Senza parole

A city I did not want to visit.

A wounded city, with panic and fear, sadness and anger. Anger at the terrorists, at the Belgian intelligence service, at foreigners altogether.

A city where you show solidarity by writing on the walls of your only monument. And yet, maybe 50 nationalities are standing there and lighting candles. Welcome to Brussels, capital of Europe, capital of jihad too. Where the police of a different commune had the address of the most wanted man for months but did not communicate it to the other office. Where terrorists order a big taxi for their suitcases full of explosives but the taxi company sends a too small one. Where they ask you to go at the airport 5 hours in advance for a 2 hour flights.

In other parts of the world controls are everywhere I am told. But we are in Europe, we built it on peace and solidarity, we cannot turn it into a war zone because different governments cannot get to work together. People do not want to give up their right to go for a beer with friends. Keep drinking your beer but police in the street, border checks, fear of the foreigner is a new normal which takes us back 100 years.

The notetaker

On a rainy January evening, in the loquacious company of a Finn and a Czech, I am preparing to attend my first informal meeting of the Council of Ministers of the EU on digital stuff. Just my cup of tea, but with a twist. I am going to be... THE NOTETAKER.

Admitted everywhere, talking to everyone, unstoppable. The notetaker is the new power role in modern policy making.

Boat trip to the venue, futuristic videos, live music, geese from Schiphol airport to eat, the King's brother as host, entrepreneurs from small startups (like Uber Estonia or booking.com) giving speeches. All duly recorded. Ready for duly reporting.

Happily, January rainy night gives the stage to January sunny blue day and The Notetaker can therefore even take pictures. In fact, the Notetaker quite likes Amsterdam and would not mind spending a few extra days there.

That time of the year again

It is that time of the year again.

The time when you cannot decide what gives you less melancholy: a shorter day but still full of southern lights and warmth, or a still long but chillier day.

The time when "still" is the word which populates most of your thoughts. When you do not want to surrender to the slow twilight towards winter or to let go of the summer hopes. And dreams.

Or when sometimes you cannot decide whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune, or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles, and by opposing end them.
In reality, of course, hopes and dreams are already gone. And in reality, a good intake of Magnesium and Vitamin C is all you need.

Last day

There are things to which a photo or a bunch of words cannot do justice.

The colour of the water at Nafsika's cave and down the cliffs of the monastery in Palaiokastritsa is one of them.

Like the sound of the cicadas mixed to the sound of the waves, while lying on a pebbles beach in Kassiopi's bay. 

Or the freshness of an unexpected cave, found following the footsteps of a bunch of Germans hiking up mount Pantokrator.

For other things, a couple of photo shots may help.

Sadly, tomorrow at this time I will be a caught by another kind of blue, in the livery of a Ryanair aircraft heading north.

Going north

Staring at cliffs is one of my addictions.

I lost my breath long time ago at the Irish Cliffs of Moher and was knocked out again more recently down under at the 12 Apostles.

Driving in the north-west of Corfù, across cypress and olive tree forests, Cape Drastis added some more jabs.

Small Ionians

The worst kept secret in Corfù is that ferries take you for a day trip to Paxos and Antipaxos, small neighbours in the turquoisest part of the Ionian sea.

So small that only a meagre 200.000 olive trees exist on Paxos, while Corfù can afford around 4 million.

And so secret that ferries are usually fully booked, including the organised tours with hundreds of people (and pork souvlaki) roasting onboard.

Corfiots are very proud of the little ones and can talk endlessly about the beauty of their waters. 

I can now confirm.

Corfù

A new summer, a new corner of Greece. 

Here in Corfù temperature is just right, the garlic in the tzatziki is just a little above what literature may prescribe, the blue is just as overwhelming as it needs to be.

Afroditis, selling jewellery in Kerkyra centre, told us about 'meandros', the spiral and Greek symbol of life without an end. Who wants to live forever? The Corfiots, she said.

Guess she may have a point.

Stamatis, restaurant owner up the hill in Acharavi, 35 years in the business, seemed to be of the same mind. Wondering if that has anything to do with the fact that he seemed to keep forgetting what we were talking about.

Meandros or not, one of the beauties of Kerkyra is meandering through the narrow venetian streets. Later on, a wrong turn may send you meandering through narrow mountain roads, tiny villages and surprise viewpoints.

Plotting

Back from Loire, time to plot all the stops on a map. From Blois to Angers, via Tours and Saumur, touching Chartres on the way back.

For a total of 12 Castles, 6 towns, 1 troglodyte farm, 1 Cathedral, 1500 km, 4 wine cellars, 15 bottles back home.

Top 3 Castles: Chambord, Chenonceau, Blois.
Outstanding breathtaking non-Castle: Chartres cathedral

Top 3 activities: spending the night in a water mill, eating fouées a la troglodyte, sundowner on the Loire (kayaking could have been an option too).

Top 3 people: big-nose King Francis I, our Lady of the Mill, le vigneron de la Giraudiere.
Special mention to the Lady of the Poires Tapées de Rivarenne, explaining her ethics of beating the pears.

Castles part III: Chenonceau

 The castle of women. The castle of luscious gardens. The castle of love, pleasure, lust and power. 

Women lived here who were loved by some king - or were otherwise married to them. Women who fought for the privilege of living here (as opposed to being confined to some other beautiful castle down the river, of course).


Women who ruled the country from a green cabinet or retreated to mourn a dead husband in peace in a dark room - in peace, sure, but surrounded by a court of kind gentlemen.

It has been a hot summer day and then a sweet summer night, of the kind all those women would have certainly known how to enjoy.

Leonardo

King Francis I did not look extremely handsome and had quite a big nose. But that is not so important.

Besides Chambord, he had another beautiful castle overlooking Amboise (among other places where he would move with his thousands servants and assemblable furniture) and a manor a few hundred metres away, when he invited Leonardo to join him.

The Genius accepted and came by - bringing Mona Lisa along and making a French lady of her forever.

Leonardo did not regret it as he even requested to be buried there. The Amboisiens certainly did not regret it either, as nowadays they seem to capitalise on Leonardo's last restplace more than birthplace Vinci.

I suspect that also a Genius enjoys living in a nice manor, surrounded by a big park, developing war machines and other toys.

Castles part II: Chambord and Cheverny

Once upon a time lived Francis I, a very determined young man. At age 25 he knew that he wanted Milan and that he wanted also a huge and beautiful castle with an extended forest around so that he could go hunting. There was a perfect spot in Chambord.

The guy got what he wanted, the castle is magnificent. But Francis I loved travelling (and wars) more than he loved staying in the beautiful castle. Therefore he got himself a few thousands servants and a few sets of dismountable furniture (Ikea bed, chests and wardrobes of the time). And so, he could keep going around carrying everything along and randomly stopping at the immense castle when he felt like it. 

In fact he moved also within he castle. Today did he not feel comfortable in one wing? Just dismount the bed and move everything to the other side. 

I would not find it unlikely that he finally quit the place because of getting tired of looking for the bathroom among more than 400 rooms.

Several centuries later, Hergé and Tintin would find it much easier getting around in neighbouring Cheverny, masterpiece of classical symmetry and harmonic beauty.

Castles part I: Blois

The Loire at last, shining at sunset.

In the city of Renaissance intrigues and bloodshed, stands a majestic castle, which is in fact 4 different castles in one. Cannot stop staring at this marble staircase.

The summer night is warm and calm in the court of the Castle. Even better after the (slightly overdone) "son et lumiere" show is over. 

The sky is dark and clear. The stars (and the satellites and the international space station) quietly look down on us. Cheesy yeah, but it is St.Lawrence, so I'm expecting some falling stars anytime. In fact I think I have seen one - although it may have been just a bat hit by the spotlight, who knows.

And then spending the night in a former watermill in the middle of the fields.

The city of beauty

If Beijing does not seem to even try to please its inhabitants and visitors, Shanghai puts her make up and high heels on and goes smiling around.

Beautiful, clean, modern, clever, business and pleasure oriented. Even driving seems to have become less chaotic and less noisy.

Shanghai loves height: Pudong's Oriental Pearl, the funny "bottle opener" and higher up, the elevated highway and the Bund promenade. Not just traditional roof corners but even imported art deco, as if changing its mind, point to the sky. Even the traditional Shanghai-style fans have got sort of a summit.  

And Shanghai loves teasing: a silk quipao, a St.Paul-meets-Big-Ben-strip, a Quartier Latin artsy corner with a Sponge Bob exhibition in Tiangzifang, a superfast bullet train and a rich albeit completely unreliable flight schedule.

  

Countryside, reloaded

100% humidity, seemingly permanent mist all over. Coming from the highway Guilin rises in the mist with a battery of modern newly built towers (and some more in the making), probably part of the new urbanisation plan trumpeted as a pillar of the Chinese "new normal".

But Guilin and its district are small countryside places, less than a million inhabitants, far from the hectic and glittering east coast, simple provincial agglomerates where butchers at the market sell cats, dogs and rats for human consumption (and do not like curious foreigners taking stupid pictures). By the same token, it would not come as a surprise that one may want to carry their ducks with them on the scooter on the motorway.

Real small is Ping An, village on the side of a mountain in the Guilin district, halfway between last century and touristic boom. Streets are made of steps, so supplies must be carried on horseback, but for the fridges and more sophisticated goods, human porters are more adequate, explained Danny Ling, proud restaurant owner,  passionate photographer, member of the Chuong minority.

Water, loads of. And rice plants, everywhere, which cannot be treated or harvested by machines and are still done the old fashioned way. And women who cut their hair only once in life, when they are 18, but keep the hair they cut and bind it together with the rest. And the new Chinese middle class, enjoying their fairytale holiday spot - in groups of hundreds.

Italian China

Excuse me?





What else?

- Excuse me, what is an "Italian coffee".
- Americano, long and weak!

Napoli?
- I only speak Neapolitan with them. They do not understand English. And I won 3 Chinese prizes with my invention: the shirt with a fake Pirelli logo and a pocket behind the neck to hide your mobile phone if the police catches you making a call while driving.

Taxi driver
- Are you from Italy? Music!
Fratelli d'Italia (!), Bella Ciao (!), Pulcino Pio (???)

Legen -wait for it- dary (click on the photo for detailed delights)

What have you done in Beijing for two weeks?

Well, we went around the city. A lot. In a bus. Back and forth from the Geoscience International Conference Centre. Up there, north-west, 5th ring of too big a city.

Of course you hate that bus. Too tiny, slow, stubbornly stuck in Beijing eternal traffic jams or going in circles for mysterious reasons only Confucius would know.

  

On the other hand, the bus is your best friend when outside is 40 degrees and pollution gets so heavy you have a hard time breathing.

In those circumstances, the minimum you could expect is a Ukulele to appear.

What did you expect?

9 million bikes? Electric scooters rather.

Buddhist inner peace? Traffic jam and creative driving.

Good ol' tuc-tucs? "People's Uber" instead.

Beijing in July is hot, huge, chaotic, demanding. A web of jammed roads, a modern subway with security checks at the entrance, crowds of umbrella-holding vacationers armed with smartphones.

This is a world where the most pressing needs are an external power supply for quickly exhausted batteries and a VPN to get through the Great Firewall and around that platoon of censors checking all transmissions, communications and exchanges.


Yes, the Great Wall is amazing too. And the calligraphy is hypnotically beautiful. And I am not too bad at it. Incidentally, my Chinese name is pretty (美 那).

Ibiza!

I know, you go to Ibiza when you are 17, careless, reckless and a bit hopeless.

But on the other hand, Pacha is quite good also when one is a few years older. And adding a visit to the town and to the Cathedral does no harm.

Back to the future

I was a student a while ago in this land of storks and wine.

Back then it was all about enjoying tarte flambee, avoiding choucroute, riding a city bike (way before it became ubiquitous) and wondering if I would ever need a Minitel.

Oh, and getting the point that the Council of Europe and the European Parliament have little to do with each other.

Back then, I thought that Strasbourg's Place de l'homme de fer was a tribute to the newly inaugurated tram.

A few years went by, the rain has not changed, Place de l'homme de fer is still a tribute to the iron armor hanging from one of the buildings, but it is time for a ride in the Alsatian countryside, wine tasting, Castle and lovely villages discovery.

No, we did not walk the route des vins: how could we bring home a few dozen bottles otherwise?

Lazy in the Middle East

After two days I cannot say yet what I think of it. Part of it has probably to do with the fact that I have been just hanging around lazily between the apartment and the nearby beach. Partly it is also that I tend to be totally mesmerised by an elegant skyline, its shapes and lights and can be staring at it for hours.

It is a bit like watching the dystopian future from some sci-fi film, except that it is the present and I love that feeling of being a molecule-size entity by the windows of one of those giants.

What I can say for now is that Dubai is definitely glam, that the Persian Gulf waters are really warm, that you can find Fratelli La Bufala, Obicà and La Cure Gourmande by the beach. 

This Sheik Muhammad did an amazing job of creating all of this from nothing, including a couple of Palm-shaped islands and an entire archipelago in the shape of the world map. Besides the world's tallest building and biggest shopping mall (but that is for another day).

The victory of man over nature. Cannot help wondering if nature intends to take revenge in the next round.

Airborne blogging

I knew that time will come when I would post stuff from the skies. Today it is that time. The perks of flying with a Gulf carrier brought to me wifi onboard courtesy of T-mobile.

Wifi connection came accompanied by a gin tonic, complimentary noise-reducing headphones, landscape camera and a free seat next to me.

Sure, it is only small luxuries (especially that I just came back from checking out a colleague in business class). And it is not an A380. And yet, not a bad start of an improvised trip.

More to report - for sure - when back on the ground.

Sevillanas

I will not tell you about the summertime I found here in early April. Nor will I talk about my tapas de jamon, pulpo and queso de oveja in the Juderia. Con cerveza, por supuesto.

But I can tell you about the massive crowd occupying the city for the Semana Santa. And about those longer than life queues outside the (stunning) Alcalzar and Cathedral. Do you want to avoid standing in line in the sun for hours? Easy: book your ticket online. If you can't because of digital divide or Apple devices not supporting Flash, don't lose your temper, just go for Solution 1.0: Manolo, authorised tour guide spontaneously proposing his services to initially suspicious then amused tourists.

 

Or I can tell you about flamenco dancers and flamenco dresses like the one I had when I was 30 years younger, about making friends with a Brazilian girl who loves margaritas and travelling on her own, about the feeling of being exactly where you should be.

And I will definitely tell you that I am going to start planning the discovery of the rest of Andalusia.

Scents

This morning smelled like a chilly winter morning in Strasbourg, where I was cycling and playing frisbee many years ago.

The hallway in my friends' apartment building smelled like that damn hospital room where I spent some sleepless nights, hoping to steal days to the inevitable.

A stranger at the bus stop had that smell of tobacco and musk I am trying to forget.

Today I am not where I though I would be, the smell of where I was stays.

Porto stories

Note to self: never buy a guidebook before having planned a trip. I got my Portugal guide in 2005, but set foot there for the first time ten years later.

To sum up: lots of pasteis de nata, long walks up and down, fish and more fish to eat, dinner and party at Ribeira. Yes, my friends can have great ideas to fight (upcoming) birthday blues.

Take it or leave it

Ho preso Uber per andare all'aeroporto.

Ho preso il portatile con me per finire la presentazione all'ultimo minuto. Come sempre.

Ho preso il primo sole primaverile al Poetto. Prima che si alzasse il maestrale.

Ho preso spaghetti ai ricci di mare e cernia in umido. E poi ciccioneddas alla campidanese, polpette di maialino allo zafferano e un bicchiere di Cannonau.

Ho preso il wifi in una tavola calda che vendeva insalata di quinoa, soia e cavolo cappuccio e culurgionis vegani.

Ho preso una Smart a Fiumicino e mi sono fatta 700 km da sola.

Ho preso in braccio la mia mini nipotina appena nata. 

Ho preso il raffreddore e due aspirine.

Luna Caprese

Capri is a place which does not really exists outside our fantasies. For this reason it is a place where you can do things you would not do in real life.

In Capri a pretty girl walks down the streets with a white linen dress and a wreath of flowers in her hair. A restaurant charges 75 euros for "service" and specifies that tip is not included. One finds herself pushed on a stage to do the "mossa" move. A beautiful woman makes a friend very happy, at least for a day or two.

But all of this never really happened, all of this is nothing more than a story to tell. And tomorrow it will not exist any longer.

My first Lithuanian Baptism

Like Virgil to Dante or the Mad Hatter to Alice, my Vilnius friend took it upon himself to guide me through the wonders of my long weekend. My first Lithuanian baptism felt a bit like Alice in wonderland. Beautiful and eventful but also somewhat upside down. Counter-intuitive, so to say.

Quick was the baptism itself, celebrated in some fairy tale (sort of) language in which I caught barely the name of my god-daughter. 

Anyway I must have accepted my responsibilities of godmother, since I signed some paper, to be stored for eternity in the archives of a church in some remote Lithuanian village where the ancestors of the baby girl were born. An image of the world upside-down was returned by the pond close to the Panemune castle where we had our lovely post-Baptism picnic, before proceeding to the final destination in Sturmai. 

Not sure if Sturmai is a village or simply the name of a small pier on the lagoon with a couple of boats, a hotel and a restaurant. More than enough of the good stuff anyway: sunshine, fresh fish and wi-fi, all while sitting at a table and sipping white wine facing the sunset. 

Strict rules apply here: only catch of the day can be ordered (hence pike-perch everyday); only Austrian Riesling can be served with Lithuanian fresh water fish (no French or Italian wines can ever match); no lemon can be put on the fish ("In Italy, would you allow Parmigiano on fish? Same here: if you put lemon on fish you go to hell").

In an upside down world, an Italian can happen to be stopped by a Lithuanian restaurant owner before breaching a food-related rule.

In the same counter-intuitive world, the same Italian can get a tan from laying in the sun and bathing in the Baltic sea in cute Nida, on the other side of the lagoon. Admittedly "bathing" may be an optimistic description of getting into the 19 degrees water for a couple of seconds.

Top 5 differences with Italian beaches, my personal "Virgil" asked.

1. Water is cold; 2. water is not very salty; 3. open air changing booths; 4. kids are not screaming; 5. No, thanks I really do not need an umbrella at 55° 18' 29" North.

Five days later

 It took five days, a weekend at the Curonian lagoon, fresh water fish for dinner, a few bottles of Austrian riesling and French cider and that strange anxiety I harboured upon arrival has disappeared.


Vilnius oggi è inondata dal sole, semplice e imponente. E soprattutto accogliente e rilassante. Come quando sono arrivata, non e' cambiato granche'. Ma Vilnius è la scusa perfetta, allora perche' non usarla?

Different eyes and different perspectives: today we climbed two belfries and one (Gediminas) castle hill, to decide which one held the best view of the city.

And the winner is ... the University's St. John church in the old town: for there you can get the most central view of the city (the jury's motivation).


But I need to learn more: now I have a little girl to visit in Vilnius.  

Vilnius again

A small airport with a feeling of a train station. Wide streets, northern lights, old style buildings and not so many people around.

It feels bizarre entering Vilnius once again. A feeling like the end of the world is approaching. Of course Vilnius is only the excuse, not the cause. It is me generating these feelings.

Or perhaps it is also the bath tub parked in the garage.

But the first memory of Vilnius soon comes back, that of Captain Ramius of Red October. Handsome, smart, in control. And native of Vilnius, that he abandoned forever. That Vilnius was an exotic place behind the iron curtain, mysterious. 

Today's Vilnius, the only one I know, is richer, clean, growing. EU flags show the renovation projects funded by Brussels. In 5 months the Euro will replace the Litas. Euroscepticism does not belong here. Yet.

While reestablishing familiarity with old friends whom I should see more often, the best youth of Vilnius is preparing to hit the town, beautiful, well dressed, queuing to get into the best bar in town, ordering the best Spritz and Mojito. But we are not part of Generation Y, we will go to a much better place just next door.