#interview with the vampire#iwtv#the vampire armand#assad zaman
seen from United States
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My favourite thing with the Ted Lasso cast is how they dress like their characters in real life, and I really don't know how much of it was actor influencing character or just coincidental connections.
Either way, this is 100% something Richard would wear, chic scarf and all.
“QD-2 J9 (2020 11 07): La vache Mt-Blanc...”
© Claude Vergoz, 2020- Please leave captions and credits, no re-blogs to NSFW/18+
Mt Blanc
Tour du Mont Blanc (France, Italy and Switzerland)
Stubbornness, beauty, and ritual.
Last week I had a big fall on my longboard which bruised my hip and raspberry jammed my hand and knee. I was carrying a bike pump, 3 bags of groceries, my backpack with art supplies and my computer. Aside from being an eternal optimist and a little accident prone, I’ve always had this “where there’s a will there’s a way” philosophy to misguide me into, and mostly through, precarious scenarios.
Last fall my knee became infected and I had surgery weeks before a longtime planned hike around Mt. Blanc and down the Gr5 trail to the Mediterranean. I came very close to cancelling my hike due to the fact that it was very difficult and painful for me to walk, not to mention carry a backpack. It was like the universe was forcing me to slow down.
With trekking poles as my crutches, I was determined to at least camp in the Chamonix valley below Mt Blanc, so I went anyway. I stayed in the valley one night and with the help of some newly made friends and fellow hikers, I decided to make a go for it on the trail. It was painful, so I took it slow. Anytime I would come across a village with a market I bought an orange for me to eat at the top of the next vista. It was amazing. It was grueling. So many afternoons were spent completely exhausted with tears of joy and citrus upon reaching a saddle or summit. The taste and beauty was overwhelming.
I crossed the high pass in Vanoise National Park alone. It started to snow as I was ascending. The trail disappeared and I was left to follow cairns, the stacks of rocks that miraculously lead to the other side of the pass. Adrenaline flowed. The brisk mountain air and my minimalist gear put my senses on high alert. The snow turned to rain and the cold soaked in. Why do I put myself through this? What do I have to prove? Why am I here? As if I am in control and the muse of spirit has not provoked and carried me through this life. Ha.
I cut my hike short when my uninjured knee started to hurt from overcompensation. I had touched Mt. Blanc. I had survived my own stubbornness. My ritual deceleration had brought me to a full stop and yet I was full.
To be outside connects me both with time and timelessness, home and homelessness, my aims and my aimlessness. In disputes with age and gravity, I am seldom a winner. Theres also something to be said about our relationship with discomfort and the appropriate wisdom that comes from being humbled by the beauty and awe of scale. I may not always be so privileged to cross cultures, walk in mountains or surf over concrete, but for now the reward for chasing the muse and not paper is more than worth its risk.
Unfurl by Alexandre Deschaumes
We're never coming back down/yeah we're looking down on the clouds.
