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I have a friend who lives in some small town in the north of italy. He moved there because of his job. It took a while for him to get accumstomed and to like the way of life there, but now he is all obsessed with the beauty of the country and other things. One thing he seems particularly into is mountaineering.

Somehow we wound up talking about this during our last conversation: We want to do a high mountain hike. The mountain that sprang to my mind is of course Mont Blanc, but somehow it feels a bit like a beaten track, also it’s probably more expensive and more dangerous than the ALTERNATIVE: Monte Rosa. Monte Rosa is also closer to my friends place, from which we might start out.

Anyway. The first time I actually saw that mountain was when skiing in Saas Fee, which is a very well-known swiss ski-resort. The Monte Rosa Massive is located somewhere further south of there, bordering Italian territory. Monte Rosa is actually not one mountain with one summit, but a collection of summits, like, a dozen or so, all over 4000m high. The tallest peak is the some 4600 m tall Pointe Dufour, which from north looks like a small horn, pointing out of a huge white bull’s back, making Monte Rosa the number 2 in Europe after Mont Blanc.

So, the plan is, after some proper training to take the route up from the italian side. Possibly we have to book a guide, because both of us are not experts in glacier hikes. We will then head for the Capanna Margherita located at 4500something metres, drink a coffee and head down again. Sounds too easy? Objections? Feel free to leave a comment.

PS: I will be looking at crampons and ice picks today.

more info about how to get on the top of it on www.monterosa.com

An old man in the supermarket. Some brawling is going on at the till and the young woman working the checkout is completely at a loss of nerves because something does not work. When the old man reaches the till, he grabs her hand and holds it and says: “It’s going to be fine.”

This was a moment full of so much caress that I could barely believe seeing it happening.

Recently I became aware of a tricky research field called cybernetics. For an outsider like myself it might probably be the case that images of “Terminator” robots and cyborgs with biomechanic implants flash through one’s head. The advanced sci-fi reader might even think of William Gibson’s Neuromancer trilogy, or other works by Asimov or Lem. But anyway, all of this doesn’t really explain about the research field of cybernetics which seems to be a mysterious philosophical discipline both anchored in humanities and science. So what is it really. I probably should shut up and go reading before writing any further, but as far as my impression goes it is in fact a field of modern functional art, in some certain way describing “inverse history” (the history of the future). Names like Von Däniken or Nikolai von Michalewsky spring to mind.

Prof. Mihaita from Bucharest University, probably Romania’s biggest guy in cybernetics, has contacted me the other day and sent me some documentation on something very puzzling. The Cybersyn Project. Cybersyn was a project run by the Chilean government in the early seventies under Salvador Allende, with the aim of implementing an ICT-based decision support system. The implementation was in fact put into practice, in the shape of a command center very much ressembling the bridge of a well-known starship. But this is no fiction. This was reality! And so very far ahead of time that it is hardly imaginable. Go to

http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2003/sep/08/sciencenews.chile

and check out http://de.youtube.com/watch?v=0vmgylCPwrI for visual documentation.

So cold and dark Vienna might seem during autumn and winter, so sunny and friendly it appears in spring and summer. Go to www.weingutamreisenberg.at , which is one of the most beautiful Heurigen-locations in Vienna and see for yourself.

In my dreams, there seems to be one particular thing that persists throughout almost every dream i can remember. The ability to fly . It requires a lot of energy and skill. It’s not something you just do. You have to concentrate and find the right state of mind in order to be able to lift off. It takes most effort to get off the ground. At an altitude of half a metre or so, there seems to be some kind of critical point where it’s very unpredictable whether you will crash-land again or gain further altitude. It’s possible to fly up to 30 metres high, depending on the terrain below. There is the constant danger to loose concentration and fall down, therefore it’s unwise to exceed 10 metres. Getting off the ground can be made easier if you start on a slope where you can jump into the state of flying. Unfortunately there is never any guarantee that it works everytime. I like to fly at very low altitudes, like 1 or 2 metres high. I enjoy the curious looks of the other people and the combination between emotional tension and physical relaxation. I wonder if flying is actally healthy. Maybe it’s a new kind of medicine: “Fly like an angel, but stay alive.” Anyway it feels like something completely normal. Whenever I miss the bus to take me to school or work, I might just decide: “Well, let’s just take the straight way and fly it.”

Waking up being tied back to the ground again, feeling the discomfort of 1G pinning me down, it’s truly disappointing to discover that the convenient ability to fly is but an imagination.

In Vienna they are currently planning for the construction of a central train station. Pretty much like what was accomplished in recent times in Berlin. Right now, ressembling Paris, there is a couple of medium-sized stations circling the centre of town. Westbahnhof, Süd/Ostbahnhof (one complex), Franzjosefsbahnhof, Wien Nord,.. I think that’s about it. The station which is going to be reconstructed into Vienna Central, is going to be Südbahnhof.  Even now it seems to be the largest train station in Vienna, with its vast concourse, held in the chilling humongous ortogonality of 3rd Reich architecture.

Anyway sometimes when I get there, there is this train to Moscow waiting at the platform. It appears to be going directly to Moscow, all those many hundreds of miles.  It waits there, lurking, with it’s dark blue carriages, some machinery whispering in their humming tune, and staff in their different uniforms bustling to load the train with food and equipment. It takes 30 hours to get to Moscow.

Thinking about it, I picture myself getting on that train, in my briefcase I have the golden ticket for the ride to Moscow, with some kyrillic words of mistery on it. Heading north-east through unknown territory, passing vast patches of barren isolation and dense forests. Sitting in the restaurant car, dining in the crammed yet pittoresque atmosphere of the long tradition of traveling by train. The crystal glass of port, swaying in the yellow light of electric candelabras.

Then finally Moscow, the suburbs made from darkness and hulking slab buildings,  getting closer to the centre, peering out of the window and getting dazzled by the lights of this HUGE city.

There is a subway network, one of the most dangerous places on the planet. Especially the Y line, that goes in a circle around the centre of town, is known to be dangerous.

Of course it’s the first ride I take, other passengers shaking their head at me while rushing for the taxi stand. Then emptiness of the subway platform, the train approaching, and then solitude, screaming danger, the noise of metal on metal, and dark phantoms outside the windows. Watching my own reflection pale white and dripping with cold sweat, pupils widened in terror, pulse thumping in raging fear.

But nothing happens – it’s just a quite normal subway ride in a large town.

I should go and try it out myself. Yes, I expect to be on my own. If not, contact me.