The Thaw

Forbidden to many

But not to everyone. ;-)

High on the hills

Rot-Weiss-Rot

Apline Colors

Gleinalm Schutzhaus

Gleinalm Schutzhaus

Alpine Beauty

Signs to anywhere

What is important is to follow them anyhow. You'll get somewhere sooner or later. It's the Robert Frost approach of "The road not taken".

In wait for the next enemy

A visit to WW1 forts cannot be complete without a walk into the trenches where the opponents used to live, spy and shoot at the enemy on the facing mountain or on the opposite side of the valley in between. Today the two flags are waving one close to the other, even though the European starred blue flag sits in between, as if it was a sign of a peace come for necessity, opportunity. In these days, looks like that the "enemy" has to be found elsewhere, very far from the fresh mountains where the Great War was staged.

Forte Campomolon

I already posted in August a picture taken on the summit of Mount Campomolon, on the border between today's Veneto and Trentino, Italy and Austria one century ago, where the remains of an Italian WW1 fort can be found. Now I've managed to process some shots I took that day with my SRL.

An ascent to one of these military cathedrals distributed along the natural borders drawn by the Alps tops is almost a metaphysical experience, provided you have an understanding of what really happened there long time ago. Every corner has a story to tell and it really does. These forts, no matter if they were on the Italian or Austrian side, were so accurately designed and carefully built as if they had never come to feel the scars of the falling bombs. Forte Campomolon destruction was ordered by the same Italian generals, as they couldn't leave it in the hands of the Austrian, on May 1916, the day that under the pressure of the Strafexpedition (the Punitive Expedition) they were forced to leave it.
On top of these forts the silence talks, no matter the wind. I have never felt the same while visiting a medieval castle or an ancient roman camp. Here the presence of all the young men that spent years killing each other is still vivid, even if there's not much left to see beside stones.

Il Respiro degli Alberi

Le Radici dell'Anima (Leonardo Nava)

On top of the World

I must confess I'm one of those who doesn't necessarily feel disturbed while spotting one of these cabinets on top of a mountain. It's my job. I'm among those people who spend ten hours a day - most of which sitting and talking in endless meetings - trying to make these telecom equipment work as the "customer wants".

One could argue what a smart-phone is necessary for on top of a hill. He's got a point. But there are many others who are in the need of a permanent connection, where ever they are, 7x24. For them (and few others public interest services) these boxes and antennas are for and, yes, there are times I feel proud to spot them and tell my kids what they're for and that I'm one of those guys who made what's inside.

A blanket of mist

The catcher in the rye

Pastoral

Satisfaction always comes later

At current time my son Flavio loves cycling more or less as much as I do. He never misses a chance to go out with me for a ride and, to wit, he really looks mentally and physically tolerant to the thoughness of pedalling and climbing with his own strengths. Most of the times a candy and bottle of water are enough to make all effort light up and regenerate the energy until home's gates are in front of us. Nevertheless, I don't want him to take this road as his principal sport activity. Cycling, either for professionals or amateurs, has become a world of hysteric people (starting from the young athletes' parents), self-neck-brakers, careless of their own safety, high-tech maniacs and ... yes, addicted.

Needless to say I don't like it at all. That's why I never joined a team and still, after several years, I prefer to go around by myself, at my own pace, or with Flavio at my side, at his own pace.

I have time to look around myself, understand where I am and where I go, I have time to think out loud, to decide my route on the fly, without programs and, if possible (ad worth), to take pics. Cycling means "discovery" to me, some kind of a learning and self-check phase. Satisfaction come from the big little things, after all, such as getting back home wet to the bones and covered with mud.

I've told several times to my son that the joy, the big satisfaction always come later, after the big effort, when it's time to look back at the road just made or staring the valley below before the excitation of the downhill speed fills our veins. Simple, isn't it?

Alpine Landmarks