Marco Polo Quotes

There is still one of which you never speak.' Marco Polo bowed his head. 'Venice,' the Khan said. Marco smiled. 'What else do you believe I have been talking to you about?' The emperor did not turn a hair. 'And yet I have never heard you mention that name.' And Polo said: 'Every time I describe a city I am saying something about Venice.

Each time I say good-bye to a place I like, I feel like I am leaving a part of me behind. I guess whether we choose to travel as much as Marco Polo did or stay in the same spot from cradle to grave, life is a sequence of births and deaths. Moments are born and moments die. For new experiences to come to light, old ones need to wither away.

Marco Polo describes a bridge, stone by stone. 'But which is the stone that supports the bridge?' Kublai Khan asks. 'The bridge is not supported by one stone or another,' Marco answers, 'but by the line of the arch that they form.' Kublai Khan remains silent, reflecting. Then he adds: 'Why do you speak to me of the stones? It is only the arch that matters to me.' Polo answers: 'Without stones there is no arch.

I have not told the half of what I saw.

I did not write half of what I saw, for I knew I would not be believed

When Marco Polo came at last to Cathay, seven hundred years ago, did he not feel--and did his heart not falter as he realized--that this great and splendid capital of an empire had had its being all the years of his life and far longer, and that he had been ignorant of it? That it was in need of nothing from him, from Venice, from Europe? That it was full of wonders beyond his understanding? That his arrival was a matter of no importance whatever? We know that he felt these things, and so has many a traveler in foreign parts who did not know what he was going to find. There is nothing that cuts you down to size like coming to some strange and marvelous place where no one even stops to notice that you stare about you.

I did not tell half of what I saw, for I knew I would not be believed

My heart beats as much as I can breathe.

Marco Polo had seen the inhabitants of Zipangu place rose-colored pearls in the mouths of the dead. A sea-monster had been enamoured of the pearl that the diver brought to King Perozes, and had slain the thief, and mourned for seven moons over its loss.

There were no mail-order catalogues in 1492. Marco Polo's journal was the wish book of Renaissance Europe. Then, Columbus sailed the ocean blue and landed in Sears' basement. Despite all the Indians on the escalator, Columbus' visit came to be known as a "discovery.

Since Marco Polo, he thought, this climate has defeated Western civilization.

Please Polo." What the hell? "It's Marco." "That's what I said.

You will hear it for yourselves, and it will surely fill you with wonder.

I’d like to play a game of Marco Polo—in the 13th century.

Here people was once used to be honourable: now they are all bad; they have kept one goodness: that they are greatest boozers.

Marco Polo sabía que lo que imaginan los hombres no es menos real que lo que llaman la realidad.

to my father’s amazement, was an ancient but clearly recognizable painting of Marco Polo, who must have visited Huai’an during his thirteenth-century travels about China. The priest asked my father to donate a picture of Jesus for his collection, and, after thinking about it, Daddy did.

There was a time when a book could be sold purely because its author had been to distant climes and had returned to tell of the exotic sights he had seen. That author was Marco Polo, and the time was the thirteenth century.

The personal appearance of the Great Kaan, Lord of Lords, whose name is Cublay, is such as I shall now tell you.

The map of the world is drawn by travelers and nomads. Built into it are steps, nights and days, stations and encounters.

You will hear it for yourself, and it will surely fill you with wonder.

I did not tell half of what I saw, for no one would have believed me. MARCO POLO, 1324

Marco Polo dictated his Travels in French,

Then, I will be a real Italian girl, instead of a total American who still can't hear someone across the street to his friend Marco without wanting instinctively to yell back "Polo!

Simply put, there are actions of state that are the right things to do, even if they cannot be defined in terms of conventional morality.

Related lessons: Don’t go hunting ghosts, and don’t get too deep into a situation where your civilizational advantage is of little help.

national navies tend to cooperate better than national armies, partly because sailors are united by a kind of fellowship-of-the-sea born of their shared experience facing violent natural forces.

We go naked because we want nothing of this world; for we came into the world naked and unclothed. As for not being ashamed to show our members, the fact is that we do no sin with them and therefore have no more shame in them than you have when you show your hand or face or the other parts of your body that do not lead you into carnal sin; whereas you use your members to commit sin and lechery, and so you cover them up and are ashamed of them. But we are no more ashamed of showing them than we are of showing our fingers, because we do not sin with them.

Russia does not require an invasion, only a zone of influence in the Intermarium that it can achieve by gradually compromising the democratic vitality of rimland states. (Hungary, in particular, is well on its way in this regard.)

At this very moment we are breathing the same air that once was Marco Polo’s last breath. And we’re also breathing the same air that was Mozart’s first breath as a baby. you’re also breathing air that’s probably been queefed by Mata Hari, Cleopatra and Marilyn Monroe, which either way you look at it is pretty cool. So, while we’re breathing in the same molecules as Jesus, we’re also breathing in the same air as Pontius Pilot, Attila the Hun and an inmate on Death Row in San Quentin State Prison. We are linked to every other life form that has ever been on this planet because we literally breathe the same air.

Jerott?’ said Lymond. ‘What are you not saying?’ His eyes, as the orderly cavalcade paced through the muddy streets, had not left that forceful aquiline face since they met. And Jerott, Philippa saw with disbelief, flushed. For a moment longer, the strict blue eyes studied him; and then Lymond laughed. ‘She’s an eighteen-year-old blonde of doubtful virginity? Or more frightful still, an eighteen-year-old blonde of unstained innocence? I shall control my impulses, Jerott, I promise you. I’m only going to throw her out if she looks like a troublemaker, or else so bloody helpless that we’ll lose lives looking after her. Not everyone,’ he said, in a wheeling turn which caught Philippa straining cravenly to hear, ‘is one of Nature’s Marco Polos like the Somerville offspring.

Marco Polo, who wrote that Mongol couriers could cover 250 or even 300 miles in a single day. Reading historical tales about such exploits, one could be forgiven for imagining the steppe as a single flat grassland through which horsemen moved with a sense of freedom and ease. Here on horseback, though, it was clear the cavalry were negotiating deserts, mountains, rivers, swamps, heat, and frosts, and somehow keeping their horses fed and healthy, even before leaving Mongolia.

Marco Polo had been to China; Vasco de Gama had discovered the route to the Cape. The continent was in ferment, in movement, whereas the Mexican world was … absolutely hermetically closed. The arrival of the Spaniards must have been like the arrival of people from Mars... totally unsuspected aliens. The shock must have been profound…I think it’s one of the reasons behind the downfall of the Aztec Empire. In a sense, I think the Aztec Empire died of astonishment, more than anything else.

Because moralists in these matters are always driven by righteous passion, whenever you disagree with them, you are by definition immoral and deserve no quarter; whereas realists, precisely because they are used to conflict, are less likely to overreact to it.

Sea power is the compensatory answer for shaping geopolitics—to the extent that it can be shaped—in the face of an infernally complex and intractable situation on land.

The age of comparative anarchy is upon us.

In the interest of thinking tragically in order to avoid tragedy, policy makers need to worry about how not to provoke more anarchy than the world has already seen.

Hiding doesn’t work if you go around yelling Marco Polo.

Though hardly a revolutionary insight, the comment set Pigafetta apart from sages such as Pliny and Marco Polo,

Into these pavilions he admitted the elect, and there, says Marco Polo, gave them to eat a certain herb, which transported them to Paradise, in the midst of ever-blooming shrubs, ever-ripe fruit, and ever-lovely virgins. What these happy persons took for reality was but a dream; but it was a dream so soft, so voluptuous, so enthralling, that they sold themselves body and soul to him who gave it to them, and obedient to his orders as to those of a deity, struck down the designated victim, died in torture without a murmur, believing that the death they underwent was but a quick transition to that life of delights of which the holy herb, now before you, had given them a slight foretaste.” “Then,” cried Franz, “it is hashish! I know that—by name at least.

those Muslim prison-states have all but collapsed (either on their own or by outside interference), unleashing a tide of refugees into debt-ridden and economically stagnant European societies.

What benefit have the Hindus derived from their contact with Christian nations? The idea generally prevalent in this country about the morality and truthfulness of the Hindus evidently has been very low. Such seeds of enmity and hatred have been sown by the missionaries that it would be an almost Herculean task to establish better relations between India and America... If we examine Greek, Chinese, Persian, or Arabian writings on the Hindus, before foreigners invaded India, we find an impartial description of their national character. Megasthenes, the famous Greek ambassador, praises them for their love of truth and justice, for the absence of slavery, and for the chastity of their women. Arrian, in the second century, Hiouen-thsang, the famous Buddhist pilgrim in the seventh century, Marco Polo in the thirteenth century, have written in highest terms of praise of Hindu morality. The literature and philosophy of Ancient India have excited the admiration of all scholars, except Christian missionaries.

Immer wenn ich mich von einem Ort, der mir gefällt, verabschieden muss, habe ich das Gefühl, etwas von mir zurückzulassen. Wahrscheinlich besteht das Leben ganz unabhängig davon, ob man ein Vielreisender wie Marco Polo ist oder niemals in die Ferne zieht, aus einer Abfolge von Geburten und Toden. Ein Moment entsteht, ein Moment vergeht. Damit neue Erfahrungen an den Tag kommen können, müssen alte verblühen.

Because I live in south Florida I store cans of black beans and gallons of water in my closet in preparation for hurricane season. I throw a hurricane party in January. You’re my only guest. We play Marco Polo in bed. The sheets are wet like the roof caved in. There’s a million of me in you. You try to count me as I taste the sweat on the back of your neck. I call you Sexy Sexy, and we do everything twice. After, still sweating, we drink Crystal Light out of plastic water bottles. We discuss the pros and cons of vasectomies. It’s not invasive you say. I wrap the bedsheet around my waist. Minor surgery you say. You slur the word surgery, like it’s a garnish on a dish you just prepared. I eat your hair until you agree to no longer talk about vasectomies. We agree to have children someday, and that they will be beautiful even if they’re not. As I watch your eyes grow heavy like soggy clothes, I tell you When I grow up I’m going to be a famous writer. When I’m famous I’ll sign autographs on Etch-A-Sketches. I’ll write poems about writing other poems, so other poets will get me. You open your eyes long enough to tell me that when you grow up, you’re going to be a steamboat operator. Your pores can never be too clean you say. I say I like your pores just fine. I say Your pores are tops. I kiss you with my whole mouth, and you fall asleep next to my molars. In the morning, we eat french toast with powdered sugar. I wear the sugar like a mustache. You wear earmuffs and pretend we’re in a silent movie. I mouth Olive juice, but I really do love you. This is an awesome hurricane party you say, but it comes out as a yell because you can’t gauge your own volume with the earmuffs on. You yell I want to make something cute with you. I say Let me kiss the insides of your arms. You have no idea what I just said, but you like the way I smile.

And so here is Shreya, saying “Polo” to me from across the great divide. But she is also saying “Marco.” She is also telling me to hear her voice, and answer her call. People often ask me why I’m obsessed with tuberculosis. I’m a novelist, not a historian of medicine. TB is rare where I live. It doesn’t affect me. And that’s all true. But I hear Shreya, and Henry, and so many others calling to me: Marco. Marco. Marco.

With the Athenians, as with Darius, one is astonished by how the obsession with honor and reputation can lead a great power toward a bad fate. The image of Darius’s army marching into nowhere on an inhospitable steppe, in search of an enemy that never quite appears, is so powerful that it goes beyond mere symbolism.

The United States, like any nation—but especially because it is a great power—simply has interests that do not always cohere with its values. That is tragic, but it is a tragedy that has to be embraced and accepted.

America is learning an ironic truth of empire: You endure by not fighting every battle. In the first century A.D., Tiberius preserved Rome by not interfering in bloody internecine conflicts beyond its northern frontier. Instead, he practiced strategic patience as he watched the carnage. He understood the limits of Roman power.

There is still the EU, but also individual states, regions, and city-states, with liberalism barely holding off the forces of populist nationalism. To say that this does not undermine the strength of NATO is to be in denial,

The EU gave both political support and quotidian substance to the values inherent in NATO—those values being, generally, the rule of law over arbitrary fiat, legal states over ethnic nations, and the protection of the individual no matter his race or religion. Democracy, after all, is less about elections than about impartial institutions.

All this so that Marco Polo could explain or imagine explaining or be imagined explaining or succeed finally in explaining to himself that what he sought was always something lying ahead, and even if it was a matter of the past it was a past that changed gradually as he advanced on his journey, because the traveler's past changes according to the route he has followed: not the immediate past, that is, to which each day that goes by adds a day, but the more remote past. Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in wait for you in foreign, unpossessed places.

Stoics belittle physical harm, but this is not braggadocio. They are speaking of it in comparison to the devastating agony of shame they fancied good men generating when they knew in their hearts that they had failed to do their duty

Because it did used to be cool, super-cool, in fact - she was our Magellan, our Marco Polo, one of the wayward Walker women whose restless boundless spirit propels her from place to place, love to love, moment to unpredictable moment.

Whilst the food we eat nowadays has much to be grateful to the likes of Marco Polo, Alexander the Great and Vasco De Gama, who would have introduced the tangy flavours of South Africa’s Rainbow Cuisine on his way around the Cape of Good Hope to India, Arabic cuisine, with spices of cinnamon, cloves, saffron and ginger was a lot more enterprising than Western cooking at the time. The medley of colours that the spices offered the food had mystical meanings to the Arabs

When you write a novel, you are alone in it. I wrote that book alone, sitting in airports and coffee shops and lying in bed. But when writing, there is always for me a hope that one day I will not be alone—not in this work and not in this world. It is a bit like that old children’s pool game Marco Polo, where one person closes their eyes and swims around the pool trying to tag someone else. “Marco,” the person with eyes closed says, and the other pool-goers have to answer, “Polo.” “Marco, Marco, Marco,” cries one kid, and the others reply: “Polo. Polo. Polo.” Writing is like that for me, like I’m typing “Marco, Marco, Marco” for years, and then finally the work is finished and someone reads it and says, “Polo.

I wish I were rich enough to endow a prize for the sensible traveler: £10,000 for the first man to over Marco Polo’s outward route, reading three fresh books a week, and another £10,000 if he a drinks a bottle of wine a day as well. That man might tell one something about the journey. He might or might not be naturally observant. But at least he would use what eyes he had, and would not think it necessary to dress up the result in thrills that never happened and science no deeper than its own jargon.

We must move away from domain control to domain denial, since our only motive to be on the ground in the Greater Middle East and Central Asia is for smackdown or disruption purposes. (In retrospect, that is how we should have handled Afghanistan after 9/11.)

the United States helps topple the dictator Bashar al-Assad on Wednesday, then what will it do on Thursday, when it finds that it has helped midwife to power a Sunni jihadist regime, or on Friday, when ethnic cleansing of the Shia-trending Alawites commences?

The more urbanized, the more educated, and even the more enlightened the world becomes, counterintuitively, the more politically unstable it becomes, too.*42 This is what techno-optimists and those who inhabit the world of fancy corporate gatherings are prone to miss: They wrongly equate wealth creation—and unevenly distributed wealth creation at that—with political order and stability.

The problem with a foreign policy driven foremost by Never Again! is that it ignores limits and the availability of resources. World War II had the secondary, moral effect of saving what was left of European Jewry. Its primary goal and effect was to restore the European and Asian balance of power in a manner tolerable to the United States—something that the Nazis and the Japanese fascists had overturned.

Al llegar a cada nueva ciudad el viajero encuentra un pasado suyo que ya no sabia que tenia: la extrañeza de los que no eres o no posees mas, te espera al paso en los lugares extraños y no poseidos. Marco [Polo] entra en una ciudad: ve a alguien que vive en una plaza una vida o un instante que podrian ser suyos; en el lugar de aquel hombre ahora hubiera podido estar el si se hubiese detenido en el tiempo mucho tiempo antes, o bien si mucho tiempo antes, en una encrucijada, en vez de tomar por un camino hubiese tomado por el opuesto y al cabo de una larga vuelta hubiera ido a encontrarse en el luhar de aquel hombre en aquella plaza. En adelante, de aquel pasado suyo verdadero o hipotetico, el queda excluido; no puede detenerse; debe continuar hasta otra ciudad donde lo espera otro pasado suyo, o algo que quizas habia sido un posible futuro y ahora es el presente de algun otro. Los futuros no realizados son solo ramas del pasado: ramas secas. -¿Viajas para revivir tu pasado?-era en ese momento la pregunta del Kan, que podia tambien formularse asi: ¿Viajas para encontrar tu futuro? Y la respuesta de Marco: -El otro lado es un espejo en negativo. El viajero reconoce lo poco que es suyo al descubrir lo mucho que no ha tenido y no tendra.

Marco reported that homeless children [in Kublai Kahn's city of Daidu] were cared for and educated. While he says little about the system of education in China, we know from records of the time that Kublai Khan created thousands of public schools to provide a basic education for all children, including those of poor peasants. Until then, only the wealthy were literate. Kublai's bid at 'universal education' had never been attempted by any country on Earth. In the western world, nearly 500 years would pass before governments began to take responsibility for the public education of all children.

Civilizations often prosper in opposition to others. Just as Christendom achieved form and substance in opposition to Islam after the latter’s conquest of North Africa and the Levant in the seventh and eighth centuries, the West forged a definitive geopolitical paradigm in opposition to Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia.

We assume, without too much thinking, that any regime change in these places will be for the better. But it easily could be for the worse. Both Putin and Xi Jinping are rational actors, holding back more extreme elements. They are bold, but not crazy. The idea that more liberal regimes might replace them is an illusion.

En la plaza está la pequeña pared de los viejos que miran pasar la juventud; el hombre está sentado en fila con ellos. Los deseos son ya recuerdos. (Ciudad Isadora)

Moreover, no public woman resides inside the city, but all such abide outside in the suburbs. And 'tis wonderful what a vast number of these are for the foreigners; ...

The inhabitants are all Idolaters. And I may as well remind you again [implied sigh?] that all the people of Cathay are Idolaters.

But beyond the extravagance of Rome's wealthiest citizens and flamboyant gourmands, a more restrained cuisine emerged for the masses: breads baked with emmer wheat; polenta made from ground barley; cheese, fresh and aged, made from the milk of cows and sheep; pork sausages and cured meats; vegetables grown in the fertile soil along the Tiber. In these staples, more than the spice-rubbed game and wine-soaked feasts of Apicius and his ilk, we see the earliest signs of Italian cuisine taking shape. The pillars of Italian cuisine, like the pillars of the Pantheon, are indeed old and sturdy. The arrival of pasta to Italy is a subject of deep, rancorous debate, but despite the legend that Marco Polo returned from his trip to Asia with ramen noodles in his satchel, historians believe that pasta has been eaten on the Italian peninsula since at least the Etruscan time. Pizza as we know it didn't hit the streets of Naples until the seventeenth century, when Old World tomato and, eventually, cheese, but the foundations were forged in the fires of Pompeii, where archaeologists have discovered 2,000-year-old ovens of the same size and shape as the modern wood-burning oven. Sheep's- and cow's-milk cheeses sold in the daily markets of ancient Rome were crude precursors of pecorino and Parmesan, cheeses that literally and figuratively hold vast swaths of Italian cuisine together. Olives and wine were fundamental for rich and poor alike.

As we learned to our horror at the turn of the twentieth century in the Philippines, as well as in the 1960s in Vietnam, and again in the last decade in Iraq, to invade is to govern. Once you decide to send in ground forces in significant numbers, it becomes your job to administer the territory you’ve just conquered—or to identify someone immediately who can.

When Marco Polo came at last to Cathay, seven hundred years ago, did he not feel—and did his heart not falter as he realized—that this great and splendid capital of an empire had had its being all the years of his life and far longer, and that he had been ignorant of it? That it was in need of nothing from him, from Venice, from Europe? That it was full of wonders beyond his understanding? That his arrival was a matter of no importance whatever? We know that he felt these things, and so has many a traveler in foreign parts who did not know what he was going to find. There is nothing that cuts you down to size like coming to some strange and marvelous place where no one even stops to notice that you stare about you.

The current Chinese regime’s proposed land-and-maritime Silk Road duplicates exactly the one Marco Polo traveled. This is no coincidence. The Mongols, whose Yuan Dynasty ruled China in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, were, in fact, “early practitioners of globalization,” seeking to connect the whole of habitable Eurasia in a truly multicultural empire.

while our position has been eroding, the internal positions of Eurasia’s two principal hinge states, Russia and China, have been eroding further. They have ethnic, political, and economic challenges of a fundamental, structural kind compared to which ours pale in significance. Their very future stability and existence as unitary states can be questioned, whereas ours cannot.

Then Marco Polo spoke: “Your chessboard, sire, is inlaid with two woods: ebony and maple. The square on which your enlightened gaze is fixed was cut from the ring of a trunk that grew in a year of drought: you see how its fibers are arranged? Here a barely hinted knot can be made out: a bud tried to burgeon on a premature spring day, but the night’s frost forced it to desist.

both Russia and China are dictatorships, not democracies. Therefore, losing face for them would be much more catastrophic than it would be for an American president. Politically speaking, they may be unable to give up the fight. And so we, too, might have to fight on, until there is some form of a regime change, or a substantial reduction in Moscow’s or Beijing’s military capacity

tons. Marco Polo, who sailed from China to Persia on his return home, described the Mongol ships as large four-masted junks with up to three hundred crewmen and as many as sixty cabins for merchants carrying various wares. According to Ibn Battuta, some of the ships even carried plants growing in wooden tubs in order to supply fresh food for the sailors. Khubilai Khan promoted the building of ever larger seagoing junks to carry heavy loads of cargo and ports to handle them. They improved the use of the compass in navigation and learned to produce more accurate nautical charts. The route from the port of Zaytun in southern China to Hormuz in the Persian Gulf became the main sea link between the Far East and the Middle East, and was used by both Marco Polo and Ibn Battuta, among others.

Marco Polo descrive un ponte, pietra per pietra. – Ma qual è la pietra che sostiene il ponte? – chiede Kublai Kan. – Il ponte non è sostenuto da questa o da quella pietra, – risponde Marco, – ma dalla linea dell’arco che esse formano. Kublai Kan rimase silenzioso, riflettendo. Poi soggiunse: – Perché mi parli delle pietre? È solo dell’arco che mi importa. Polo risponde: – Senza pietre non c’è arco.

When Ferdinand Magellan attempted his circumnavigation of the globe in the sixteenth century, he had to assure his nervous, uneducated mariners that they would not in fact fall off the edge of the earth.

We travelled with a bookshelf fixed above the back of our seat. The poor books were shaken madly during all these days, but we rejoiced to be able to lay our hand on the right volume at the right moment. Rubbing against each other were Marco Polo, Pelliot, Evans-Wentz, Vivekananda, Maritain, Jung, a life of Alexander the Great, Grousset, the Zend-Avesta. I picked The Darvishes by John P. Brown and H. A. Rose, and read aloud a passage about Jalal-ud-din Rumi.

Magellan, who left nothing to accident, had an assignment for Pigafetta; the young Italian diplomat was to keep a record of the voyage, not the dry, factual pilot’s log, but a more personal, anecdotal, and free-flowing account in the tradition of other popular travel works of the day; these included books by Magellan’s brother-in-law, Duarte Barbosa; Ludovico di Varthema, another Italian visitor to the Indies; and Marco Polo, the most celebrated Italian traveler of them all. Making

If the United States helps topple the dictator Bashar al-Assad on Wednesday, then what will it do on Thursday, when it finds that it has helped midwife to power a Sunni jihadist regime, or on Friday, when ethnic cleansing of the Shia-trending Alawites commences?

Benim Marco Polo'mun kalbinde yatan, insanları kentlerde yaşatan gizli nedenleri, krizlerin ötesinde değerleri olan nedenleri keşfetmek. Kentler birçok şeyin bir araya gelmesidir: Anıların, arzuların, bir dilin işaretlerinin. Kentler takas yerleridir, tıpkı bütün ekonomi tarihi kitaplarında anlatıldığı gibi, ama bu değiş-tokuşlar yalnızca ticari takaslar değil; kelime, arzu ve anı değiş-tokuşlarıdır. Kitabım, mutsuz kentlerin içine gizlenmiş, sürekli biçim alıp, yitip giden mutlu kentler imgesi üzerine açılıp kapanıyor.

despite the threats of Russian and Chinese expansionism, particularly in the Baltic, Black, and South China seas, the more important underlying dynamic will be the crises of central control inside Russia and China themselves as their authoritarian systems degenerate

The relative obscurity of Day’s autobiography and other books like it about Vietnam constitute a lesser-known aspect of our civilian-military divide. The books to which I refer should be part of our recollection of Vietnam, but they generally aren’t. They aren’t so much stories that soldiers tell civilians as those that soldiers tell each other.

In the lives of emperors there is a moment which follows pride in the boundless extension of the territories we have conquered, and the melancholy and relief of knowing we shall soon give up any thought of knowing and understanding them...It is the desperate moment when we discover that this empire, which had seemed to us the sum of all wonders, is an endless, formless ruin, that our corruption's gangrene has spread too far to be healed by our scepter, that the triumph over enemy sovereigns has made us the heirs of their long undoing. Only in Marco Polo's accounts was Kublai Khan able to discern, through the walls and towers destined to crumble, the tracery of a pattern so subtle it could escape the termite's gnawing.

The aftermath of creedal passion is cynical indifference followed by the return of conservatism; creedal passion holds government and society to standards that they simply cannot meet. Nevertheless, Huntington believes, creedal passion is at the core of America’s greatness. By holding officials and institutions to impossible standards in a way no other country does, the United States has periodically

Alexander laughs. They kiss exuberantly. “Now—much more seriously,” she says, “what would you like to play, Captain? Marco Polo?” “How about Little Red Riding Tania?” he says, all teeth. “Okey-dokey.” Making her voice high high high, she says gamely, batting her eyes, “Oh, Captain, what big arms you have...” “All the better to hold you with, my dear.” He squeezes her wet body to him. “Oh, Captain, what big hands you have...” “All the better to grab you with, my dear.” He grabs her behind and presses into her. “Oh, my, Captain! What a—” Anthony takes a running jump, right into the pool, right into his mother and father. Alexander pushes his son underwater and when he releases him, Tatiana pushes her son underwater, and when she releases him they both embrace him and kiss his face. “Ant, want to play Marco Polo?” “Yes, Dad,” says Anthony. “You’re it. And no chasing only Mommy this time.

On a souvent dit, au vu de ces scènes irréelles, que les hommes de Hassan [Sabbah] étaient drogués. Comment expliquer autrement qu'ils [l'Ordre des Assassins] aillent au-devant de la mort avec le sourire ? On a accrédité la thèse qu'ils agissaient sous l'effet du haschisch. Marco Polo a popularisé cette idée en Occident ; leurs ennemis dans le monde musulman les ont parfois appelés haschichiyoun, "fumeurs de haschisch", pour les déconsidérer ; certains orientalistes ont cru voir dans ce terme l'origine du mot "assassin" qui est devenu, dans plusieurs langues européennes, synonyme de meurtrier. Le mythe des "Assassins" n'en a été que plus terrifiant. La vérité est autre. D'après les textes qui nous sont parvenus d'Alamout, Hassan aimait à appeler ses adeptes Assassiyoun, ceux qui sont fidèles au Assass [أساس], au "Fondement" de la foi, et c'est ce mot, mal compris des voyageurs étrangers, qui a semblé avoir des relents de haschisch.

She was floating, arms outspread, water lapping her body, breathing in a summery fragrance of salt and coconut. There was a pleasantly satisfied breakfast taste in her mouth of bacon and coffee and possibly croissants. She lifted her chin and the morning sun shone so brightly on the water, she had to squint through spangles of light to see her feet in front of her. Her toenails were each painted a different color. Red. Gold. Purple. Funny. The nail polish hadn’t been applied very well. Blobby and messy. Someone else was floating in the water right next to her. Someone she liked a lot, who made her laugh, with toenails painted the same way. The other person waggled multicolored toes at her companionably, and she was filled with sleepy contentment. Somewhere in the distance, a man’s voice shouted, “Marco?” and a chorus of children’s voices cried back, “Polo!” The man called out again, “Marco, Marco, Marco?” and the voices answered, “Polo, Polo, Polo!” A child laughed; a long, gurgling giggle, like a stream of soap bubbles.

I’d been reborn since Marlboro Man had entered my life; his wild abandon and unabashed passion had freed me from the shackles of cynicism, from thinking that love had to be something to labor over or agonize about. He’d ridden into my life on a speckled gray horse and had saved my heart from hardness. He’d taught me that when you love someone, you say it--and that when it comes to matters of the heart, games are for pimply sixteen-year-olds. Up until then that’s all I’d been: a child masquerading as a disillusioned adult, looking at love much as I’d looked at a round of Marco Polo in the pool at the country club: when they swam after me, I’d swim away. And there are accusations of peeking and cheating, and you always wind up sunburned and pruney and pooped. And no one ever wins. It was Marlboro Man who’d helped me out of the pool, wrapped a towel around my blistering shoulders, and carried me to a world where love has nothing to do with competition or sport or strategy. He told me he loved me when he felt like it, when he thought of it. He never saw any reason not to.

The researchers conclude that there’s something missing in the Origami genome, but as far as Derek’s concerned, the fault lies with them. They’re blind to a simple truth: complex minds can’t develop on their own. If they could, feral children would be like any others. And minds don’t grow the way weeds do, flourishing under indifferent attention; otherwise all children in orphanages would thrive. For a mind to even approach its full potential, it needs cultivation by other minds. That cultivation is what he’s trying to provide for Marco and Polo.

If it be questioned how the population of the country can supply sufficient numbers of these duties, and by what means they can be supported, we may answer, that all the idolaters, and likewise the Saracens, keep six, eight, or ten women, according to their circumstances, by whom they have a prodigious number of children. Some of them have as many as thirty sons capable of following their fathers in arms; whereas with us a man has only one wife, and even although she should prove barren, he is obliged to pass his life with her, and is by that means deprived of the chance of raising a family. Hence it is that our population is so much inferior to theirs.

Paper money, virtually unknown in the West until Marco’s return, revolutionized finance and commerce throughout the West. Coal, another item that had caught Marco’s attention in China, provided a new and relatively efficient source of heat to an energy-starved Europe. Eyeglasses (in the form of ground lenses), which some accounts say he brought back with him, became accepted as a remedy for failing eyesight. In addition, lenses gave rise to the telescope—which in turn revolutionized naval battles, since it allowed combatants to view ships at a great distance—and the microscope. Two hundred years later, Galileo used the telescope—based on the same technology—to revolutionize science and cosmology by supporting and disseminating the Copernican theory that Earth and other planets revolved around the Sun. Gunpowder, which the Chinese had employed for at least three centuries, revolutionized European warfare as armies exchanged their lances, swords, and crossbows for cannon, portable harquebuses, and pistols. Marco brought back gifts of a more personal nature as well. The golden paiza, or passport, given to him by Kublai Khan had seen him through years of travel, war, and hardship. Marco kept it still, and would to the end of his days. He also brought back a Mongol servant, whom he named Peter, a living reminder of the status he had once enjoyed in a far-off land. In all, it is difficult to imagine the Renaissance—or, for that matter, the modern world—without the benefit of Marco Polo’s example of cultural transmission between East and West.

The shift from precious metals to paper in retrospect clarifies that artifacts serving as money tokens are no more than representations of abstract exchange value—they are thus ultimately coveted for their potential use in social transaction, nor for some imagined, essential value intrinsic to the money tokens themselves. If it were not for international agreements such as those of Bretton Woods, gold could conceivably be as useless a medium of exchange in some cultural contexts as seashells are to modern Europeans. This understanding of money, however, simultaneously implies that there is no such thing as intrinsic value. If value ubiquitously pertains to social relations, any notion of intrinsic value is an illusion. Although the European plundering and hoarding of gold and silver, like the Melanesian preoccupation with kula and the Andean reverence for Spondylus, has certainly been founded on such essentialist conceptions of value, the recent representation of exchange value in the form of electronic digits on computer screens is a logical trajectory of the kind of transformation propagated by [Marco] Polo. It is difficult to imagine how money appearing as electronic information could be perceived as possessing intrinsic value. This suggests that electronic money, although currently maligned as the root of the financial crisis, could potentially help us rid ourselves of money fetishism. Paradoxically, the progressive detachment of money from matter, obvious in the transitions from metals through paper to electronics, is simultaneously a source of critique and a source of hope.

She was floating, arms outspread, water lapping her body, breathing in a summery fragrance of salt and coconut. There was a pleasantly satisfied breakfast taste in her mouth of bacon and coffee and possibly croissants. She lifted her chin and the morning sun shone so brightly on the water, she had to squint through spangles of light to see her feet in front of her. Her toenails were each painted a different color. Red. Gold. Purple. Funny. The nail polish hadn’t been applied very well. Blobby and messy. Someone else was floating in the water right next to her. Someone she liked a lot, who made her laugh, with toenails painted the same way. The other person waggled multicolored toes at her companionably, and she was filled with sleepy contentment. Somewhere in the distance, a man’s voice shouted, “Marco?” and a chorus of children’s voices cried back, “Polo!” The man called out again, “Marco, Marco, Marco?” and the voices answered, “Polo, Polo, Polo!” A child laughed; a long, gurgling giggle, like a stream of soap bubbles. A voice said quietly and insistently in her ear, “Alice?” and she tipped back her head and let the cool water slide silently over her face. Tiny dots of light danced before her eyes. Was it a dream or a memory? “I don’t know!” said a frightened voice. “I didn’t see it happen!” No need to get your knickers in a knot. The dream or memory or whatever it was dissolved and vanished like a reflection on water, and instead fragments of thought began to drift through her head, as if she were waking up from a long, deep sleep, late on a Sunday morning. Is cream cheese considered a soft cheese? It’s not a hard cheese. It’s not . . . . . . hard at all. So, logically, you would think . . . . . . something. Something logical. Lavender is lovely. Logically lovely. Must prune back the lavender! I can smell lavender. No, I can’t. Yes, I can. That’s when she noticed the pain in her head for the first time. It hurt on one side, a lot, as if someone had given her a good solid thwack with a baseball bat. Her thoughts sharpened. What was this pain in the head all about?

Not since the days of Athens and Sparta had Europe seen an era of violent civic pride like the one that covered the Italian peninsula in the age of Dante and Marco Polo. But then the trend changed. The days of affluence and confidence ebbed away. The coming of the Black Death in 1348, which killed off at least one-third of Italy’s population, was the coup de grâce. The wars became more desperate and the mercenary captain or condottiere, who led a city’s army to plunder its neighbors, more necessary.

By broadening your horizons,” he ventured, “what I meant is that education will give you a sense of the world’s scope, of its wonders, of its many and varied ways of life.” “Wouldn’t travel achieve that more effectively?” “Travel?” “We are talking about horizons, aren’t we? That horizontal line at the limit of sight? Rather than sitting in orderly rows in a schoolhouse, wouldn’t one be better served by working her way toward an actual horizon, so that she could see what lay beyond it? That’s what Marco Polo did when he traveled to China. And what Columbus did when he traveled to America. And what Peter the Great did when he traveled through Europe incognito!

Western attitudes toward Chinese and Japanese religions were formed largely from the descriptions given by Christian missionaries to those countries. Earlier accounts provided by travelers, such as Marco Polo, John of Montecorvino, Odoric of Pordenone, and others, were too vague and never mentioned the Buddhist sects as such (Demiéville 1964). So misleading, for instance, was Marco Polo's description of Cathay that it took some fifteen years for the Jesuit missionary Matteo Ricci (1552–1610) to realize that this empire was none other than China.

Venedik, tamamı 118 tane olan bir dizi cezbedici adanın ortasında düşmanlarından korunuyordu.

When Marco Polo first saw rhinos, he thought they were unicorns.

Não é o espelho que denuncia a beleza. Ela está nos olhos do observador! Não é a maciez da cama que determina o sono, mas a mente de quem dorme – afirmou Marco Polo com propriedade.

sprezzatura,

Ser feliz é contemplar a assinatura do Autor da Existência nas coisas simples e anônimas. É se deslumbrar com a chuva e com o sol. É recomeçar tudo de novo quando necessário.

the Public must not expect from me the elegance of a fine writer, or the plausibility of a professed book-maker; but will, I hope, consider me as a plain man,

Mariage Frères Marco Polo black tea)

(he only drinks Mariage Frères Marco Polo black tea)

Mudanças na psique não são miraculosas nem rápidas, dependem do treinamento do Eu, da formação de uma plataforma de janelas light, ou saudáveis. Mas é possível virar o jogo! Diariamente, grite no silêncio de sua mente que você é livre, bela, fascinante! Proteste! O povo que não se manifestar nunca se livrará do ditador! A mulher que não protestar nunca se livrará da ditadura da beleza! – E lembrou a tese do Mestre dos mestres, de “amar o próximo como a si mesmo”: – Antes de namorar uma pessoa, namore a vida. Antes de amar alguém, seja apaixonado por você.

His choice was Xanadu—a name that came to sound endlessly romantic and evocative to Westerners, but which simply meant “the Upper Capital,” because it lay north of the winter capital in Cambulac.

The plentiful black stones making possible all this cooking, heating, and bathing were lumps of coal, a source of energy that had been used throughout China for at least a thousand years. Yet in Marco’s day, the notion of burning coal rather than wood for heat was practically unheard of in Europe. The existence of this black, dusty, carbon-rich substance had been noted at infrequent intervals throughout Western history, beginning with the Roman occupation of Britain and continuing to Marco’s time, but not until the eighteenth century did coal become a common source of energy in European countries.

Known today as the Marco Polo Bridge, this structure is essentially the same as the day Marco traversed it. Completed in 1192, it is also called the Guangli Bridge, and its stone span reaches across the banks of the Lugou River.

In China, a single cultivated species of moth became identified with silk, the blind and flightless Bombyx mori, whose ancestor Bombyx mandarina Moore fed on the leaves of the white mulberry tree.

In the multilingual Mongol Empire, the new capital was known by several names. The Chinese called it Ta-tu, “Great Capital.” The Turks knew it as Khanbalikh—which Marco spelled “Cambulac”—“City of the Khan.” And the Mongols, adapting the Chinese name, called it Daidu. Today the city is known as Beijing.

Carnival (literally, the playful “bidding farewell to meat” before Lent).

Contrary to myth, Marco Polo did not introduce noodles to Italy; his anonymous predecessors had.

discussion of romances figured too, for at some point either on the outwards or return journey an Arthurian romance in the possession of Edward caught the eye of Marco Polo’s secretary and ghostwriter, Rusticiano of Pisa, who borrowed it and used it as the basis for his French work The Romance of King Arthur. This, rather suitably, told the tale of Palamedes, a Saracen knight who joined the round table, as well as including the adventures of Banor le Brun, Tristan and Lancelot.11

Arthur N. Waldron, writing in the Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, demonstrated that the Great Wall was constructed during the Ming dynasty (1368–1644), long after Marco Polo’s day.

the island of Java, in Indonesia, and at Malabar, in southern India, Polo saw vast quantities of spices – including various kinds of pepper – on their way to the West. It is this incident which seems to have inspired the inventor of the dish which bears Polo’s name. “Duck à la Marco Polo” was first prepared and served at the famous Parisian restaurant La Tour d’Argent – one of the oldest restaurants in the world, facing the river Seine and the Cathedral of Notre Dame.

America not only lacked a name. The Norwegians did not know they had discovered it long ago, and Columbus himself died convinced that he had reached Asia by the western route. In 1492, when Spanish boats first trod the beaches of the Bahamas, the Admiral thought these islands were an outpost of the fabulous isle of Zipango—Japan. Columbus took along a copy of Marco Polo’s book, and covered its margins with notes. The inhabitants of Zipango, said Marco Polo, “have gold in the greatest abundance, its sources being inexhaustible.…

A place where one might feel at home. The old minister. Drosselmeier himself. Klara. But it wasn’t just the population, it was the map that was needed, the coordinates. Dante had done it. John Bunyan, and Sir John Mandeville. Milton, in his time. Prester John and Marco Polo. Even Homer, charting the world by sea. The vagabond human spirit requires a chart of possibilities in order to keep putting one foot in front of another, keep licensing the next heartbeat after the previous.

Of course, the merchant was Marco Polo—and his story is justly one of the most celebrated of the whole Middle Ages.

Born in Venice in 1253 to a family of businessmen, Marco Polo was forty-five when he fought at the battle of Curzola.

So well disguised was the soybean in the Asian diet that the first Europeans who visited the Orient, including Marco Polo, did not realize that the foods they tasted were derived from the soybean.

Then Marco Polo spoke: “Your chessboard, sire, is inlaid with two woods: ebony and maple. The square on which your enlightened gaze is fixed was cut from the ring of a trunk that grew in a year of drought: you see how its fibers are arranged? Here a barely hinted knot can be made out: a bud tried to burgeon on a premature spring day, but the night’s frost forced it to desist.” Until then the Great Khan had not realized that the foreigner knew how to express himself fluently in his language, but it was not this fluency that amazed him.

You are the explosion of carnations in a dark room. Or the unexpected scent of pine miles from the woods of Maine. You are a full moon that gives midnight it's meaning. And the explanation of water For all living things. You are a compass, a sapphire, a bookmark. A rare coin, a smooth stone, a marble. You are an old lore, a small shell, a saved silver dollar. You are a fine quartz, a feathered quill, and a fob from a favorite watch. You are a valentine tattered and loved and reread a hundred times. You are a medal found in the drawer of a once sung hero. You are honey, and cinnamon and West Indies spices, lost from the boat that was once Marco Polo's. You are a pressed rose, a pearl ring, and a red perfume bottle found near the Nile. You are an old soul from an ancient place a thousand years, and centuries and millenniums ago. And you have traveled all this way just so I could love you. I do.

I swore and stood, shaking her off. I didn’t want to argue with her. I headed for the door. I now understood Millie’s need to walk everywhere she went. Walking beat being trapped. And I was trapped. “When are you going to start believing that you are worthy to be loved?” Her voice rang out behind me, clear and controlled, but there was a barely restrained fury that made her words wobble. I paused and faced her once more. She was trying to follow me, and I had no doubt that if I walked out of the house, she would grab her stick, and I would be forced to play a game of Marco Polo down the streets of Levan so she wouldn’t lose me. I needed her to let me go and she obviously wasn’t going to do that.

[Au Moyen Age] La langue française suscite l'admiration. La langue française (et, par conséquent, la pensée française puisque la langue est « le vêtement de la pensée ») rayonne dans de nombreux pays. En Angleterre, elle est le langage officiel depuis la conquête normande de 1066 et les souverains sont de souche française. En italie, le maitre de Dante, Brunetto Latini, choisira d'écrire ses Trésors en français tandis que Marco Polo, Brunetto Latini dictera en français, en 1298, ses relations de voyage en Extrême-Orient. En Allemagne, un trouvère du Brabant, Adenet le Roi (1249-1300) découvrira que tous les enfants des puissants et des riches ont des précepteurs français « qui les éduquent dans notre langage ». En norvège, une encyclopédie pédagogique publiée au XIIIè siècle, le Konungs-Skuggsja, conseille : « si tu veux être parfait de science, apprends toutes les langues, mais avant tout le latin et le français ». La langue française se développe aussi en dehors de l'Europe à la faveur des croisades. Elle est parlée dans les royaumes français de Chypre et de Jérsualem, où un Italien Philippe de Novarre écrit en français tous ses ouvrages (Assise de Jérusalem, Geste des Chriprois, Les Quâtre âge de l'homme). Plus généralement, les lettrés arabes apprennent également le français et, dès le XIIIè siècle, de nombreux Syriens viendront étudier en France. (p50)

The Han language resembles no other on this earth. While I had no trouble learning to speak Mongol, and to write with its alphabet, I never learned more than a rudimentary comprehension of Han. The Mongol speech is gruff and harsh, like its speakers, but it at least employs sounds not too different from those heard in our Western languages. The Han, by contrast, is a speech of staccato syllables, and they are sung rather than spoken. Evidently the Han throat is incapable of forming more than a very few of the sounds that other people make. The sound of r, for one, is quite beyond them. My name in their speech was always Mah-ko. And, having so very few noises to work with, the Han must sound them on different tones—high, mid, low, rising, falling—to make a sufficient variety for compiling a vocabulary. It is like this: suppose our Ambrosian plainsong Gloria in excelsis had that meaning of “glory in the highest” only when sung to its traditional up and down neumes, and, if the syllables were sung in different ups and downs, were to change its meaning utterly—to “darkness in the lowest” or “dishonor to the basest” or even “fish for the frying.

O historiador Ian Morris vai mais longe. Argumenta ele que, como os Mongóis devastaram tão radicalmente as grandes cidades e culturas muçulmanas de Bagdade, Merv, Samarcanda e Bukhara (que eram, antes da sua chegada, belos centros avançados e muito povoados de cultura e saber), possibilitaram que o Mediterrâneo passasse à frente: «Uma vez que não saquearam o Cairo, esta continuou a ser a maior e a mais rica cidade do Ocidente, e uma vez que não invadiram a Europa Ocidental, Veneza e Génova continuaram a ser os maiores centros comerciais do Ocidente. O desenvolvimento desmoronou-se no antigo núcleo muçulmano […]; na década de 1270, quando Marco Polo partiu para a China, o núcleo ocidental deslocara-se decisivamente para as terras mediterrâneas que os Mongóis haviam poupado».

Yezd, in pre-Mahomedan times, was a great sanctuary of the Gueber worship, though now it is a seat of fanatical Mahomedanism. It is, however, one of the few places where the old religion lingers. In 1859 there were reckoned 850 families of Guebers in Yezd

Yezd is still a place of important trade, and carries on a thriving commerce with India by Bandar Abbási. A visitor in the end of 1865 says: "The external trade appears to be very considerable, and the merchants of Yezd are reputed to be amongst the most enterprising and respectable of their class in Persia. Some of their agents have lately gone, not only to Bombay, but to the Mauritius, Java, and China.

and in the preparation of those ingredients along with which it is fused to obtain that kind of soft Iron which is usually styled Indian Steel (HINDIAH).[3] They also have workshops wherein are forged the most famous sabres in the world…. It is impossible to find anything to surpass the edge that you get from Indian Steel (al-hadíd al-Hindí).

Indikou sidaérou], "On the Tempering of Indian Steel." Edrisi says on this subject: "The Hindus excel in the manufacture of iron,

What makes The Travels such a powerful tale is not that it provides an absolute account of Marco’s travels, but, on the contrary how it creates the conditions for us to feel abandoned and lost.

On the night of July 7, 1937, Japanese and Chinese forces near the Marco Polo Bridge near Beijing clashed, the two sides firing on one another. War between China and Japan, simmering since Japan’s 1931 incursion into Manchuria, erupted.

Marco Polo’s father, Niccolò Polo, traded with the Persians who were known to the early Europeans. These early Persians came from the province of Fârs, sometimes known in Old Persian as Pârsâ, located in the southwestern region of Iran. As a people, they were united under the Achaemenid Dynasty in the 6th century BC, by Cyrus the Great. In 1260, Niccolò Polo and his brother Maffeo lived in Constantinople, now Istanbul, Turkey. After the Mongol conquest of Asia Minor, the Polo brothers liquidated their assets into tangible valuables such as gold and jewels and moved out of harm’s way. Having heard of advanced eastern civilizations the brothers traveled through much of Asia, and even met with the Kublai Khan, the grandson of Genghis Khan, who later became emperor of China and established the Yuan Dynasty. Not being the first to travel east of Iran, they had heard numerous stories regarding the riches to be discovered in the Far East. Twenty-four years later in 1295, after traveling almost 15,000 miles, they returned to Venice with many riches and treasures. The Polo brothers had experienced a quarter century of adventures on their way to Asia that were later transcribed into The Book of Marco Polo by a writer named Rustichello, who came from Pisa in Tuscany, Italy. This was the beginning of a quest that motivated explorers, including Christopher Columbus, from that time on.

Opening European Trade with Asia Marco Polo was an Italian merchant whose travels introduced Europeans to Central Asia and China. In the 13th century the traditional trade route leading to China was overland, traveling through the Middle East from the countries of Europe. Marco Polo established this trade route but it required ships to carry the heavy loads of silks and spices. Returning to Italy after 24 he found Venice at war with Genoa. In 1299, after having been imprisoned, his cell-mate recorded his experiences in the book “The Travels of Marco Polo.” Upon his release he became a wealthy merchant, married, and had three children. He died in 1324 and was buried in the church of San Lorenzo in Venice. Henry the Navigator charted the course from Portugal to the Cape of Good Hope on the southern tip of Africa and is given credit for having started the Age of Discoveries. During the first half of the 15th century he explored the coast of West Africa and the islands of the Atlantic Ocean, in search of better routes to Asia. Five years after Columbus discovered the West Indies, Vasco da Gama rounded the southern point of Africa and discovered a sea route to India. In 1497, on his first voyage he opened European trade with Asia by an ocean route. Because of the immense distance around Africa, this passage became the longest sea voyage made at the time.

thought of him as a citizen not of New York but of the invisible city of Octavia which Marco Polo described to Kublai Khan in Calvino’s book, a spiderweb city hanging in a great net over an abyss between two mountains.

Contudo, dois anos após a morte de Marco Polo, em 1329, algo aconteceu nas estepes para onde ele viajara, e no vale do rio Amarelo chinês, que fez com que tudo mudasse. Uma estranha epidemia estava a dizimar vastos números de pessoas. Em 1345, chegara à costa chinesa. Em 1346, estava na Crimeia, onde o pai e o tio de Marco haviam negociado e iniciado a sua viagem épica. No ano seguinte, a Peste Negra, transportada em navios e provavelmente por ratos, propagou-se ao Mediterrâneo. Em Março de 1348, os venezianos morriam à razão de seiscentos por dia. Barcaças seguiam para as ilhas remotas carregadas de cadáveres para serem sepultados. A maioria dos médicos já morrera também. Esse mesmo intercâmbio de mercadorias, gente e histórias que possibilitara a ascensão da impiedosa república marítima estava agora a cobrar vingança. Estima-se que tenham morrido três quintos de todos os venezianos e que cinquenta das suas famílias aristocratas se tenham extinguido para sempre.

Calcula-se que a Peste Negra matou entre um terço e metade dos europeus, e que teve um impacto equivalente na China. Assinalou, para ambas as civilizações, o termo súbito e selvagem de uma era de crescimento e progresso, exacerbada por uma mudança no clima que trouxe invernos muito mais frios e colheitas devastadas. Na Europa, teria alguns efeitos surpreendentes. Excepcionalmente, uma vez que tanto do indispensável campesinato trabalhador nos países ocidentais, como França e Inglaterra, morreu, os que restaram puderam negociar melhores salários e libertar-se um pouco das exigências dos senhorios. Os começos de uma sociedade mais versátil, já não tão aferrada à propriedade da terra pelas famílias nobres, surgiram em consequência da matança bacteriana. Estranhamente, na Europa Oriental o efeito foi quase inverso. Os proprietários de terras acabaram por ver o seu poder e alcance acrescidos e arrastaram gradualmente o campesinato sobrevivente para uma sujeição mais pesada, designada pelos historiadores como «segunda servidão». Isto foi possível porque os proprietários da Europa Oriental, que chegaram mais tarde ao feudalismo, eram um pouco mais poderosos e bem enraizados antes de ter chegado a epidemia. As cidades da actual Polónia, da Alemanha Oriental e da Hungria eram menos povoadas e poderosas do que as cidades mercantis – apoiadas no comércio da lã e do vinho – do norte de Itália e de Inglaterra. Os progressos nos direitos jurídicos e no poder das guildas na Europa Ocidental poderão não ter sido extraordinários pelos padrões actuais, mas foram suficientes para terem feito pender a vantagem contra a nobreza, num momento em que a força de trabalho era escassa. A leste, a aristocracia era mais impiedosa e deparava com menos resistência do campesinato disperso. Assim, uma modesta diferença no equilíbrio do poder, subitamente exagerada pelo abalo social decorrente da Peste Negra, provocou mudanças extremamente divergentes que, durante séculos, teriam como efeito um maior avanço e uma maior complexidade social da Europa Ocidental em comparação com territórios de aparência semelhante imediatamente a leste. A França e a Holanda influenciaram todo o mundo; a Polónia e as terras checas influenciaram apenas o mundo da sua envolvência imediata. Esses efeitos eram, obviamente, invisíveis para aqueles que atravessaram as devastações da peste, que regressaria periodicamente nos séculos mais próximos. No primeiro regresso, particularmente horrendo, as cidades tornaram-se espectros fantasmagóricos do espaço animado que em tempos haviam sido. Aldeias inteiras esvaziaram-se, deixando os seus campos regressarem ao matagal e aos bosques. Prosperaram a obsessão e o extremismo religiosos, e impregnou-se profundamente no povo cristão uma visão sombria do fim dos tempos. As autoridades vacilavam. As artes e os ofícios decaíram. O papado tremeu. Do outro lado da Eurásia, a glória da China Song desmoronou-se e também aí os camponeses se revoltaram. A mensagem de esperança de Marco Polo ecoou em vão entre povos que ainda não estavam suficientemente fortes para se esticarem e darem as mãos.

So,” holding his arms outstretched, like Kubla Khan welcoming Marco Polo to Xanadu, “what do you think?” “Nice,” I croaked. “Very nice.” “Home sweet home,” he said fondly, and slurped his tea. “Although . . . ,” I began. “Yeah?” “Well, I have to say,” I said, in a careless, jokey sort of way to show there were no hard feelings, “I don’t think much of your doorman.” “Doorman?” Frank repeated. “Yes, the doorman,” I said, trying to maintain my smile. “You know, he was really quite slovenly.” “That wasn’t a doorman, Charlie, he’s homeless.” “Homeless?” “Yeah, he lives in that cardboard box on the steps.” “Oh,” I said in a small voice. “I wondered why he wasn’t wearing a cap.” There was a pause. “Doorman,” Frank chuckled to himself. Light struggled in through the ungenerous window, weak gray light that was more like the residue of light. I looked down thoughtfully into my tea, which had bits in it. After a time I said judiciously, “I imagine that’s why it’s taking him so long to bring up my cases.” Frank put his cup down, wincing. “Ah, Charlie . . .” “You don’t suppose,” I ventured, “he might have forgotten which room—” But Frank had already leapt from his seat and was hurtling back down the stairs. I got up and hurried after him, catching up outside the front door, where he stood studying the cardboard box and blanket until a short while ago occupied by the homeless person–doorman. “Fuck,” he said, stroking his chin.

We do not live to eat and make money. We eat and make money to be able to live.

Ao retornar para a república de estudantes, onde morava, Marco Polo recolheu-se em seu interior. Seu pai, Rodolfo, sempre fora um admirador do italiano Marco Polo, um dos maiores aventureiros da história. O viajante veneziano tinha apenas 17 anos quando, em 1271, partiu da belíssima Veneza para a Ásia com seu pai e seu tio. A incrível odisséia durou 24 anos.

In August 1519, Magellan disembarked with a crew of 280 men among the five ships of his fleet: the Concepción, the San Antonio, the Santiago, the Victoria, and the flagship Trinidad. Four of the ships were three- or four-masted sailing ships called carracks; the Trinidad was a caravel. Each vessel held massive stores of supplies to last the men for weeks and months at sea, with plans to resupply in stops along the Canary Islands, Cape Verde, and South American port towns. No shipping clerk could have guessed how much they dangerously underestimated the needs of the voyage.

Richard Francis Burton was a British consul, Orientalist, explorer, best known today for translating the Arabian Nights and the Kama Sutra into English. He was the most educated explorer of the Victorian age, a time when only men of rough disposition set out to discover foreign lands, in stark contrast to the landed gentry, who were uninterested in international travel, unless it was in the comfort of a steamship to go administer a colony for the sake of the Crown or as a military officer deployed to extend the global landholdings of the British Empire. He

He spoke 29 languages, including Greek, Arabic, Persian, Icelandic, Turkish, Swahili, Hindi, and a host of other European, Asian, and African tongues.

Abu Abdullah Ibn Battuta came from a prominent family of judges who studied thick tomes of Islamic law and wrote legally binding opinions on how to live out the law in daily life.

The 21-year-old set off for his journey the year before he died in 1324. Yet even though he traveled three times as far as Polo, crossing Africa, Asia, and China, Ibn Battuta has not received the same recognition. His memoirs, the Rihla (The Journey) was not translated into European languages until the nineteenth century and was unknown to Westerners except for the occasional Oriental scholar. Its full title is A Gift to Those Who Contemplate the Wonders of Cities and the Marvels of Traveling. Despite its lofty appellation, his work lives up

Memory of the elderly monk survived in the accounts of some of the greatest leaders in medieval Europe, along with lengthy accounts in the Vatican archives, but he was soon forgotten in the West and in his homeland of China.

Bar Sauma strengthened diplomatic and political channels in his attempts to build an East-West military alliance, and his efforts reopened the lines of communication throughout the post-Roman world at a time when the Crusades had compromised the resources of the Europe’s leading monarchies. His efforts also opened up new communication and trade channels between European and Middle East/Asian states.

Genghis and his immediate descendants killed upwards of 40 million people, causing millions of acres of farmland to go untended and return to the wild. This massive destruction caused global carbon levels to plummet and the first and only case of man-made global cooling.

Even the tombs of Christian saints received visitors, due to the practice of posthumously declaring the saint to have actually been a Muslim in his earthly life.

Christianity for most of its history was equally spread across Europe, Asia, and Africa. It only became predominantly European in the fourteenth century, not because the continent had any special affinity for the religion, but by default: Europe was the only location in which the religion was not destroyed.

…Marco’s answers and objections took their place in a discourse already proceeding on its own, in the Great Khan’s head. That is to say, between the two of them it did not matter whether questions and solutions were uttered aloud or whether each of the two went on pondering in silence. In fact, they were silent, their eyes half-closed, reclining on cushions, swaying in hammocks, smoking long amber pipes. Marco Polo imagined answering (or Kublai Khan imagined his answer) that the more one was lost in unfamiliar quarters of distant cities, the more one understood the other cities he had crossed to arrive there…

Bill Gates, pasando por Cleopatra, Marco Polo, Napoleón, Beethoven y Gandhi, entre otros,

-Você avança com a cabeça voltada para trás? - ou então: - O que você vê está sempre às suas costas? - ou melhor: - A sua viagem só se dá no passado? Tudo isso para que Marco Polo pudesse explicar ou imaginar explicar ou ser imaginado explicando ou finalmente conseguir explicar a si mesmo que aquilo que ele procurava estava diante de si, e, mesmo que se tratasse do passado, era um passado que mudava à medida que ele prosseguia a sua viagem, porque o passado do viajante muda de acordo com o itinerário realizado, não o passado recente ao qual cada dia que passa acrescenta um dia, mas um passado mais remoto. Ao chegar a uma nova cidade, o viajante reencontra um passado que não lembrava existir: a surpresa daquilo que você deixou de ser ou deixou de possuir revela-se nos lugares estranhos, não nos conhecidos. Marco entra numa cidade; vê alguém numa praça que vive uma vida ou um instante que poderiam ser seus; ele podia estar no lugar daquele homem se tivesse parado no tempo tanto tempo atrás, ou então se tanto tempo atrás numa encruzilhada tivesse tomado uma estrada em vez de outra e depois de uma longa viagem se encontrasse no lugar daquele homem e naquela praça. Agora, desse passado real ou hipotético, ele está excluído; não pode parar; deve prosseguir até uma outra cidade em que outro passado aguarda por ele, ou algo que talvez fosse um possível futuro e que agora é o presente de outra pessoa. Os futuros não realizados são apenas ramos do passado: ramos secos. - Você viaja para reviver o seu passado? - era, a esta altura, a pergunta do Khan, que podia ser formulada da seguinte maneira: - você viaja para reencontrar o seu futuro? E a resposta de Marco: - Os outros lugares são espelhos em negativo. O viajante reconhece o pouco que é seu descobrindo o muito que não teve e o que não terá. (p. 31-32)

Depois de Aqcha, a cor da paisagem mudou de chumbo para alumínio, tornou-se pálida e mortiça, como se há milhares e milhares de anos o sol lhe sugasse a alegria. Estávamos agora na planície de Balkh, que se diz ser a cidade mais antiga do mundo. Os maciços de árvores verdes, os tufos de erva áspera e cortante em forma de repuxo, quase pareciam negros, pois destacavam-se sobre o fundo daquela tonalidade mortal. De vez em quando, avistávamos um campo de cevada. O cereal estava maduro, e turcomanos em tronco nu colhiam-no com foices. Mas não era castanho nem dourado, nem lembrava Ceres, nem abundância. Parecia ter embranquecido prematuramente, como o cabelo de um louco, perdendo tudo o que nele fora nutritivo. E destas extensas mortalhas, primeiro a norte e depois a sul da estrada, elevavam-se as formas branco-acizentadas e carcomidas de uma arquitectura antiga, montículos, sulcados e esmaecidos pela chuva e pelo sol, mais estafados do que qualquer obra humana por mim vista: uma pirâmide torta, uma plataforma afunilada, um maciço de ameias, um animal agachado, com que os gregos de Báctria estavam familiarizados, e Marco Polo depois deles. Já deviam ter desaparecido. Mas foi o próprio impacto do sol, que, congregando a pertinácia daquele barro de cinza, permitiu conservar uma centelha inextinguível de forma, a centelha que não se encontra numa fortificação romana, nem numa mamoa coberta de erva, a centelha que continua a tremeluzir num mundo mais luminoso do que ela própria, cansada como só um suicida frustrado consegue ser.

I too would know just how Marco Polo felt when he first ran his fingers over silk.

Turning Marco and Polo into corporations opens the door to keeping them running after Derek himself has passed away, which is a worrisome prospect: for Down syndrome individuals, there are organizations that provide assistance to people living on their own, but similar support services don’t exist for incorporated digients.

Marco and Polo take a reading class with Jax and a few others, and they seem to enjoy it well enough. None of the digients was raised on bedtime stories, so text doesn’t fascinate them the way it does human children, but their general curiosity—along with the praise of their owners—motivates them to explore the uses that text can be put to.

Derek’s sister teaches children born with Down syndrome. “She mentioned that some parents don’t want to push their kids too much, because they’re afraid of exposing them to the possibility of failure. The parents mean well, but they’re keeping their kids from reaching their full potential when they coddle them.” It takes her a little time to get used to this idea. Ana’s accustomed to thinking of the digients as supremely gifted apes, and while in the past people have compared apes to children with special needs, it was always more of a metaphor. To view the digients more literally as special-needs children requires a shift in perspective. “How much responsibility do you think the digients can handle?” Derek spreads his hands. “I don’t know. In a way it’s like Down syndrome; it affects every person differently, so whenever my sister works with a new kid, she has to play it by ear. We have even less to go on, because no one’s ever raised digients for this long before. If it turns out that the only thing we’re accomplishing with homework assignments is making them feel bad, then of course we’ll stop. But I don’t want Marco and Polo’s potential to be wasted because I was afraid of pushing them a little.” She sees that Derek has a very different idea of high expectations than she has. More than that, she realizes that his is actually the better one. “You’re right,” she says, after a pause. “We should see if they can do homework.

Era l' alba quando disse. -Sire, ormai ti ho parlato di tutte le città che conosco. - Ne resta una di cui non parli mai. Marco Polo chinò il capo. - Venezia, - disse il Kan. Marco sorrise. -E di che altro credevi che ti parlassi? L' imperatore non battè ciglio. - Eppure non ti ho mai sentito fare il suo nome. E Polo: - Ogni volta che descrivo una città dico qualcosa di Venezia. - Quando ti chiedo d' altre città, voglio sentirti dire di quelle. E di Venezia, quando ti chiedo di Venezia. - Per distinguere le qualità delle altre, devo partire da una prima città che resta implicita. Per me è Venezia. - Dovresti allora incominciare ogni racconto dei tuoi viaggi dalla partenza, descrivendo Venezia così com'è, tutta quanta, senza omettere nulla di ciò che ricordi di lei. L' acqua del lago era appena increspata; il riflesso di rame dell' antica reggia dei Sung si frantumava in riverberi scintillanti come foglie che galleggiano. - Le immagini della memoria, una volta fissate con le parole, si cancellano, - disse Polo - Forse Venezia ho paura di perderla tutta in una volta, se ne parlo. O forse parlando d' altre città, l'ho già perduta a poco a poco.

I would suggest adding one more category at the very top of the pyramid, even above self-actualization: imagination and exploration. The need to imagine new possibilities, the need to reach out beyond ourselves and understand the world around us. Wasn’t that need part of what propelled Marco Polo and Vasco da Gama and Einstein? Not only to help ourselves with physical survival or personal relationships or self-discovery, but to know and comprehend this strange cosmos we find ourselves in. The need to explore the really big questions asked by the quantum cosmologists. How did it all begin? Far beyond our own lives, far beyond our community or our nation or planet Earth or even our solar system. How did the universe begin? It is a luxury to be able to ask such questions. It is also a human necessity.

News of Japan’s existence had spread. Marco Polo, writing in the thirteenth century after visiting China, had called Japan ‘Cipangu, the land of gold’. Although Polo never himself set foot in Japan, his vivid descriptions of its monumental wealth stirred many an adventurer, including Columbus.

Marco Polo describe un puente, piedra por piedra. —¿Pero cuál es la piedra que sostiene el puente? —pregunta Kublai Kan. —El puente no está sostenido por esta piedra o por aquella —responde Marco—, sino por la línea del arco que ellas forman. Kublai permanece silencioso, reflexionando. Después añade: —¿Por qué me hablas de las piedras? Lo único que me importa es el arco. Polo responde: —Sin piedras no hay arco.

But what enhanced for Kublai every event or piece of news reported by his inarticulate informer was the space that remained around it, a void not filled with words. The descriptions of cities Marco Polo visited had this virtue: you could wander through them in thought, become lost, stop and enjoy the cool air, or run off.

Marco Polo pegou suavemente sua mão direita e a acalmou: – Não se martirize mais uma vez, Florence. Não há gigantes diante da depressão. Só sabe a dimensão da sua dor quem atravessa seus vales.

Lembrem-se sempre que bons psiquiatras e psicólogos nos ensinam a encontrar as vírgulas. As vírgulas transformam os frágeis em poderosos, os fatigados em incansáveis, os ansiosos em tranquilos, os depressivos em seres humanos que aprendem a enxergar a vida como um espetáculo imperdível – explicou Marco Polo.

Às vezes me sinto um louco falando para pessoas falsamente saudáveis – confessou Marco Polo. – Uma voz solitária gritando que, se treinamos dirigir carros, empresas, operar computadores, deveríamos treinar dirigir a emoção e gerenciar nossos pensamentos para sermos minimamente autores de nossa história. Mas simplesmente nenhuma escola ensina isso. Deixe sua mente irresponsavelmente solta que o risco de se acidentar e adoecer será grave.

Cada ferramenta psiquiátrica, psicológica e sociológica que Marco Polo lhes ensinava era treinada em grupo ou individualmente, por uma ou duas semanas consecutivas. Nos últimos meses, além de treiná-los no “poder de ser resiliente”, em “estar convicto de que minha paz vale ouro, o resto é lixo”, em “conquistar o que o dinheiro não pode comprar”, “pacificar conflitos” e “colecionar amigos”, treinou-os também para superarem a penetrante glossofobia, o medo de falar em público, que atinge 75% da população e um percentual ainda maior entre os jovens. Para isso, propôs aos alunos substituírem algum professor da sua classe, mas sem aviso prévio aos demais alunos. Imagine alunos como Peter, Chang, Jasmine, Michael e Sam, que todos consideravam irresponsáveis e alienados, escórias da universidade, chegarem 15 minutos antes do professor e apresentarem com brilhantismo o resumo

It all started in 1937 when Japan gained control of the Marco Polo Bridge,

Fizikçilerin atomlardan oluşan şeylerin iç derinliklerinde buldukları o yeni ve garip dünya, Cartes ve Marco Polo'nun ayak basmış olduğu yerlerden çok daha büyüleyiciydi. Bu denli heyecan uyandırmasının nedeni bu yeni dünyayla ilgili her şeyin geçerli mantık ve sağduyuya ters düşmesiydi.

has even been suggested that Marco Polo never made it to China, despite his apparently firsthand descriptions of that region.

who’s universal sovereign? In 1287, after not one but two failed invasions of Japan, Kublai Khan issued a new kind of paper money. The paper still had pictures of bronze coins on it, but this time they were just pictures. Government offices refused to redeem the paper for silver or bronze; people could no longer exchange their treasure exchange vouchers for treasure. We have to imagine there was some panic. There was inflation: prices rose as money became less valuable. But then the economy stabilized. The center held. Pieces of paper that were just paper, that weren’t even pretending to be treasure vouchers or silver IOUs, still worked as money. This is the radical experiment that Marco Polo witnessed: money as almost pure abstraction, backed by nothing. It would be like if Wile E. Coyote ran off the cliff, looked down, saw empty space below him—and didn’t fall. Partly this is a testament to the sheer power of the Mongol state: use this paper as money or I’ll kill you. But partly, after three hundred years of using paper money, people in China had figured out that paper money worked not because it was backed by silver or bronze, but because everybody agreed paper could be money.

revealed by the prophets and confirmed by the evidence I have seen.” As he spoke, Isabel was captivated by his apparent sincerity on this point. She also perceived a haughty scorn and disrespect for the Talavera commission. She reflected that, like an adventurer, Colón boasted of his experience, relied on unlearned sources such as Mandeville and Marco Polo, pandered as to Jerusalem, and was transparent in his lust for nobility and wealth. Yet she found

We taint the sacred heart, and stain the merits of oddity by shaming the unmasked face that screams to be noticed in the social cesspool society deems acceptable. The deep waters swallow us who feign an inability to swim, tailoring our reflections to fit the slimy surface that we’ve chosen to collectively gather ourselves by. We secretly play marco-polo with shallow remnants of thoughts standing in remembrances of principles we surrendered to the tyrants who thought we were stars.

But what enhanced for Kublai every event or piece of news reported by his inarticulate informer was the space that remained around it, a void not filled with words. The descriptions of cities Marco Polo visited had this virtue: you could wander through them in thought, become lost, stop and enjoy the cool air, or run off.

Gagarin, Buzz Aldrin and many others are the descendants of Marco Polo and Christopher Columbus, pioneers who pushed the boundaries and who changed the world in ways they could not have imagined in their own lifetimes. Whether for better or worse is not the point; they discovered new opportunities and new spaces in which peoples would compete to make the most of what nature had put there. It will take generations, but in space, too, we will plant our flags, ‘conquer’ territory, claim ground and overcome the barriers the universe puts in our way. When we are reaching for the stars, the challenges ahead are such that we will perhaps have to come together to meet them: to travel the universe not as Russians, Americans or Chinese but as representatives of humanity. But so far, although we have broken free from the shackles of gravity, we are still imprisoned in our own minds, confined by our suspicion of the ‘other’, and thus our primal competition for resources. There is a long way to go.

Il veneziano sapeva che quando Kublai se la prendeva con lui era per seguire meglio il filo d’un suo ragionamento; e che le sue risposte e obiezioni trovavano il loro posto in un discorso che già si svolgeva per conto suo, nella testa del Gran Kan. Ossia, tra loro era indifferente che quesiti e soluzioni fossero enunciati ad alta voce o che ognuno dei due continuasse a rimuginarli in silenzio. Difatti stavano muti, a occhi socchiusi, adagiati su cuscini, dondolando su amache, fumando lunghe pipe d’ambra. Marco Polo immaginava di rispondere (o Kublai immaginava la sua risposta) che più si perdeva in quartieri sconosciuti di città lontane, più capiva le altre città che aveva attraversato per giungere fin là, e ripercorreva le tappe dei suoi viaggi, e imparava a conoscere il porto da cui era salpato, e i luoghi familiari della sua giovinezza, e i dintorni di casa, e un campiello di Venezia dove correva da bambino. A questo punto Kublai Kan l’interrompeva o immaginava d’interromperlo, o Marco Polo immmaginava d’essere interrotto, con una domanda come: – Avanzi col capo voltato sempre all’indietro? – oppure: – Ciò che vedi è sempre alle tue spalle? – o meglio: – Il tuo viaggio si svolge solo nel passato? Tutto perché Marco Polo potesse spiegare o immaginare di spiegare o essere immaginato spiegare o riuscire finalmente a spiegare a se stesso che quello che lui cercava era sempre qualcosa davanti a sé, e anche se si trattava del passato era un passato che cambiava man mano egli avanzava nel suo viaggio, perchè il passato del viaggiatore cambia a seconda dell’itinerario compiuto, non diciamo il passato prossimo cui ogni giorno che passa aggiunge un giorno, ma il passato più remoto. Arrivando a ogni nuova città il viaggiatore ritrova un suo passato che non sapeva più d’avere: l’estraneità di ciò che non sei più o non possiedi più t’aspetta al varco nei luoghi estranei e non posseduti. Marco entra in una città; vede qualcuno in una piazza vivere una vita o un istante che potevano essere suoi; al posto di quell’uomo ora avrebbe potuto esserci lui se si fosse fermato nel tempo tanto tempo prima, oppure se tanto tempo prima a un crocevia invece di prendere una strada avesse preso quella opposta e dopo un lungo giro fosse venuto a trovarsi al posto di quell’uomo in quella piazza. Ormai, da quel suo passato vero o ipotetico, lui è escluso; non può fermarsi; deve proseguire fino a un’altra città dove lo aspetta un altro suo passato, o qualcosa che forse era stato un suo possibile futuro e ora è il presente di qualcun altro. I futuri non realizzati sono solo rami del passato: rami secchi. – Viaggi per rivivere il tuo passato? – era a questo punto la domanda del Kan, che poteva anche essere formulata così: – Viaggi per ritrovare il tuo futuro? E la risposta di Marco: – L’altrove è uno specchio in negativo. Il viaggiatore riconosce il poco che è suo, scoprendo il molto che non ha avuto e non avrà.

Arabic historian and Marco Polo claiming that all who saw the body of Genghis Khan had been immediately killed.

He studied copies or recountings of John Mandeville’s Travels (ca. 1360), Marco Polo’s Il Milione (Travels of Marco Polo, ca. 1298), and Ptolemy’s Guide to Drawing a Map of the World—the Geography—for the first time.

All this so that Marco Polo could explain or imagine explaining or be imagined explaining or succeed finally in explaining to himself that what he sought was always something lying ahead, and even if it was a matter of the past that changed gradually as he advanced on his journey, because the traveler's past changes according to the route he has followed: not the immediate past, that is, to which each day that goes by adds a day, but the more remote past. Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in wait for you in foreign, unpossessed places.

One should win the privilege of looking down on such a scene, and because I had done nothing to earn a glimpse of these remote beauties I felt that I was cheating and that this nasty, noisy little impertinence, mechanically transporting me, was an insult to the mountains. You will probably accuse me of a tiresome outburst of romanticism-but I'm not sure you'll be right. The more I see of unmechanized places and people the more convinced I become that machines have done incalculable damage by unbalancing the relationship between Man and Nature. The mere fact that we think and talk as we do about Nature is symptomatic. For us to refer to Nature as a separate entity-something we admire or avoid or study or paint-shows how far we've removed ourselves from it. Marco Polo saw it as the background to human adventures and endeavours — a healthy reaction possible only when our lives are basically in harmony with it. (Granted that Roz is a machine and that to be logical I should have walked or ridden from Ireland, but at least one exerts oneself cycling and the speed is not too outrageous and one is constantly exposed to the elements.) I suppose all our scientific advances are a wonderful boost for the superior intellect of the human race but what those advances are doing to us seems to me quite literally tragic. After all, only a handful of people are concerned in the excitement and stimulation of discovering and developing, while millions lead feebler and more synthetic lives because of the achievements of that handful. When Sterne toured France and Italy he needed more guts and initiative than the contemporary traveller needs to tour the five continents; people now use less than half their potential forces because 'Progress' has deprived them of the incentive to live fully. All this has been brought to the surface of my mind by the general attitude to my conception of travelling, which I once took for granted as normal behaviour but which strikes most people as wild eccentricity, merely because it involves a certain amount of what is now regarded as hardship but was to all our ancestors a feature of everyday life using physical energy to get from point A to point B. I don't know what the end result of all this 'progress' will be-something pretty dire, I should think.

The current fast food fuss obscures the reality that such foods are ancient. Fried kibbeh, sausages, olives, nuts, small pizzas, and flat breads have been sold on the streets of Middle Eastern and North African cities for a cycle of centuries; Marco Polo reported barbequed meats, deep-fried delicacies, and even roast lamb for sale in Chinese markets.

Marco Polo aprendeu a ultrapassar a sua condição de estrangeiro no Império Mongol, para chegar à conclusão de que, agora que estava em casa, tinha-se tornado uma vez mais um estrangeiro.

Depois de todos os hábitos de acasalamento e comportamentos que (Marco Polo) presenciara na Ásia, a ideia de monogamia conjugal talvez não fosse de todo bem-vinda.

O mundo que Marco Polo explorou está perdido para a História de muitas maneiras, mas alguns aspectos importantes do retrato que ele traça são surpreendentemente contemporâneos. Como mercador, compreendeu que o comércio era a essência das relações internacionais e que ele se sobrepunha aos sistemas políticos e às crenças religiosas, que são autolimitadores

Marco Polo descreve uma ponte, pedra por pedra. – Mas qual é a pedra que sustenta a ponte? — pergunta Kublai Khan. – A ponte não é sustentada por esta ou aquela pedra — responde Marco —, mas pela curva do arco que estas formam. Kublai Khan permanece em silêncio, refletindo. Depois acrescenta: – Por que falar em pedras? Só o arco me interessa. Polo responde: – Sem pedras, o arco não existe. (p. 84)

There were no mail-order catalogues in 1492. Marco Polo's journal was the wish book of Renaissance Europe. Then, Columbus sailed the ocean blue and landed in Sears' basement.

la cabeza— que esos misteriosos emisarios fueron los tres Polo: el padre de Marco, Niccolò, su tío Maffeo y el propio Marco. Los tres venecianos que hicieron el viaje más famoso de la historia. —Absolutamente correcto —sentenció decididamente la anciana y hermosa Becky—. Los emisarios venecianos del Papa latino eran los Polo y, desde luego, entre otras razones, fueron a China en busca de

Though [Marco] Polo himself states frankly that he has never visited Japan -- and thus that what he has to say about it is second-hand and perhaps inaccurate -- the notion of the mysterious island kingdom of Cipango that he planted in European consciousness at the end of the thirteenth century was later one of several powerful influences that spurred Christopher Columbus forward in his crossings of the Atlantic at the end of the fifteenth century. This was so because Columbus -- underestimating the circumference of the earth and knowing nothing of the existence of the Americas or of the Pacific Ocean -- believed that he could reach Cipango, and thence the Chinese mainland beyond, by sailing directly westwards across the Atlantic from Europe. Columbus is also likely to have calculated that Cipango would be reached after only a relatively short journey towards the west -- for he had read Marco Polo, who describes Cipango, erroneously, as lying 'far out to sea' fully 1500 miles to the east of the Chinese mainland (the true distance is nowhere much more than 500 miles).

1. Ceylon was believed by Marco Polo to have been one-third larger in the past than it had become by his day -- with extensive lands to the north of the present island said to have been 'submerged under the sea'. In the process its circumference was reduced in size from 3600 units of measurement to 2400 units of measurement, i.e. by one-third. 2. Maps were in use amongst mariners in the Indian Ocean when Marco Polo was there -- either mappamundi or mariners' charts depending on the translation -- which continued to show the one-third larger, antediluvian Ceylon. On the first of the two points above -- the one-third reduction in the size of Sri Lanka by flooding -- we cannot deny, having studied the inundation history of south India and Sri Lanka in earlier chapters, that the tradition which Marco Polo here preserves and passes down to us is essentially correct when set within the time-frame of the end of the last Ice Age. Since approximately 7700-6900 years ago, when the last remnants of its landbridge to south India were inundated, Glenn Milne's maps suggest that there have been no significant changes in Ceylon's size. Prior to 7700 years ago the picture is very different, and as we go back through 8900 years ago, 10,600 years ago, 12,400 years ago, and 13,500 years ago, we note a progressive enlargement of Sri Lanka, exclusively in the north around the landbridge to south India, resulting from the lowered sea-level of those epochs. At its greatest extent the enlargement is of the order of one-third.

What legendary travelers have taught us since Pausanius and Marco Polo is that the art of travel is the art of seeing what is sacred.

I guess whether we choose to travel as much as Marco Polo did or stay in the same spot from cradle to grave, life is a sequence of births and deaths. Moments are born and moments die. For new experiences to come to light, old ones need to wither away.

AROUND 1271 OR 1272, MARCO POLO, THE RENOWNED VENETIAN merchant adventurer, was on his way through Persia en route for Cathay when he came upon a story told by travellers in that region. Twenty-five years later he recounted it in his book II Milione, better known today as The Travels of Marco Polo. The story concerned a remote area ruled by one they called the Old Man of the Mountains, whose followers were notorious for their ruthlessness. According to Marco Polo, they had been in existence since the middle of the eleventh century and there was not an Arab leader who did not go in mortal dread of them. The disciples of this leader were kept loyal to their master by the promise that, were they to die whilst in his service, they would assuredly go to Paradise. To strengthen their resolve, the Old Man of the Mountains gave initiates to his following a preview of what it would be like in Paradise by maintaining a fabulous garden within his mountain stronghold. In this pleasure ground, exquisitely beautiful houris wandered ready to fulfil any desire, the fountains ran with milk and honey and the flowers were beyond compare. However, it was said, to enter this fabled place the would-be acolyte was first given a powerful drug and, only when unconscious, allowed in: before leaving, he was again drugged. After their induction, the initiates were given a solid Islamic education but were also taught the arts of murder, killing anyone whom their master commanded be put to death. Before going into battle, they apparently partook of the same drug to increase their courage. The drug was hashish. The veracity of Marco Polo’s writings has long been suspect, yet the story has stuck, enhanced and exaggerated as the centuries have passed. The legend of the Old Man of the Mountains has become nothing short of unassailable fact and his followers, notorious as much for their merciless cruelty as their gargantuan appetites for hashish, have become a byword for brutality. Even the name by which they came to be known derived from the drug it was alleged they took: they were called the Hashshashin. They are now known as the Assassins.

Throughout the ages the ideal of satya (truth) has permeated Hindu society. Marco Polo tells us that the Brahmins “would not utter a lie for anything on earth.” An English judge in India, William Sleeman, says in his Journey Through Oudh in 1849–50: “I have had before me hundreds of cases in which a man’s property, liberty, or life depended on his telling a lie; and he has refused to tell it.

Greek philosophers knew then that governments could warp men, just as men can warp governments. "People are the same everywhere, only governments try to make them different." Who was it who had said that? It could have been Socrates, but it wasn't. We recalled the engineering student in northern Iraq who had.

— Sire, désormais je t’ai parlé de toutes les villes que je connais. — Il en reste une dont tu ne parles jamais. Marco Polo baissa la tête. — Venise, dit le Khan. Marco sourit. — Chaque fois que je fais la description d’une ville, je dis quelque chose de Venise. — Quand je t’interroge sur d’autres villes, je veux t’entendre parler d’elles. Et de Venise, quand je t’interroge sur Venise.

Marco [Polo] enters a city; he sees someone in a square living a life or an instant that could be his; he could now be in that man's place, if he had stopped time, long ago; or if, long ago, at a crossroads, instead of taking one road he had taken the opposite one, and after long wandering he had come to be in the place of that man in the square. By now, from that real or hypothetical past of his, he is excluded; he cannot stop; he must go on to another city, where another of his pasts awaits him, or something perhaps that had been a possible future of his and is someone else's present. Futures not achieved are only branches of the past: dead branches.

-Tengo muchos recuerdos de ese tipo. Son como guijarros que la memoria va tallando año tras año y, a medida que pierden su forma original, se convierten en auténticas piedras preciosas. Pasa la mano por el pelo de Marco con un gesto cariñoso que éste añoraba desde hacía mucho tiempo. -Saborea esos guijarros. Apagarán tu sed en el desierto de la vida. Quieres partir, quieres salir de Venecia, pero mira bien este sol sobre la laguna. Es el tuyo. Nadie puede arrebatártelo, sólo tú. Si te vas, debes saber que te llevarás contigo la parte más dolorosa. Eres joven y aún no sabes nada. Eres joven y no me crees. Estás seguro de que eres diferente. Pero voy a decirte una verdad, Marco. Te lo digo yo, que he viajado mucho: todos los hombres son iguales, y tú también.

-Tengo muchos recuerdos de ese tipo. Son como guijarros que la memoria va tallando año tras año y, a medida que pierden su forma original, se convierten en auténticas piedras preciosas. Pasa la mano por el pelo de Marco con un gesto cariñoso que éste añoraba desde hacía mucho tiempo. -Saborea esos guijarros. Apagarán tu sed en el desierto de la vida. Quieres partir, quieres salir de Venecia, pero mira bien este sol sobre la laguna. Es el tuyo. Nadie puede arrebatártelo, sólo tú. Si te vas, debes saber que te llevarás contigo la parte más dolorosa. Eres joven y aún no sabes nada. Eres joven y no me crees. Estás seguro de que eres diferente. Pero voy a decirte una verdad, Marco. Te lo digo yo, que he viajado mucho: todos los hombres son iguales, y tú también.

Quit playing Marco Polo with my ass, Christopher Columbus. This isn’t an exploration, so you aren’t putting your ding dong in this donut hole