Word: throbbingly
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...Today, it's a cherry red 1965 Alfa Romeo Giulia Spider 1600 Veloce that I'm tooling around in for a tour of Chianti's sloping vineyards and sleepy hamlets. The Giulia is a vintage convertible dream, with rounded lines that undulate like the Tuscan hillsides and an engine throb that blends with the rustle of cypress trees. So when slowing to a gentle stop near a 10th century cobblestone abbey, I couldn't help but feel like my four wheels were actually improving the scenery. Walter Laimer and Gert Pichler, northern Italian buddies who once led Tuscan bike tours...
...Today, it's a cherry red 1965 Alfa Romeo Giulia Spider 1600 Veloce that I'm tooling around in for a tour of Chianti's sloping vineyards and sleepy hamlets. The Giulia is a vintage convertible dream, with rounded lines that undulate like the Tuscan hillsides and an engine throb that blends with the rustle of cypress trees. So when slowing to a gentle stop near a 10th century cobblestone abbey, I couldn't help but feel like my four wheels were actually improving the scenery. Loh and Behold Avant-garde murals and imaginative furnishings characterise a new Singapore hotel...
When General Efrain Rios Montt was Guatemala's military dictator from 1982 to 1983, during the bloodiest phase of a 36-year-long civil war, his army massacred Maya Indian peasants suspected of aiding leftist guerrillas. The throb of military helicopters above highlands villages was often followed by deafening automatic rifle fire. Tens of thousands died, and a federal genocide case is now pending against Ríos Montt in a Guatemalan court. Asked at the time about his "scorched-earth" strategy, Ríos Montt quipped, "We don't have a policy of scorched earth - we have a policy...
...album kicks into gear from the first lick and maintains its intensity to the last defiant riff. Songs like “Inhuman Creation Station” throb with rebellion against society’s shackles. With disjointed lyrics sketching out a mocking theme (“Work with the team to meet the deadline!!! / A modern man cannot survive / Drowning in formaldehyde”), the song pounds with individualistic energy...
Just after dawn the old city begins to wake. The jackhammer throb of a thousand electricity generators competes with raucous Hindi music blasting from the stereos they have brought to life. A discordant orchestra of scooter bleats, car horns, rickshaw chimes and temple bells nearly drowns out one of the day's early funeral processions. The cortege turns into the packed alleys surrounding the Golden Temple, where lanes that barely fit two abreast are thronged with devotees, foreheads smeared with vermilion tikka, a blessing from the temple priest...