June | 2016 | Valanzo

It’s 27.

It’s really 27 flights, the number I reached in 6 months time, January to June 2016.

Never happened before, but I was secretly aiming to do it for a long time. Fun fact: I believe I’ve driven a car only a quarter (or less) of the times I took a plane. And by that I mean, I looove driving, but I was always somewhere else than a road. For stats lovers:

it seems it’s an average of 1 flight per week,
but it was more like coming and going, every 2 weeks;
the longer period I stayed home was less than 3 weeks, I believe 18 days;
the longest flight was 12h 30′ hours, HK to Munich in March with Lufthansa;
the shortest flight must have been Berlin-Paris, 1h and 20′.

What I have learnt so far:

people can’t pack, despite they think so;
people passing security have the ability of a red fish and won’t understand even their native language to follow simple instructions;
I don’t look nor sound Italian, at least the majority of people say talking to me;
the bra will always beeps in Europe. Use bralets and rock the nipples;
same as the bra, don’t be fussy and take off your shoes, it’s quicker;
even if you are tired, sleepy, sad or having a meltdown (and I’ve managed to be all the above) if you are super kind and friendly with flight attendants and people at the shops everything will run better up in the air and ground;
talking to guards and security makes you feeling safer and them useful, do it, don’t be only a stranger that passes by;
the duty free can be your best ally, especially during missions like “getting to the airport make-up free and boarding as if I was ready for a photo shoot” or “ew, I look like sh..eep”;

In a nutshell, it’s been a fairly crazy rollercoaster, full of iPod sessions, high hopes, waiting lounges and public transports.

IMG_20160323_191850964

And it’s 6 already.

Yes, half of a year gone, another birthday passed away and I had the best NYE I can ever remember (thanks to a singing-in-the-car warrior). With temperatures spanning between a -23 in Vilnius in January to +34 in Berlin last week, it’s fair to say I had an intense time. Changing coats, changing hat, boots to sandals, smile to tears. Time spent working, time not spent blogging, time flying, time waiting, time following. I was mainly the one with the heart in a hand luggage. “High Hopes”, the motto of the year. And that brings to the third and last part of this essay.

P1050303

1 heart: Mine.

It’s got heavy, too heavy I fear to bring it as a hand luggage. I always wonder why people are afraid of explosions, when they should be scared of implosions. It’s such a more silent way to live in pieces.

I got told by a good friend that everyone has a big darkness inside, that many only show when they part ways. For me the aftermath has become a game of forgiveness and forgetfulness: I’m no longer sure I want to stay in that playground, but I kinda feel stuck.

P1050401

Turin is the first big Italian city coming from West.

I came from East, from the soulless, business-oriented region of Milan. The good thing to reach from one city to the other is to see the continuous groups of rice fields between them, separating their distant personalities. The trip gets a bit cathartic, like a silent, natural cleansing of your mind.

Looking outside the window

Turin was the first capital in Italy, the first in many things. Was. Somewhere roaming around you can still feel it, in some other parts it still holds the crown of being the capital of local, even of lost.

P1050254

I remember my first time in Turin, maybe 15 years ago. I found it sad and kinda empty. I’ve changed my mind during the years… Turin has had a sort of newborn vitality, all around events, museums and arts. There’s one thing I’ve always loved loads of Turin though: la Mole.

For me, one of the most magical building men could ever create.

Perfection, anthropology and mythology together.

Well, I was in Turin for a reason: to learn about an artist. What I learnt from that day was much more, especially from his sons’ eyes and story telling. And while I was listening to them, I started remembering little things. The dynamics of a family, the smell of an Italian house, a wall by no reason left white, but filled with paintings, the little gardens with wild flowers, kids eating gelato, couples looking at the shop windows on a Saturday afternoon. Everything frankly so much more than my lonely life.

That day I also tried to switch camera, and left my beloved Titty to my friend. The pictures along this posts are actually his. Enjoy.

P1050239