Anthropological Magazine | Year 30 | Number 4
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Editor’s note
Independent anthropological magazine Cul is connected to the Cultural Anthropology and Development Sociology department at the University of Amsterdam.
Dearest Readers,
Editor in Chief: Ethan Fenwick Deputy Editor in Chief: Ines Mittal Gros Exiting Editor in Chief: Islay Kilgannon Existing Deputy Editor in Chief: Kyriaki Mallioglou Graphic Design: Harriet Smith Image Editors: Lingli Crucq Rachel Kok Text Editors: Lieke van den Belt Kyriaki Mallioglou Web editor: Dima Karara Treasurer: Megan Masselink Travel Coordinator: Siyang Dai Cover: Harriet Smith Special thanks to: Marleen Rijsdijk Cul magazine is always searching for new aspiring writers. The editorial team maintains the right to shorten or deny articles. For more information on writing for the Cul or advertising possibilities, email cul.editorial@gmail.com Printer: Ziezoprint Prints: 200 Printed: September 2023 ISSN: 18760309 Cul Magazine Nieuwe Achtergracht 166 1018 WV Amsterdam cul.editorial@gmail.com Follow us on Facebook and Instagram and check out our website! @culmagazine http://culmagazine.com
It gives us great pleasure to introduce ourselves as the new editors of this edition, Ethan Fenwick and Ines Mittal Gros. However, firstly, we would like to thank our predecessors, Editor-in-Chief and Deputy Editor-in-Chief Islay Kilgannon and Kyriaki Mallioglou. Not only did they carry the magazine this past year, but they were kind faces, always willing to lend a helping hand and a listening ear. We are sad to see you go but eager to see how your futures shape up! Thus, as we begin a new chapter in the story of the CUL, we would like to introduce you to the special adventures of our travel edition. In this edition, we explore Portugal and other topics through different lenses. From the poetic approach to adventure faced by Rachel to Dima’s article on hating the sea. In Kyriaki’s article, we even crawl into the skin, or rather, pastry of a Pastel de Nata. Our writers gazed through a telescope of their own making and discovered wondrous places. Hence, without further ado, it is with great pleasure that we present; ‘Finis Terrae’ or the end of the earth. We hope this edition inspires you to explore the extraordinary and always reach for finis terrae. Sincerely Yours,
Ethan Fenwick Editor in Chief
Ines Mittal Gros Deputy Editor in Chief
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Column (ENG) Exploring reality Ines Mittal Gros
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Interview (NL) Reizen door de tijd Lieke van den Belt
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Recipe (ENG) Pasteis de Bacalhau Siyang Dai
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In Depth (ENG) On unstable ground Islay Kilgannon
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Poetry (NL) Heinde en verre Rachel Kok
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Story (ENG) I wanna see the world Kyriaki Mallioglou
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Column (ENG) Let me hate the sea Dima Karara
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Image Report (NL) Sprekende tegels Lingli Crucq
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Column (ENG) Endlessness ending Ethan Fenwick
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Report (ENG) Ritual of emergence Harriet Smith
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Column
Exploring reality An adventure through Portugal Text Ines Mittal Gros Image Rachel Kok
W
elcome, dear readers, to an extraordinary journey that challenges the very fabric of reality. Today, I share my escapade to a land shrouded in mystery. Buckle up, for you are about to enter a realm where fables dance with facts and reality playfully winks at the fantastic. So, join me in understanding and answering the million-dollar question of whether Portugal is real- or is this just fantasy? Arrival As the plane touched down in Lisbon, an enigmatic whisper hinted at the secrets Lisbon held. The flight attendant's voice announced our arrival to the city and that is where the adventure began, raising the question: was this a jest or a gateway to a realm where reality blurred into imagination? Discovery The city unveiled itself as a storybook come to life as we walked the ups and downs of Lisbon. Cobblestone streets seemed to curve with a mischievous grin, leading us
through neighbourhoods where tiled houses with pastel hues murmured of centuries past—encountering locals who seemed to harbour a pact with the mischievous. Wandering through Lisbon's historic squares, I encountered an unexpected sight - talking statues! Yes, you heard me right. These stone-carved marvels had a knack for gossip and philosophical debates. The roguish Fernando Pessoa statue was having a heated discussion with a seagull about the meaning of life. Of course, I dare not reveal the seagull's profound conclusion; it might just alter the course of human history. Amidst the charm, we stumbled across the Museu da Cerveja, and with a piqued interest and a burning desire to gain more knowledge, two tickets were bought. Imagine stepping into a dimension where hopes and history entwined like old friends. Exhibits chronicled the evolution of beer through the ages, from ancient civilizations' brews to the microbreweries of the modern era. Yet this wasn't just a place to admire artefacts. It was a playground for the curious. In a room reminiscent of Willy Wonka's factory, visitors could opt for their beer blends. I, too, donned a moment and embarked on a comical quest to find the perfect potion – part adventurist, part alchemist, and wholly enthusiastic. The result? Choosing a brew that may never rival the classics but was, without a doubt, a testament to the sheer joy of experimentation with hints of honey and rosemary. A taste not yet forgotten.
Where reality plays with fantasy Curiosity The Military Museum, an unexpected treasure trove, welcomed me with a salute of artefacts that spoke tales of knights and daring escapades into previously unknown parts of the world. Swords once brandished in duels of valour and cannons that roared with forgotten triumphs – painted a portrait of a past where courage knew no bounds. In my imagination, I donned a helmet and marched alongside the ghosts of history, creating a humorous spectacle for the ages, yet never forgetting the atrocities caused.
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Column
Embrace the magic, savour the charm
And then the Water Museum – an aquatic reverie brought to life! As I wandered through halls furnished with aqueducts, it was as if Lisbon echoed the secrets of the element that shaped her destiny. Did I catch a glimpse of mermaids conspiring in the shadows of the exhibits? One can never be too sure in a land where reality plays with fantasy. After this enlightening journey, it was time to turn my attention to a different form of artistry: mixology. Lisbon's vibrant cocktail scene embraced me like a long-lost friend. I found myself in a cosy street, where mixologists concocted potions that rivalled the peculiarities of the day. A sip of a colourful elixir transported me into a world where flavours harmonised like an orchestra of taste. As the day drew to a close, I realised Lisbon was not just a city; it was a stage upon which history, imagination, and flavour performed a spectacular waltz. From the theatrics of the past to the magic of mixology, I embraced it all with a heart brimming with laughter and a spirit that revelled in the enchantment of Portugal's tapestry as the sun dawned into a colourful play of orange hues. Escapade Venturing beyond Lisbon's embrace, the winds of whimsy carried me to the enchanting realm of Sintra. The journey was a delightful overture, with the train gliding through emerald landscapes as if guided by unseen hands. Upon arrival, Sintra unveiled itself like a fairytale town from another time. Cobblestone streets seemed to buzz with tales of bygone eras, while colourful houses nodded to the sky as if in conversation with the clouds. But it was the magnificent Palácio da Pena that truly stole the show. Perched atop the hill, its ancient stones seemed to hold the unknowns of centuries past. As I climbed its stone steps, I half-expected to encounter dragons in hidden chambers or jesters performing acrobatics. The palace itself was a symphony of architectural styles – a medley of influences that felt like pages from a fairy tale encyclopaedia. Turrets and terraces once echoed with words of royalty - and perhaps the occasional mischievous elf. The lush forest surrounding the palace, where legends of fairies and enchanted creatures seemed to come to life. Did I glimpse a fleeting shadow or hear a faint giggle? Who's
to say, in a land where reality bends and myths mingle with mirth? In Portugal, even a trip to a charming village could feel like stepping into the pages of a cherished tale. Eureka
As the curtain descended on my Portuguese odyssey, we were drawn to the sun-kissed shores of Cascais. This coastal haven, with golden sands and azure waters, offered a moment of reflection amidst the tapestry of enchantment I had woven through the days prior. In this moment of serenity, the answer to the unanswerable question that had danced through my journey became clear. Portugal, with its castles and cobblestone streets and its museums that told history – is undeniably real. The land that had led me through flights of enchanted museum halls had, in its unique way, rekindled a childlike wonder within me. Cascais, where dreams and reality embraced under the watchful eye of the lighthouse, became a symbol of this revelation. Portugal, my dear readers, is as real as your laughter and as tangible as your wanderlust. In a world filled with wonders and mysteries, it stands tall as a realm of enchantment. Let us embrace the magic, savour the charm, and celebrate the sheer joy of travelling to places that spark our imagination and ignite our souls. So, with a soul touched by stories and a spirit rekindled by a country's embrace, I concluded my journey through Portugal. A land that has forever etched its charm in the chapters of my tale.
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Interview
Reizen door de tijd Nineties nostalgie in Portugal Er is een reis en een land waar Marleen, mijn moeder, het altijd over heeft: de vier maanden dat ze als 28-jarige samen met haar vriendin E. in Portugal woonde en zes weken vrijwilligerswerk deed in een weeshuis. Het was als kind een van mijn favoriete dingen om haar te vragen, hoe zij was toen ze jong was, voordat ik geboren werd. De fotoalbums die ze me dan liet zien vertelden van een ander leven.
Tekst & Beeld
Lieke van den Belt
M
ijn moeder en ik zitten op een woensdagavond in 2023 aan de eettafel in Amsterdam. Voor ons ligt een fotoalbum uit 1990, vol met plaatjes van uitgestrekte landschappen en romantische Portugese straatjes. Wat ik heel interessant vind aan dit fotoalbum is dat je niet alleen foto’s hebt maar ook brieven en documenten, dat je dit allemaal hebt bewaard. ‘Ik vond het heel belangrijk om een album te hebben van mijn ervaring, ik vond het altijd leuk om foto’s te maken en boeken in te vullen. Dat is wel grappig, ik ben nu ook veel bezig met de oude foto’s van opa en oma, daar krijg ik af en toe echt ook een beetje een verdrietig gevoel van. Dit fotoboek (van Portugal) valt ook van ellende uit elkaar, misschien ga jij hier op een gegeven moment ook foto’s uit willen halen’.
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Ondertussen bladert mijn moeder door het album. Het boek is inderdaad best doorleefd en een aantal foto’s en papieren vallen eruit tijdens het bladeren. ‘Kijk, kaarten uit Holland’. Hoe vaak ontving en schreef je brieven? Ik schreef en kreeg regelmatig brieven en ik weet nog wel de eerste keer, daar heb ik nog een foto van, dan gingen wij naar de Poste Restante. Dat was een postkantoor in Lissabon. En dat was echt bizar spannend, dan stonden E. en ik met zijn tweeën: ‘O, heb jij post, ik heb post!’, helemaal geweldig.
‘O, heb jij post, ik heb post!’
Interview
Wel echt jammer dat dat minder bestaat nu. Dat vind ik ook. Daarom stuur ik mensen ook verjaardagskaartjes. En de telefoon, hoe vaak belde je met mensen? Voor nood hadden we wel het telefoonnummer van het weeshuis waar wij werkten. En de afspraak was dat we om beurten een keer per week wel belden, want er kon wel iets gebeuren in Nederland. In die tijd had je geen mobiele telefoon of wat dan ook. Dus we moesten echt wel regelmatig contact houden met het thuisfront. Dan moest je via een centrale bellen en die centrale belde opa en oma en dan konden zij ons bellen en ook de kosten betalen. Dat heette collect call. Wanneer ik via de centrale belde, kregen zij dit te horen: ‘Accepteert u dit telefoontje van mevrouw R. uit Portugal?’ en dan zei mijn moeder ja, moest ze betalen en dan konden we even praten. En dan gaf mijn moeder het weer door aan de moeder van E. of andersom. En E. en ik zijn bijna een keer verdronken in de zee, toen heb ik mijn moeder ‘s avonds gebeld, ik was helemaal in paniek. En ik zei haar dat ik zo graag bij haar op de bank zou willen zitten met een kopje thee. Het lijkt me zo’n andere manier van reizen, dat je zo vrij bent van technologie. Was het leven niet ook een stuk ongemakkelijker? Nou, nu is het natuurlijk een stuk makkelijker. En jij kunt het je misschien niet voorstellen maar voor mij is het nostalgie. Het was gewoon fantastisch zoals het toen was. Als ik mensen op straat op hun mobiel zie kijken dan denk ik echt, kijk even om je heen!
Hoe denk je dat het zou zijn geweest als je nu 28 was en dezelfde reis zou maken, in 2023 in plaats van 1990? Ja makkelijker, maar ik kan het me niet goed voorstellen. Toen ik met jou en je vader op vakantie was in Portugal in 2016 kon ik wel gelijk foto’s sturen naar mijn vrienden via Whatsapp. Ik denk dat het ook veel toegankelijker zou zijn om werk te vinden. Wij hebben wel echt lopen leuren om werk te vinden, wij waren afhankelijk van die ‘Poste Restante’. Maar dat was gewoon hartstikke leuk en spannend. En af en toe kregen we dropjes opgestuurd of een pot pindakaas. Ik heb ook een Ethiopisch vriend gehad, die heette Amare. In het Portugees betekent dat ‘ik hou van je’ en als hij dan belde naar het weeshuis, legde de directrice steeds geïrriteerd de hoorn erop, omdat zij niet snapte dat hij zo heette. Mijn moeder doet de directrice na en blaast haar stem flink op: ‘Marrrrrilene!’ Wat voor mensen ontmoette je daar? Romantische interesses? Ik had wel een paar losse flodders, E. ook. Maar niets echt serieus.
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Interview
Voor mij was Portugal die wereldreis
Waarom werkten jullie in het weeshuis? We wilden eigenlijk gewoon werkervaring opdoen in het buitenland om te zien hoe de zorg in het buitenland was geregeld. We hebben vooral geleerd hoe het niet moet en dat de gezondheidszorg in Nederland eigenlijk wel goed geregeld is. Jullie hebben ook een tijdje bij een man met een motor gewoond, toch? Ja, bij F. F. en zijn vriend P. kwamen we tegen bij Sintra toen we aan het afdalen waren en toen konden we bij hen een stukje achterop de motor, motormuizen noemden we ze. Met hen zijn we ook de volgende dag naar Sintra en de omgeving geweest. Op een gegeven moment hadden we geen woning meer, mochten we niet meer slapen in het weeshuis, volgensmij waren ze ons een beetje zat. We moesten een slaapplek hebben en toen hebben we F. gebeld, gevraagd of we bij hem mochten logeren. Ik en E. hebben heel lang in een restaurant gezeten met zijn tweeën, ‘wat moeten we nou doen, bij wie moeten we nou slapen, we hebben geen geld’. Jullie hadden hem zomaar opgebeld? We hadden nog wel contact met hem. Je ontmoet als je op reis bent gewoon heel snel veel mensen. Met F. en P. bleven we contact houden, dan kwamen we elkaar tegen terwijl we dansten in de discotheek. Maar op een gegeven moment was hij ons ook zat en toen liep alles wel een beetje tegen het einde. Toen hebben we besloten om naar huis te gaan. We hadden ook niet zoveel geld meer, niet eens geld om terug te reizen.
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Hoe hebben jullie dat opgelost dan? Gelift? Ja, met een vrachtwagen teruggelift. We hebben echt bizarre dingen meegemaakt. In Portugal hebben we ontzettend veel gelift. Wat eigenlijk heel goed ging, van de 25 keer dat we liften is het misschien vier keer echt fout gegaan. Dat we een man van ons af moesten meppen. Aan het begin van het fotoalbum staat wereldreis naar Portugal, voelde het ook echt zo ver weg? Voor mij was het meer een wereldreis omdat je met weinig geld naar een Europees land gaat en dat je vier maanden van huis bent. We hadden gewoon geld gespaard en we dachten we gaan en dan zien we wel hoe lang we blijven. Waar denk je aan als je aan deze reis denkt? Ja, nostalgie natuurlijk. Heel goed dat ik het gedaan heb, een prachtige ervaring. Een wereldreis is misschien voor mensen die een heel jaar naar Australië gaan, maar voor mij was Portugal die wereldreis, in ieder geval, een moment in mijn leven dat ik echt dacht: nu ga ik alleen op reis samen met een vriendin, lang van huis zijn. Is het woord ‘saudade’ een goede omschrijving voor je gevoel? Ja. Weet je dat E. dat als tattoo heeft? Wat mij heel erg aantrok in Portugal was omdat ik het op Ethiopië vond lijken, het land waar ik ben geboren en opgegroeid. In de natuur deden bepaalde streken mij heel erg aan Ethiopië denken. Maar ook de manier van leven. Portugal was toen een arm land. Als je zag hoe goedkoop het was! Voor vier dagen op een camping hebben E. en ik twintig escudo's, dat is ongeveer twintig cent ook.
Interview Je kan natuurlijk wel de plek bezoeken maar je kan nooit terug in de tijd. Naar sommige mensen of naar wie je zelf was, denk je niet? Nou, dat vind ik wel. Ik zie mezelf nog zo zitten. Ik wist nog precies op welke plekken E. en ik hadden gezeten, bij het raam en hoe het stond.
Ik zie mezelf nog zo zitten
Het Ethiopische liedje ‘Tezeta’ van Mulatu Astatke dat jij zo mooi vindt heeft ook ongeveer dezelfde betekenis als saudade. Ik zal het even op zetten. Ja? Wat grappig. Het is een heel bekend Ethiopisch liedje. De fadomuziek van Portugal is natuurlijk ook heel melancholisch. Hier raak je altijd een hele gevoelige snaar bij mij, als dit liedje speelt. We zijn allebei even stil terwijl we naar de zachte muziek luisteren die uit mijn laptopspeakers komt. Was er veel veranderd in de tijd dat we als gezin in 2016 in Lissabon op vakantie waren? Wat ik een heel mooi moment vond, was dat we ‘s avonds in ons huurappartement zaten en ik best wel gedesoriënteerd was. We gingen toen op zoek naar avondeten en toen we de hoek omkwamen herkende ik ineens dat we bij het plein Rossio waren. Ik wist ineens gelijk de weg. Was het niet heel gek om terug te zijn? Er was wel veel veranderd, ook dat Portugal ineens bij de euro hoort. Maar best veel dingen in Lissabon waren nog hetzelfde. Het is ook een beetje of de tijd heeft stilgestaan. Ik herkende heel veel punten, ik wilde ook per se met jullie naar de pastelaria waar ik met E. onze ontmoetingsplek had als we vanuit werk kwamen. Daar gingen we ontzettend vaak koffiedrinken, dat was echt onze uitvalsbasis. Op een gegeven moment kende we ook alle obers. Dat die plek er nog was na zoveel jaar was echt bizar.
Ik bedoel, als je heimwee hebt naar Portugal, heb je ook niet heimwee naar je jongere zelf ? Is dat het gevoel van nostalgie? Ja, ook. Ik heb ook af en toe heimwee naar de tijd dat jij een baby was. Dat zijn herinneringen en die koester je. Daarom heb je een fotoalbum, om die herinneringen weer op te halen. Natuurlijk is het niet meer hetzelfde, maar die herinneringen komen wel weer op. Mijn moeder en ik kletsen nog wat verder over Portugal en hoe dingen veranderen met de tijd. Waar mijn moeder tevreden haar herinneringen lijkt te kunnen koesteren, heb ik soms zelf meer moeite met verandering. Ik denk dat ik nostalgie voor mezelf het best kan beschrijven als een fijn gemis. Zelfs als de herinneringen pijnlijk zijn omdat je niet meer kan terugkeren naar een bepaald moment, wil ik leren waarderen dat wat er toen was wel heel mooi was. Door foto’s en door lange gesprekken met kopjes thee kan je toch eventjes rondlopen door de knusse kamers van je eigen nostalgie. Wie weet, vertel ik over dertig jaar aan een eettafel op eenzelfde manier over mijn eigen avonturen.
Het is ook een beetje of de tijd heeft stilgestaan
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Recipe
Pasteis de Bacalhau The Gift from the Sea Text & Image Siyang Dai
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Recipe
B
acalhau usually refers to the salted and dried codfish that can be stored for a longer time compared to fresh codfish. Portuguese fishing traditions in the North Atlantic developed before the invention of refrigeration, which started in the 15th century. Drying and salting techniques, invented by human beings, are practised to preserve this gift from the sea. By the late 1700s, codfish had become a cheap source of protein and nutrition for the Portuguese people who lived by the sea and became an indispensable ingredient of Portuguese cuisine. You can easily see codfish in any cooking method: stew, fried, grilled, boiled, roasted, or even steamed. Pastel de Bacalhau, which can be translated to codfish cake, is more like a snack rather than a main dish like other traditional Portuguese seafood. The mixture of cod fish with onion and potato will not fill you up but rather satisfy you. To add some flavour, people sometimes add cheese to its centre. The small ball with the crunchy outside and the soft, creamy inside hides the treasure of the sea and the wisdom of life itself.
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In Depth
On unstable ground Pombaline Architecture in Portugal's Capital Amongst Lisbon’s seven hills, the only thing more notable than the burning in your calves are the colourful facades of the buildings that line the streets of neighbourhoods like the Alfama. The streets are steep and narrow, intersecting with one another in a twisted manner. Hand painted tiles decorate the buildings and patterned calçada pave the ground beneath you. A place of unique design, the intrigue of Lisbon’s architectural landscape is more than what’s on the surface.
Text Islay Kilgannon Image Lingli Crucq
I
n stark contrast to the colour and details of the Alfama is the Baixa, Lisbon’s downtown neighbourhood that hosts shopping streets and large plazas. The streets of the Baixa are wide, easily accommodating heavy foot traffic of tourists visiting historic buildings and sights. The difference in style is more than an aesthetic choice. The area’s Pombaline style comes from a long history of destruction and power that shaped the Lisbon we know today.
The style was not embraced without criticism Man versus nature On the first of November 1755, as residents celebrated All Saints Day, Portugal was struck by an unprecedented seismic event. One of the largest earthquakes in history reverberated from its epicentre in the Atlantic ocean, concentrating its impact on Portugal’s coast. Not only was Lisbon’s downtown area the focus of the earthquake, but a subsequent tsunami doubled down on the destruction of the southern region. While some areas were spared, Lisbon’s central district was demolished, and the destruction did not end there. The chaos of the earthquake and tsunami paved the way for a fire, perhaps sparked by celebratory All Saints Day candles, effectively destroying what was left of the Baixia area’s infrastructure. Under the rule of the first Marquis of Pombal, Sebastião José de Carvalho e Melo, and the design of his military generals, the Pombalino Plan was enacted. In order to rebuild the city as quickly and efficiently as possible, the engineers started a structurally robust building and design system to ensure Lisbon’s Baixa could withstand any future disasters. Main streets were highly regulated, the height of buildings and width of the streets became standardised,
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and the neighbourhood was organised into a uniform grid. The buildings themselves adopted an inner grid or, Gaiola Pombalina, along with outer stone walls and flexible wooden beams that allowed buildings to withstand potential seismic movement. Decorative additions to the outer facades and the use of azulejo tiling was limited as well. Due to the expedited reconstruction time and the need to distribute funds as efficiently as possible, the outer facades of the buildings were allocated hierarchically, the more elaborate facades adorning only the most prominent buildings on main streets. This systematic ranking of buildings and reordering of Lisbon’s central neighbourhood reflects how Pombaline architecture came to be characterised by logic, standardisation, and order. The legible city The reconstruction of Pombaline Lisbon is regarded as a feat of innovation, yet the motivations behind the plan were not solely because of the disaster. The reconstruction was integral to rebuilding Portugal’s economic standing and maritime power, as well as for the Marquis of Pombal to assert his own power as a government leader. As much as Pombaline
In Depth
Pombaline Lisbon’s historic status has been constructed and maintained by people in power
architecture was an achievement for Portugal’s national image and Lisbon’s wellbeing, the style was not embraced without criticism. The standardised approach to city planning was a marker of Enlightenment thinking and ideas of utopian city design and urbanism that were prevalent across Europe and the United Kingdom throughout the 17th and 18th centuries. For cities that adopted standardised urban planning systems, these changes reflected an attempt to control wider social or environmental factors. For some cities like London or Edinburgh this was sanitation and disease, while for Lisbon it was control over natural phenomena. Anthropologist James Scott understands state plans for order and standardisation make a society more ‘legible’, and thus, more easily governable. Such broad state planning systems may therefore overlook complexities within local communities and impose a specific kind of power and order, regardless of pre-existing social systems. Additionally, the aesthetic style of Pombaline Lisbon can be seen as lacking in stylistic innovation, despite the important structural advancements the Pombaline style represents. The rationale of Lisbon’s reconstruction is justified by the extreme circumstances under which authorities and architects were forced to adapt to. While undeniably effective, the standardised approach reflects the values and ideologies of the time. Enlightenment thinking prioritised innovation and progress, thus the triumph over nature and Lisbon’s unstable seismic geography was seen as such. Architecture itself comes to show how we exert power over the land and cities we reside in, and ultimately how these processes are situated in particular historic and socio-political contexts. The ‘modern’ city Considering Pombaline architecture’s significance within
Portugal’s history and as an aesthetic attraction for visitors, proponents of Pombalino Lisbon’s cultural value have petitioned for the Baxia to become an official UNESCO world heritage site. Fans of Pombaline style reference the rich history behind these neighbourhoods and Lisbon’s history as a global power, going so far as to call Lisbon the ‘first modern western city’. A claim as such raises questions as to what modernity means for a city. Understanding Pombaline Lisbon as a particular product of economic and political power as well as state control over its land and population lends to the understanding that Pombaline Lisbon’s historic status has been constructed and maintained by people in power. The interconnections between Pombaline architecture and power go beyond even Lisbon and the Marquis de Pombal himself. Pombaline style itself can be seen in Portugal’s former colonies like Brazil, where schools were established for training military engineers in the style. Minas Gerais, Brazil even hosts its own architectural UNESCO World Heritage Site. The transmission of knowledge and building practices in the colonial era can be connected to the idea of spreading modernity and establishing power. As much as technical advancements and aesthetics may be appreciated, the complex history of these practices gives insights into the way that global power relations shape our everyday lives. Walking through Lisbon’s streets, the city’s unique design is impossible to miss. The diversity of architecture and rich historical background draw visitors in, allowing them to question how the very ground beneath their feet has come to be. In spite of an unstable history, Pombaline Lisbon remains a fascinating and complex artefact of Portugal’s history. The city is a dynamic being, shaped by the people and power who define it and, in turn, changing the way we think and organise ourselves in relation to our environments.
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Poetry
Heinde en verre Een poëtisch reisdagboek Tekst & Beeld
Rachel Kok
teleportatie vliegschaamte veilig opgeborgen oortjes in, ogen dicht, bestemming bereikt het landschap overgeslagen dat thuis in ver doet overgaan een Arabisch gezegde luidt: ‘de ziel reist op het tempo van een kameel’ ik wou dat ik een kameel had
winkel ze verkopen hier herinneringen gitaren op sokken, als samenvatting van de fado wilde ze bijna kopen weet alleen niet hoe het klinkt
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Poetry
zwemmen ontdekkingsreis in omnem terram exivit sonus ‘hun geluid ging uit over de hele wereld’ leest de deur van de kathedraal uitkijkend over het water waar ontdekkers vertrokken Pascal schreef het al de onvrede die voortkomt uit ons onvermogen vrede te vinden op een stoel, stil, alleen een monnik had daar vast geen moeite mee de kerk wel ik blijkbaar ook ik zou Elon Musk hetzelfde kunnen vragen: is moeder aarde niet genoeg?
ik probeer te drijven maar mijn lichaam is meer water dan lucht de zee, dat ben ik net zoals jij dat bent wij allemaal hetzelfde water raakt verschillende kusten doet niet aan grenzen net zoals vogels ooit over muren vlogen
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Story
‘I
wanna
see
Text Kyriaki Mallioglou Image Lingli Crucq
T
he way I see myself today and the way others interact with me is filled with a history that might be easy to consciously forget. Yet the nostalgic value of one pastel de nata is infinitely more filling than anything else. Adults and children alike find themselves in my variations. And while I may not have exactly the same taste everywhere in the world. My mission remains the same as always.
My mission remains the same as always I have been around for a long time. More specifically, since the 18th century. I was born in Belém, but I've since travelled to many places. My insides seem to change every time I travel - it's the great question of my life. Each place inspires and guides me to become a slightly different version of myself. Yet, many people who've known me since their childhood dislike it when they notice these changes happening. I can only appease so much before I myself start feeling constrained. So, I ignore them and change once again. I make sure that the basics always stay the same, but perhaps it's the small things about my personality. The sweetness or notes of spice that people become accustomed to is what seems so widely different across time. Anyway, I've decided that people who don't accept my changes were never my admirers in the first place. The people who I deem the friendliest were always the people who allowed me to flourish and, in turn, devoured me with passion each time they came across me.
I reached more people by the day
The beginning of my life was humble, sheltered, and in many ways devout. I grew up surrounded by monastery walls, hard-working monks educating me on the ways of life rooted in simplicity. We used to starch clothes with egg whites and save the yolks to use in pastry recipes. A ‘no waste’ lifestyle, if you will. In those years I brought with me a sense of happiness everywhere I went. I believe I still do. But those first few times interacting with people liking me for me, I will never forget what that feels like. Pretty soon after that, the monasteries could not keep me a secret any more. A sugar refinery right next to the monastery I grew up in started living up to its sweet-tooth name, seeking out sweet pastries from within the walls. The monks decided they could help finance the grounds if they let the secret of my existence go. In their defence, I had my mind made up on getting outside the walls by that point. I wanted to explore further, see more people and places. And I knew it from the first moment I left; there would be no turning back.
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the
world’ My dream to meet more people finally came true
These movements and changes kept happening across the centuries. Up till now I've been listening, honing and skillfully recreating myself. These days you will find me in a range of places, from traditional hundredyear-old family-owned pastry shops to high-end dessert stores. Each of these locations brings with it a series of prerequisites. Mostly it's the fact that I decided to see the world. But additionally, it's the people who guided and helped me become myself along the way. Reaching the overpriced tourist pastry shops of Western Europe, or the hipster cafes in Hong Kong, just means that my dream to meet more people came true.
My upbringing was constricted in many ways, yet, as I moved further and further away from my birthplace, more elements of freedom took over. From household to household, I moved around in Portugal until I reached the people at the docks, ready to make distant trips to far-off lands. That's one of the burdens of living so long; it often means that you bear witness to many events that could be difficult to comprehend. I tagged along with my fellow countrymen as they moved to different parts of the world. I didn’t necessarily agree with their politics but due to their ambition, I got to go to places I had only ever heard stories about. The people there welcomed me a little more than the people I was with, and in no time they had started to integrate me into their lives. And I loved it. It's those new spices and mixed feelings that inspired me to change each time the land under my feet did. Using their knowledge of local customs and tastes, I reached more people by the day.
The way I see myself today and the way others interact with me is filled with a history that might be easy to consciously forget. Yet the nostalgic value of one pastel de nata is infinitely more filling than anything else. Adults and children alike find themselves in my variations. And while I may not have the same taste everywhere in the world. My mission remains the same as always.
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Column
Let me hate the sea Text
I
Dima Karara
gasp for air as I try to make it back to shore - another wave knocks me over. My bikini top has been hit, leaving my left boob exposed. There's hair in my eyes, and sand swirls around me - my feet can't find the ground. I’m trying to spit the salty water out of my mouth, but it keeps assaulting its way back in. I finally make it back to land, I look around trying to find where I left my stuff - I need to get out of here. Between the sea water dripping from my hair into my eyes and the tears clouding my vision, I can barely see, but I make it back to my chaise longue. I sit down and take a few deep breaths in an attempt to steady my breathing. I need to get home but my options are not looking too good. The rest of my family is scattered around the beach. My cousins who urged me to get into the water are still in there, their laughs as I struggled still fresh in my mind. My siblings are somewhere on the boardwalk getting snacks, and my parents are walking by the shore. I either walk home in all my sandy shaky glory, or I sit here uncomfortable wanting to crawl out of my skin until someone decides to go home and take me with them. It does not matter what choice I make; this has happened countless times, and both options are dreadful. The story ends with me in the shower, washing my body over and over again in an attempt to get the sand out of every crevice. Next time I am dragged to the beach, I stare out onto the sea enjoying the view. I bring a book to keep me company while everyone else swims. I am bombarded with questions about why I am not swimming. I try to explain that I do not like it, it's not my thing, I’d rather just sit here. They tell me I am boring, annoying, or a downer. Next year, we play out the same script: they pretend they do not know I do not like to swim in the sea, and I bite back my annoyance. One day, the water looks nice, and I momentarily forget the brawl that the waves and I had the prior year. We had a more forgiving relationship when I was younger, maybe it’ll be different this time. I let my family feel victorious with their persuasion. The same story plays out. It took me much longer than it should have to decide to stop going in, to just enjoy the beach for everything other than the water. But the people around me can not seem to accept that fact. Every year as summer rolls around I dread being suffocated by questions or comments about swimming in the sea. ‘Just put your feet in, you don't even have to swim,’ ‘The water is so clear, it’s like swimming in a pool,’ ‘How could you not like the sea, it's so refreshing.’ On and on it goes. Each person thinks that they will succeed, they will be the person to convince me - to enlighten me as to how wonderful the sea really is. They will not be, nor will the next person, or the next. I do not care how warm the water is or how wonderful it feels. This seems to be a boundary that people universally have chosen to ignore and push against. Leave me alone and let me sit on the beach in peace.
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Image Report
Sprekende tegels Een kunstvorm op straat Tekst en beeld
Lingki Crucq
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ls we denken aan straatkunst, denken we aan graffiti op de muren. In Portugal – maar ook in hun voormalige koloniën – ligt kunst letterlijk op straat! Waar mensen vaak naar de architectuur en wonderschone dingen kijken op ooghoogte, missen ze vaak wat er gebeurt onder hun voeten. Vele gebouwen in Portugal zijn mooi gedecoreerd met mozaïek en kleurrijke tegeltjes, maar de bestrating is even bijzonder. De kunstvorm calçada portuguesa bestaat uit lichte en donkere stoeptegeltjes waarmee stratenmakers en ambachtslieden (calceiteros) spelen met contrast en vormen om zo verschillende expressies te creeëren. Helaas is deze kunstvorm aan het afnemen omdat er steeds minder mensen zijn die het beoefenen (door lage lonen), het onderhoud duur is en het arbeidsintensief is (alles is handgemaakt!). Door bezuiniging worden de straten vaker vervangen met beton of ander goedkoop materiaal, want de natuursteen nodig voor de kunstvorm is duurder. Calçada heeft veel charme, maar een nadeel is dat de hobbelige–en soms gladde–tegeltjes vaak een hindernis zijn voor mensen die slecht ter been zijn (of als je zoals ik in een ambulance word vervoerd door een voedselallergie). Om de kunstvorm in leven te houden proberen de Portugezen het op de UNESCO erfgoedlijst te krijgen en zijn er meerdere initiatieven, waaronder een groep selecte werklozen die bij leermeesters in de leer gaan om het vak te leren.
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Endlessness ending Text Image
Ethan Fenwick Rachel Kok
T
he 20th century may come to be remembered as the penultimate grasp for prosperity, a blind progression that plunged its offspring into misery. New ideas, technologies, and politics exploded, but the tumultuous death of viable ideological alternatives has perhaps become its most enduring legacy. While the collapse of the Communist state can hardly be considered a tragedy, the abolition of Marxism as the basis for a just society is an oversight. A lot of criticism has been levelled at deterministic models of society. They are not only dangerous but misleading. The self-contained destruction of capital, as identified by Marx, proved to be untrue, and his prophecies of a bright communist future failed to materialise. Radical revolutions may have succeeded in overthrowing systems, but strict adherence to rhetoric rendered them incapable of building truly socialist societies. Mathematicians, meanwhile, were running into similar problems of rigidity. Classical geometry often failed to account for the chaotic nature of reality. On the other side of the ideological divide, Benoit Mandelbrot, a mathematician, was working on the coastline paradox. It states that the smaller the measuring instrument, the longer the coast. To deal with the problem, he developed a new field of mathematics: fractal geometry. Fractals are never-ending patterns of intense complexity. No matter how far you zoom in, they continue. They occur all around us: in clouds, the shapes of leaves, trees, snowflakes, and coastlines. A key feature of fractals is their self-repetition. They continue to repeat themselves through all scales. It is seemingly a key feature of unfolding nature. In 1980, Benoit’s work on fractals led to the discovery of the Mandelbrot Set. It was very much the lovechild of unbridled capital and modernity. In theory, it could have been discovered at any time in history, but it first appeared on the printout of an IBM supercomputer. The formula is simple: Z= Z2 + C, but its application was revolutionary. Each input either shrinks to zero or shoots off to infinity. By repeating the calculation and plotting the numbers on a chart, a pattern begins to emerge. While, in theory, this could be done by hand, it requires millions upon millions of iterations. The introduction of computing power made it possible to visualise the result, a pattern that has often been referred to as the thumbprint of God. This infinite pattern seems to be an uneasy parallel to society. The way it grows and moves, the subtle cascade of order running through an organic chaos. We also seem to organise ourselves into little islands of familiarity; even in the unknown, we recognise something of humanity. I wonder what endlessness means now we are confronted with an end that seems to be growing closer. It often feels like the problems we face are amounting to the unsurpassable. If we are to approach, as we must, the issues resulting from society's intricate connections, it might be fruitful to dream in visual modes. We might not be able to use formulas or functions, but perhaps this type of thinking might reveal something new. Instead of discarding theory, maybe another angle, one that accepts the infinite complexity and unpredictability of life, might reveal tools for a brighter future.
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A ritual for emergence beginning to feel Text & Image Harriet Smith From fingers clicking and hands clapping, To knee slapping and foot tapping, Till humming becomes singing, And bodies are standing, swaying, dancing, We begin to feel
“All that you touch you change, all that you change, changes you.”
“What breaks in you, breaks in me”
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t’s June 18th, the sun is shining and I’m walking with my sister, my partner, and three friends towards Muziekgebouw. Tonight, we will attend ‘To feel a thing: a ritual for emergence’, part of the Holland Festival. I heard of the event earlier in the week, through an Instagram link to an interview by Clarice Gargard with adrienne maree brown, both prominent activists I find inspiring. The event falls on the new moon, during my eleven-day period of birthday celebrations and the timing feels too perfect to pass up. I didn’t read much in advance but booked tickets for eight of us, before sending the classic Tikkie link. As we walk, we discuss how none of us know what exactly to expect, apart from gospel choir music. The room we enter is large, three-storeys in height with acoustic wood panelling to each wall and black lighting rigs above us. In the centre is a large sculpture; long tubular lights are entangled within a tree, representative of mycelium networks. The sculpture is surrounded on four sides with rows of chairs, and floor cushions in the very centre. The room is virtually full, and we are lucky to find a row of seats at the very back with space to all sit together. As we sit down the lights begin to dim.
This isn’t a performance; it’s a ritual This isn’t a performance; it’s a ritual. This is the intention and invitation which adrienne maree brown’s soft voice lays out at the beginning. When we think of a performance there are distinct roles that may begin to appear in our imagination; we may imagine an audience and a performer, seating facing a stage, a separation which the layout and conception of this event immediately questions. adrienne maree brown invites those of us present to engage with this ritual instead, by which she refers to an intentional presence and engagement where however we wish to express ourselves to the soundscape of music, words, and poetry we will experience is accepted. We might sing, dance, stand, stay seated, close our eyes, move towards the centre, get a drink from various water stations around the room, whatever feels right to us as individuals sharing space. We are invited ‘to feel a thing,’ within ourselves and our connections together on this summer’s evening sharing space. adrienne maree brown begins with words from Octavia Butler, a Black feminist and science fiction writer. ‘All that you touch you change, all that you change, changes you' (from Parable of the Sower). This sentiment is core to emergent strategy, rooted in the idea that transformation occurs through small changes rooted in trust and connection, as a result of our inherent interrelatedness. Her words are accompanied by soft music before the choir begins the first song. Troy Anthony, director and composer of The Fire Ensemble choir, teaches us the words first, so that we can sing if we choose to. The words of this first song are also based on Octavia Butler’s writing: ‘belief initiates action, or it does nothing at all.’ The song is upbeat with easy-to-follow lyrics and a call and response style that eases inclusion. The
energy in the room is excited and a little nervous, we are aware of the sounds of our own voices, how our movement is perceived; we are largely still seated. The song is followed by a harmonising practice, where we are invited to make tones that complement the other voices in the room. Everything feels intentionally created to facilitate interaction and connection, but without pressure to do anything that still feels uncomfortable. It is okay to simply be aware of our awkwardness in a crowded room; we should meet ourselves where we are in the given moment. I find myself avoiding eye contact while I sing; I am not always confident in my own voice. The evening has a flow that covers a wide array of emotions rooted in experience. There are moments where the entire room sings and dances, people quietly cry, solo singers share their talents, Clarice Gargard shares experiences specific to the Netherlands, a Dutch poet and a Winti priestess share their words, and adrienne maree brown shares moments of deep vulnerability, her experiences of grief and violence and hope and possibility. Intimacy is created in a full room of strangers. I found this captured beautifully in the song with lyrics ‘what breaks in you, breaks in me.’ We want to be able to hold each other’s feelings and recognise our own simultaneously. I imagine worlds ending and new worlds being created. adrienne maree brown’s work is always engaged with (re)imagining; in this ritual, music becomes a home for sharing emotions, sounds, and stories. Music becomes a way of sharing messages related to belief, change, grief, connection, and hope. Together we experience storytelling combined with a reimagining of gospel music transcending religion, while recognising the power of spirituality and a sense of something greater which bonds us together as humans and more-than-humans. Together with Charlotte Braithwaite, Troy Anthony, The Fire Ensemble, and Queer Choir Amsterdam, adrienne maree brown has created a ritual of emergence, a practice of recognising how small acts can change patterns in the search for healing, justice, and liberation. We walk into a warm summer’s night, onto a deck besides the water with the possibility of transformation within each of us.
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