The football stadium

“Where are you from, what’s your name, where are you going?”

The bus taking us to the airport is empty – it’s just him and I. That guy, who insists on talking while all I want is to SLEEP FOREVER.

Can’t say hi, can’t chat, can’t focus. Can’t rack my brain for yet another conversation. This new life this new country this new everything. The trips the stories the events the meetings the calls the emails. It’s been intense. I’m very tired.

“Wait, I’m going to sit next to you so we can chat.”

He insists. He talks, talks. Tells me his name, speaks of his family. Asks me where I come from, where I’ve lived, what I’ve done. Keeps on talking.

When the bus driver takes a break near the Allianz Arena in Munich, he wants to go see it “up close” and asks me to take a picture of him in front of the building.

“I’m a big football fan,” he says. He smiles a lot.

He – a 60+ man with a long career, two sons to take care of, a retirement plan to think of.

A senior, someone who’s lived twice longer than me on Earth, yet looks at that stadium like a kid seeing snow for the first time.

A man 30 years older than me, yet 30 times more enthusiastic, more animated. 30 times more alive.

Shortly after the bus dropped us at the airport. We said goodbye, he smiled some more, and that’s when I realised I was done with being tired. I hate this grumpiness anyway, and it’s not actually fun to act like you’re overwhelmed. From now on I want to look at all things the way Angel, 60 years old, looked at that football stadium on a Thursday afternoon.

The football stadium


I’m standing in the empty field facing the main stage of the festival. Radiohead are 10 meters away, rehearsing their evening gig. The sea breeze blows, my hair flies around my head, Thom Yorke keeps singing, screaming, whispering, his words going straight to my heart. No filter, and no phone, no camera allowed – just the authorisation to stand there and listen to the sound check of one of the BEST BANDS ON EARTH on a windy, dusty Saturday morning.

Suddenly they stop and leave the stage, a clean cut that leaves me breathless, wondering if it really happened. 10 hours later, I’d be one of the tens of thousands dancing and crying to their music, losing all perception of what is work and what isn’t, losing all sense of the exhaustion of the past weeks, highs and lows mixed in an emotional blur.

That night I went to bed wondering how many experiences, how many feelings I can grasp that I can truly enjoy.

London said, “I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.”

He also said, “The function of man is to live, not to exist.”

But how much can you truly live, I wonder.

Maybe it’s the accumulation of the years, the fact that each day brings its new lot of memories, but I just find it overwhelming sometimes. Maybe it’s because I love experiencing something, but I love reflecting on it even more. The moment you sit on a train after a trip and look out the window, your mind still lingering in the places you just saw… or that time of the day at dusk, when everyone comes together and you drink to the adventures of the day. The dawn after a big party. The end of a run, of a skiing day, of a long hike. Saying goodbye after a great weekend, taking a nap after a big meal, cycling back home after a good evening. Looking back and thinking, yes I did this, we did this, and it was wonderful.

Or maybe it was utter shit, but that’s not the point.

For the past months, I’ve been like a squirrel, saving all these emotions, all these sensations. I’ve put them aside, thinking I would reflect on them once I would be back home, back to a more normal rhythm.

And I have. The minute things slowed down a bit, I looked back and smiled at the frenzy of the past months, the travels, the stories, the networking, the brainstorms, the parties, and I breathed.

But at the same time, I think I’ve realised something. If I want this to carry on, and if I want to be happy carrying on with it, I want to embrace the madness as it happens. Make the meteor metaphor mine.


My five Ws

Your days are long but your time flies by. Your rhythm is intense, your focus, constant. And your brain is restless.

Welcome to your late 20s, darling. In a new job, a new country and a new self – the “am I a grown up yet?” self.

I don’t really know who that is. I want to party and not be hangover. I want to joke and be taken seriously. A dumpster bike that won’t break down. Endless runs that won’t hurt. A nice flat, with a low rent. A big car, without the parking part. A free schedule, a year-long hike, a transatlantic – and a life plan.

Limbo. I’m no student anymore, no junior, yet incredibly so. Ten projects, ten lives, tackling a world that only becomes bigger.

What, where, when, why, who with?

As the questions keep coming, I think I may have found some answers. Only a couple of bulletproof convictions. I don’t know the details, my exact ambitions, my exact locations, my exact companions, but I know what matters most to me.

And whatever comes next, I only hope it brings more questions, more answers – and a better bike.

“As the years went on, I realised that what I really want to be, all told, is a human. Just a productive, honest, courteously treated human” – Caitlin Moran

My five Ws

Make it yours

It’s a vague sensation, a feeling that slowly grows stronger.

You wake up to the sound of the local radio – Guten Morgen Salzburg. You choose the right clothes now, no more Converses in the snow, no more white pants in the rain. You recognise the mountains around – you’ve hiked them, you’ve skied them, you’ve learned their names. You write your first email in German. You know what to order when facing a menu full of Schnitzels and Kase-something. You bargain the price of your second-hand skis. You read the (first paragraph of the) newspaper while eating a Salzburg Nockerl. You sit on the slopes, open a beer and take a deep breathe. You don’t need to look at the map anymore, and you cycle faster in the dark.

How long until you can call a place home? It’s been almost half a year since I’ve moved to Austria. It’s been new, terribly new, overwhelmingly new – amazingly new.

Ah and cold, too. F*** it’s been cold.

But I’ve noticed a change lately. It’s becoming familiar. It’s not like I know the Alps inside out, but my very own chart of Salzburg is getting clearer.

“You’re improving, but you know, to make it yours, you got to love it.”

My friend looked at me and smiled. I was complaining about German, about the hideous way I say the words, the struggle it is to learn it, the grammar, the vocabulary. Nein nein nein nein, I say that all day, and Gruss Gott too.

“To make it yours, you got to love it.” That sentence – so true. That’s true of learning a new language and that’s true of building a new home, too. As happy as I am to experience yet another life, it wasn’t until I heard those words that I realised the key to my happiness here. It’s not about knowing the dialect, the best off-piste or the local Kaiserschmarrn.

It’s only home when you love it.

Make it yours

The other side

I see clouds, snowfalls, and a dark night.

I see the propellers of our small, empty plane turning furiously, cutting through hail like a knife.

“Our flight to Salzburg will last 35 minutes. Welcome onboard.”

So this is it – I’m heading back to my new home, leaving my French holidays behind. This flight feels like a second New Year’s Eve. Just like the plane pushing through the clouds to take us to the destination, I’m finally stepping into 2016.

It’s been a strange transition. It’s not that I didn’t want the year to change – but you know, the stakes get higher as the number gets bigger. I stayed in a 2015 limbo for a couple of days, wondering what I wanted the next 366 days to bring. I took me a while to change doubts into hopes.

“Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of fear.” Just before getting into the plane, I saw this from George Addair. And it struck me: no matter how many years would have gone by, no matter how big these fears can grow, I always, always want to step on the other side.

The other side