Somewhere down there in the thin green valleys between the snowy peaks cows go out to morning pasture, eagles circle over mountain meadows, people brew their first cup of coffee of the day, and another summer day begins in the Dolomites.
(Italy, June 2014)
Four days of shuttling between Milano Congress and two hotels. Emails, conference calls, and on-site meetings; scattered with dashes to the shopping boulevards, late night dinners, and a crazy soccer game studio in the wee hours of the morning.
And then it was Sunday and the air was hazy and heavy from incense and slow tunes from the most grandiose organ. The Duomo does not shuffle its feet between passing centuries. It stands, never minding fashion fads, conferences, and people chasing the 25th hour of a day.
Regardless of which faith we claim, we all believe. And there are always candles to be lit in the Duomo – both in the last century and the next one. And so what is our rush really all about?
(Duomo di Milano, Milan, Italy; June 2014)
It is the things we did not do that we regret the most. The words not said. The moments not stolen. The experiences we let pass. Oh, how I regret not experiencing the La Scala theater in spring a year ago. I vowed to go the next time I was in Milan, oh, probably 5 years from now. There it was, a missed opportunity to live today.
But life gives second chances. The essence of karma is to correct an erroneous action. Good or bad, makes no difference. The karma that kicked me this June was the chance to make up for lost time with La Scala.
There was gold, dazzle, and fluttering ladies in fluttering evening gowns. And the most unusual program: the Young man and Death, a drama in a dance showing us how death fools the loving even after we leave life. And there was Petit’s Pink Floyd Ballet, famous in the 70s and still fresh today. I accepted the second chance and discovered electric guitar solos mix wonderfully with geometrically coreographed ballet and laser lights, blended with crystals, velvet, and champagne.
Even the tiniest regrets, those small like grains of sand, can pile up to fill a beachful. Karma is our gentle friend if we let it be. No regrets, not even in Milan.
(Milan, Italy; June 2014)
“One does not travel by plane. One is merely sent, like a parcel.”
(Karen Blixen)
(Copenhagen, Denmark; June 2014)
They drive on the wrong side. They drink their beer warm – and a small glass of wine is as much as a large glass in Finland. The tube never works in the weekends. The trains never work during rush hours. They charge ludicrous prices for tiny hotel rooms in London. They say “alight here” on the tube when they mean “leave the train”. They do not accept cards in the cab. They speak between the lines, persist in claiming class divides are eradicated, and serve awful food.
But they heat the milk served with tea – and the tea requires no fruit aroma to have a flavor. They make clotted cream rice pudding. They gave birth to Coldplay and Muse. And they created London. Bloomsbury, Mayfair, and Notting Hill. And the Twinings tea shop.
What am I still doing in Finland? Why oh why have I not moved back to England yet?
(London, United Kingdom; June 2014)
“Oh, you get to see so many places during your work travels!” they say, then sigh and smile. Yes, I reply, I get to see many air-conditioned hotels and airline lounges. But I rarely get to feel the spring breeze in Vienna, or the buzz of downtown Chicago, or the sun on my skin in Barcelona.
Sometimes I dive under the radar and stay a day or two longer. Other times the only way out is to slip past the chattering cocktail-sipping guests, through the door, down the steps, and out on the beach. No better deal than trading a mojito refill for the wind in my hair and the salty scent of the Mediterranean in May.
(Barcelona, Spain; May 2014)
the
sky
was
can dy lu
minous
edible
spry
pinks shy
lemons
greens cool choc
olate
s.un der,
a lo
co
mo
tive s pout
ing
vi
o
lets
(e. e. cummings)
(Copenhagen, Denmark; April 2014)
“and it’s spring
when the world is puddle-wonderful”
(e.e. cummings)
Time-out in Sweden. Enjoying the sun.
(Sweden; April 2014)
Polka piglets. I am not kidding. That is how the Swedish national candy, also known as peppermint rock, translates into English. Polka was fashionable when the poor widowed mother invented the candy in the 1840 and set up shop in Gränna, terraced above lake Vättern.
Out of all the ways to make ends meet for her and her children, she chose to take a leap into the unknown and become an entrepreneur. Out of all the things to sell, she chose pastries and her very own white, delicious mint candy with red swirls, which she named after a trendy dance. What a lovely, bright, courageous woman she must have been! And how proud she would feel if she knew her legacy has grown into a national symbol and a town making a living on polka piglet tourism.
Gränna with its polkagrisar, blue sky, lake Vättern, and quaint streets, was the perfect stop on our family trips down through Sweden into central Europe. We took a long time choosing one or two bright-colored bars. Oh the luxury of adulthood and own money! Today I failed to choose and ended up with quite a bunch…
(Gränna, Sweden; April 2014)
Oh yes, yet another castle, in yet another city. How dreary it must have been to be a soldier stationed in this damp, cold fortress. There was probably little consolation in the gorgeous view overlooking Gothenburg city on one side and countryside on the other. The threat of attacking Spaniards, Poles, Danes, and crazy village people was real for centuries. Gothenburg used to be a burg: protected from all sides. I wonder whether the city walls would have given rise to a sense of security or a feeling of looming threat?
And on we move from lamenting on the bloody history of Gothenburg, Tallinn, and Vilnius; and into the luxury of cozy, chattery cafés in the old town. Heavy thoughts are easily dispersed by giant cinnamon buns and meringue clouds. The Danes won’t be attacking any time soon, so hot chocolate all around!
(Gothenburg, Sweden; April 2014)
This blue marble 