Arctic geese

Arctic geese walk in flocks on the coast. A funny, coordinated dance, littering with gusto the dark coastal rocks, which the Baltic waters cannot wash up any more.

Above the geese, a man is bungee jumping from a 150 metre tall crane while, a few metres away, a little girl, too young to even sit straight, is initiated to pony riding.

East of the geese, the main square of Helsinki is full of orange stalls and tourists, Nordic-style street food and fur hats.

West of the geese, posh bars for dwellers in search of an expensive drink to sip throughout the long Nordic sunset or perhaps the short night.

You look nice, the bar is closing: what about some male company? 

It may still take some training, I guess, for this type of Nordic charm.

14 years later

Dear long lost travel companion of mine, I do not remember if I ever thanked you for taking me around San Francisco many years ago. It was before growing up, before the restrictions for liquids at airports, before the iPhone, even before digital cameras. And before the pillars of my life started to disappear, one at time. 

And so I am back here. In fact, I can imagine you might have been back too at some point. I recall you tended to follow patterns. Yet, I can also imagine you do not really remember the patterns of our life back then: the 5-6 songs always on the radio, so regular we called it our CD; the pancakes with nutella on campus and the Kimbo coffee from Little Italy; the rush to take the Caltrain and the announcement at the station: "it doesn't really matter where you want to go, just take this train".

Of all those memories, the Caltrain is still there, with all the irony of an old fashioned piece of technology crossing nothing less than the Silicon valley. The Golden Gate bridge is still there too, majestic. Yet, no way I could beat the perfect spring afternoon light in which we took our pictures back then, the old fashioned way, with a film. I wonder where these photos are now. Likely buried under the dust of irrelevance.

And, as a kind of challenge to the past, I took again the long walk back downtown along the bay, direction Pier 39. And I took again the cablecar, but also walked up Telegraph Hill, Lombard street and even via Cristoforo Colombo along its Italian shops.

I also came to Mission. Oh, wait, we did not go there at the time, perhaps lack of time or perhaps it was just not your style. Actually, it was certainly not your style. So, Mission we did not see. Neither did we see all the homeless people sleeping in the street, in tents or on the pavement. But that, again, was before the world started changing, back then maybe these people were not even there.

And so, ultimately, in this sunny summer afternoon, I am not going over the past any longer, but sitting on the grass burning my nose, watching elegant moves of Capoeira and somehow even looking forward to going back and trying to change the world again, one piece at time.

South California, baby

The weather is perfect ad the beaches are great. Sure, that we all know. But you also go to San Diego to visit the 1980s: Top Gun, Tom Cruise and his favourite bars, above all, but maybe also less glamorous P.I.'s Rick and AJ from Simon&Simon. You may indulge in listening to Bruce's Balboa Park.

But in fact you land in a plain 2016 timezone, with dedicated pick up points at the airport for Uber and Lyft, ubiquitous free WiFi, fancy cafes and restaurants.


Then you drive over the Coronado bridge and learn that the old promise to make it toll-free after its costs had been covered was indeed kept 4 years ago. With a little delay, but what's 16 years among friends?

That latin soul of yours may be charmed by the old-fashioned wooden beauty of Hotel Del Coronado, while wondering since when "del" stopped being a preposition to become a first name for those anglophone barbarians. You may also be a bit taken by surprise learning that there is an International Bocce Tournament in Del Mar. Grandpa's Bocce? Right.

One or two good Margaritas will probably put things in perspective again. A look south towards troubled Tijuana will bring you fully back to this struggling 2016.

Bluff

At the end of the day, the Clint Eastwoods, Luke McCains and cowboy Sams of my youth rode their horses towards the sunset. For sure it did not take them long to cross the Monument Valley - it did not take us long either, dozens of photo shootings included. 

At end of the day, they must have gone back home and met some Laura Ingalls of sort, busy conquering the West.

That could well have been in Mexican Hat or in Bluff, at the end of the lonely road cutting through those dry red mountains of Utah.

The Ingalls are not there any longer but the Demings and a bunch of their friends are still there, entertaining visitors, enjoying themselves and holding the Fort.

Fort Bluff that is: maxi pancakes for breakfast, hand made cookies for a snack and a walk in traditional costumes, through the history of the West and its first heroes, living in cabins to obey the call from God.

Was it real or was it all just an illusion?

Riding Navajo land

Landing in a world of shining stars and stripes, clear blue skies, burning red rocks and temperatures approaching 100. Page, Arizona, 4 July: go out, watch the parade and keep up those values that make America great. There is no broadband in town until next year anyway.

All around Page, burning under the scorching sun, Navajo land. A sign on the road reminds drivers to think, plan, live and shop Navajo. Navajo guide Leon explains that it is all because their grandmas have been living there forever, since before the first stone of Page was placed in 1957.

And thanks to grandma sticking to her dry piece of land, today his family can provide guided tours into the stunning Antelope Canyon.

Come with me, girl, I will play music for you in the meanders of the canyon and show you how to take great pictures which you can brag about when you are back home.

Oh, and girl, do you have fireworks in your country? I'll get you a flag.

Thanks but I am leaving, gotta get to Utah tonight.

The great unconformity

Canyons, condors and coyotes, all those things soaked in during a childhood of American series and films. That's it, the Far West, the Grand Canyon, the mighty Colorado river about a mile down. No cowboys around, quite a few hikers instead, and families with kids and even dogs hopping on and off the free bus, lookout after lookout.

Girl, you are talking too much and walking too little, do you want a picture? Oh yes, please. Just here, on the trail of time, going back a billion years in Earth's history, and sorry for the local creationists. Mind the step, though, we have lost more than a billion years, right here at the great unconformity, where the age of the rocks jumps from 500 million years to almost 2 billion years.

And yet no picture can ever do justice to the depth and breadth of the sight. No wonder some fellow hikers thought better stopping for a while, sitting down and letting the mind drown in its smallness.