Maritime Gotic

Alone on the pier

Courseulles Sur Mer, Normandy, on the bay of Seine, exactly on the same strip of sand where more than seventy years ago the Overlord operation began, on the D-day.

I've been attending a meeting after another till some minutes past six. Once the last of our french guest had just gone home, I said to my trip companion I would have driven to the sea, no matter what he thought. I wanted to smell the sea and listen even for a while the sound of the crashing waves. So, without dropping our bags we've jumped on our car and headed north, driving through the naked countryside, till reaching this place when the night had already covered everything with darkness. Without spending too much time looking around, we entered a restaurant standing right on the beach. One of those that our colleagues from Caen talked us so well about.

After a completely uninspiring dinner, winning the reluctance of my colleague, I walked down to the channel and there, having left him looking for a shelter from the strong wind, I took alone a walk along the wooden pier that leads to the harbor entrance. At the end of it a small lighthouse was weakly indicating the end of the path and the beginning of the sea. But I hadn't noticed before that the tide was low, so low as only on the Channel it can be. I leaned out of the fence only to realize that there was just sand and some scattered tufts of momentarily dry seaweed. The only living sign of presence of the sea was a feeble sound of the surf, out in the dark.

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Slender Bodies

Notwithstanding I have read Robert Pirsig more than once and I promised too early my son I would have toured him along the american outback, I have never had a motorbike and still have a moment of hesitation when I'm close to this kind of "dream" for many.

I'm not sure. I still think I would start from a Vespa.

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Valentine in Normandy

Young and less-young guys queuing up with patience and resignation in front of the last flowers shop open in town. Empty shelves in the pastry shops. All the bars and restaurants full booked with couples eating oysters and drinking Calvados. And two stranded guys going around in search for something else to eat.

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Wind, salt and ...

The call of a seagull breaking the silence. A flock of screaming sea birds fighting for a piece of baguette left in a waste basket. The sun rising behind the tossing masts of the boats moored along the channel-harbor of Caen. A clear blue sky. The smell of salt coming with the wind. I couldn't ask for more this morning.

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Caen, first day.

My first time in Normandy. Together with my wife, I had planned, many years ago, to reach the northern coast of France by car, on a long tour that should have lasted three weeks but then something unexpected happened that changed our lives and our Tour de France was never made.

Yesterday, I landed in Paris in the early afternoon in company of a colleague of mine. I took a rental car and drove off the big city ring, along the course of La Seine, till we found ourselves in the meadows around Rouen. There we stopped for a coffee and an initial taste of sea winds. When we got in town it was too late to see anything but the lights of the streets lamps reflected on the channel-harbor reaching the city center.  I took a first picture of my room view when the sun had set long time before. So I promised myself to take another one on the morning after.

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Sunset in Mougins

I'm wondering if Pablo Picasso, walking along the narrow streets of his village of adoption, has ever stopped at the entrance of this alley, on a warm February evening and stared at the palette offered by the sunset

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Backlit Dyptic

Beauty can be found everywhere. Even on the windowsill of a public restroom.

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The Ring Counter

I can consider today as one of the most fruitful days spent in the last one year and half, which is more or less the amount of time that passed since my last business trip in Sweden. Beside being intensively busy with my colleagues in an interesting (and endless) workshop in Sophia Antipolis, somewhere on the hillside of Antibes, I managed to do two things that I couldn't imagine till last Sunday afternoon, when I was waiting for the flight in the hall of Graz airport: a quick visit, a blitz to a photography exhibition in the old village of Mougins and a walk on the seaside, along the walls and the alleys of the old town of Antibes.

It's been like having enjoyed a 25 hours day. At some point the counter stopped and I got lost into this time frame from where I would have never wanted to get out again. My senses have rejuvenated. This afternoon I've been able to taste again with the eyes extraordinary pieces of photography from André Villers. This evening I've been able to taste again the smell of salt and fishes at the sound of the crashing waves. It doesn't happen so often anymore. Not really.

No need for photographs

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Too many two's ...

Flight two-two-two-two to Toulouse ready for boarding at gate two ...

Mougins

I'm back on track.

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Babel

What a mess in our lives! We don't know anymore which language to use.

The Fisherman

This is going to be a very long winter. The fisherman in me is looking back in time not to forget his roots.