Author Archives: valanzo

About Pompeii and Flight Delay

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It’s quite recent, but already stamped on the memory, memorabilia like.

I was on a plane, the biggest plane this Earth knows: Airbus A380. Economy, next to a window, I was pretty excited from the selection onscreen: movies, tv-series, news and music. So much music you can travel the entire globe once or twice. Thank you Emirates.

For my great pleasure I found Bastille’s album. I think their pop music is fresh and brilliant, kind of everyone’s cuppa tea without being too pretending. Quality product, anyway.

While I started the listening, the captain made the announcement to explain about the one hour delay we were having, gracefully telling us there was a trouble on the panel board whatever, and engineers must have taken a good look at it to fix it. Oh no…It must be karma or irony, but after a good 6 hour flight, followed by an infamous 5 hour await, I was expected to travel the other 7 hours in a pretty nice shape, by eating, speaking, listening to the music and not adding additional time sat on a comfy but small sized spot.  Maybe even by sleeping. Oh bugger.

It’s part of the package, when you travel, unexpected things happen. Just take the best out of it. Well I tried. I fuelled my cheeky soul with a fine gin and tonic, courtesy of a nice flight attendant, I took pictures of people next to me, not impressed by my act, at least the half that was awake, since the rest of them were Asians wrapped in their blankets not moving a single muscle, very impressive to watch. I also did a pretty good impression as Emirates flight attendant, taking a silly sneaky pic. Note I was awaken for 30 hours..

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I was there with my partner in crime and we were absolutely tired but hey, we are hilarious together, imagine when we are shattered. We both knew the song and started a lovely jam session, and people around didn’t seem so fussing about it.

That’s one of the best memory of my flight in the biggest aircraft and about the longest time on board: 11 hours.

Thanks Jupiter we had Pompeii with us.

An adult in the basement

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My best friend turned 30 last week. He’s become a man.

He’s married and working to help and improve this society. He has big big heart, a cheeky smile similar to mine, a goofy walk. His voice is low and calm, he likes people and people like him.

I haven’t seen him since his ‘big yes’, where I wasn’t invited, except for a piece of cake later that day… I guess my best friend never saw me as his close friend, but just as an old friend. I guess, again, that these are the things that happen when you become an adult. Well, I admit that even in front of this rational, understandable thought my eyes see bitter.

But hey..

But hey, despite the sad tone I put in the words above, I am so so grateful to have tons of great and lovely memories with him: it was my pleasure and honour to spend the childhood with him.

We grew up, we walked along together for so many years and we made so many silly things I can’t even start counting them. That was truly special, and I don’t care if it’s over and we are distant now: somehow, somewhere there is a thread ready for us to be hold again all the time.

When we were fifteen we used to spend all Winter Sundays hiding in his basements. We could stay there for hours, (like not joking 10?), without feeling like going out and get some fresh hair. We had music, the guitars and so many things to say: jokes, rants, inappropriate dramas, bullshits mainly. We basically consumed this album while in the basement, cementing our personalities. We were goofy rockstars.

The song tattooed on my mind is “Swallowed” by Bush. Basement, and grunge, are forever.

Hannover and the fog

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Ok, so this is the post about Hannover.

Well, I went, stayed for a good 6 hours, came home.

Unimpressed, right?

Sorry, it was the general feeling I got while there. And a sense of frustration too, because I think I might have miss the opportunity to enjoy the trip more, if only… actually, I don’t really know the missing part.

I went once to Hannover, but merely to change train, I even didn’t get out of the station. Last month I went for real, to meet an Italian friend who was there kinda by accident. Since I love the expression “by accident”- it sounds so magical and romantic- I decided to join her. I took benefit by Mitfahrgelegenheit again, and jumped into a car owned by a lovely couple, who drove surprisingly carefully..and slow. I was fine with it, except the fact I was on the back seat with other 2 pop girls, grilling on the window kissed by sun (read sweating) and trying to ignore the swine flu one of the Iphone dependent gal was not-so-gracefully caring (read how come you are still alive with that cough?) in that tiny sealed cubicle.

I wish I didn’t hate the sun, because Hannover was so grey, foggy and dull I genuinely laughed. Mid-May and a poop weather, cheers. It wasn’t the usual reassuring grey I’m used in Berlin but a very wintery, annoyingly humid grey. And cold too.

The city center was basically divided in old town center and shopping area. Very practical, but I didn’t see a smooth integration of the two. I really enjoyed taking pictures around Altes Rathaus but I was reflex-free so my poor mobile wasn’t working great with all that grey and dark going on.

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Nice is Mashpark, next to the Town Hall, with lake and animals. There I got closed with the inhabitants, and shared a meal with them. We had great conversation about Hannover, the average climate and philosophy.

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IMAG2393We were both anthropologically optimists!

The most enjoyable thing was to meet my friend and have a quality time with her, after months just talking remote (but thank you Skype); I got so many good vibration just by her company and stories, it reminded me of the energy I had and need to polish out again. Another nice thing I really liked of that afternoon was the break from the fog (fizzy hair, argh!) in the nicest Cafe for coffee and cakes..Yum!

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I think I was basically happy to visit the city, but quite unimpressed by it. Maybe the missing part was what’s beyond the fog.. weather, maybe next time better, will you?

Gärten der Welt: the world in a park

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I wrote this for a trial at a company not so much time back, it’s addressed to budget travellers… but couldn’t wait to publish it because of the pictures correlated.. you know I embrace the #parklife style! Shorter than usual, I hope you enjoy it!

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It’s part of any travellers experience to find a genuine place in the city you’re visiting, without the help of your precious, detailed guide. It usually happens when you jump on a tram by instinct or take the wrong path or just get a hint from a stranger. Your choice might lead to a wonderful place.

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It takes a bit of time with public transports to arrive to Gärten der Welt in Berlin Marzahn but it’s worth the diversion from Berlin city center. This park is a lovely interpretation of a green, open, family-oriented space with six areas designed to experience different gardens from all around the world. While conceived to be a breathing break from the contrasting, outmoded, yet significant DDR’s buildings all around it, Gärten der Welt gives the possibility to have wonderful flights of fancy.

You walk and you are projected in an Italian terrasse during Renaissance;

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an Arab glance, with spouting fountains and ceramic tiles;

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a Chinese restaurant and lovely area, around the lake, where to sip a black tea;

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a Japanese zen portion, to find an inner balance looking at the wavy modelled sand;

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a Korean sanctuary to transport you back in time;

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a Balinese indoor space, where orchids take the stage in a steamy hot.

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Finally the newest element is a square called the ‘Christian Garden’ with suggestive open closter made of words from the Holy Scriptures, but also from philosophy and literature. Highly suggestive and incredibly inspiring for photo amateurs, like all the rest of the park.

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There’s is a small fee to pay (4 Euro) for this unique experience to get lost in time and space, while being comfortably pampered with cafes, recreational spaces and green fields to rest from the adventure that is Gärten der Welt, our world in a single park.

P.S. Yes, I had to take the pictures with my mobile phone, that is smart but doesn’t quite honour the place when it’s cloudy. Sorry for the quality, my camera, karma-foolish, died at the entrance just after I paid the ticket. Prost.

BRB, friends.

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I had the pleasure, recently, to embark myself in a great adventure on the other side of the world, also experiencing to be in three continents in less than 24 hours. It was sci-fi for me, few years back to even think about that.

And now I did it and it was a-w-e-s-o-m-e.

I am currently recovering from the jet lag, the rush of being back to an ordinary life and the urge not to get depressed but I can’t wait to write about it and pass the dream to you, friends.

BRB, I promise.

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…A preview…

Arrivederci amore, ciao

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I don’t remember the first time I watched “La stanza del figlio”, an Italian movie by director Nanni Moretti.

It’s a touching story about loss, fatherhood, conciliation and, maybe, hope. It’s quite a different story than the others Nanni wrote, directed and produced; more narrative, less a neurotic-flux-of-thoughts. Slightly, dangerously at times, not autistic like the others. There is a tangible pace of sorrow in there and it hits you so much to make you uncomfortable.

Is there a way to understand a loss? Personally, I still don’t know. In the movie it seems there is a turning point to first compensate, then understand it when at the end Nanni / the Father gives a car ride to his dead son’s girlfriend and her new ‘friend’. In that occasion, the car should have stopped at the certain known and agreed point, just it doesn’t. To proceed together, to face the after, I saw it as a shy hope for the future of that family.

Four in a car, they start singing an old song: the song talks about a goodbye between two lovers, where the woman is strong and confident that it’s over and she will be fine after all. There is a genuine spontaneity in the singing together and enjoying the moment despite everything. I recall this behaviour an important aspect of being Italian. Somewhere, somehow, Italians have always hope.

Lyrics are pretty strong: a persistent use of metaphors from the nature like clouds and water, showing a constant change in feelings as in the outside; a bitter sense of detachment; a sad, but firm, awareness the past is past, the new has already come. My favourite passage is when she sings:

“E quando andrò devi sorridermi se puoi, non sarà facile ma sai, si muore un po’ per poter vivere.”

(And when I leave you must smile at me if you can, it won’t be easy but, you know, you must die a little bit inside to be able to live)

Clever lyrics. I’ve made them mine, quoting them when convenient.

Once I quoted the movie with a nice guy I had met before, but never spoken in depth. I was fascinated by his exotic and religious name, moreover by his story. Complicity of a home party and alcohol, we started chatting and never stopped since then. We found a common ground in the love for old movies.

That night caught ourselves laughing out loud and sharing secrets, tips and stories: when we both confessed the love for ‘La stanza del figlio’ we started singing the song together, at 3 am in a silent dormitory. It was a little nice moment, somehow similar to the movie scene in the car for its spontaneity, that I’ll enshrine in my heart.


The song’s name is ‘Insieme a te non ci sto‘ più by Caterina Caselli and if you’ll ever read this post: much love to you, Jesus (the one w/o the cross, I mean).

Britzer Garten in Berlin

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When you live abroad it is easier to be amazed by your surrounding, especially when you take a path different from what the guide suggests or when you just follow the ‘locals’.

There is something magic when you get lost and just browse around, following your guts, spirit, mood, or simply people. I really trust local’s taste, as much as you know if a restaurant along the street is good from the number of trucks there are parked. So locals, as much as truck drivers know their stuff.

Two years ago, while wandering with my bike, I stumbled in this park, Britzer Garten, South Berlin. I went back in a sunny day and the wonder still lives there.

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It’s an amazing time for taking pictures right now, the light is good but not too bright, the days outside get longer and warmer and the blossom is pure joy for a pics-aholic. On a sunny day, this park is the perfect combination, highly recommended!

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Britzer Garten is a lovely residential neighborhood, between Mariendorf and Britz-Neukoelln where all around there are small houses and beautiful garden. Birds sing all the time. It’s quiet and human-sized. The location is out-of-peek for tourists, the result is the total absence of temporary ‘ich-bin-ein-Berliner”- claimers. And it is still nice to find place like that, in a big first-come-first-served city.

During May there is a kind of party going on in the park, people celebrates tulips: colourful wild tulips, choreographic tulips, mix-race ones. It’s a delight walking along the paths and admire the wild tulips and many other flowers, in lovely compositions: words cannot explain the feelings when it’s sunny. It’s pure life and balance. It’s the detail that gives meaning.

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The park itself show a perfect combination space/green/visitors, there are several fields, playgrounds and a functional services around the lakes, benches, platforms and chairs along the way. You can rest while watching funny ducks in love chasing one another on the water, kids playing on the fields, ladies having an ice cream or a bratwurst in one of the many kiosk. This park states: please come, walk, rest, have the best of time. And the pictures explain it better than words, indeed.

 

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 In a sentence: Britzer Garten, happy place for the soul.

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Maybe kinda obsession

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I might sound unpleasant, but I am pretty sure that before and during 90s it was the real time to be proud to be British. I can’t really explain, but it was time of great band, rock vs pop battles, MTV, Liverpool, London and Camden…before the massive use of phones and reality shows I reckon the Great B. was in a way a better place to live in.

Said this very much personal consideration, I was around twelve years young when I spent an entire afternoon watching the tape of a 10 minutes appearance, interview + ‘live’ performance. Non stop. Non crazy stop, not even for a loo break. Maybe kinda obsession? One step at the time.

At that time I was so uncool not to have a tape recorder, lolz my “alternative” (read: poor) family. During that week there was the most important television music festival, usual triumph of boredom with the only exception for international guests. Blur came, Blur conquered. And my friend recorded everything. The afternoon following the performance, we watched and watched it. Now, Blur have 4 musicians, easy; on stage there were just 2, in a clear state of boozy disorder. I could smell alcohol from the sofa, not kiddin’. They basically didn’t answer any of the silly question, but just kept dragging human-sized cartons of the other 2 members, who were officially ‘ill’. Interview was followed by the worst out-of-time lip-synch performance; where in the middle of it Damon didn’t even pretend to sing but started jumping and playing with Coxon’s carton. There was also a stranger playing instead of Alex. It was P.E.R.F.E.C.T…. a perfect defect. It was a bloody contemporary art performance.. I guess they arrived to the Italian Riviera and started drinking as they meant to die then turned it into art.

Damon Albarn was my first music love and I was in trance watching him tripping over invisible objects. I was totally smitten with him and not for any clever reason fascinated by his scene.

Damon Albarn, oh Damon Albarn. For the first time I was really in love with his hair, voice and, yes!, accent. Everybody who’s met me knows (and doesn’t understand completely) that I adore strong, bit posh, British accents.. it’s a seductive weapon for me. Indeed. And if you disagree, now you know the origin and who to blame, Sir Albarn.

Oh, I have to tell you the end of the story about that afternoon. My friend’s mum came back and found us mummified in the same position as she left us, and freaked out. She took the tape out in custody and obliged to leave. I really had to wee too.

The song, by the way, was “Charmless Man”, AKA nana nana na na naa nanaa.

Enjoy.

( a different live version, because of copyright the only one I can watch and upload!!)

Bremen, oh Bremen

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What happened to the early months in this 2013? I guess Winter has stolen January, February and March away . I felt like the cold season took possession of my actions and put the travelling side grounded for yelling several times “Will you end soon, darling?” but instead of darling a less flattering word…

Despite all the attempts, buds are back on the trees, so I am back on the road. And I’m done with weather complaints too, pinky promise. So I thought of give-it-a-go to more internal short trip, reaching destinations in Germany that I still haven’t been to. There are so many lovely cities all around!

Bremen is out of question one of the most beautiful cities in North Germany, pearl of the Hanseatic area. You can’t disagree with me if you go there, especially if you hear the old fashioned name, Freie Hansestadt Bremen. So much pride in it.

The jewel is Altstadt, the old town, with its main square, a lovely Town Hall with cheeky kamasutra decorations on the facade (have a deeper look pervs), and the main cathedral. Next to the Rathaus, the town hall, there is the symbol of Bremen, the statue of Die Bremer Stadtmusikanten directly from the Grimm’s Fairy Tales; it’s smaller than you imagine but the statue still has a special something around its four lucky-charms animals (a hint: touch both of donkey’s legs, not just one!).

I’d love to share the pictures of this picturesque part of the city, if I’m not wrong it’s not by mistake Unesco world heritage site, but my beloved sim card was corrupted and something like 50 pictures went lost. It’s been few hard days mourning the loss and my idiocy too (I didn’t realised it).

Alrite, time to speak less touristy, more valery.

3 things attracted me most:

1. To see flowers on the park, in spite of the cold weather. That’s promising and so positive you just want to smile. Some rays of light were also pretty much appreciated.

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2. To visit the Schnoor: everything you want to see from an old Northern village, petite version. Bremen is very charming itself, but this small portion gives you an idea how beautiful everything was a century ago. Sloped walls, narrow streets, colourful houses, shops, products, paintings, people, stones, bricks and wood…everything in the smallest square meters ever. Cozy!

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3. Das Viertel: it’s the place to go for young people. Quite Berlin style, laid-back bars, bakeries, a ridiculous amount of restaurants, place to drink the two official beers, Becks and Haake Beck, both super delicious. Talking about drinking, along the river, there are lots of biergarten, the right place to be when sunny!

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Note well: two other places were remarkable:

Neustadt and its deco-liberty houses:

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Teerhof, a kind of isle/peninsula in front of Altstadt, a cathedral of brick buildings in a modern and hipster context. I reckon I wouldn’t mind to live there!

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Let’s end this blog by highly suggesting a weekend in Bremen: people are incredibly helpful and nice, the old part is charming, the city is very quiet but still there are lots of places to hang out. And everything is quickly reached on foot.. Ahoy!

Anniversary with Mr. Memories

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My grandpa reading me a story about two dogs, their adventures and friendship.
My other grandpa offering me a sip of beer while watching Summer football games on tv.
Hours at the library with The Peanuts before tea time, my addiction to earl grey.
My brother, sleep-walk across a closed door, broken glass everywhere. Unharmed kid.
The time Loli and I pretended we were filthy rich and we threw all the Monopoly’s money from the top of the stairs on our mothers’ heads…they weren’t particularly impressed.
The time we burnt all my art paintings because school was over, boredom kicked and the prof was a bitch; this when outside it was August 15th and 40 degrees.
How our bodies could perfectly slot in one, calling it ‘the tetris move’.
The first time at the stadium, a night game in the cold.
The smell of moss, of wood, of Dolomites.
Eating red berries as if they were oxygen to breathe.
The night Ale and I were the only two awake in town…a broadcast on local tv. The drinking at the church cross while watching the valley. J&B and booby hills, sis.
The hours at the gym playing volleyball. Every mistake or laugh 10 laps to run, 30 crunches. Mistakes every minute or so. A bloody tonic body though.
Kissing in the Summer rain in a street, storm of feelings during this personal movie.
Tape recorders, walkmans, cd-players, mp3s. Life before Ipod.
Sundays spent to listen to music and create it. Bonding in a garage.

All the things I forgot. All the things I pretend to forget. All the things I don’t want to write about.

This was my neighbourhood for many years: Arcade Fire’s neighborhood #1 (Tunnel) gets very close to explain it.