I've been watching a fair bit of australian film - you know, as essential to my deep saturation of the germanic culture here- and I've just happened across these delights:


Picnic at Hanging Rock:


The Year of living dangerously:


Storm Boy:


Even:




Yes, they are amazing Polish posters of Australian films. Surrealist, associative bids to shake off the codes of an imposed socialist realism. Film was apparently a medium that elluded sweeping censorship, well, at least in Poland.

This has been a spur to track done some of the films recommended me by Monika, as representative of her homelands strange brand of post iron curtain humour, because, really, if they can make this from our cultural efforts, imagine what they do to their own!

Spain was a triumph of touristastic endeavour with Ellor as delightful hostess of the day.
Madrid had been bad-mouthed as an drab, not-barcelona. Not having been to that ocean-side splendor, I was free to revel in the grandour of Madrid's facades, the expanses of its formal gardens, the vibrancy of the allotted trendy, 'youth' quarter. But then: the art! I visited three stunningly good museums, but the Prado was supreme. The masters (Titian, Rubens, Caravaggio and Rembrandt) unveiled themselves in some of their most captivating, famed works. Moving from Velazquez and his recurring valorization of doughy-faced Phillip IV, we traced Goya's turn from depictions of a pleasure-park courtly existence to his dark, grotesque war landscapes, modern before their time. To soothe ourselves, we returned again and again to the garden of earthly delights, to plunge into Bosch's whimsical universe of exotica, sensuality and the bizarre. Two days worth in itself. We punctuated the Art with a day trip (Toledo, getting abominably lost through windy, empty de chiroco-esque plazas), shopping (block and blocks worth of the most amazing second hand and diy-wares market evs, sundays La Latina), ogling grand palaces, churches.


Crunching Churros (deep fried cake-sticks dunked in runny chocolate) by day, jostling with the swarming Spanish kids for street space by night, a week of hedonism unrivaled was set upon; a fiesta con chicas y chicos (as the saccharine Spanish twee-pop would have it).

Now second semester Deutschland begins.

Today has been a catalogue of righteousnesses. On my part. It was one of those virtuous days when you buy a pen (I had none), make a list and complete the bugger.


A frenetic on espresso self, began by delivering the death blow to that unwieldy beast of an essay with whom I've so long been shoulder to shoulder. I then charged around the town doing favours to all and sundry, boring administration of day-to-day needs too long set aside, got handed a polaroid of myself looking sepia-hued, met some kids for coffee, got to know my gorgeous new flatmate (philosophy and theatre one aus Berlin!), exerted myself creatively in a flash of inspiration poorly realised, watched an Orson Welles film, booked a flight to Spain, leaving in three days.


Hola Ella!