“God Alone Knows”, Damien Hirst : A clever marriage of science and religion; an inventive use of preserved sheep carcasses in this instantly recognisable scene.

Contemporary art has always been somewhat of a hit and miss for me. When the contemporary man has neither time nor patience for frescoes or friezes, art can only seek to shock, intrigue, and scandalise; something to hold your attention just long enough till the next big thing comes along.

Could this be the natural evolution of art or merely symptomatic of our time?

Astrup Fearnley Museet
Strandpromenaden 2, 0252 Oslo, Norway

Art, Pangaea Picks, Travel

“God Alone Knows”, Damien Hirst : A clever marriage of science and religion; an inventive use of preserved sheep carcasses in this instantly recognisable scene.
Contemporary art has always been somewhat of a hit and miss for me. When the contemporary man has neither time nor patience for frescoes or friezes, art can only seek to shock, intrigue, and scandalise; something to hold your attention just long enough till the next big thing comes along.
Could this be the natural evolution of art or merely symptomatic of our time?

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Fell in love many times over with Portugal after spending last September in the Azores (if heaven was a place on Earth, this is it), and there was nothing more comforting than a huge vat of seafood stew at the end of a long hike.

All that goodness from the sea, bubbled with fresh herbs for hours, into this mouthwatering mix to be slurped on its own or enjoyed with the broth-soaked rice.

Why does Portuguese cuisine never get as much attention as its Spanish sister? 🇵🇹

Restaurante Mariserra
Rua Praia dos Santos, 61 – São Roque
9500-706 Ponta Delgada – São Miguel – Açores

Food, Pangaea Picks, Travel

Fell in love many times over with Portugal after spending last September in the Azores (if heaven was a place on Earth, this is it), and there was nothing more comforting than a huge vat of seafood stew at the end of a long hike.

All that goodness from the sea, bubbled with fresh herbs for hours, into this mouthwatering mix to be slurped on its own or enjoyed with the broth-soaked rice.

Why does Portuguese cuisine never get as much attention as its Spanish sister? 🇵🇹

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INVADER: one city at a time

👽

I first came across this French urban artist during a walking tour of street art in Paris – much of his work is composed of square ceramic tiles inspired by video game characters, and can be spotted in more than 65 cities and 33 countries.

👀

Was delighted to stumble across this little guy in Bangkok when I was on my way back to the hotel after a grocery run. Always keep those eyes peeled!

Art, Travel

INVADER: one city at a time
👽
I first came across this French urban artist during a walking tour of street art in Paris – much of his work is composed of square ceramic tiles inspired by video game characters, and can be spotted in more than 65 cities and 33 countries.
👀
Was delighted to stumble across this little guy in Bangkok when I was on my way back to the hotel after a grocery run. Always keep those eyes peeled!

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Travel

When the Music ends in Rio: Part 1

The thing about all open houses – be it properties or universities – is that you only ever get to see its ‘First Date Face’. Weeks of planning and a plump (often overspent) budget ensures that only its best foot forward is put forth for your special visit. Floors are extra sparkly, the food in the cafeteria is astonishingly good, neighbours are a bundle of affable smiles.

This was what greeted me in Rio de Janeiro back in 2013, when I arrived in the city alongside 3 million other Catholics for World Youth Day. In the weeks leading up to my trip, I had spent hours on forums with some rising trepidation. “Avoid the beaches at night!”; “Beware of scams!”; “Was robbed at knifepoint.” It was my first initiation into South America, and we were two young female travellers who didn’t speak a word of Portuguese. And mind you, this was a language where nothing sounds like how its spelt.

Yet all feelings of apprehension evaporated within minutes of my landing in Rio. There I was, with multiple coatings of plane grime; buoyed by the flashes of bright banners waving gaily in the sunshine, the cheery choruses of greetings welcoming groups and groups of visiting pilgrims. The streets were teeming with people, the air was abuzz with a dozen native languages. Rio had clearly risen to the occasion. Public transport was running smoothly (or as smooth as one could expect from having to ferry literally millions); police and security were on every street. This was also the year right before Brazil was to host the 2014 FIFA World Cup, and the government’s bid for approval was loud and clear.

It was a week of extraordinary kindness, warmth, and love (another story for another time), and like all good things that must come to an end – the days flew by faster than my 30-hour journey to Rio. Some of us stayed on to properly see Rio as tourists, but the city was already rapidly clearing out. Like a deserted dance floor left only with the remnants of confetti, there was an abrupt emptiness to the streets. After bidding a tearful farewell to our host mothers in Tijuca – one of the most traditional districts in Rio – we found ourselves an apartment in Ipanema, an upscale neighbourhood best known for that iconic bossa nova song and a beach second in fame only to Copacabana.

Our landlady proudly declared herself a true blue carioca. Malu was born in the city, extroverted and authentic, loved the beach and the warm weather. She worked to live, and never lived to work. After a rocky start caused by our late check-in (try moving in a human jam caused by the migrating millions), and a particularly unpleasant encounter with her adopted street dog (hid in our bedroom for hours after that), things warmed up after she made us a special green concoction that she declared “necessary to clear the hangover” the morning after our night out to Lapa, Rio’s party district.

Over toast and sips of green goo, we asked Malu about the photographs which lined her walls. The black and white portraits and headshots (“I am an actress”); the people in the frozen moments of glory days gone, whose knowing smiles wore just a hint of mischief, like they knew some of the city’s best kept secrets that they would never tell (“These are actors, artists, and friends”); the collectibles sown in her airy rooms (“From my travels”). Her space had all the trimmings of an artistic spirit, and there was every sense of a wild life well-lived.

To be continued.

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Barbershop by day, and an intimate space where musicians gather to jam by night, we cramped into this tiny space, carefully balancing our glasses of wine while watching the live action from the loft.

Hong Kong never fails to deliver as an urban playground. Eternally awake and always overstuffed, discrete establishments are organically cramped alongside each other and life continually sprouts wherever it can germinate.

Visage One
93 Hollywood Rd, Central, Hong Kong

Pangaea Picks, Tipple, Travel

VISAGE ONE : Barbershop by day, and an intimate space where musicians gather to jam by night, we cramped into this tiny space, carefully balancing our glasses of wine while watching the live action from the loft.

Hong Kong never fails to deliver as an urban playground. Eternally awake and always overstuffed, discrete establishments are organically cramped alongside each other and life continually sprouts wherever it can germinate.

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When you think of life as a finite number of years, turning 30 means you’ve used up 30 days of birthday celebrations, 30 Christmas days with loved ones, and 30 New Year’s Eves rounding in a fresh start. On our wall is an 8 by 10 grid of squares. Assuming a lifespan of 80, 3 of those rows have now been shaded. How do you want to shade the remaining 5 (and do you even get to?) and where are the most precious hours of your days going?

When was the last time you took a step back and remembered your dream?

Travel

When you think of life as a finite number of years, turning 30 means you’ve used up 30 days of birthday celebrations, 30 Christmas days with loved ones, and 30 New Year’s Eves rounding in a fresh start. On our wall is an 8 by 10 grid of squares. Assuming a lifespan of 80, 3 of those rows have now been shaded. How do you want to shade the remaining 5 (and do you even get to?) and where are the most precious hours of your days going?

When was the last time you took a step back and remembered your dream?

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