Bureaucracies & Technicalities - Part 2

With an abundance of scenaries, from high mountains to desert valleys to lush forests, Argentina was a very attractive destination. I was lucky enough to have a family friend in Buenos Aires that could have helped me at the very beginning of my trip. We decided to take advantage of him and on the first occasion he reached Italy, we invited him over for dinner.
We talked about places and budgets, and overall, it seemed to be a decent deal. Argentina in 2012 wasn't craazy expensive although wasn't crazy cheap either, but with a good stock of US dollars and a bit of hostels-car sharing the whole trip could have been done. I was thinking about a month of pure tourism, doing it the fancy way, renting a car to maxime time.
My friend ended his talking telling me just one thing, out of his heart. He said Argentina is a beautiful country, and he would have suggested it warmly. On the other hand though, I was alone, a foreigner, in a land where people don't speak a whole lot of English and where I didn't really speak Spanish (although one might argue - like my dad would - that Italians and Argentinians are two cultures alike and therefore could bypass the language barrier by a bit of simililarity in the languages and a bit of gesturing). I would start the trip in, possibly, one of the most difficult ways.

He had a point. Even though I had my travelling experience before, a pretty good one for a guy my age, I had never undertook a project in the likes. Money was a concern too. Starting a 2-years trip with a massive set of expenses (a month of travelling with a rental car, for instance) wouldn't be that encouraging. It'd be rather depressive.
These two arguments made Argentina slipping down my list. And the list wasn't that deep, for a starting place.
I shifted my focus to New Zealand.

Back in those days I had no clue whatsoever about what New Zealand was. I didn't know its capital, its leading industry, its natural features, its population. Nothing. I had a vague idea of its geographical location, and that was about it. I started my study opening Google Maps, as always, just to find out that the country is somewhere west-south-west from Australia, that is divided into 2 islands, and that its capital is a city named Wellington. I found out that, compared to my country Italy, New Zealand's surface is roughly 1 and a half times bigger but its total population is less than the three biggest Italian cities combined (Rome, Milan, Naples). South Island's population density, for instance, is about 18 people per square mils. Italy's reaches 512! Also, it looked like the chance of meeting a human being in the country was far less than the one of meeting a sheep: New Zeland's home to more than 31 million sheep!
I started to investigate for some cool natural features. My thirst for different landscapes was big.
I got to know about the marine parks, the Alps, the hillside, the cities. About the Milford Track, dubbed by many "the best multi-day hike in the world" (Tourist agencies down there brag about that as well). In just a few minutes, I was sold on New Zealand. It really had an appeal on me.
I just had to..hmm.. find a job?
It involved finding out information on working visas first. New Zealand - you'll get to know - is pretty popular among so called "backpackers" not only because of its natural features, but also because of the simplicty of the visa process. In fact, it usually takes no longer than 2 days from the application date to get a visa issued - if you satisfy all the required criterias AND you pay the fee.
Given that there was no particular obstacle in obtaining a 1 year-long working holiday visa, I applied, paid the fee and went on. That was my very first expense in these 2, expenditure-riddled years!

I then started to think about jobs. I sent a few random resume - it was my first English resume and my first on-line application - without success, and just shortly after I started to question my tactic. "Am I really on the right track? Wouldn't I be better off by just going there and hunt for jobs locally?". Those questions made a lot of sense. That's what you do at home, right? Why shouldn't it be the same abroad?! I opted to stop submitting ridiculous applications (I'd love to see a few of them right now, I have a feeling I'd laugh so bad at them) and focus on finding a place to settle down in the country, for a few months (the plan was to stay in NZ for no longer than 4-5 months in total).
I ruled out all the big cities right away. I was leaving a city of about 200.000 people mainly to live in nicer, wilder places - like a village nestled in the mountains. Mountains, that's what I was looking for. I went almost immediately down to South Island. There's plenty of mountains down there, making it difficult to pick one spot. My attention went on a place called Queenstown, that looked perfectly positioned: on a nice lake, among several mountain ranges, not too far from the coast (at least as crow flies). It also had a decently sized population, not exceeding 20.000. After talking to a couple of friends, that positively reviewed their own experiences there, my decision was made. Queenstown was the goal.

New Zealand, from being just the place where the Lord of The Rings was shot, was now the country I was heading to. Queenstown, from the unknown realm, my next destination.

Having sorted destination and pushed back a decision on jobs, my main problem was now transportation. For the amount of travelling I wanted to do, and for the amount of freedom implied by my travelling-style, I needed a car. It was very much impossible though to secure a car from overseas. Imagine you live in Colorado, and you're looking to buy a car from a fella in Florida two weeks before you arrive in that state to relocate. How's that going to be possible? Of course you could send him money as a deposit to keep the car for you, but how do you know it's not a lemon? How could you inspect the car? There's simply no way to, so I quickly gave up in trying to find a solution to the problem. Even though I absolutely wanted to arrive in the country and be ready to set out as soon as possible, I had to postpone buying a car to when I actually arrived in the country.
I was still missing something under the voice "transportation" though... something that would had carried me to the country. I guess that was a plane ticket. It was time.
The day I started to look around for a cheap flight to New Zealand marked an important point for me. I knew I couldn't go back. Up to then, I could have still withdrew. Besides for that 160 new zealand dollars for the visa, no big money had been invested. An airfare to such a far destination.. well, that was a blow. It was the tie when I said to myself, "Alright, let's go!".
Using some search engines like Momondo.com or Skyscanner.com (both highly recommended), I drew a price map of the country. It looked like Auckland was the cheapest destination for those dates - mid October. Although Auckland was in North Island, I could have gotten statistically better chances of buying a decent car and I would have had a few days of travels to drive South that would have allowed me to catch a glimpse of the country. Make some travel notes for the future.

Eventually, I agreed with myself, reached for my credit card and typed all the information. When I clicked the "confirm" button, I was basically gone. I had left Italy. My family, friends, hobbies, possessions. My life.
And by the way, that "confirm" button also caused a debit line on my credit card bill for 870 euro. Man!

The flight I booked was scheduled to leave from Venice airport on October 21, 2012, and planned to stop at Dubai, Kuala Lumpur, Melbourne and finally Auckland. I still remember reading on the arrival date "+2". I was going to leave around mid-afternoon and I'd have arrived 2 and a half days later. Holy cow, I thought it was going to be cool! Like, sleep on every airport couch, eating junk food in between flights, getting down the last flight with a hungover face.
Well, I'd have found out soon.
Yeah, that it wasn't going to be THAT cool!

Bureaucracies & Technicalities - Part 1

Since that late August day, I knew where I was heading.
It was not a career in the bank anymore, but it wasn't an easy altough slow life in my hometown of Cadoneghe as well. It wasn't a life close to my family, to my friends and to all my childhood landmarks: the soccer field, the local church, the park, the walking path on the river bank, the pub. It was no more a life where Monday was soccer game, Friday and Saturday was anywhere around with my buddies and Sunday was a boring day spent wondering what to do. Nope.
It appeared it was going to be a life where I'd have been alone first of all, not being able to count on my family's close support, or my friends' company. It looked like I was going to be quite far away too. The first destinations I was considering - Argentina or New Zealand - ain't as close as Rome, you know! And it also looked like I'd have had to provide everything I needed by myself. From money to pay rent, bills, transportation and amenities to information on how to get around or receive health care or pay taxes. I was not really practical with that in my own country, therefore that whole thought kind of scared me a bit at first.
But I was about to be free. No more waking up at 6.50 each morning. No more customers yelling at me for nothing or bosses asking me for goals objectively impossible to reach. No more routine, no more preconcepts, no more silly, false behaviours, no more acting in a certain way to please people you know could be otherwise offended, no more staying at home, no more same faces, same shit every damn day, week, month and year. Wow. I couldn't wait!

You might get the impression I was extremely sick with my life at the time. Actually, you're right. I was. And I think the thing that was annoying, destroying me the most was routine.
Routine to me is not just doing the same things over and over again, in a scheduled fashion. Routine to me involves people as well. Saying that working out 3 times a week for 2 hours was my main interest tells a lot. I was bored. It bored the heck out of me to have a job that involved the same tasks and people every single day. It bored the heck out of me too to find myself in situations like not knowing what to do on a Friday night, or going to the same old places every time, or seeing the same people ALL-the-time. Plus, after the travels I had done already, I felt like my backyard didn't suit me fine anymore. I needed more. I needed wilderness, unknown country, vast lands, more wildlife. What could I've found over here? A trashed river bank? A public park? A cultivated field with maybe a fox hiding somewhere? (that of course would have at least 3-4 farmers trying to kill her, that's how it works over here. Any animal bigger or more dangerous than a songbird has to go, dammit)
I had some mountain side, yes. That comes for a price here though, which is seeing people everywhere. I haven't done extensive travelling in the Alps, but I've done my share. And I can't remember of a place that felt really isolated, wild. There were always horses on a pasture, cows grazing, or people sitting around a hut at 2500 meters sipping on a hot cocoa or eating fine salami and polenta. Oh man, not my stuff anymore. My concept of nature was getting wilder, and my typical recreational place involved having the chance of getting well away from the crowds, with even the possibility of getting LOST or in danger because of some harmful wildlife. It kind of added some thrill.
Walking in the mountains with cows around wasn't for me anymore.
The routine that involved the same, tasteless landscapes and the same people every time was killing me. I felt like the energies I knew I had were fading. I didn't show interest in anything but travels.
Sometimes I try to put myself in my friends. I have never pretended to be a necessary member of my bunch, but I think losing a friend - or having it around the way I was hanging around - can hurt, somehow. I think I wasn't stimulating for them at all back then, but that's how life goes. You can't pretend to be 16 all your life. You can fake you retain the same interests and energies and willing forever. I actually sincerely disliked the way most of the times we behaved, like we had to do certain things, we had to go out, we had to call on everyone.. otherwise what? We wouldn't be friends anymore?! C'mon now. That's life, you grow up, you might feel less close to certain friends than to others, and you have to accept it. You might be willing to spend an entire week sitting on the couch reading, and that's all good. Nothing wrong with that.
To me, it felt like all that was wrong, and that we had to be all friends, all good to each other forever no matter what. Yeah, I was a bit over that too.
I wasn't happy with my job, I wasn't 100% with my buddies and I didn't have nice recreational opportunities to overcome that deficit.
Guess leaving was the only escape!

It then came time to sit down at my desk again and start to organize.. everything.
Ain't no easy thing, I'll tell you right away.
It involves a lot of research, of nights spent on a computer screen sending emails or skyping the other end of the world. It involves a lot of activity and it penalizes lazyness.
I was already spending 7.5 hours a day sitting in front of a computer at the bank, and I had to integrate that dose with some more hours at home.
One thing is sure: it teaches you a lot, about everything.

First thing I had to come up with was a game plan. How long would I've been away for? Where would I like to go? How much money would I need? How long could I go on for with my savings? Where could I work in case I needed more?
These and other questions needed to be addressed. It wasn't an easy task. It's like giving an 8 years old boy a very difficult math problem. I was particularly bad at that, for instance - math has never been my thing!
I started with what someone would label as a "very stupid thing". I opened Google Maps.
I wasn't any genius in geography and I thought a world map might help. I got to know where places actually were located. I realized distances. I started to factor in airfare money, climate, demography, occupation. I basically did some basic but comprehensive research on each country that persistently popped up in my mind. And I started with New Zealand.
It came to life at first while researching with idiot queries like "best country to visit in the world". New Zealand, as of now, ranked for 3 straight years as the best country in the world for travellers. I said to myself, "Must be worth a shot!". Readings from blogs such as the ThornTree of the Lonely Planet just confirmed what I previously found. Examining carefully the country on Panoramio (a useful website with Google Maps interface and plenty of pictures from travellers all over the world) I had the strong impression that that country was really a must-see.
It wasn't alone on top of the list though. To name a few, these were the places I definitely wanted to visit, for a reason or another: U.S.A., Canada, Argentina, Australia, Thailand, Nepal, South Africa, Iceland, Japan, and possibly some side trips somewhere nearby each of the aforementioned.
One in particular sit high on the list and was the only competitor for a starting place.
It was Argentina.

Quitting the bank?! Heck ya!!

It looked like a Monday as many others had been, calm, almost sleepy, the rural small town where I worked trying to awake and get ready to face the week. People driving around in the morning hours at least avoiding the heat of the afternoon, some others stopping at the local bar for a jam-filled pastry and a cappuccino, others again pulling over in front of the newsagent for a to-go newspaper (just in small, rural town Italy, note!).
It wasn't a normal Monday for me though. It was actually a very special day, some kind of a milestone. I had made my mind up in the past few days, and I made my decision. I was ready to make my move.
While driving to work, in fact, I was trying to find the best way to let my boss (and my coworkers) know that I was going to quit.
Not that I really cared a lot. I wasn't trying to make it softer or anything like that. I knew the period for the bank, and our branch in particular wasn't an easy one. Our bank was under scrutiny for several transactions that took place in the past, and apparently upper management was being found guilty of a few felonies, mainly receiving bribes. Customers weren't feeling like their money was safe with us, and we had to face that feeling every day, with every customer. A pretty demanding task. Furthermore, our personnel situation wasn't idyllic. We were undermanned, and badly structured. We were losing customers to more competitive banks around us. A very big deal in a small town like that. Even considering the overall situation, I wasn't caring much about being sensible. All I cared was to get out of the place as soon as possible - legally, of course. A contract is a contract and I wasn't going to break any.

My parents got to know about my decision just the evening before. I told them I was going to make my move the morning after. They had been "brainstormed" by me about what I could have end up doing, for a long time. I think that, while at first they took my words as a joke, or a fantasy, their thoughts later evolved to dismay, resignation, acceptance and finally, support. They tried their best to make me understand especially the economic consequences I might have faced: losing a well-paid job in Italy at that time, crisis full-on, meant possible tough times. I didn't care. I was conscious of my skills and my capacities, I had no fear I could find another job, possibly much better, somewhere else. I had to give a big thank to my parents though. I think it's hard to hear such talks from a kid. You always want the best for your kid, and you don't even want to think about possible hard times for him/her. That's why my parents were so worried at first, and tried to dissuade me. When they came to realize that my willing was strong, and that I had carefully weighed pros and cons, they must have felt reassured and their fear became support.
I'll never stop feeling thankful to my parents for that support. Without it, I wouldn't be here writing about travels, skydiving, scuba-diving or car-camping.

The morning wasn't that busy, but I waited. I waited for us to have lunch togheter, and to return back to work. We opened back to public, as usual, at 2 PM for our afternoon shift. A little after 2.30, seeing the business wasn't great, I told my coworkers in the hall that I was going to have a talk with the boss.
I knocked on his door and he welcomed me in his office. I didn't have a deep relationship with my boss, for he wasn't the kind of person that opens up a lot with subordinates (or coworkers in general, I'd say) but he was always frank with me, speaking up his mouth in his pronounced dialect (he used to do that with customers as well).
"May I let you know something?", I started. "Of course, take a seat!", he replied.
I declined, saying my job was all about sitting all day long! So I started.
"Well... all I have to say is that I'm quitting!"
I still remember his face.
He turned his rotating chair towards me, his eyes very much wide-open, and said "Are you joking?"
"No, I'm actually quite convinced about it!"
He paused, slightly turned his chair towards the window again, then proceeded. "Well, have a seat now. When did you reach this conclusion?"
I started to tell him about my feelings, how restricted I felt living in Italy, especially my small town, and how "imprisoned" (almost) I felt at work. I mentioned the only time I really felt happy was during my scampers in the United States. I told him I had almost no interest anymore in talking to people at home, cause it looked like no one shared my feelings and my thoughts and my interests. I told him I needed a huge change, and quitting was what I had to do.
He didn't really object. He simply took notice. Then he started to speak.
"You know, I think you're doing the right thing. If that's how you feel, you're making the right move.The job we have is what it is, and the people around here, are who they are. I don't like all this either, and believe me, I'd love to scr** everything and leave, but I can't. I've got family, you don't, so if there's one that has the chance to do it, that's going to be you! You see so many people working in the bank that are highly unhappy, dragging themselves at work just because they need the money, maybe they have bills to pay and mouths to feed. But they're not happy. If you already feel your unhappiness, leave. You're doing the right thing, I'm not going to try to keep you here".

I felt awesome. I thought I was going to sit in his office for half an hour hearing somebody that would assume his role and try to talk me back into the boat. He didn't. I heard the words of a sincere person that actually shared my thoughts. Plus hearing words like "I'd do it too if I didn't have mouths to feed"... that's highly motivating. The message I got was something like "Do it now before it's too late!".
We then talked about bureaucracy. I had to go to the headquarters and talk them about my decision. So I set an appointment for the upcoming week with the HR for my area.
I had another duty though, first: let my coworkers know about it.
That was a bit of a mess, since I tried to be more polite and let everyone know separately, but some of them got word from the boss already. At the end, they were all sympathetic. All of them reacted positively, as if I was a little kid doing the right thing (actually I was a little kid, in that branch, compared to my coworkers!). Some of them even high-fived me. More than one said they admired me for my courage and were already jealous of what was next for me!
It already put some pressure on my shoulders, but it was a good kind of pressure. A stimulating one.
They were the first people - after my parents - that got to know about my decision, and the response was great, better than I expected. So far, so good!

When the following week I walked upstairs to the HR's office, I felt like Marco Polo could have felt in China during his expedition. Like an alien. I felt like that world made of appearing fancy and clever by wearing suits and ties, of money talks and not much else, of paper wasted in every corner and people highly unhappy hiding behind computer screens, I felt like that world didn't belong to me. Not at all. I walked convinced as ever of my decision.
The HR tried to talk me back into the company, of course. He asked me why I was trying to quit, he showed flashes of interest in my opinions, but at the end - as arguably an employee in his role has to do, no matter how sympathetic the person could feel - he just ended up again remarking me the opportunity I was letting go. I couldn't care less.
I remember asking his questions with extreme politeness, with a relaxed, peace-suggesting grin of which even myself was proud of.
Eventually, he gave up and told me how to act, in my own interest. I should have given a month notice (now that I know how it works elsewhere in the world.. well, a month's a lot!!), but at least I could have earned my last monthly wage - which was needed. I was already thinking right: "That could pay my flight to New Zealand and a few weeks rent!"
I agreed on the terms, and signed for my resignation. My last working day would have been September the 20th (awesome, long weekend!).

I shook hands and smiled, saying goodbye.
My last time at the bank's headquarters, I was thinking while walking downstairs. Never missed them.

Done. I did it. I felt like a freed-man. A freed-slave actually. So good, so free. I still had 3 weeks of work ahead of me but I knew they'd have gone by very quickly. I felt relaxed, for a little while.
Just for a little, because I knew that NOW, the fun was about to start. I had so many thoughts in my mind already - leaving involves a lot of planning, bear in mind!
When I got back home my relax had already shifted.
To focus.

Roots of a life's journey - Part 4

The trip in the North West left a deep scar on me. It wasn't the same feeling, that nostalgia for vacations you always have throughout the year, when you're at work. That scar had me thinking at a whole new level. After the inspiring people I had met, after hearing their stories and learning from them, after seeing lots of new, terrific places, I came home with questions. The scar was just enlarging, getting bigger with every passing day through the hot and humid Italian summer. I was going to work with my mind full of questions, and it showed. My productivity was plummeting as I was just showing people photos from my last trip and planning new adventures. Or, THE ADVENTURE.
June and July passed by fairly smoothly.
When me and a buddy of mine left for a short, 5-days trip in Eastern Europe, it didn't change a whole lot. We just enjoyed the time we spent around. I personally liked visiting Vien, or the little but charming Bratislava, or the quite awesome city of Budapest. I remember thinking briefly "I should get a job here!". You know, being single and without any interest in staying home, with all those nice-looking girls around looked like a perfect place for me, after all.
The place we had more fun than any other one though was Belgrade. I was returning for the third time, the first without a love-affair in progress. We were staying in a floating hostel (a great idea: small houses turned into hostels, developed on 2 or 3 stories, anchored to land but floating on the river) just about 50 yards across the city's Beer Festival. We probably wouldn't have chosen that particular location for 2 straight nights if we would have been aware that music would have been playing loud until cut-off time at 3 in the morning, but heck.. was a cool experience in itself!
We survived a "welcome!" shot of a local grappa that almost left us grasping for air, and for the next couple days we hung around with friends of mine - Dunja, Tamara and Dijiana - that made our stay nice and cool! It further strengthened my idea that sometimes, even though we have a preconception of a certain place, or country, we might prove ourselves wrong about it. I thought certain things about Serbia, for instance, and some of them surely remained that way. The thing I'd have never suspected though was its people, that could open so much and be so friendly and interesting. I also liked the city of Belgrade itself a lot - whereas other people still think it's a cluster of war ruins. Well, you know, you gotta try before you really know.

August, with people all leaving towards the crowded beaches or the mountain villages, was a reflective month. I started to imagine myself cruising the world, going to places I barely knew existed, doing things I heard of just on TV. I started to grab plain paper sheets and write down countries I'd have liked to visit, activities I'd have loved to try.
Every time though, I ended up dismissing everything as "a dream". My approach was still soft, realistic, and what was the actual goal looked more like a dream than anything else. Something cool to spend a few minutes daydreaming about. The funny thing was that over the weeks I accumulated tons of paper on my desk: calculations, facts, plans. At least my desk looked busy and professional.

One certain day though, I came back home from work. It had been a tedious day, and the routine was already killing me. I was sick of hearing the same stories every day, from the farmer complaining that the government was stealing his savings to the enterpreneur lamenting that debtors weren't paying. I couldn't care less. It was like I was living in my own sphere, lifted in the sky, among the clouds, thinking about great plains, endless oceans, high mountains. I turned my head around and focused my attention only when I heard words as "United States" or "travel". I was amorphus, carrying on through my days just because of the scarcity of better, more satisfying alternatives.
That day though, that feeling of sickness brought me once again to my desk. With more determination.

I sat down, glanced at my paper stack, shook my head and grabbed one last empty paper sheet.
I grabbed a pen and started to ask myself questions.
"Am I happy?", was the first one. The answer quickly came to my mind. "NO".
There had to be something positive though in my existence.
"What are the valuable things you have, or the ones that could make you happy?" So I started to write down... "My family and friends, and their company.. the thing I have a well paid job.. and that I can afford my nice car, and a bunch of fancy clothes.." .. and nothing more.
The question that sprung naturall afterwards was "Are these things making you happy now?" and of course, another NO came up.
I knew there had to be something out there capable of putting a smile on my face for more than an hour. Maybe for a whole week or month.. or year. "What do you think can make you happy?" asked myself.
The answer was clear. I started to write down things like travelling, hiking, watching wildlife, meeting foreigners, trying something exciting, facing new cultures. It looked like I really needed to go travel, basically.
To do that though, wasn't the easy choice. I'd have had to renounce commodities and a laid-back life for the uncertainty and tight circumstances I could have faced.
So I asked, "Would you be ready to sacrifice the aforementiond things you have and face uncertainty, restraint and possibly some kind of danger?"
I went on analyzing all the things I listed as important. My family, yes, it was, but you have to separate from it at a certain point. Not forever, but you can't be seeing your parents every day for your whole life! My friends.. well, it would have been hard. Still, I wasn't having the best time of my life with them. I already felt like I was talking another language, caring about different things, living another way. The times when we were all a bunch of young rascals playing outside from 3 to dinner time was well over, and it seemed obvious that we were starting to take different paths in our lives. It was the right time for my move.
Finally, all the goods, from a fancy car to nice clothes.. that's not happiness. There's people out there spending whole days shopping for clothes. Although it might make you feel alright, it's an ephemeral feeling. Doesn't last for a lifetime. You'll need a new pair of jeans each week, to show your friends, to sport proudly on the streets. Does that lead to happiness? In which way, might I ask?
No, that wasn't all. That was something I could have easily let go.
If I had nothing to make me happy while travelling did, and I was ready to sacrifice those things I cared about, where was the problem?!
Truth is, there was no problem, at all.

To the question of whether or not I shall have left, the asnwer came out swift. It was a "YES".

Roots of a life's journey - Part 3

While telling people my "adventures" in the Great Plains and in the first few national parks I did feel a bit of an explorer, but the eagerness to do something more, to see something more grew up pretty quickly. It was late 2010, I had been working for the bank for about a year, and I had already gotten into a routine: work for a year to live fully for about 17 days. Those craved days in the United States.
I have to say, the kind of job I was doing didn't really help veer things in a different direction. To work in a bank nowadays means to be under high, constant stress and pressure, from either your bosses or your customers. It's a job where very seldomly you have tangible satisfaction from your efforts. It's also a job that involves lots of routinely tasks, especially at entry-level positions (but management has its own too). Last but not least, what you're talking about is... money. It's not chocolate, it's not a wedding package, it's not a car, it's not a pair of jeans. It's just money. Being money something people really care about, it's a sensitive topic. Therefore, customers would generally stress a cashier far more for unexpected charges on their accounts rather than a bartender for a bad drink. That's how the story goes.
It didn't take me long to understand all that. I understood the basics of the job, learnt what I think I needed to learn - as a professional and as a person - and recognized things.
One thing that really impressed me, apart from the aforementioned ones, was the general unhappiness of the employees. I am very confident saying that I've never seen an employee, no matter the role, starting the day with a bright smile and constructive interest in the tasks ahead. The common approach was rather "7.5 hours to go. Well, at least I've got soccer tonight". A mere wait for time to skim through in the quickest way possible.
That wasn't for me. At 23, I wasn't ready yet to start a career in a sector that bored me and everyone around me. I wanted to work in a positive environment, possibly with smiling people involved in their duties.

The bank didn't match this description, and deep inside in my heart I was already taking steps towards freedom. I just wasn't ready yet.

When 2011 came, a couple more trips followed. I first visited Ireland for a week, driving all around the country following the coastal route. Europe is an unrivaled place as far as history goes, and especially castles in that land were fabulous. But my heart was already beating fast for the day I'd have landed in American soil again.
That time came in late September, after yet another summer spent home watching people leaving Padova with a milk-colored skin and coming back looking like charbroiled steaks. The focus of my trip this time - a lonely one - was on the South-West. I was possibly even more excited than any previous trip, since this was effectively my first solo expedition wandering around the U.S.. I still go reach back in time and see myself astonished by the creations at Arches, or by the immense landscape at Canyonlands, by the unique formations at Bryce and Zion. I "discovered" Utah, a state some people (even some Americans, as I later found) regard as a boring stretch of land but is actually some sort of a red-rock paradise. I experienced Arizona and its jewel, the Grand Canyon. Eventually, I made it to the Sierras and besides a few peaceful walks among sequoia groves, I saw with my own eyes the truth lying behind John Muir's words about Yosemite. Walking those woods was invigorating. To put it with his own words, "One day's exposure to mountains is better than cartloads of books". Good man.

Upon return, people back home swarmed me with questions: what was my favourite place, where would I go back, what was the best thing I did. One day though, somebody asked me "Which moment would you pick from the whole trip?". My answer puzzled him a tiny bit. I can now identify that very moment as an important step on the ladder towards my departure.
It came when I was shooting sunset at Horseshoe Bend, AZ, probably the most impressive single-shot spot I can think about in the United States. There I met a German guy, now-good friend Andreas (Andy), with whom I started a conversation revolving around photography at first. I eventually came to know a bit more about his story. He left home a year before to travel. He visited a few countries around the world, worked in Canada and was on his way to explore a bit of the U.S.A.. To me, it was rad. I've never heard first-hand anything like that before. I bombarded him with questions.
The whole thing ended up with me paying him a Texan BBQ dinner in a local restaurant, and him - a backpacker - buying me ice-cream at McDonald's.
Thinking back at that episode, I can see why it became important to me.
Never before I had encountered a person like Andy, let alone have a chance to ask him questions ranging from economic feasibility to organizational issues. I started to have an idea of what it meant "to leave". You know, how leaving your family could affect you, how difficult it could be to stay away from your friends for so long, how much money you'd need, where and how you could earn some more...
Andy was officially the first, serious backpacker I've ever met. He was not the bravest or the one that has done the most, but the first. The one that gave me a start through his own experience. For sure I'd have had many more chances to meet people like him on my way, but still, to him I owe a lot. It was the right person at the right time!

The next year came with a little revolution. On New Year's Eve I had met with a Serbian girl while celebrating in Venice with a few friends of mine, and for this girl I travelled a couple times to Belgrade. It wasn't love - but at that time I couldn't really tell you, of course! - but it was strong enough to have me flying out of Venice to Rome and eventually Belgrade during one of Europe's most snowy winters ever. I remember landing in Belgrade, Serbia being officially my first eastern-European country, and feeling like Rocky Balboa in Rocky IV when getting out of the plane in the U.R.S.S.. Oh man. I was even listening to the soundtrack, to make things worse!
As you might guess though the story didn't last long, and didn't bring me much more than the knowledge of Belgrade, of the highway from Padova to those "exotic" lands and of some new friends.
May came and it was time for me to turn page. I had been able - at the new branch I had been meanwhile assigned - to negotiate that my annual U.S. trip would have taken place before the summer. On May 21, I left for Seattle. After the Great Plains and the South West, it was the North West's turn.
Once again the "home of the brave" didn't disappoint. From the rainforest in Olympic national park to the Columbia river gorge in Oregon, from the gorgeous Cascade range in Washington to the absolutely stunning park of Glacier, Montana. I have just discovered another incredible corner of the country. Where I also had my first close-up with a grizzly bear. Ok, technically I was in Canadian soil (I was driving back on road 3 West, not too far from the town of Grand Forks), but didn't really matter at the time. When I summited a tiny hill and the view opened up enough for me to spot a big creature browsing on the roadside, I screamed something I am too polite to report here, and I hit the break. Slowing down and seeing that creature - a light-colored grizzly bear - darting into the woods was disheartening, but I stopped my car and waited for a couple minutes, and my patience got rewarded. The beast came back out of the woods and remained peacefully along the road feeding on fresh grass, about 15 to 20 yards from my vehicle. I remember my arm trembling so hard it made it difficult to take decent pictures with my 120-400 zoom lens. Nonetheless, I ended up with some really good shots and an amazing experience I'd have told everyone.

The curious - and objectively most important - event of the trip was to be found again in a person. Actually, a couple.
Coming back from a hike under the rain in the La Push area of Olympic, I noticed in the parking lot a guy holding up what appeared to be his girlfriend. It looked like she had just passed out, or was very close to. I ran there and asked if they needed any help. They said they were going to be fine, that it was probably just a lack of sugar, but I offered them anyway a ride to town and to a motel - since they were backpacking and relying on public transport.
I loaded their heavy backpacks in the trunk and the two wet people as well. Turned out they were from Belgium and they were simply backpacking around the country. At the time it wasn't any new thing for me, but I still had great interest in knowing more, especially about organizational issues. We talked a lot and we ended up at the dinner table togheter, this time just for a cheap Mexican eat. And this time, they wanted to buy me dinner - which I had to accept gladly.
What I learnt from that couple was that willingness can do a whole lot. They were very much my same age, and from no rich family. They had just worked at home, saved enough to afford some basic needs in additionn to airfare, and left. Easy peasy. I still couldn't believe these people. I mean, my mind wasn't ready yet to understand how money, time, feelings and needs could cooperate that smoothly togheter to make something like that possible.
But I wasn't that far away to understand either. Every person was precious, every talk was yelding important clues to solve the problem. Every time I spoke to people like Andy, like the Belgian couple, I was more and more tempted by at least thinking about leaving. Everything.

Before even thinking about it though, I had my own questions to answer. A bunch of them.

Roots of a life's journey - Part 2

Fighting blizzards, eating poor-quality food and dealing with my horrible English - you know, Italian accent isn't THAT good - I was slowly getting used to live alone in an unfamiliar environment. By the time I had to leave South Dakota and the rez, I was happy to go home to meet my people again, sure, but I was also sad deep in my heart, for I knew I would have missed the place. I'd have missed the spaces, first of all. That unbeatable sense of freedom given by the endless plains. I'd have missed the people I met there and their behaviour, their culture. I was getting used to people waving hello when driving across you on the roads, or to people asking you "How are ya?" first thing in any conversation. I was getting used to wearing "common" clothes without feeling bad about it rather than feeling compelled to wear fancy clothes just for the sake of being judged positively - because that's one of the first ways we judge people where I'm from.

I was already a different person when I landed in Venice, 2 months later. It was April, just after Easter time. I was scheduled to degree on June 25th, and I did - the same day that Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull (among other brave Lakota warriors) defeated arrogant general Custer at the famous battle of Little Bighorn, 1876. I didn't see it as just a coincidence. There had to be a meaning.

During the weeks that followed, my mind was busy trying to organize the rest of the summer. I wasn't already going crazy with job hunting. The main goal I had in my mind was to enjoy my last summer of freedom at best. The chance came when I counted the money my family, relatives and friends gave me as graduation present (one thing that is pretty common in Italy, at least where I'm from). I stacked up a decent amount of money, and even though it wasn't enough to cover every expense of a 2 weeks trip, I decided my present would have been a nice trip. I called a friend of mine on the phone - one of those fellas always ready to say yes when it comes to travelling, especially at that easy time of no familiar ties whatsoever - and he agreed to at least discuss a few options.
After some days of emailing the coolest pictures we could find on the internet, and reasoning on the money we would have needed to make it happen, we came up with the destination: West Coast Canada.
I was crazy excited. The challenger had been Norway, with a focus on fjords. We ruled it out for its expensiveness and lack of world-famous sightseeings, while we couldn't pass on places like Lake Louise or Moraine Lake, in Banff National Park. Of particular appeal to me was the presence in the region of big game, like elk, moose and the mighty grizzly bear. Sometimes it felt like getting ready for a long safari! (I'd have found out that seeing grizzly bears or moose or other big but shy wildlife is not that easy or common at all).

By the time I came back from Canada, I had:
- Seen my first black bear (the closest I got to a grizzly was a note left at the Edith Cavell glacier trailhead saying "Grizzly on the move, 10.30 AM". I hiked the whole trail asking every hiker on the way back "Have you seen a beer?", mistaking the pronunciation of "bear" for "beer")
- Hiked in the first National Park in North America
- Driven for more than a few dozen miles in unknown territory, having a chance to admire crystalline lakes, lush forests, jagged mountains
- Started to develop a passion for photography, not as an interest in the technical side of it in itself, instead as a willing to show people how amazing those places were.
The thing that penetrated deeper into myself though was another one. A subtle one, but as important in the whole process as none of the others.
I started to perceive what I deem as "the call of the wild". Wild as not cemented, as not jammed with traffic, as not polluted by urban noise, as not crammed with human beings. I started to perceive the healing power of Nature, that acts through its endless beauty. I started to feel a need to explore, to see the marvels of the Creation - forests, lakes, canyons, mountains, rivers, valleys, plains, deserts. I started to wonder when looking at the animal kingdom, especially those elusive creatures like the bear, the moose, the mountain lion. I felt like I just had an appetizer - no, actually an amuse bouche. One little bite of an incredibly tasty food. I had just discovered this world, that was once just on TV or on photography books, and I felt right in love with it.

By the time I came back home, I knew I was going to return. I wanted to have more.

Luckily, since after all there's no travelling without money, I got a job in a bank very soon, and I started to save money. I went to London in March (it was 2010), then to Scotland for a week in May, and spent the summer at home, working. In the meantime I upgraded my camera gear - from one of those handy but basic "pocket cameras" to a more respectable Nikon D90.
The cool thing of working in a bank (at least back then!) was the generous amount of vacations. In fact, I still had some 20 days of paid vacations at my disposal, and I was busy thinking at the best way to use them. Money was an issue, since renting a car at the age of 23 would still have you paying underage charge, and I was looking for a travel buddy. At the same time I was in a tight "fight" with my boss to try to get a suitable time of the year to travel. In case I'd have decided to go to Greenland, for example, November wouldn't have been a great pick.
What I came up with was a decently ambitious effort for a 23-years old with almost NO travelling organization on his shoulders. I set my destination as North-Central U.S.A., aiming at visiting 6 states and a similar number on national parks. Yellowstone was among others, being THE national park of excellence: the one you see clips on TV about, from erupting geysers to wolves preying on elk calves. I was indescribably excited. It didn't take me too long to find a travel bud either - it eventually being a female friend of mine, Raffaella, that agreed to share emotions, experiences and costs with me for a couple of extraordinary weeks.

Looking at the pictures I took back in those days, well, I see I was a "first timer". Too often now I criticize people taking pictures of a buffalo standing alongside the road, or even worse, of some squirrels begging for food. I am repeting myself constantly "That ain't a grizzly sow with cubs, c'mon now!". I should really stop and remember those pictures. It makes me smile but that's what it is!
However, it introduced me to the immense, uncomparable beauty of the United States. A country where - I just saw it with my own eyes - places like Yellowstone and Arches coexist. A place where you can roam the prairie with some big buffalo fellows or hike the mountain trail with the mountain lion, or stumble in the coyote while coming out of a sandy slot canyon bottom.
Flying back home I felt like an explorer waiting to tell the world the splendors of the New Continent.

Roots of a life's journey - Part 1

I still remember when I first boarded a plane, alone, bound for the United States. It was an early morning flight to Rapid City, SD, with 2 layovers in Frankfurt and Denver, CO. My first trip alone, my first intercontinental flight, and also my first experience away from home, my family, my friends. Useless to say, it felt like a huge emotional moment for me.
Sunrise was turning out delightful in Venice, where my Lufthansa flight was about to take off, but wasn't warming me up from the chilly air all around. It was February.
A quick prayer Upstairs for a smooth, safe flight and fr the people I was leaving home, and the plane takes off. I knew it was over - at least for a couple of months. No more afternoon soccer, no more Saturday nights, no more food ready on the table, no more easy life. I knew I'd have had to live in a much tougher style than I've ever done previously. I wasn't in a celebrating mood, for sure.

Once landed in Denver, CO, I felt like having landed on Mars. The sun was slowly setting on the Mile High city, and the sky was turning from deep blue to the usual symphony of yellows, oranges, reds, until a thick layer of faded purple put officially an end to the show. I was sitting outside with my heavy jacket on, eating some Burger King andenjoying it all. The highways, the lights, the stark contrast with the prairie grass, still a dull brown. I actually loved it, to the point I took several pictures of it. You know, the kind of pictures you look at years later thinking "Really?! C'mon man!". It was my first american sunset. I was thrilled. Never been there before but felt from the beginning a strong tie to the place. Even though the state of my body was run-down - I was already feeling pretty tired - I felt like the whole thing started with the right foot. I think I even smiled when I got up from the bench and tossed trash in the bin, going slowly back inside the terminal.

What followed in the next 2 months was a life elevated to a whole new level. I was conversating in English with people - which is some kind of an achievement for an Italian - living in my own place at the young age of 21 (another achievement for the average Italian), cooking my own food, driving my car to work, enduring blizzards, dealing with stray dogs when going out for a run, taking care of my laundry and grocery shopping. The thing one has to bear in mind is culture. Italians are well-known to be house dogs, if you allow me to put it this way. We are fond of our mothers, and they are a thousand times more fond of us. Our families are wonderful, and since they are, they try to provide us with everything. Most of us still grow up with the comfort of having a mom getting your meals ready for you, cleaning home for you, doing laundry and ironing for you. Probably until you're 30. Well, maybe that's an exaggeration, but I do indeed know such persons. I'm not making it up!
Growing up with such families, for how good might be, presents you with some challenges once you leave the home turf. Unfamiliar grounds, culture, faces, duties, can seriously scare people. They might trigger them to not leave home turf at all. If they do, they'd have to deal daily with things they're not used to: eating non-Italian food (a curse!), doing laundry, cleaning, paying for rent, getting a real job (there's people at home that haven't stacked up 1 working hour until 26), missing mom, friends and such. As far as I'm concerned, that explains why you don't really meet a lot of Italian backpackers. You meet travellers from France, from the Netherlands, from Canada, the U.S.A., loads from Germany (probably close to 95% of the backpacking population), from Sweden or Australia.. but it's pretty darn rare to meet an Italian. You'll meet them on short trips to European capital - EVERY Italian has been to London I'd dare say - or at Grand Canyon, or just working in Melbourne (you know, Australians pay well, so why not?!), but not really backpacking. There's no such culture, period.
I felt all of these cultural schemes during the first few days. On top of that, I was living in Pine Ridge indian reservation. Shannon County, where Pine Ridge lies, ranks as the second poorest county in the whole country. I knew where I was going, my interest in studying Native American's culture and economy was strong, but the reality check I received had a certain impact on me anyway.
After I moved to "the rez", I had to live in a trailer house at the end of a 2-mile dirt road that spurred from the main highway (BIA 2). That was 15 minutes from Kyle, SD. Living in Pine Ridge is no easy thing for locals. Poverty is real and affects almost everyone, with a per-capita annual income of just more than 6000$, children to feed are numerous and on top of that, winters are deadly. Blizzards can bury houses in snow overnight and windchill might reach the abominable level of 70 degrees below zero. It's no joke. I had to deal with it a few times, for example when one morning I woke up and the entrance door wouldn't open because of some 2 feet of snow that accumulated against it. When I made my way out I jumped in the car just to realize it wouldn't move because snow and ice blocked the front wheels. I had to carry buckets of hot water from the house on some 10 trips to melt the hardest part and I also broke a broom to try to fight the rest. Eventually I found an iron part behind the house and broke through the rest of it. I made it to work 30 minutes late. (The good thing is that at least people there are used to this, so I didn't get scolded by anyone)

Living in Pine Ridge meant that "boring" would be the adjective people would use to describe the place you were living in. Also appliable were "flat" or "godforsaken".
I found it awesome. There were no traffic jams, my neighbor was 100 yards away and living in another trailer home, and except for him, I had nobody else for 2 or 3 miles. There were no skyscrapers or city noises. Nobody honking or shouting. The only thing I could hear outside at night was a whole lot of birds chirping. I could even walk under moonlight. Sometimes a coyote would offer a nice long howl. There was no asphalt besides the main highway, it was just rolling hills and a few, sparse pine trees. It was a delight to my eyes and senses. I remember coming home from Mass on Sundays, having a quick sandwich and setting out for a hike with no destination. I'd just pick a general direction, or a hilltop far to the West, and go there - getting my shoes deep into muck or having to sneak underneath livestock fences. I was entranced either wandering aimless along almost-dry creekbeds or standing eventually on a hilltop, gazing to the rolling hills where Crazy Horse stood brave and undefeated. It was my kind of place.

Food was also a big part of this first adventure of mine. Coming from Italy, you know..
We do have some very particular kind of taste for food. I now call it "having one's nose in the air". We take pride in our cookery, but we disdain other's too often. Sometimes even without trying.
I arrived feeling I was doomed to die of starvation. The thing of being some kind vegetables-hostile person wasn't going to help either.
Surprisingly though, after the first visit to a supermarket in Rapid City, I changed my mind. I came out with a big smile and the awareness that I wouldn't have died.
Food was extremely appealing. Lots of meat, frozen food, appetizers, fried food, mexican food... wow. I think my first meal was a BBQ beef HotPockets with a side of baby peeled carrots. I could have gone on with HotPockets for 2 months if I wanted to, but I opted for a more varied diet (that included an army supply of Doritos, frozen burritos, frozen pizza & fries, and a different kind of cheese every week, with my favourite being mild cheddar). I lost my Italian habits in a fingersnap. From eating pasta or rice 4-5 times a week I went to probably 3, and burgers, sandwiches and mexican food became a substantial part of my diet. Still, the world of fast-food chains or fine restaurants was still unknown to me - for the welfare of my wallet.

An "outsider" view of Italy

Just a few days ago I finally made it back home after 2 years spent in 12 countries and 4 continents.
After having wandered in New Zealand's Alps, Nepal's Lang Tang valley, Thailand's Similan Islands, and all throughout North America, I am back to my homeplace, a small town in the industrial, with still a country touch North-East. This town is named Cadoneghe (incorporated in the city of Padova)

Now, what's the point today you might wonder?
The point is that I'm already disgusted by my country, and my fellow citizens.

You don't have to go mad to search for signs. They're everywhere: on TV, on the roads, in every store. You might even just need to talk to an Italian.
I hope to not fall into too much generalization, but the message I'm trying to convey with this write is easy: I know why Italy is in such poor conditions.

Talking to some friends for example, I got to know how some decently big businesses nearby still operate like people used to some 50 years ago. Somewhere out there, it still works like "we're all friends, and if you help me, I'll help you". The unfortunate thing is that this help means to work under the table, so you help your employer by avoiding him some taxes, and he'll help you by putting some extra dough in your pockets. How cool. There's no track of any kind of contract, at least for "a while", they tell me. You don't end a positive job interview with a signature on a binding piece of paper. Instead, you end up with the word of an uncertain powerful employee that tells you when to start to work. No mention of workplace accidents, for instance. If that should happen.. well, I have no clue who you are buddy.

Let's pretend I've never heard that, me citizen of the world used to sign contracts and pay taxes wherever I go. I keep going about my business, which happen to bring me in a restaurant. I won't describe everything, you just need to know that me ad my buddies ordered a selection of 3 fried items, which the waitresses of course mistook as one portion with a bit of everything. We wanted to feast on a bunch of fried food and when a plate with 3 items (I mean, 3 damned little piece of fried crap!) each appeared, I just wondered how much they would have charged us. Turned out it was 9 euro, or 1 euro apiece. I was just mad. I do understand that taxes, food costs and workforce wages do vary in each country, but.. fried food is fried fod everywhere, and coming from a country - my beloved U.S.A. - where you can buy a gigantic meal with that amount of money, I just couldn't let ig go easily! Like when I had to ask to a small b&b in the neighborhood the rate for one night in a double room. The answer? 70 euro. Yes, and we are not in Rome nor in Milan. We're in Cadoneghe, with ugly-looking corporations all around and some fields to top it up. In low season. And remember, it's no Hilton either. I was stunned. Give me back my Motel 6 please, I don't care if that's a chain. I always find a warm, tidy room and plenty of towels!

But hey.. we're in the nicest country of the world, com'on now! There has to be a reason fr this, right? Let's have a drive.

I got frustrated too quick. It seems like they places speed cameras everywhere. I can see the reason though: just so many Italians don't like to stick to the limit. After months and months of covering ground in so many places, I think I'm more sensible to this issue. I drove for an hour without breaking any speed limit - for the first time in my life in this country, I reckon. And peace too those road-raged souls that would angrily speed past me or flash their lights. Hope one of those camers will get you a nice Christmas present bro.

I finally enter a shop, since I need a SIM card now. It's the end of my journey today, but provides me with the best outcome ever. It shows altogheter the backward mentality of the average Italian (not all of us, but most), that tells you to get a job as soon as possible, keep til you die since it's impossible to get a better job and you need money to start a family, and live around here. Pretty much.
So I tell this middle-aged woman that I've been away travelling and working for a couple years, and during the talk, she asks me what I was doing here before I left. I told her I was working for a bank, before I quit that job and left home with no job ad no guarantees. From her position with her back towards me, she turns, her eyes widening greatly as for astonishment mixed with shock, and says "You're CRAZY!".

I put up my best smile, and calmly reply: "It's the best decision I've ever made!"

Going North: 2 weeks of trampings in the American SouthWest (photos) - pt.2

New pictures from my brief expedition in the States!
This time: Capitol Reef to Montana! Enjoy!

On my way to beautiful Lower Calf Creek Fall, Utah. The hike is as gorgeous as the fall itself. (c) Emanuele Canton 

Loneliness & cold, your very good friends for a sunrise in the desert. I think I can get along with that, if that's the reward! Sunrise at Panorama Point, Capitol Reef National Park, UT. (c) Emanuele Canton

The desert doesn't forgive. Sometimes, survival is a matter of few little things, like a small water tank. For the photographer, it just makes up for a nice picture though. Capitol Reef National Park, UT. (c) Emanuele Canton

In Utah, every road has some interesting features. This is road 50 North. (c) Emanuele Canton

Salt Lake City, Utah - The City of Saints?! Perhaps. (c) Emanuele Canton

The Tetons are still teeming with wildlife, even in winter months. Even if the ground is still very much covered in snow. This moose doesn't bother too much roaming close to the highway. There's not even 1/100th of the cars it will see in summer. (c) Emanuele Canton

On a sunny day, with lush, green vegetation, wildflowers, and a little breeze, there are few other places in the world you'd rather be than the Tetons. It shows from every place in the park, even in winter. (c) Emanuele Canton

The right end for every American trip is a drive at sunset on a country road, fields all around you turning deep orange, and the mighty sun sinking below the horizon. A good country song playing on your radio. That's the essence of road-tripping America. Wish myself I'll be back, one day soon. (c) Emanuele Canton

Going North: 2 weeks of trampings in the American SouthWest (photos) - pt.1

Il mio nutrito pubblico si sara' domandato per settimane:
"E quei giorni di marcia attraverso il SudOvest? Che fine hanno fatto? Caduti nell'oblio?"
Ebbene, no. Purtroppo la tecnologia credo ancor non mi consente di trasferire i miei pensieri direttamente su una macchina, corredarli di qualche foto e postarli sul blog. Ragion per cui ho dovuto attendere qualche settimana prima di terminare il mio lavoro sulle fotografie, e sedermi al tavolo per scrivere queste due righe.
Non spendero' molte parole pero', lascero' parlare le foto.
Esse parlano di una marcia di 2500 miglia da Sacramento, California fino al confine col Canada, attraverso Nevada, Utah, Idaho, Wyoming e Montana. Un breve viaggio alla riscoperta di deserti, hoodoos, praterie, montagne. Un viaggio diverso, perche' affrontato in una stagione diversa, piu' fredda, meno ospitale. E cosi' l'orso e' ancora in letargo, il bisonte fatica ancora a trovare pascoli adatti, il coyote deve scavare sotto la neve per catturare un topolino.
Le oche pero' iniziano a migrare a Nord, buon segno.
Io le seguo, ed ecco dove mi ha portato la mia marcia!

And yet another adventure is kickin' off. Overlooking the Sierras, driving South from CA 395. (c) Emanuele Canton

Places have some swagger around here. Mono County, CA. (c) Emanuele Canton

Perks of a car-packer's life: time to enjoy the desert at every turn of the road. The "Extraterrestrial Hwy", NV 395. (c) Emanuele Canton

Nothing compares to wake up at 5 and watch a sunrise in the desert high country. Nothing. The freezing cold is a price worth paying for the spectacles witnessed. Bryce Canyon National Park, UT. (c) Emanuele Canton

Once the sun warms you up, you can really kick your day off. And this is quite a cool place to do it. Bryce Canyon National Park, UT. (c) Emanuele Canton

They say it's one of the world's most wonderful highways. I've been driving around for a while, and I can tell you... they're right! This is just a stretch of Utah Hwy 12, All-American Hwy. A drive here is just as sweet as sweet tea on a southern summer day! (c) Emanuele Canton

Don't miss what's next:
Capitol Reef National Park, Salt Lake City, Wyoming & Montana!
Stay awesome!

Back into the wild

Quando mi sveglio alle 6.30, ad un Flying J giusto all'uscita dell'Interstate-15 in Idaho, fa un freddo polare e io sono rannicchiato su me stesso per cercare di intrappolare quel calore che cerca maledettamente di fuggirmi - e ci riesce.
Teoricamente ho dormito una decina di ore, ma sento come se le ore fossero state 3.
Mi metto comunque in marcia, dopo aver ceduto a comprare del caffe' alla stazione di servizio per ben 2$, piuttosto di battere i denti al freddo e al vento per farmelo da me. La giornata appare molto nuvolosa, gelida, e con pochi sprazzi di sole. L'unico a darmi speranza illumina una catena di monti verso ovest, e mi fornisce lo spunto per la prima, bella foto del giorno. Se ne apprestavano invece molte altre.
Il giorno prima era stato una grande cavalcata: dal parco di Capitol Reef, centro-sud dello Utah, ad oltre il confine con l'Idaho. In mezzo, tante minuscole cittadine di campagna a sud, ognuna delle quali con un vecchio diner, un sacco di attrezzi per strada a marcire, qualche mulino a vento, e la solita pompa di benzina. Cittadine semi-fantasma ma con un fascino da vecchio west assolutamente irrinunciabile, mi son fermato a far qualche foto in ognuna di esse. Poi, l'Interstate-15. Di solito le interstate sono noiosissime, infinite autostrade da "pilota automatico". Non in Utah. Ogni curva (incredibile, curve!) riservava una nuova catena montuosa, innevata. Alla vista di Salt Lake City quasi sbandi. La citta', il lago ad ovest, e montagne a 360 gradi. Credo che in una giornata di sole, d'inverno, sia uno spettacolo con pochi eguali in America, e al mondo. Anche il centro citta' - LDS a parte! - e' molto carino, vivibile, curato. C'e' da dar credito per una cosa comunque, ai mormoni: hanno costruito un centro citta' che sembra una fiaba. Irreale. Sembra che tutti siano felici e contenti, che mantengano il posto sempre bello e pulito, e che siano tutti sempre pronti col sorriso ad aiutarti. Credo siano brava gente, i mormoni, e a dir la verita' mi piacerebbe un sacco incontrarne qualcuno nei campi, a vivere la vita di un tempo, quella dei loro padri i pionieri.
Oggi pero' e' un giorno da assalto alle montagne, da scalata. I pantaloncini corti che indosso mi fanno ridere. Sono ridicolmente non attrezzato per la montagna, complice il mio pensare ai grilli mentre rifacevo la valigia quand'ero a casa, in ottobre. Non misi niente di pesante via di una felpa. Lame guy.
In macchina regna l'aria condizionata, settore caldo. Nonappena esco per fare una foto, una brezza tagliente mi gela il naso, mi fa lacrimare gli occhi e fa perdere conoscenza alle dita delle mani. Fuori ci sono circa -3 gradi. Nonostante tutto, il paesaggio mutevole e' cosi' attraente. Passa dallo sprazzo di sole temporaneo che taglia lo strato denso di nubi, alle nuvole grigie e minacciose che gettano oscure ombre sulla mia giornata. Imperterrito, proseguo verso il valico. Guido sulla "Pioneer Scenic Route", che mi porta sulle orme dei pionieri che 150 anni fa varcarono queste fertili ma ostili, indomite terre su calessi trainati da buoi. Un pensiero abbastanza penoso al giorno d'oggi. Quella gente aveva gran fegato, e grinta da vendere. Noi al confronto siamo seriamente dei pivellini - ed e' la pura verita'.
Attraverso una pianura allagata - che fosse un semplice lago?! - che ospita diversi specie migratorie di uccelli, come anche residenti stabili. Vedo qualche falco pescatore, qualche gru, e un'aquila americana appollaiata su una staccionata. Il cielo resta grigio. Poco piu' avanti sulla strada, dopo una curva, avvisto una carcassa di un cervo. Scruto i paraggi prima di uscire, di solito cose del genere sono calamite per i predatori - vedi orsi e lupi - ma oggi sono fortunato. La mia pellaccia e' al sicuro. Mentre continuo a guidare, salgo di quota ed entro in Wyoming. Nevica nella Star Valley. Io sono ancora in pantaloncini corti e l'aria calda non oso spegnerla. Il vento sprezza. Sa tanto da quell'inverno che non vedevo da due anni. Non mi dispiace affatto, tutto sommato. Continuo a vedere nidi di falchi, e poco oltre, parte del famoso National Elk Refuge, che da rifugio a qualcosa come 10-15mila wapiti (specie di cervi). Sono un sacco di bestie! La neve continua a fioccare, ma attacca poco. La strada e' piacevole e sembra promettere qualche orsesco avvistamento. Tuttavia, non sono fortunato. Arrivo a Jackson affamato, un po' infreddolito, e faccio brunch da McDonald. Solo per non dovermi straziare a cucinare con il tempaccio la di fuori.
Preparo la giornata. La nottata. Incontro un ragazzo dallo Utah con cui programmo la giornata successiva, qualche camminata, qualche foto in giro. Solite cose da backpacking around.
Poi.. la giornata passa tranquilla. Esco a far compere: realizzo di essere terribilmente inadatto al clima che ho di fronte. Non so perche' ma nella breve sosta a casa ho dimenticato qualsiasi indumento pesante all'infuori di una, singola felpa. Dopo averne comprate altre due da H&M a Salt Lake City, mi munisco di un caldo pantalone lungo di quelli "da casa", infelpati, e mi sento gia' piu' al sicuro. Garanzia per gambe a caldo la notte.
A proposito, il meteo da temperature attorno ai -10 stanotte. Anche se vestiti, sotto sacco a pelo e doppia coperta, sara' qualcosa di interessante, per metterla cosi'.

PS. Il giorno dopo, oggi, mi sveglio. Fa freddo, come previsto. Mi sposto un attimo verso il parco, e poco prima di fermarmi a farmi del caffe' caldo, scopro che la temperatura e', per i miei canoni, polare: -17 celsius. E sono le 7 del mattino. Evidentemente la notte devo aver combattuto con qualcosa col 2 davanti, non l'uno. Fuck. Still so freakin cold out here!!
Ma i posti sono invidiabili, il cielo stamane e blu come il piu' bello degli oceani, non c'e' una nuvola, non c'e' un turista e la neve bianca copre praticamente tutto. Nulla mi ha mai ricordato l'Alaska cosi' tanto. Nulla per ora, ai miei occhi, puo' raggiungere una bellezza del genere per quanto riguarda il regno naturale!

Un giorno al mio fianco

Ho parlato con diversa gente di come vivo qui negli States, all'avventura guidando e dormendo in una macchina, passando le giornate a camminare, fotografare, parlare con la gente, sfruttare i wifi di visitor centers e lavando i piatti nei loro parcheggi. Ma non ho mai parlato effettivamente della mia "giornata tipo". Non ho mai mostrato come me la passo. Oggi, ho avuto l'ispirazione a farlo. Credo sia facile apprezzare cio' che vedo e dove vado, e dire "vorrei farlo anch'io", ma onestamente non credo tutti sarebbero pronti a farlo. O almeno, a qualcuno prenderebbe molto piu' tempo prima di prendere una decisione del genere e viverla a modo mio. 

Beh, stop alle chiacchiere e via. Si parte. E' lunedi', e voi vi svegliate al mio fianco. E fate esattamente quel che faccio io, zero obiezioni.

La sveglia suona presto, alle 5 e mezza del mattino. Fa un freddo del demonio - in questo periodo dell'anno e a queste altitudini non piu' di 3 gradi celsius - e la temperatura percepita, non so per qual motivo, sembra sempre qualche decina di gradi inferiori. Non vuoi nemmeno mettere un dito fuori dal sacco a pelo e dalla pesantissima coperta doppio strato sotto la quale sei sepolto. Non sai nemmeno spiegarti come tu possa aver freddo sotto quello strato di cose! Non vuoi nemmeno muovere un muscolo perche' sai che nonappena lascerai la zona calda che il tuo corpo ha creato, ti sembrera' di aver toccato una lastra di ghiaccio. Ma raggiungi il telefono, spegni la sveglia, e dopo diverse maledizioni, esci dal sacco a pelo. Come prepararsi per un tuffo in acqua fredda. Ti infili la prima cosa che trovi - di solito un paio di pantaloncini corti che in realta' non aiutano affatto - e dopo altre maledizioni, raggiungi la giacca e la infili. Apri le porte e te ne esci di soppiatto, attento che nessuno sia nei paraggi per non destare sospetti. Il mio stile di vita non e' propriamente "legalizzato", quindi.. sai com'e'! 

Casa mia - prima di insozzarla con cibo, biancheria, zaini, frigo, etc, etc...

Il primo pensiero e' vedere l'alba. Corri verso la destinazione prescelta, con l'aria calda a manetta (ovviamente ci mette un po' a funzionare e nel frattempo perdi il 25% delle tue dita). Arrivi e prepari lo zaino con macchinetta fotografica e treppiede. Stamattina decidi che per il freddo ti servira' un caffe' caldo. Lusso. In 5 minuti estrai il fornello, scaldi l'acqua e prepari il caffe' con zucchero e creamer. Pronti via. Arrivi ovviamente un pelo in ritardo, ma i colori sono comunque mozzafiato. Il cielo e' blu e le nuvolette del mattino si tingono di rossi, arancioni e gialli alla luce del sole nascente. Mentre fotografi e ammiri il panorama, senti il freddo, eccome se lo senti, ma lo sopporti. La ricompensa e' grande. 

Un'alba. Non tipo, perche' qui e' semplicemente fantastica. Ma questo e' quel che si rischia di vedere, al mio fianco!

Ritornato alla macchina, senti i crampi allo stomaco. Hai una fame che mangeresti lo spray al pepe che hai in zaino. Apri il bagagliaio, e prepari la colazione. Cosa? Mah, dipende. A giorni va bene, a giorni va male. Se va bene, finisce a cucinare qualcosa come oatmeals con banana e cioccolato al latte e al burro d'arachidi. Se va male.. beh, si diventa creativi. Un "panino ai biscotti" (due fette di pane freddo e qualche biscotto ficcato dentro alla buona) oppure i residui, freddi e duri come il marmo, di una pizza presa la sera prima.

Colazione con caffe' freddo e residui di pizza, ancor piu' freddi. Quel che si chiama "gourmet". Ma riempie lo stomaco, e il panorama e' spettacolare. Quindi, fanculo.

Dopo colazione, eh, si devono lavare i piatti. Non c'e' fonte d'acqua discreta nei paraggi, e l'unica soluzione e' il bagno del general store. Vada. Con aria da insospettabile entri, con in mano una borsetta di plastica con dentro la pentola e il cucchiaio sporchi, il detersivo per piatti, una spugna e uno straccio. Lavi i piatti come un barbone su un lavandino dove la gente si lava le mani o al massimo, i denti. Mentre scrosti gli oatmeals con la spugna un signore arriva al tuo fianco e si lava le mani. Il tuo sguardo e' basso come non mai. Quantomeno, hai pulito i piatti. Ora puoi andare, libero, alla guida della tua macchina, verso lidi lontani.

Cime di montagne, laghi azzurri, coste, deserti, canyon.. il cielo e' il tuo limite. E magari anche le tue gambe. Si perche' alcuni dei posti sono si bellissimi, pacifici, ma anche non proprio facilissimi da raggiungere. Non e' fuori dalla norma camminare per 20 km, diverse volte anche sopra i 30. Per la maggior parte delle volte non hai cibo di sorta fuorche' una banana o una barretta. Diverse volte cammini nel territorio di orsi neri o grizzly, e non vuoi adescare la loro curiosita' piu' del dovuto. Nel piccolo zaino che porti non hai molto spazio, grazie alla dannata, pesante macchina fotografica che porti, e via della banana, lo spray al pepe e una, massimo due bottigliette d'acqua, hai spazio solo per un kway. Ma a volte camminare parecchio, faticare, sudare, distruggersi, porta grandi frutti. Torni alla macchina che mangeresti anche il cibo per le capre che i bambini comprano allo zoo, e mediti seriamente di accoltellarti una gamba per non farti piu' venire in mente l'idea di camminare, ma hai visto posti da paura. Tutto sommato, sei un rudere, ma sei felice. Hai un'esperienza in piu' alle spalle, una da raccontare in piu'.

Cose che si vedono usando le gambe. 

Nella tua giornata pero', ci sono un po' di lavoretti da fare. Tipo i compiti, o i lavori di casa. Cosette, ma prendono tempo e occupano la mente. Ad esempio, c'e' una doccia da fare. Non ti lavi da 3-4 giorni e vorresti avere un odore diverso da quello del terreno che pesti. Il fatto e' che vuoi risparmiare, e anche se hai la fortuna di avere una doccia disponibile al campeggio, per 2 dollari, ti piacerebbe risparmiare anche quelli. Decidi, prima di sera, se investire due dollari o se trovare un posto dove riempire la tua doccia portatile, e dove guidare la tua macchina, e farti una sana doccia all'aperto. Un fiume o un lago - anche se in modalita' inquinator - sono sempre una valida opzione per detergersi un po'! Il freddo pero' influisce sulle tue scelte, e se fuori ci sono 10 gradi e spira una brezza maligna, il piu' delle volte non sei dell'umore di una doccia all'aperto. Ad ogni modo.. prosegui. La macchina e' un macello. Devi riordinare il cibo. Il frigo e' ancora peggio. Il ghiaccio si e' sciolto e devi comprarne un nuovo sacco. Devi svuotare l'acqua e controllare che i sacchetti dove conservi il cibo non abbiano subito infiltrazioni d'acqua. Vuoti l'acqua dal sacchetto delle carote, da quello dei wursterl, da quello del cioccolato. Si, anche la cioccolata e' finita sott'acqua. Giu' imprecazioni. Ah, dimenticavo. La porta destra non si apre, da nessuna parte, quindi devi estrarre il "leggero" frigo dalla parte guida. Easy. Come rubare le caramelle a un peso massimo. Vai avanti. Hai vestiti ovunque. Sembri un outlet per i senzatetto. Riordini tutto, pieghi i vestiti puliti e li metti in zaino, getti quelli sporchi nella borsetta della laundry. Inutile dire che quella puzza come la seconda guerra mondiale e richiede copiose dosi di deodorante. Prosegui, imperterrito. Le tendine che ti oscurano dal mondo di notte sono cedute in un punto, e devi ripararle. Applichi sia nastro isolante che pinzette, per una tenuta extra. Dovrebbe bastare per un altra settimana.

Infine, ricordi che e' da 3 giorni che non posti foto idiote su Facebook o su Instagram, e soprattutto, che il tuo cellulare e' morto, hai 5% di batteria sul pc e la spia della fotocamera lampeggia di rosso. Insomma, devi caricare mille cose. Ah, anche l'ipod! Cerchi in giro, anzitutto al visitor center, per un posto dove sedersi e con un paio di prese elettriche. Possibilmente con wfi. Il visitor center ha il wifi, qualche presa, ma nessun posto dove sedersi. Vai allora alla lodge piu' in del paese, dove sai esserci wifi e un comodo posto a sedere. Se sei fortunato, il wifi funziona e riesci a trovare due prese giusto dietro alla comoda poltrona su cui posi le chiappe. Se sei sfortunato, finisci seduto per terra al visitor center per 2-3 ore. Solitamente pero', la fortuna e' dalla parte di chi deve ricaricare batterie. Mal che vada ci sono i parcheggi super tecnologici di catene di hotel tipo Holiday Inn, dove ci sono dispositivi per auto elettriche e tantissime prese, giusto in parcheggio. Worth a stop!

La sera, e' tempo di cena. Dilemmi in cucina: corned beef hash e carote annaquate o canned ravioli? Pasta all'olio, magari? No, hai dimenticato di comprare l'olio. Dannazione. Finisci a cucinare il contenuto di un paio di barattoli dalla sospetta economicita', e ti accontenti. Verranno giorni migliori, ma anche peggiori. Tipo quando farai il sugo di una pasta all'aglio, fatta per un microonde, con il creamer alla vaniglia. Mediti il suicidio in 24 modalita' diverse. 

E ancora.. piatti. Dove? Sprecando la tua preziosa acqua, dietro alla macchina? In parcheggio? Di nuovo con sguardo basso nel bagno del visitor center? Al primo fiume utile? Bah, your choice. Basta pulire i piatti.

Corri a vedere il tramonto, per riprendere qualche energia persa nel giorno. Sono i momenti migliori, a contemplare la natura, i suoi spettacoli molteplici e sempre imperdibili, a parlare con qualcuno che ti chiede informazioni, che ti chiede della tua storia, che e' curioso di sentire come te la cavi giorno dopo giorno. 

E prima di andare a letto, dopo aver parcheggiato la macchina in un luogo sospetto, nel parcheggio di un motel, all'overlook in un parco nazionale, in un'area di sosta lungo la highway, dopo aver chiuso le tende al bagagliaio con un abile e sincronizzata mossa (che nel caso di fallimento di vede DI NUOVO uscire dalla macchina e ripetere tutto da capo!), ecco, prima di addormentarti e prepararti al grande freddo.. pensi alla tua giornata.

Hai sofferto il freddo come un cane, hai perso diverse ore a far cazzate, ti saresti evitato figure barbine varie ed eventuali, hai le gambe distrutte.. ma stai alla grande. Sei felice come un bambino. E soprattutto, non vorresti essere NESSUN ALTRO AL MONDO.

Ecco come mi sento IO, alla fine delle mie giornate!

Me at Sunset Point, Bryce Canyon. As a country song goes, "Who wouldn't wanna be me?!"

Done, did it! Now, next one!

Waiting for a midnight flight that will bring me from Hanoi to Tokyo - where a 9 hour layover will probably allow me a quick visit to the city! - then to L.A. and finally, Sacramento CA, I am going back to the memories that made this SouthEast Asia trip so unique.
I have no regrets, I haven't done extraordinary things, although I had extraodinary feelings.

From the clean, fancy, westernized center of Singapore, with its skyscrapers, expensive hotels and business districts, to the dirtiest, chaotic side streets in Hanoi, Vietnam, where you (seriously) can cross a road without watching, among a flowing stream of motorbikes, without somehow getting killed.
From scuba diving in Thailand, in some of the world's most beautiful dive sites, swimming around turtles, sharks and colorful fish, to walking Bangkok's streets, tasting suspicious food and sweating like shit even standing in line for the morning coffee.
From coming to Asia alone, without a person to motivate and inspire me, to getting out of here happy for what I had, sure of what I want and who I am chasing.

I haven't had a whole lot of time to spend over here, and I had to try to take the most out of it. Someone asks me why I haven't visited Chang Mai in Thailand, or the rest of Cambodia, or did Vietnam's coast. Well, time is limited, and we have to somehow manage it. My plans were more or less already written, and Canada is awaiting. I couldn't be too late. And you kinda take the most famous, renowned, attractive names on the map. That's why I happened to be in Bangkok, in Siem Reap, in Ha Long bay. Ok, then you can make up your mind about the places - you're cool with 3 days in Bangkok, Siem Reap is crowded like the Hell and Ha Long bay is foggy and, most of all, dirty everyday. You then know what to tell people, but you can't do that before you experience it first. That's how it works, and not just with travels.

Still, even though my grades for each place I visited might not be 10s, I enjoyed most of them for some reasons, and I have my share of wicked adventures, funny people on my shoulders.

I remember myself under 20 meters of ocean water trying to explain - of course by gestures! - my instructor (a crazy Italian fella aged 42) that I was literally imploding because I absolutely had to pee. Since there's no internationally accepted gesture to say "I need to pee" among scuba divers (at least, not that I know) , that was kind of an experience. Standing still, feet on the freakin bottom of the ocean, trying to pee inside my own swimsuit, was another experience. Luckily I didn't accomplish my goal that time.

I remember "scamming the scammers" in Bangkok. Oh heck that was fun! The day before they told me it was "Buddha day", so every tuktuk was riding you around for 40 bath. The trick is, they bring you to a tailor shop as soon as they have a chance, trying to have you buying something. Usually you can get out for good, buying nothing. Sometimes you buy. Sometimes you just piss drivers off with your "I don't give a shit" kinda face. Well, I tried scamming the scammers. Go out on the street, my goal is to get to the shopping center (MBK) and I pick up the first driver. "Hey, the hotel folks told me today's Buddha day, isn't it?", I start pretty confident. "Yes", he goes. Dammit, I was so right. I knew that was going to work. "Ok, so I want to visit all the temples, but first, we have to go to the MBK. I have to pick up a friend inside real quick, will be out in 5 minutes, then we can leave. Ok?" He adds something like "Ok but then you come with me to tailor shop, see shop, buy.." "Sure enough, I definitely need a new suit!" I say. Got the deal! Next thing you know is that we get to the MBK, we jump off, and disappear inside for some 34 hours. The tuktuk driver was never to be seen again and our wallets saved a couple hundred baths probably!

The thing I remember the most, well, you know it. I have so many sweet memories going around her that.. yeah, just can't, and won't tell them all. I miss the time we had. It's when you meet someone like this that you subscribe on that famous, "Into the Wild" sentence that goes "Happiness is real only when shared". Man. I miss her and I can't wait to see her smiling face again.

Bue hey, I'm North America bound so, let's stop for a second. For at least the next couple months - then, who knows - I'll be in the places I love. I miss the mountains, the snow, the fresh, chilly air that surrounds you in the morning, having you sitting on a chair out in the balcony - or better with me, on the tailgate of my truck - sipping on some hot coffee you just brewed. Miss the forests, the wildlife, the nature. Miss the peace that here appears so far, in that sense. I miss those places where I've already been, and those I still have to see. I can't wait to give a big hug to all my friends that live around there. My "family" down in Sacramento. My buddy Parker in Bozeman, MT. My friend Kristen in Kananaskis. It's gonna be fun, I know it!

It's time to go now, at least for dinner. I'll try to stay light tonight, noodles and seafood. I am already vomiting when thinking about the crappy food I'll be served on the plane on my way to California. Just can't stand that crap anymore!
I leave this part of the world with many more lines on my travel resume, many more friends, and a thumping heart.
I think I had it very good, over here!