Les îles qui se déplacent le plus rapidement

par Javier Giagnoni | Sep 2, 2021 | categorie1

https://cometogalapagos.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/09/VIDEO-2021-01-12-22-05-41.mp4 By Rick Schleicher Join the most unique creatures in the world for a thrill ride on the fastest moving islands on the planet! Four inches a year! That’s hell bent for leather, speed...

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Conférencier AIRE

AIRE est l'enceinte qui relie le son et la nature. Que ce soit pour se détendre, travailler, ou lors d'une conversation chaleureuse, AIRE apporte le son et l'atmosphère organique que chaque moment requiert. Cette enceinte écologique, portable et sans fil, offre une profondeur de basse riche, et un son aigu immaculé qui donne de la clarté au spectre sonore.

Qu'est-ce qui rend AIRE différent ?

La production de haut-parleurs écologiques AIRE est un projet collectif de récupération environnementale. La propriété dans laquelle AIRE est créée a une superficie de 15 hectares, et est située dans le canton de Rioverde, province d'Esmeraldas, Équateur. La propriété se trouve à 1 kilomètre du petit village de pêcheurs de Paufí, où 60% de la population est afro-équatorienne.

Le projet comprend la récupération d'espèces de bois indigènes (comme l'acajou, le cèdre, le moral et le guachapelí) combinée à un sens du respect de la forêt indigène entourée de vallées, et la production d'espèces commerciales comme le teck et le laurier. Depuis son lancement en 2000, le projet de récupération a permis de planter environ 10 000 arbres de différentes espèces.

Seul le bois est utilisé dans la création des enceintes écologiques AIRE. Ce bois n'a pas d'usage commercial et ne provient pas de l'abattage d'arbres, mais plutôt de rebuts, de déchets ou d'arbres qui meurent dans la ferme. Grâce à un processus créatif, une nouvelle vie est donnée à ce bois fin, le récupérant pour créer les enceintes AIRE.

Chaque enceinte est unique en son genre, fabriquée à partir de différents types de bois. Elle n'est pas produite en série mais unique dans chacune de ses parties. Des maîtres charpentiers sculptent chaque pièce, en respectant la nature du bois. Les haut-parleurs AIRE font partie d'une série de pièces d'art, peintes à la main par des artistes locaux de l'Équateur.

AIRE est fabriqué localement dans le cadre d'une vision globale, combinant l'organique et le simple avec les nouveaux dispositifs mobiles, reliant la nature et les personnes, et créé avec respect dans l'esprit d'une coexistence durable.

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Qu'est-ce qui rend AIRE différent ?

Prenez contact avec nous pour en savoir plus sur AIRE !

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I bought my father a record player for his 60th birthday. It’s a gray, retro-style Crosley standing on long black legs, like a whooping crane, looking out over our kitchen in Atlanta. I also included three starter records I knew he would love — “Crosby, Stills & Nash,” “Let It Be” and “Hotel California” — because they contain the signature songs he sang at karaoke my whole life. My father, the crooner, is always the life of the party, the class clown. My mother calls him a yes man, which she thinks means someone who says “yes” anytime he’s asked to hang out, which my father does. He loves fun, and as someone who also loves fun, I wanted him to have a record player for whenever his friends come over to play cards. Sometimes I can hear it in my dreams: John Lennon and Paul McCartney harmonizing over the clinking glasses of soju with lime juice from a plastic green bottle. Since that birthday a few years ago, we put the record player on whenever we’re in the kitchen, which is often, especially during the holidays. I might be baking cookies or preparing Christmas dinner — always a big glazed ham — or making cottage-cheese pancakes in the morning. When my mother is sitting at the kitchen island with her coffee before the rest of us wake up, it’s Joan Baez. When my brother Kevin is whipping up a cocktail before dinner, it’s Frank Sinatra or Ella Fitzgerald. When I’m baking a loaf of milk bread at midnight, alone, it’s Johnny Cash or Elvis — a little bit of country, a little bit of rock. It’s my father’s Crosley, but we all benefit from it. I am not a religious person, but I revere Christmastime as a secular season centered on food and family — two of my favorite things. As with any family tradition, there are rules. My father expects a ham every year. Last Christmas, I was so busy and burned out from the pandemic that I never got around to making one. So this year, I want to be sure I come home with an excellent ham recipe, though I shouldn’t call this my recipe. When it comes to matters of cured pork, I’ve picked up things along the way from various cooks. But the recipe that has inspired me the most is Nigella Lawson’s. Her ham in cola is a treasure of a dish that calls for boiling a gammon in two liters of Coca-Cola, with an onion chucked in for mellow savoriness. The caramel-tinged ham is then lacquered with molasses, dark like licorice and dusted with spicy English mustard powder and crunchy demerara sugar. I bought my father a record player for his 60th birthday. It’s a gray, retro-style Crosley standing on long black legs, like a whooping crane, looking out over our kitchen in Atlanta. I also included three starter records I knew he would love — “Crosby, Stills & Nash,” “Let It Be” and “Hotel California” — because they contain the signature songs he sang at karaoke my whole life. My father, the crooner, is always the life of the party, the class clown. My mother calls him a yes man, which she thinks means someone who says “yes” anytime he’s asked to hang out, which my father does. He loves fun, and as someone who also loves fun, I wanted him to have a record player for whenever his friends come over to play cards. Sometimes I can hear it in my dreams: John Lennon and Paul McCartney harmonizing over the clinking glasses of soju with lime juice from a plastic green bottle. Since that birthday a few years ago, we put the record player on whenever we’re in the kitchen, which is often, especially during the holidays. I might be baking cookies or preparing Christmas dinner — always a big glazed ham — or making cottage-cheese pancakes in the morning. When my mother is sitting at the kitchen island with her coffee before the rest of us wake up, it’s Joan Baez. When my brother Kevin is whipping up a cocktail before dinner, it’s Frank Sinatra or Ella Fitzgerald. When I’m baking a loaf of milk bread at midnight, alone, it’s Johnny Cash or Elvis — a little bit of country, a little bit of rock. It’s my father’s Crosley, but we all benefit from it. I am not a religious person, but I revere Christmastime as a secular season centered on food and family — two of my favorite things. As with any family tradition, there are rules. My father expects a ham every year. Last Christmas, I was so busy and burned out from the pandemic that I never got around to making one. So this year, I want to be sure I come home with an excellent ham recipe, though I shouldn’t call this my recipe. When it comes to matters of cured pork, I’ve picked up things along the way from various cooks. But the recipe that has inspired me the most is Nigella Lawson’s. Her ham in cola is a treasure of a dish that calls for boiling a gammon in two liters of Coca-Cola, with an onion chucked in for mellow savoriness. The caramel-tinged ham is then lacquered with molasses, dark like licorice and dusted with spicy English mustard powder and crunchy demerara sugar. I bought my father a record player for his 60th birthday. It’s a gray, retro-style Crosley standing on long black legs, like a whooping crane, looking out over our kitchen in Atlanta. I also included three starter records I knew he would love — “Crosby, Stills & Nash,” “Let It Be” and “Hotel California” — because they contain the signature songs he sang at karaoke my whole life. My father, the crooner, is always the life of the party, the class clown. My mother calls him a yes man, which she thinks means someone who says “yes” anytime he’s asked to hang out, which my father does. He loves fun, and as someone who also loves fun, I wanted him to have a record player for whenever his friends come over to play cards. Sometimes I can hear it in my dreams: John Lennon and Paul McCartney harmonizing over the clinking glasses of soju with lime juice from a plastic green bottle. Since that birthday a few years ago, we put the record player on whenever we’re in the kitchen, which is often, especially during the holidays. I might be baking cookies or preparing Christmas dinner — always a big glazed ham — or making cottage-cheese pancakes in the morning. When my mother is sitting at the kitchen island with her coffee before the rest of us wake up, it’s Joan Baez. When my brother Kevin is whipping up a cocktail before dinner, it’s Frank Sinatra or Ella Fitzgerald. When I’m baking a loaf of milk bread at midnight, alone, it’s Johnny Cash or Elvis — a little bit of country, a little bit of rock. It’s my father’s Crosley, but we all benefit from it. I am not a religious person, but I revere Christmastime as a secular season centered on food and family — two of my favorite things. As with any family tradition, there are rules. My father expects a ham every year. Last Christmas, I was so busy and burned out from the pandemic that I never got around to making one. So this year, I want to be sure I come home with an excellent ham recipe, though I shouldn’t call this my recipe. When it comes to matters of cured pork, I’ve picked up things along the way from various cooks. But the recipe that has inspired me the most is Nigella Lawson’s. Her ham in cola is a treasure of a dish that calls for boiling a gammon in two liters of Coca-Cola, with an onion chucked in for mellow savoriness. The caramel-tinged ham is then lacquered with molasses, dark like licorice and dusted with spicy English mustard powder and crunchy demerara sugar. I bought my father a record player for his 60th birthday. It’s a gray, retro-style Crosley standing on long black legs, like a whooping crane, looking out over our kitchen in Atlanta. I also included three starter records I knew he would love — “Crosby, Stills & Nash,” “Let It Be” and “Hotel California” — because they contain the signature songs he sang at karaoke my whole life. My father, the crooner, is always the life of the party, the class clown. My mother calls him a yes man, which she thinks means someone who says “yes” anytime he’s asked to hang out, which my father does. He loves fun, and as someone who also loves fun, I wanted him to have a record player for whenever his friends come over to play cards. Sometimes I can hear it in my dreams: John Lennon and Paul McCartney harmonizing over the clinking glasses of soju with lime juice from a plastic green bottle. Since that birthday a few years ago, we put the record player on whenever we’re in the kitchen, which is often, especially during the holidays. I might be baking cookies or preparing Christmas dinner — always a big glazed ham — or making cottage-cheese pancakes in the morning. When my mother is sitting at the kitchen island with her coffee before the rest of us wake up, it’s Joan Baez. When my brother Kevin is whipping up a cocktail before dinner, it’s Frank Sinatra or Ella Fitzgerald. When I’m baking a loaf of milk bread at midnight, alone, it’s Johnny Cash or Elvis — a little bit of country, a little bit of rock. It’s my father’s Crosley, but we all benefit from it. I am not a religious person, but I revere Christmastime as a secular season centered on food and family — two of my favorite things. As with any family tradition, there are rules. My father expects a ham every year. Last Christmas, I was so busy and burned out from the pandemic that I never got around to making one. So this year, I want to be sure I come home with an excellent ham recipe, though I shouldn’t call this my recipe. When it comes to matters of cured pork, I’ve picked up things along the way from various cooks. But the recipe that has inspired me the most is Nigella Lawson’s. Her ham in cola is a treasure of a dish that calls for boiling a gammon in two liters of Coca-Cola, with an onion chucked in for mellow savoriness. The caramel-tinged ham is then lacquered with molasses, dark like licorice and dusted with spicy English mustard powder and crunchy demerara sugar.