Saturday, April 29, 2017

Chez Tibo ...

Flying back to Vienna after a week spent in a lab. A though time but rewarding. I only have a regret for having not enjoyed the beauty of Cote d'Azur.

There will always be a next time.

(Made and sent from my mobile)

Sunday, April 23, 2017


My luggage is ready; flights tickets rest in the bag; a taxy is booked in less than a hour and my kids are waiting for the goodbyes. It's time to run through the checklist, lock the parcel and go. There's no escape.

(Made and sent from my mobile)

Saturday, April 8, 2017

Feeling shipwrecked

It's been a nice sunny day, here in Graz. So much that few hours after sunset, some of the kids living around are still playing in the common playground between the large white buildings of the viertel of Eggenberg district where we came to live. I can hear them counting out-loud: it must be the Austrian variant of hide and seek (the Italian Nascondino).
Notwithstanding the nice weather, instead of running out with my bike I've spent all the afternoon on this PC, trying to install a web development platform that should help me making a quantum leap toward a brand new website. The site has not been maintained for the last two years. Too many things to be done. Now, pictures, presentations and rendering of the website look a bit passee, outdated. If I want to keep paying not in vain those few euros for the hosting services, then I need to refurbish it a little. That's why I started from the container.
To my disappointment, after a moment of pure euphoria, when I managed to complete the installation, I faced the first blocking issues and broke my nose in front of the usability of this platform. And it hurts so much that I feel like a broken boat, stranded on a beach.
I'm seriously thinking to write again the code of my website on my own. But tomorrow I'll go surely cycling. I'll take some pictures of the blooming countryside around the Mur river. The web can wait.

Monday, April 3, 2017

Fagus Sylvatica

Beside colors, I should be posting the deafening silence of a beech forest: the noise of the wind whistling through the treetops, the crackling of the dead leaves under the tires of my mountain bike, the dump sound of my palm touching the smooth bark of these noble giants.

(Made and sent from my mobile)

Definitely here

Sometimes I'm really tempted to post the colors ...

(Made and sent from my mobile)