12 hours off in Barcelona on a Sunday. What a gift. Even with serious flight delay as the entire Schiphol airport was shut down because of one person getting ill in one plane on one runway.
Bu afterwards, there was sun and a grilled lunch by the Barceloneta. With Spanish wine, a friend whom I’ve never met in the same country twice, and later, digging our toes in the beach sand.
In the evening there was pintxos in the Gothic Quarters and more friends, including another one I seldom meet in the same country twice. And a blues bar with a huge fat tough-looking man who opened his mouth and sang like an angel.
Barcelona, it took a few visits (and one pickpocketing) but now I really do like you a lot. 
(Barcelona, Spain; March 2017)
When I think of Spain I never think of mountains. But they are right there, if I would wander deep enough inland. 
When the rest of the world thinks of beaches and sangria and sun-kissed villages, there is surprisingly much snow up North. Now I understand why the Great Pyrenees dog breed is so white and fluffy. 
(Above the Pyrenees, Spain; March 2017)
Today is a decently warm summer’s day. Just three months ago my home shore looked like this: broken ice crackling against the rocks. Impatient kayakers trying to navigate the slushy waters. A “lifestyle indian” (as we would say in Finnish) enjoying the first warming rays of the sun. 
We hardly had any snow that winter, but spring was cold. REALLY cold. Snow on the night before May Day. Unusually much snow in Lapland in June. 11 degrees Celsius and windy on the first day of June. Global warming is upon us, wise people say. But who knows if it means we will actually feel the warmth. Maybe temperatures just even out into in-between seasons all year round? How awful that would be.
(Helsinki, Finland; March 2017)
Dinner and networking at the Helsinki City Council. One woman wore red, I wore blue, and the rest wore dark. Mostly men in suits. This is what it is like to be a “woman in business”.
What we see on an opera stage truly is only what we are meant to see. The thing with stages is, what is in view is always just a tiny portion of the entirety. You see, there is a backstage. And a side-stage. And an above-stage. And a beneath-stage. 
Because a single show may require five different sets, and they all need to be wheeled in and out of sight in a matter of seconds. The backdrop is hardly rolled like window-blinds – it is simply winched up – still hanging.
(Vienna, Austria; February 2017)
Opera houses and theaters were like bars and nightclubs today: places to see and be seen. And because cities were much smaller still in the 19th century, and the ruling class even smaller still, everybody did know everybody. Thus, going to the opera was like going to one grand party where you know all guests.
When the glorious building was finished, the architect and interior designer proudly showed it to the court. But their hearts were broken: the emperor thought it rather simple. He proclaimed it resembled a train station. The interior designer committed suicide before the opening night, and the architect died of a stroke not long after.
(Vienna, Austria; February 2017)
Austria’s take on champagne is called sekt. And the most commercialized (and celebrated?) sekt is less than 200 years old, but very successfully marketed in Austria today. Just like Vienna is like one big wedding cake, the Schlumberger bar and shop is like an adult’s candy shop dream: cute, filled with delicacies, and gold and pink sparkling wine.
Today we wanted to have the cake and eat it, too. And it was possible, because Hotel Sacher both serves and sells its famous torte. But who knew that the lunch menu at Café Sacher was so delicious? And that the walls were a bright red, and the china sparkling white? And the service so graceful. It all really became less about the cake and more about the entire experience.
(Café Sacher, Vienna, Austria; February 2017)
Why would one make a simple brown or gray tiled roof, when one can decorate it green and gold? And finish with a great two-headed eagle, just for the flair?
There are people who travel just to see famous libraries. I should like to be one of those people. There ought to be a Michelin guide for libraries: where one star is an honor, two stars recommend a detour to have the experience, and three stars a special journey out just to see the place. The Austrian National Library truly is one worthy of traveling to just to see the place. 
The Holy Roman Emperor Charles VI surely thought of a library worth three stars, as he constructed a State Hall in the shape of a cathedral and placed himself, surrounded by the sun-pattern on the floor, in the middle to be worshiped. One should better worship the books and knowledge and poetry, but with the Baroque splendor all around, one might just forget about the content and stand in awe before the building itself.
Even books used to be so much more beautiful back then: golden inscriptions and delicate sizes, favoring multiple volumes over the brick-size murder weapons that some pocket books are today.
Should one’s eyes wander all the way up to the ceiling, they will most likely remain stuck there for quite some time. And no, the images are not about Christian Bible legends or Paradise, but about the great Habsburg dynasty, as if it were god-like.
(Vienna, Austria; February 2017)
This blue marble 