We had dinner at a new Chinese place tonight, 4 minutes up the hill from our flat. The view of the city was panoramic and from a different angle and far more flattering than both the one I have shown you and the one enjoyed during Valentine's dinner. Jod agreed with the owner that there are fewer lights in the city at night than one would expect: only towers, tower blocks, spires, minarets and the like were lit up, surrounded by a thousand points of light (…) and emerging from the general darkness, reaching for the barely starlit sky.
The food was simply exquisite: the wonton soup (with handmade wontons), the Canton-style beef and the fried coconut milk dessert are highly recommended (Outpost residents, ask me for directions). The staff were pleasant, humorous and helpful. Only the fortune cookie was against me, see this post's title for the actual divination. Maybe I should have followed helion's example and should have requested a different one. Hm.
What else? A lot of work was finished today (a breakthrough) and towards the close of the day, this wonderful post made my nocturnal blog surfing more than worthwhile. It awakened in me the light of the North, crisp, gentle, in all its different colours and sensual cosiness or coldness — depending on the time of the day and the season. A surge of nostalgia, arose in me and unexpectedly stirred all these dormant but potent spirits of passion and memory and 'will to life' within me — even hope, too. But such things are so hard to encode in language.
Mr. Strand triggered all the above by pointing us to Hammershøi, the child of Augustus Strindberg and Jan Vermeer, a marriage that proves a surprisingly fitting match. Thanks, Francis.