1-7 jan 2012
I’ve decided to try my own 52weeks project for 2012. A sort of diary of this year, week by week, with images and words from my days.
That’s how my year started, in a mountain hut in the middle of Pyrenees. 1550 meters altitude, four days surrounded by nature, with people I love, playing with the snow, searching for the wood for the fire, cooking, playing, singing. A beginning worthy of this year that begins.
8 - 14 jan 2012
After the epiphany. The end of the feasts.
We wake up early on Saturday morning. We cross the city with trains taken illegally. A move of boxes and cartons, a lunch, playing with the food, finding a Fève in the Galette du Roi.
And because it’s the weekend of the galette, we decided to spend Sunday in the kitchen, preparing sushi without fish and our alternative Galette with pâte brisée instead of pâte feuilletée.
Improvised dinner with roommates and their partners, wine and laughter.
15 - 21 jan 2012
A sudden proposal from a couple of friends: we’ll go in the Vosges.
Six passengers in a car with five seats for a trip of five hours. We leave at eleven in the evening, we are there at four in the morning. Plus an hour walking in the moonlight, with snow the shining.
Snow, races with sledge, an igloo half done. A shelter and hikers that pass and stop, we exchange sweets and alcohol.
And a landscape that takes your breath away.
23-29 Jan 2012
Wednesday morning I have received that phone call I was expecting. I left work early, crossed the city. The D700 is in my hands. I hop like a child who has received a Christmas gift that she wanted so much.
Thursday, friends arrive from Marseilles, we stop at the supermarket, beer and bread and cheese and chips. Aperitif in the waiting room of the regional trains in Gare de Lyon, chatting with the homeless, sharing with them beer and life stories.
Friday, meeting point at 22 in Jean Moulin, backpacks on ours back, an abandoned railway, tunnels 30 feet underground. A room entirely painted by our friend accepts us for a party that lasts until morning. Few lights illuminate us, people passing by, music, delirium.
At first light on Saturday morning people watching us covered in mud on the tram.
And I saw the glance of a guy sitting not far from us who understood exaclty from where we came from.
I wrote a post with this title in my italian blog three years ago. Threeyearsago.
My post started with
I ‘m a bit afraid in writing these first lines of this new year. They sound a little as a goodbye and I don’t want.
Now it’s official. And I’m starting to be a little scared for the future.
Two days ago I left the studio of my dentist, in front of the Jardin du Luxemburg.
It was quite early, a good opportunity to get back home by foot.
Headset in my ears, I reached the bridge of Saint Michel and I found myself crying watching the Seine and the lights of Notre Dame.
Now I’ve three months to enjoy every little wonder that this city can give.
Three months to decide what to do with three years of life crammed into my apartment.
Three months to decide what to put in my backpack to start looking for a simpler life, to explore the world through the eyes of two children going hand in hand .
I can’t wait to start this new adventure.
And I’m fucking scared.
I’ve started the revolution of my life by changing my hair color: back to black after years of red hair.
I’ve started to fill a box of things that I don’t really need.
From my six shelves library I was able to pick just 4 books for the moment.
I must learn to be less emotional towards those pieces of paper.
Tomorrow evening a train will take us, once again, to the woods, to celebrate another year of the life of my young pirate.
The first cold has started, and we need a great fire and heat, we need to sing and dance and drink..
"…how it would be nice if, for every sea waiting for us, there would be a river, for us.
And someone -a father, a lover, someone- able to take us by the hand and find that river -imagine it, invent it- and put us on its stream, with the lightness of one only word, goodbye. This, really, would be wonderful. It would be sweet, life, every life. And things wouldn’t hurt, but they would get near taken by stream, one could first shave and then touch them and only finally be touched. Be wounded, also. Die because of them. Doesn’t matter. But everything would be, finally, human. It would be enough someone’s fancy -a father, a lover, someone- could invent a way, here in the middle of the silence, in this land which don’t wanna talk. Clement way, and beautiful.
A way from here to the sea.”"
The revolution of my life.
Everything has changed.
I’ve passed through discovery, defeat, growth, loss, illusion and disillusion.
This growth has forced me to face my fears, to understand what I really want.
From the explosion of the fire to its death. But embers remain under the ashes and is not so difficult to relight them.
So we left this summer for a crazy road trip in Europe, nearly six thousand kilometers in two weeks in the Balkans, dancing to the rhythm of gypsy music, sleeping under the stars.
And so my life is slowly changing again. I wake up inside a sleeping bag and I ask myself how will it be to live a simpler life.
Meanwhile, I wait for Friday and my last flight to Dublin. And now I know how I will miss that place.
Yes, I’m italian.
No, I don’t eat pasta every day.
Yes, I’m able to speak without shouting.
Yes, I can talk without gesticulate.
No, I can’t play a mandolin. I don’t event know what a mandolin look like.
Yes, I can speak other languages than italian.
No, I’m not fashionable.
No, I never say “mamma mia”.
Yes, I’ve left early my parent’s house
At first, our idea was to get on the highway and hitch a ride in the first car/truck/van going to the sea and take advantage of the long weekend.
But then a couple of friends has retrieved a car, other friends were leaving that morning. We coordinated.
Direction: Golfe du Morbihan.
In the bag, my new old analog toy.
We arrived to Vannes just in time for the fireworks. A medieval castle, Breton music, story of kings and queens animated by games of light and music.
At the seaside our friends had already set up a fire, we cooked some meat, had some cheese, beers. In the middle of the night we were joined by a small group, a boy, a girl, her mother.
It was the girl birthday, the mom told us.
She takes a night swim in the ocean every year.
We shared some night hours together, talking about everything and nothing.
And when tiredness has arrived, we just hid in a field, in our sleeping bags.
Our friday, in an island that is an island only during high tide.
The sea at the entrance of the bay is like a river, so deep is the water current.
New friends shipwrecked in our arms unable to leave the port. Beers and laughters.
A sunset over the ocean.
And despite the unexpected of the day, although we have been kicked away by the owner of the island, despite a trip to the hospital for a fractured ankle a friend, we ended up in the middle of the night, inside a forest enjoying the raindrops on the roof of the tent.
A lazy Saturday, Breton galettes, cider, ice cream. While outside the storm does not allow us to enjoy the beach.
We stay in our cars to look at the gray world outside.
With no desire at all to return to civilization.
I left saturday afternoon.
An sms to my friend: “my ligaments are ok, I’ve a fracture of the tibia. But it’s a good news indeed. I’m coming to the train station.”
We took the train at 17.05 from track J, a beer each, cheese chips and noisy children behind us.
An hour’s walk, through a small village, through woods, talking and drinking and singing bawdy songs.
Just turn right after a tree and look how beautiful nature is.
There is a crater of sand in the woods, a fire with meat already sizzling, a teepee.
We were here almost a year ago. Another time, it seems another life. Everything has changed and nothing has changed.
Outside it’s raining. Could someone explain upstair that is supposed to be summer?
Tonight my friends will be on a train, drinking and singing.
Direction: a secret beach hidden among the trees of a forest, just outside the metropolis.
I’ll join them tomorrow.
I was lucky enough to find a place for an appointment for an MRI for my knee. I’ll probably go to the hospital with my backpack full of beer and cheese. And with my sleeping bag to sleep under the stars.
We will drink for my knee, whether it is a good or bad news.
And I’ll bring my ball for contact juggling, I really need to improve the only move I can do.
“And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in.” ~Haruki Murakami