In Sicily Autumn can wait

It is the first day of Autumn and I am lying on the deck of a boat in a new bikini, idly wondering which Tonnara I am looking at, since Scopello is still some miles away. And hesitating on whether I should actually jump in the water. But why not.

There is the Couscous Fest in San Vito lo Capo, the town is packed, concerts, events, food stands, wine, artisanal beer, pecorino extravaganza with pistachios and chocolate.

And people. Plenty of outgoing, talkative people, making sure I did not spend much of my two days there without exchanging views with fellow human beings.

Whether at the hotel, on the boat, for dinner at Trattoria da Mariella, or at the concert.

Young Marco, flirty Francesco, chatty Vito, sophisticated Massimo e Gloria, Umberto, Captain Salvo, informative Enza.

And also those whose name I did not get: the man of the ticket booth, the very well assimilated Peruvian lady of the souvenir shop, the Tuscan young guys tasting Donnafugata wine, the lady on the beach who took a selfie with Joe Bastianich and was shocked I did not know who this name belonged to.

Skin colour revived, bidding farewell to another summer, ready to face the thunderstorms this Fall is breeding.

Back to Tallinn

Pretty much the summary of my Estonia for the past 12 years or so.

Cold time, but good times, happy times, even exciting times. With a lot of memories and a few surprises. 

Started with discovering non existent unpaved Saaremaa roads to nowhere or pretty Tallinn old town views. Comparing the capital with its neighbours Riga or Vilnius. Realising that Helsinki is really, really close. Or being charmed by that chap with long hair and a penchant for talking non-stop and for philosophising about life, people and the world. And going back many years later, just for work, to find garlic ice cream and traditional marijuana chocolate and also that Tallinn's summer market sells woollen hats, scarfs and ponchos (and buying one, the blue one). 

Good times, happy times, exciting times. And a pinch of melancholia.
And regret

Puglia

L'estate sta finendo, cantavano i Righeira. Quest'anno la mia estate finisce in Puglia, a Polignano a Mare.

Bella, struggente e ipnotica come una canzone d'altri tempi, magari proprio del suo cittadino più famoso, ma remixata da un DJ che la sa fin troppo lunga su come vendere milioni di copie.

Estremamente affollata e rumorosa del passeggio di migliaia di persone il sabato sera, tra la cena di pesce alle Antiche Mura, la passeggiata per farsi un selfie di fronte a Cala Porto, il dopocena alla Casa del mojito.

Quasi deserta e decisamente silenziosa la domenica mattina presto, a parte le campane che segnano, con profusione di rintocchi, ogni quarto d'ora, oltre a qualche signora in villeggiatura alla ricerca della messa del primo mattino e un paio di americani alle prese col fuso e con quella minuscola quantità di liquido nero bollente che da queste parti chiamiamo caffè.

E calda, caldissima, nonostante sia quasi settembre. Splendente di sole e profumata di mare, panifici e fichi freschi. Ma se l'estate sta finendo, vuol dire che un altro anno se ne va. Vado via anch'io ma, come dicevano loro, no, proprio non mi va.

Cypriot lessons

Cyprus became my destination a bit by coincidence: someone mentioning the island on a rainy April day, me buying a ticket for August.
And a guide book.
Which I lost on day 2, just as I was going to start digging into it.

Limassol-Paphos-Larnaca-Nicosia-Kyrenia and a few small places in between. 

Loads of sun, Orthodox icons, spicy sheftalia and fresh Xynisteri. 

Plenty of Brits and Russians on beaches and promenades. 

Historical sites, tiny churches and imposing monasteries to choose amongst. 

And even without the guide, good instinct for cool open air bars ad cafes: La Isla on the beach in Limassol, Dstrkt in the centre of Larnaca, Pieto just off Ledras in Nicosia.

But also border crossings, buffer zones, abandoned buildings and some reckoning on divisions and solutions, as a reminder that this is not just another Greek island.

At the end of 10 days, after driving some 850 km and walking about 78 km (according to the iPhone's probably overgenerous counting) also some life lessons:

- driving on the left is odd but doable, also by night, but it helps if you find out how to turn the lights on before taking the highway;

- if the car in front of you at a border crossing has stopped, most likely it is not just another form of creative parking which allows you to overtake;

- this summer nothing can stop Despacito everywhere, but Greek pop will not go down without serious fighting;

- when visiting excavation areas at noon and with some 40 degrees, only one thing matters:

The day before

It has always rained in Brussels the day before holidays.
It feels like a kind of tradition after so many years.

The sky is grey. The feet are wet. The heating is on. Steve McCurry's exhibition will close soon.

You still need to finish way too many things at work before going home packing and sleeping a couple of hours.

And then you go.

Summer days in Sofia

The latest chapter in my 2017 first-times is in the Balkans. 

Work brought me to Sofia, curiosity retained me a couple of extra days.

Temperatures above 30 (and a little too many working hours to shrug off) make a good starting point for a rather easy-going, unpretentious urban exploration, punctuated with homemade ginger lemonade and ice cream stops.

Like everywhere, high temperatures mean for kids that a hose is the best game ever invented. 

The city is truly cheap, the tour to get a flavour of the city - and tips for the rest of the day - is even free. Blue-starred Euroflags can be spotted everywhere, testimony of the financial help received from Brussels for all sort of public works. 

A visit to the "market of women" brings me back to another age, maybe one I never lived in, rich of perfume of ripe summer fruit at prices I cannot relate to any longer

.

Out of the Market, the scent of damascene roses is a constant in touristic places, not only in creams and soaps but also in candies, jams and even in a local liquor - which locals swear never to drink.

The Free Sofia Tour and buying rose scented creams topping the to-do list, visiting Alexander Nevsky' cathedral comes right next. A beautiful Orthodox church where one could spend hours enjoying not only the rich decorations but also the 3 hectic guardians running around to chase unaware visitors and enforce the 10 Lev/5€ price rule for taking photos. Success rate rather low, in the opinion of this humble observer.

And Italy is really everywhere, food, wine and fashion first and foremost. Sometimes with funny results.

Bonus of the trip: Orthodox blessing with geraniums and holy water, live on Bulgarian TV - and advice to remember to smile when cameras are around.

On the roads of Sulcis

Further south, in Sardegna, there is a blue coast, with wild rocks, green pinewoods and Caribbean-white sand.

To reach it, you need to ignore your GPS and google maps of sort and take your car to Marceddi' to cross a bridge which does not exist, then to wade across one or two iron-red creeks, and finally to be pulled out of the sand where the car got stuck.  Best done with a convertible Fiat 500.

You may want to take a break along the way to go for a quick dive in the waters of Piscinas beach, surrounded by Sahara style golden dunes.

Or you may visit the Carthaginian-Roman temple of Antas, hidden in the middle of the mining area of Sulcis.

Whether a curious coincidence or superior design, this August has the red colour of mining history.

From Belgium and the ceremony to mark the 60th anniversary of the Marcinelle disaster, to the abandoned mines along Sardinian road SS 126, across the Sulcis region, home of the fascist and post-war exploitation of the Sardinian reserves of iron and lead.

The sign next to the Laveria Brassey-Naracauli in Ingurtosu claims Liberty style.

Mari Ermi and the others

When the sun goes down in Mari Ermi, the sky turns yellow, the crowds leave and the seagulls go hunting, that is the moment to admire its white quartz stones shining in all their beauty.

It can be a busy day in West Sardinia, whether swimming in the still, emerald waters or enjoying them turned by a hit of mistral into a kitesurfing paradise.

Even more so if you want both and head to the San Giovanni di Sinis's peninsula: east and west, mare vivo and mare morto, shallow waters and powerful waves.

Local businessman Samba, itinerant Sardinian-speaking Senegalese
specialised in beach-ware and advice, strongly recommends to not miss, while there, the elegant simplicity of the Paleochristian church.

It is not that we picked the west coast so that we could every day indulge into sunset watching in the company of an ice cold Ichnusa, but I am glad we figured this point out early enough.

Primo agosto

E cosi' il primo agosto c'era il sole a Bruxelles.

C'era persino qualcuno in giro, macchine nei tunnel, ausiliari del traffico a Flagey, cercatori di Pokemon e nonni con bimbi nei parchi. C'era la lentezza dei movimenti e delle decisioni, in risposta all'urgenza di fermare il mondo durante le vacanze. C'erano matasse da dipanare grandi quanto piramidi egizie, a settembre però.

Tu non c'eri, eri su un altro pianeta a fare lunghe camminate nei boschi o ragionevoli riflessioni in riva a un mare estraneo.

E c'ero pure io a Bruxelles. A salvare il mondo, una briciola alla volta, piano piano. Forse troppo.

Il due agosto ricominciò a piovere, il traffico tornò nel tunnel Cinquantenaire.

Io me ne andai.

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.

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.

Le baiser du Cinquantenaire

Love in Brussels mid-summer night does not go unnoticed, especially during the just discovered Noa Moon's cheerful Paradise.

Moon? You serious? After the post from a couple of days ago?

Not going

Summer is almost over and there are all the places where I did not go to be talked about.

I did not go to the Loire valley where a majestic chateau still holds a reservation in my name, which I have already paid and will probably never use.

I did not go to Sorrento, where the beauty of the town, the blue of the water and the intense taste of the food welcomed and spoiled my friends but not me.

I did not jump into the clear bays and lagoons of Malta, always a land of summer memories.

And all the places I did not visit, all my missed opportunities, they all have a story, are part of my story, make my life what it is and will make myself what I am.

Wallonia wandering

And here comes Belgian summer.

Abruptly, intermittently, three days one week, one day another week.
Today 30 degrees feel like 42. Few more days and it is 7 degrees at night.

Be it as it may, summer brings energy, hope and wakefulness. Summer brings love and happiness, plans and expectations. And sometimes a bit of frustration for what the best plan could be to make use of the unexpected gift of sunshine.

Perhaps going to pretty, quiet, shining, tiny lake at Genval. Romantic, if you need. Being able to find good food (or maybe just a good coffee) would make it almost perfect, but one cannot have everything.

Flying is always a great idea for a summer day, a safe bet for a great time.
Even when factoring in the waiting in line, the sudden lack of good thermal lifts, the low ceiling due to air traffic regulation (anyone up for a close encounter with a Ryanair aircraft in its descent to Charleroi?)

Temploux may not be the most user-friendly of the aerodromes but still the best available option.
Papa X-Ray ready to take off.


Speaking of thermals. Lovely experience is also dipping in mineral water at an open air pool in Spa. Quite cute address, on the "Hill of Annette and Lubin". The Tourism Office also organises hikes on Sunday, both with sunshine and heavy rain (your guess which one I found). Add a deviation to historical Stavelot or funny Coo and it is easy to get some additional sense of Walloon cuteness.

August

And so it finished. Dark and cold as it started. Belgian kids will go back to school in a couple of days, traffic is becoming heavy again, we are already back to work. The pouring rain did not change, whether it is July, August or January.

Not many complain about the end of the year, great expectations colour the new beginning. Instead, a lot of whining about the end of summer, although September does bring a new beginning too.

I used to like September better than August: that sparkling air bearing the promise of a new start, the riddance of that sticky feeling of the impending end of season. And, after all, there were more things to do, more people to see, more plans - and even a new TV season - in September.

I do not watch TV any longer. Probably that is the problem.

And "I am never gonna leave you" is what we need to hear.

Summer skies

From the veranda few days ago, I could see a boat anchored in a peaceful bay, blue waters blessed by the sunset or coloured by the reflex of the city lights at night.

From a different balcony today, I can see a beautifully starred sky. A few years ago this same sky offered me a falling star to which I was quick enough to make a wish: I wanted to get a chance.

A couple of summers down the road, it seems that my wish may come true.

Could it be that's it's too late to matter? Could it be that things have changed too much? Why am I not looking for a new falling star to ask for a new chance?

Summertime

Filling the days with sun, sea, boat tours, beautiful caves, Greek temples, trying to make people happy while at the southern tip of Campania. Then quiet days with green hills, morning clouds, chilly nights and family time, in the middle of Campania's countryside.

Summer here is not so bad - except it lasts just 2 weeks, before the town falls again into its winter lethargy. Open air concerts everywhere, food festivals all over. And people coming back to their roots from the four corners of the world.

I am not one of those. In a way, I never left. I'm not one of those who settled somewhere else in the world, I'm just temporarily away. Am I?

Travelling by my-efficient-self

Some trips start with a long oft-interrupted nap, others are more like time for yourself, time when you learn about yourself and the world. Like a journey in the journey.
This summer trip home is one of those. No sleeping, no screaming babies, no stress. Time to shop, sit, read, rest and smile.
How come after days of weakness and illness, here I am on top of everything I have to do, ticking off one organisational task after the other, pleasantly chatting with airport employees or taxi drivers, reading work-related papers I had been postponing for weeks and even the manual of instruction of the new camera?
And learning. Learning that fat is a feminist issue, that taking a decision is best done before going to the loo, that the best coffee is served down-under (hey, who wrote this?).
And I know exactly where to recharge my battery after landing and while waiting for the luggage.
So far, a promising day. And a promising trip.
Wishing for a promising life.