“Go outside. Don’t tell anyone and don’t bring your phone. Start walking and keep walking until you no longer know the road like the palm of your hand, because we walk the same roads day in and day out, to the bus and back home and we cease to see. We walk in our sleep and teach our muscles to work without thinking and I dare you to walk where you have not yet walked and I dare you to notice. Don’t try to get anything out of it, because you won’t. Don’t try to make use of it, because you can’t. And that’s the point. Just walk, see, sit down if you like. And be. Just be, whatever you are with whatever you have, and realise that that is enough to be happy.
There’s a whole world out there, right outside your window. You’d be a fool to miss it.”
― Charlotte Eriksson
“Many people nowadays live in a series of interiors…disconnected from each other. On foot everything stays connected, for while walking one occupies the spaces between those interiors in the same way one occupies those interiors. One lives in the whole world rather than in interiors built up against it.”
― Rebecca Solnit, Wanderlust: A History of Walking
There is a very old poem written by a Polish author Julian Tuwim called ‘Dyzio Marzyciel’ – ‘Dyzio, the dreamer’. It is about a boy who imagines that clouds are different types of sweets and that he is able to reach for them while lying down on the grass. While I was reading it to my son the other day, he enthusistically exclaimed: ‘Mummy, I want to get inside this book!’ I laughed and I agreed with him that this would indeed be a pleasant state of affairs. I then forgot about this little conversation until I came across this thought put together by Barbara Kingsolver:
“The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof.”
I really like this idea of ‘living inside our hope… under its roof’, about being surrounded with it. Perhaps, just like Dyzio was dreaming of clouds of sweets, we could imagine the clouds of hope that we could reach to just when the going gets a bit too hard. I know that clouds tend to signify oncoming gloom, but maybe they shouldn’t? Maybe next time when we look outside the window, when it will get darker, and cloudier, we could say ‘hope is coming.’
In the region of Aosta in North West Italy there is a small place called Cogne fairly far up (at 1500m altitude) an alpine valley of the same name (from where one can explore the wilderness of the Gran Paradiso national park). In Cogne there is a small museum of lace-making next to the church. I was inspired by the place and hope you will be too. You can read about this very precious lace-making tradition in Cogne on the official tourist webiste for Aosta Valley here.
I have never been dead in a bathroom at an airport / Non ero mai morto in bagno in aeroporto. These words were reassuringly sung by Tiziano Ferro as we were on our way to Bergamo airport in northern Italy. Neither have I, I thought to myself. Happy that I found a connection with Tiziano Ferro. I like leaving Italy with a CD of Italian pop music. Not so much for the music itself but for the simple language that comes with the tunes. When we were saying goodbye to Italy, I promised myself that I will make a greater effort this year to learn the language a bit better and I am keeping my word. My Italian lesson will start in 30 minutes… which means that I have just a little bit more time to tell you more about our stay in Italy.
In short, these were very odd holidays. We didn’t have the accommodation that we initially hoped for and the luxuries that we looked forward to. Neither were we pampered by the breeze of the mountain air normally granted with staying at high altitude. Instead, we were frequently scorched by the Italian sun. It’s the price that you pay when you forget to check if your reservation was all in order. We had to quickly look for alternative accommodation and take what was available at the last minute. We didn’t die however in the bathroom at the airport and that makes up for the unexpected inconveniences quite well, I think.
One of the tourist places that we looked forward to seeing was the little island of San Giulio, situated on the lake Orta in the Piemonte region in northern Italy. Since we were staying in the tiny mountainous region of Aosta it took us a while to drive and reach the lake. We drove, and drove, and drove, and there was a curve, and another curve, and yet another curve, and there seemed to be no end to those curves until of course there was an end to them and what a beautiful one too. Worth of all the curves put together. A very deserving place. I had been terribly impatient with the slow mountain road that we had taken and regretful that we avoided the swift motorway. Sour about the lost time. And then when we reached our destination I was rewarded with the beautiful corners of the island and gorgeous buildings of an old town. And I had to become remorseful about my childish impatience and firmly reproached myself for being such a grump. The routes to great destinations are frequently like that. Full of stops, curves and turnings. But apparently it is the tourist that mainly focuses on the arrival point, the real traveller keeps her eyes open to it all.
I definitely need more practise in travelling.
“Not all those who wander are lost.” – J.R.R. Tolkien
It has become a bit of a tradition now that when I go to Poland, I photograph Dorota’s sweet art forms. This one is a beautiful floral wedding cake that I found irresistible when shooting the pictures (I had to try hard to keep a distance to prevent inadvertent tasting). I must admit that the more I take these photographs, the more I want to take them and the more I observe what Dorota makes, the more I am curious of what she will make next. You too?
More of Dorota’s sweet beauties on her Facebook site: My Cake
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Postcards Without Stamps 