Hotel de Mougins

It's going to be a good day. No doubts.

L'Orangerie

In the backyard of the small apartment that I took for this week in Mougins, there are some young orange trees, ripe with fruits getting mature. Compared to the landscape of Austria, at this time of the year, I'm tempted to doubt if I ever made the right choice.

Provençal Style

The tiny terrace of my apartment in Mougins. I won't be able to enjoy it. The only think I can do is taking a picture and fancying about the best use I could have done. If only the evening was a bit milder, I could sit outside and enjoy the fresh air while sorting out my mail.

About Good Manners

I wonder who would ever knock at the cook's windows on a rainy, misty and cold Sunday morning, on top of the castle hill in Voitsberg. Still, you can never say: I thought myself it should be a Gasthaus to try out one day, with such a devoted personnel. 

Unexpectedly, behind the bend

Premonition

It's quite a coincidence to spot a Provencal styled window in the middle of a West Steiermark small town the day before taking a flight to Cote d'Azur. Or maybe it's been only my imagination. 

Some Decades After

Rosetta Stone

A gift for you

Dusk at the feet of the hill

Annestraße

Even the ugliest things have a seed of beauty hidden somewhere.

Our Blind Spot

Like a walking moth, I'm still allure by weird atmospheres created by a simple street lamp.

What's left

Sometime I have the impression that my memory is becoming like a city landline telephone pole. What remains of our past experiences? Not much. Just the scars. A handful of staples and pins, well stuck into the wood.

Consumers and Makers

An uncertain future

Home Office

Otrov

Opposite aside.

The last luft balon

I don't like very much those manipulated B&W pictures showing an element in the frame in its original or artificially changed color, to let it stand out from the colorless background. If I did, you would notice on the bottom left a small (initially) blue balloon, laying on the ground and waiting for its destiny to progress either in the hands of a kid or in a slow inevitable deflation. You would have also seen more things, but this was not my intention today.

I wonder how was this narrow and short court looking like, one hundred years ago. If there were kids playing there, on Sunday mornings and few fathers lazily leaning at the window frames with a cigarette in the hands. Youth looks like being disappeared these days. The town is in the hands of tourists and sellers.

Shipwrecked on a flee-markets bench

The Ernest's tool

The carpet crawler

Don't aim at me!

Waiting for Bobby Fischer

Operative