding the Cape of Good Hope aided by the Monsoon winds. Yet, whereas when Vasco da Gama returned home the title of “Dom” was bestowed on him and he was appointed Viceroy of India, with all the perks and privileges that came with the title, the poet didn’t receive the same treatment. Indeed, it was another Portuguese poet, Nobel Prize winner José Saramago who, with a mixture of despair and irony, described the destiny of poets. In his comedy play “What Will I Do With This Book?” he tells us that after seventeen years spent in India and Mozambique, Luís Vaz de Camões returns home, enthusiastically intent on publishing his book. Here he is not only scorned by the ignorant, but also has to suffer the indifference of the then king (Saramago himself mentioned this during his speech at the Nobel Prize ceremony). Ultimately, Camões’ poem “The Lusiads” ended up by becoming Portugal’s equivalent of the “Aeneid”, which is why even an unproductive man of letters was able to win himself a rightful place on the monument that stretches out onto the ocean. If the main storyline is like a lighthouse which instils hope in our heroes, you can be sure there’s always also a subplot lurking in its shadows. This particular subplot teaches us that hope never dies – which goes for everyone, poets included. Name Day: St Cecilia

The Austrian philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein left us a dictum which should be distilled generously: “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof we must remain silent” . If by “speaking” we mean “explaining”, point-by-point, would anyone be able to explain what Amazon is today? Yesterday it sold books, today it’s a shopping basket overflowing with everything under the sun, from items of all descriptions, to leisure activities. As for tomorrow, who knows: perhaps we’ll see Bezos conquer the world, like the Risk board game player who accumulates the highest number of tokens. Best remain silent, as Wittgenstein suggests. Yet we can try to define what Amazon is not: it is not a platform for buying or selling cars. The experiment  was attempted by FIAT six years ago; as for the ‘battle horse’, it could only be the model which is a world brand: the new 500. In actual fact, the selling formula was a hybrid, because you pre-ordered the model online (lured by a juicy discount), and completed the purchase at the dealer’s. But what would happen if we were to search for it on Amazon now? The only car we might be able to add to our basket is a toy model like the one depicted above: an item which allows us to take our first footsteps as toddlers, just as the 500 allowed an entire country to get moving. Name Day: Blessed Mary of Jesus the Good Shepherd

20 November 1959 is the date when the UN General Assembly adopted the “Declaration of the Rights of the Child” which was later enshrined in the “Convention” signed by 196 countries. Fifty-four articles from which four fundamental principles stand out: the right to non-discrimination (art.2), the respect of the best interests of the child (art.3), the child’s inherent right to life, survival and correct development (art.6), and the right of the child to be heard (art.12). The first person to consider the child as a perfectly complete being (and not simply an ‘as yet non-adult’ ) was Rousseau. With this in mind, at a time when children (which the charter describes as being such up to the age of 18) are increasingly taking part in the decision-making processes of the planet which they wish to inhabit for a long time to come, it would be an interesting experiment to submit said document to them. Would it fit their yardstick, or would they run (perhaps on their scooters) for the hills? We do have our reasonable doubts. Name Day: San Gelasius I, Pope

The inauguration of a museum doesn’t just bespeak paintings, sculptures and prints; it’s always a political event that tells us something about the times. Today, the Louvre brand exports its artefacts in excess to whoever can afford to rent them (see the homonymous museum in Abu Dhabi). In 1819, the Prado was being inaugurated during a special moment in history, to celebrate Napoleon’s failure to invade Spain. All the past glories were present (El Greco, Velázquez etc.), as well as he who was the most acclaimed of the living painters. We’re referring to Francisco Goya who famously described the days in which the French troops had invaded Madrid in his painting “The Third of May, 1808” . This painting has gone down in history, yet it wasn’t displayed at the opening; indeed, it remained in the museum’s storerooms for about forty years. Let’s say that it’s hard to process the contemporary with politics always lurking – albeit in the background. In any case, mounting an exhibition is the best moment in museum life: opening up crates, smelling old oils, hanging up pictures. A canvas gets hauled up and up and up, just like a tree-topper: think of Diego Velázquez’s “Las Meninas”, the painting that revolutionised how we look at (or look at ourselves inside) a painting. It would be worth travelling to Madrid next Christmas just to take a good look at it. Name Day: St Matilda

The Teddy Bear is the toy of toys, the one that sits under the Christmas Tree and with which children cuddle up for comfort when the lights are switched off. It gets its name, however, from an inveterate hunter: former United States President Theodore (Teddy) Roosevelt. The story goes that during a hunting trip in 1902, Roosevelt refused to shoot at a bear that had been tied to a tree; it wasn’t an act of pity but, rather, of hunting sportsmanship. The Washington Post published a political cartoon, poking fun at the President’s indecisiveness in the Midwest. A few days later in Brooklyn, a candy manufacturer and his wife created a stuffed bear and (after receiving permission from the President to use his name) called it “Teddy’s Bear”. Roosevelt had agreed, thinking it would be a passing fad. In 1904, however, a teddy bear became the mascot of the President’s election campaign and the candy manufacturers built up an empire churning out stuffed animals. Roosevelt was the epitome of the horseback rider, the one who goes proudly hunting with his greyhounds, as in the best equestrian portraits. Nowadays, pet-strategy is an essential part of any election campaign, as testified by the myriad kittens on Twitter, or lovingly-held lambs in April. All thanks to a satirical cartoon which lit up someone’s imagination almost a century ago. Who knows what good old Teddy Roosevelt would think of all this. Name Day: St Odo

The story of the Suez Canal isn’t actually modern history. The Romans themselves had tried with determination to facilitate transportation across the Mediterranean. Pity, though, that the isthmus they built wasn’t as determined as them and silted up during the Byzantine Empire. In later times, Napoleon also became obsessed by the Canal idea, but was wrongly advised by his scientists who told him that the Red Sea was higher than the Mediterranean. And so we reach 17 November 1869, a date which marked not only the inauguration of a waterway, but also of a world powder keg. Almost a century later, from 1967 to 1975, the Canal was closed: those were the years of the Six-Day War between Egypt and Israel. This closure came at the expense of 14 ships that remained trapped in the Suez Canal for eight years. The tide of history ebbs and flows, but the Canal silted up for a second time: the stranded ships were nicknamed “The Yellow Fleet”, after the desert sand that coated them, because, seen from afar, they looked like desert dunes. A mirage? Not exactly. The officers and crews set up a small, mutual support community, with a church, a soccer pitch and a cinema. Our own architects are also grounded and hard at work with their pencils and rulers: they still need to add a restaurant, swimming pool and wellness centre to this Red Sea cruise ship. Until all these facilities are ready (and shipshape) our vessel will have to stay put… Name Day: St Elizabeth of Hungary

The word “diet” comes from the Greek and can be translated as “a way of life” and there’s no doubt that the Mediterranean one is a series of one-way streets that all meet up at what is, according to UNESCO, “the foundation of the cultural identity and continuity of communities”: mealtime. To better grasp this concept let’s turn – as always – to one of the fathers of European culture: Dante Alighieri. In his “Convivio”, the Italian poet imagines a banquet, the purpose of which is to disseminate knowledge and to which, for the first time ever, women have also been invited. Similarly to enlightened knowledge, is it not inclusivity that makes for a good table? The word “convivio” (banquet) comes from a word with an even deeper meaning, that of ‘living together’ , and there is no doubt that our ‘closed’ Mediterranean Sea has been overflowing with conviviality since the dawn of time. It is said that the Emperor Claudius sparked much opposition when he proposed admitting Gauls to the Roman Senate; his rebuttal was: “But weren’t your illustrious ancestors Etruscans, Sabines or Samnites when they were fighting against Romulus?” In those ancient times anyone could, if they so wished, assume a Mediterranean identity. As for us, if we are to consider ourselves worthy heirs we’ll need to be insatiable when it comes to gorging on inclusivity. Let’s bring to the table the “fiat lux” concept too, one which also saw the light on these Mediterranean shores. Name Day: St Margaret of Scotland

Friulan is one of the few Italian dialects to enjoy the status of ‘language’, and if there’s one word that’s banished from a Friulan dictionary, that word is “Tocai”, a wine which used to represent an entire community. At the origin of the word’s forced withdrawal is its assonance with the name of a Hungarian grape variety. For this reason, the European Commission ruled that the last Italian vintage of “Tocai” would be in 2008; thereafter, the same wine bubbling in the vats would simply be called “Friulano”. Although the time-honoured Hungarian Tokaji is indeed also a white wine, it’s a strong, (and sometimes sweet) nectar, extremely unlike the dry, almond-accented Italian wine. It’s hard to get the two mixed up. However, being a wine nursery, Friuli Venezia Giulia (Italy’s north-easternmost region) will probably get its own back for this ‘de-naming’ in the near future because it produces 80% of Italy’s grape vine rooted cuttings, 30% of the European Union’s, and 25% of the world’s. This doesn’t detract from the fact that some decisions taken by the powers that be seem to come pelting down on us like crazy marbles. On the other hand, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet”, so William Shakespeare tells us (no, not the Hungarian one). Name Day: St Albertus Magnus

Apparently, when Monet’s “Water Lilies” were displayed at the Orangerie in Paris, only lovers in search of a secluded place for their rendezvous flocked to the exhibition. The artist died a year before seeing the paintings installed, thereby probably saving himself the disappointment of also seeing them unappreciated. And yet he had spent a lot of time with those water lilies at his home at Giverny where they floated, glistening in the light. He used to call it opiniâtreté, stubbornness: he used to change canvas every time the sun changed. His art wasn’t immediately understood because the retina of a person at the beginning of the 20th century was not yet steeped in moving images: so why recreate them in painting, an art that has always been considered to be about space, rather than about time? The fact is that, like all great men, Monet was ahead of his time. Looking at his water lilies today, if some kind of liquid state comes to mind, it isn’t that of his pond at Giverny at all but, rather, that of video mapping on a building, of a plasma screen, of an advert that invades our mobile phone like an oil spread. Nowadays, that instantaneousness that Monet tried to capture on canvas is no longer the result of mixing dust and sky together, it comes from other sources; it’s not clear to us yet whether we’ve succeeded in recreating the magic or, on the contrary, have simply interrupted it. What matters, though is that he, with a simple camouflage of oil paints, anticipated a vision. Let’s remember this every time we go to see a Monet, a Caravaggio or a Van Gogh blown up on a big screen: a cosmetic trick, perhaps, that the artists wouldn’t have asked us for. Name Day: St Serapion