Hello, I’m writing this article in Munich Airport. I’m waiting for my plane to Helsinki, where I have found a software developer job. I’m looking forward to this third living experience in Finland, and I’m already dreaming of snow, owls and nordic lights. However, that’s not my main topic today, because I still have tales of heat and sun to share (by the way, the weather forecast in Helsinki, for the coming week, says cloudy, 3ºC… brrrr!).
Before we start, though, I suggest you put this song, taken from the Pirates of the Caribbean OST, on:
One afternoon, I went with my mom to Lumbin, in the Grésivaudan valley. Some shopping was on the table (gloves and waterproof clothes, you know), but we also decided to go to Saint-Hilaire du Touvet via the funicular. This cable car system was opened in 1924, mainly to serve the sanitariums built on the Plateau des Petites Roches to house tuberculosis patients. I don’t remember when I was there for the last time, but it was ages ago, it seemed.
After the visit to the museum, I felt the urge to walk in the wilderness. I had in store an early wake-up call, so early I was the first one active in the house and still the only one awake when I left. My destination was the Petite Camargue Alsacienne, a wetland area I introduced you last winter. Located on the side of the Rhine, it is fed by the river’s water but also by some subterranean resurgences. I was there at sunrise, but there was no sun in the sky, only large and threatening clouds that soon brought light rain. I was adequately equipped, and it didn’t spoil my fun.
Great egret (Ardea alba)
I spent the last week-end in Alsace, visiting family with my parents. All my close relatives live there, so we usually spend time with them, seldom going out to visit this beautiful region. This time was different though, as we went to the Unterlinden Museum, in Colmar. It was the first time my cousin and I visited this place, but although my parents, uncle and aunt had been there when they were kids, the recent renovation made it feel all new for them as well.
The highlight of the visit is the Retable d’Issenheim, a majestic painting from the 16th century, which contains several layers that unfold like a book. It’s a piece of religious art, made for sick people to pray. It was originally located in the Monastery of St Anthony (Couvent des Antonins), but was moved during the Revolution. Read more about it here.
Retable d’Issenheim, pic by grego1402 via Flickr
I’ve changed my mind. To hell the birds, I want to be a truck photographer.
It’s migration time again, and “migration in Grenoble” rhymes with “Col du Fau”, the pass at the end of the valley, to the south, where all migrating birds have to go in the autumn. On a sunny Sunday morning, I arrived there at 8, shortly after sunrise. The light, low and warm, was beautiful, and a constant flow of swallows, mainly Barn swallows (Hirundo rustica), was crossing the pass. Four or five European stonechats (Saxicola rubicola) and a Whinchat (Saxicola rubetra) took a break along the fence, looking for insects then plunging to the ground to catch them. From time to time, a Yellowhammer (Emberiza citrinella) and a Common redstart (Phoenicurus phoenicurus) joined them.
Kiasma is Helsinki’s Modern Art Museum. Set near the station, in the city center, it occupies a modern building as fits its status. I know reactions to modern art can be really diverse, from worship to rejection. A friend of mine doesn’t like it, because she doesn’t understand it. I think I like it because I don’t understand it.
A year ago, I arrived in Copenhagen as a student, and settled in Tingbjerg, somewhere half-way between the center of the city and the university, located in Lyngby. My passion for birds had reignited a couple of months before, when I had bought my telelens, and I knew I would want to see birds there. I didn’t really have any expectation, but I found that the local bird protection society, DOF (Dansk Ornitologisk Forening), had a website with many birding spots located and explained.
I discovered that one of those, Utterslev Mose, was located next to my new dorm. What a great way to start!
Mute swan (Cygnus olor)
I had spent the whole day inside, working on my computer. I went out before sunset, took my bike and rode along the shore to a place north of Hietaniemi. I tried some shoots, see how long of an exposure I could use, but it was cloudy, and I expected the evening to be very boring. I walked a bit to the south, to the marina I had noticed the day before. Suddenly, the clouds were lit from beneath, they seemed incandescent. I stopped, tried to make some pictures but the moment didn’t last.
Finnish word of the day: orava = squirrel
In Pallas, after finishing our hike and hitting the Visitor Center’s shop, we walked a kilometer to reach our last shelter. The weather was great, there was no wind and we chilled there, proud of our accomplishment. Along this easy kilometer, we discovered small sculptures representing squirrels in accoutrements from different cultures. The explanations from the artists were quite vague: he said that there was not much meaning to that work of art, that sometimes things pop up in your mind, y’know… In any case, it was fun to see😉
Do you like these squirrels?
In a previous article, I showcased the literal highlights of our trip to Lapland: the fells of Pallas-Yllästunturi National Park (don’t call them mountains). However, there’s something I’ve held back intentionally: the valleys, the lowlands, the places where trees grow! This is what the present post is about.