Another airport lounge view, this time from my old home lounge in Helsinki-Vantaa. It sure takes a lof of help and equipment to get an airplane unloaded, reloaded, and off the ground.
(Vantaa, Finland; July 2019)
Category Archives: Travel
Life as a lotus
To the buddhists, the lotus is a symbol of purity and transcendence: its feet bathe in the muddy bottom of the pond while its flowers and often leaves, too, rise into the pure air above it all. It is a reminder that one can have one’s roots entangled in mud and mess while still keeping a clear and pure mind above it all.
As I walked around the botanical gardens of Bologna I thought of how my own feet were currently so deeply embedded in the mud and mess and madness of this world. And how it seemed that the level of mud was rising dangerously close to my head. With honesty to myself I admitted that my head was probably already covered in spatters of mud, messing with my mind.
It is easy to see one is messed up. It is much more difficult to pinpoint how, and what to do about it. I almost wrote “and how to get out”, but really, getting out never helps. It is all about getting in, and working it out from the inside. 
This year I have been following a personal development plan which revolves around identifying negative energy inside and around me. One of its action points is to repeat to myself when needed, “I am not my emotions”. I have found myself repeating this mantra over and over again these past few months. Another action point is to KonMari incoming energies, impressions, and matters: sort them at the door and not letting every single one in. And if needed, put the newcomers in separate rooms, close the doors, and deal with them later. I have found that my mental rooms are nearing overcrowded.
Robin Sharma says that because a lifetime is precious and finite, there is no time for negative emotions. At all. That thinking a negative thought is to waste the time it takes to think that thought. This may sound like a highly platonically theoretic view, but when I think of all the time I spent dealing with negative emotions the past year I could probably amass a few weeks of life better spent doing other things. For example fully enjoying the botanical gardens of Bologna.
A dear friend once criticized me for being too solution-oriented. For offering my help in solving a problem when she would rather just wallow and swim in it for some time, until perhaps a solution slowly emerged. She gently told me that not all people want help, because not all things can be helped. Her words hurt me so much that I could not bear to spend time with her for two years. Some years ago I learned that not all problems can be solved. Not immediately, and perhaps not ever. Accepting the company of a deep injury for the rest of my life was possibly the toughest lesson I have learned in life so far.
And so I continue to trudge on through this life with my feet in the mud. As long as I remember to stretch upwards into the clean air, keeping my head relatively pure and sane like the lotus, I will be alright. 
(Bologna, Italy; July 2019)
The Two Towers
Bologna was once a Roman city. It is easy to see this from above: all streets lead to the central square (and one presumably to Rome). But Bologna is older than Rome: it was originally the home town of many Etruscans. 
Each city has a local flavor of oddity. Bologna’s flavor is a penchant for building towers. Up to 100 towers in the late medieval ages, historians have concluded. Why? Who knows, but certainly one ruler would not have budgeted for all those towers so there must have been quite a few builders. Perhaps it was fashionable to have a tower in one’s backyard, ensuring that the family was viewed as having sufficient importance?
Today there are about a dozen smaller towers left and only two distinct, tall ones, aptly named the Due Torri or Two Towers. Yes, like the Tolkien book. I discovered that it is possible to stand near them and still not find them, thanks to the maze of Bolognese streets and Google Maps having the wrong coordinates for the location.
It is also possible to wear one’s lungs and muscles out before reaching the top. We passed quite a few tourists having a huffy and puffy pitstop on the winding wooden staircase inside the Asinelli tower. After all, an ascent of 97 meters and nearly 300 stairs is a decent workout.
(Bologna, Italy; July 2019)
Bolognese
We did not really plan to visit Bologna. It was never on any bucket list of ours. We knew of Bologna, of course – because of bolognese sauce. Who wouldn’t?
We were supposed to combine Austrian Alps with Italian beaches. Well, it turned out that return flights from all airports around Northern Italy were only available at expensive, high-season prices: Venice, Ljubljana, even Pula. But Bologna could help us get home with airmiles only, and the train connection from Salzburg was convenient. Hence: a long weekend in Bologna.
It turns out Bologna is the perfect city to get lost in for a weekend – literally lost. No map needed. The maze of old Roman streets contains the most quaint and interesting discoveries. And it is nearly impossible to encounter bad food in the old town area. I cannot understand why Bologna is not better advertised as a city break destination. 
(Bologna, Italy; July 2019)
Just eat
Oh, such a change: from wheat noodles and sauce, lard on rye bread, and very few non-meat options to an abundance of antipasti, tapenade, bread, and cheeses. Fresh gelato. Wonderfully fat green olives. Aioli. Salvation.
I find myself exposed to several “food capitals” this summer: I am still in San Sebastián, the city with the most Michelin stars; and writing about the food capital of Italy: Bologna. What else can one say but “go there and eat everything that’s put in front of you”? It is bound to be a success. 
(Bologna, Italy; July 2019)
Across the Alps
Fortrezza? Bressanone? Chiusa? Not sure. Every little town has at least one chapel if not two, plus a monastery nearby.
The Alps and the Dolomites are quite magnificent when viewed from the train, as it crosses landscapes far away from highways. Five hours from Innsbruck to Bologna passed quickly by admiring the views – and bemoan the insufficient luggage storage space and noisy people on board the train.
(Italy; July 2019)
A ship called Kaiser Franz Josef
The good ship Kaiser Franz Josef labors hard to take passengers around the Lake St Wolfgang. I try to recall what the rules are for naming a ship: as ships are usually referred to as feminine, in which case is a ship allowed to be named after a man? Perhaps being a Kaiser justifies the cause?
Kaiser Franz Josef the Ship is a paddle steamer. He is over 140 years old, thus quite the senior and well beyond retirement age, one should think. Yet he whirs his wheels and pedals his paddles every day, without much complaint. No rest for the living.
(St Wolfgangsee, Austria; July 2019)
The little town by the lake
St Wolfgang by the lake is one of the coziest towns there is. And just like traditions call for, all the balconies have red or purple flowers. No Japanese boxwood shapes or other modern inventions here. Petunias and pansies, please.
With its lakefront view, abbey, and old buildings, St Wolfgang bears a teensy bit of similarity to Montreux in Switzerland. Another cozy favorite town of mine. Fortunately, no chilly castle dungeons here, as far as I know of.
(St Wolfgang, Austria; July 2019)
On the top of Sheep Mountain
There has been a Gasthaus on top of Schafberg since 1862, and it prides itself to be the first mountaintop Gasthaus in all of Austria. Since the steam cogwheel train was not built until the 1890s, the only way up was on foot (or horse or mule). Quite a lot of work for the gentry and nobility that liked to come up for a day’s outing. That train is going upward, by the way, pushed by the steam locomotive. 
Schafberg seems to be well known by Austrians and less so by foreigners. As I do not exactly have millions of readers I take the risk of making a warm recommendation for anyone wanting to combine a weekend in Salzburg with a couple of days of fresh air. By the way, there is a decently accessible hiking path up and down the mountain, too.
(Schafberg, Austria; July 2019)
Straight down from Himmelspforte
“The Himmelspforte is the place to start.” Herr Pasch, the owner of the inn, seemed quite elated that a non-German-speaking tourist had asked him for advice on hiking routes instead of advice for where to take the best selfie. “It looks scary, so don’t look down. Just look up at the mountain.” He handed me two walking poles and my sister his own wooden walking stick which once had belonged to his grandfather. 
After a few minutes of convincing we chose the circular route around the tip of the mountain and peered down the Himmelspforte, or Heavens’ Gate. And what a view. Because the route led us straight down the rocky mountainside. Nearly vertically.
There was some clambering, some climbing on all four, and some worry that Herr Pasch’s Gandalf-stick would fall down into the valley below.
In some places there was a via ferrata built to keep us stuck to the mountainside. In other places, the locals must have run out of wire as we had to climb the slanting bare rock face on all four, thanking our lucky stars there was no wind to sweep us off the mountain like lettuce from a plate.
Somewhere along the way Herr Pasch’s excitement dawned upon us: not a single person had greeted us in English or with a foreign German accent. Sofar we were most likely the only non-German speaking people on the route. The route was not marked out as such, but there certainly was signage belonging to other, longer routes. Where was everybody?
Five hours later we encountered the train track again, just under the tip of the mountain. As I sat down among the flowers in the meadow, it occurred to me that this was probably the most gorgeous hike I had ever done, at least when it comes to visual entertainment. Physical entertainment was not far behind, either. 
(Naturally one should always hike in pearl earrings and a scarf from Paris.)
(Schafberg, Austria; July 2019)
This blue marble 