From Mt. Snowdon to Whitesands Bay

Finally, unfortunately, Welsh weather stops making discounts. Mist and rain around Mt. Snowdon make the hike impossible.
A slow diesel train bring cold turists to the top of the montain. In fact, it brings turists into a giant cloud. The landscape is hidden. The train is cold and wet. Ironically the wagon has an automatic speaker which keep on suggesting to look left to heartbreaking views.
Two hours of mist suggest me to move south, to the coast nearby St. David. It's a long trip, but, at this point, necessary.
Short pit-stop at Cardigan, another disappointment. Cardigan castle is just a ruined wall, the rain isn't heavy but penetrate below my skin.
Warming in my car, hot blood and excitement bring me (finally) to St. David. Nearby Whitesands Bay is marvellous, large and sweet beach. It's a Breton see in Britain, without seafood in the low tide.
Dogs are playing into the waves. The sun finally kisses Wales, two hours before the sunset.
After disappointing meals, I give myself a special dinner, crabs and sea bass with Cider.
Extra-cold Walsh Cider is a really exciting drink. Immagine a big glass of cider filled up with ice cubes. Chilled as ice tea. Great great drink, obviously a disaster with sea food.

Travelling is looking for excitement. And for emotions.
Staring at a painting in a museum, staing at the sea.
Spotting a koala on a tree, walking through the street of a city old district.
Sometimes emotions can emerge from hybrid experience, food, music and landscape.
Or writing my blog in a B&B managed by chilled, surf dudes staff !

quick comparison (Although I hate comparisons)

Like Iceland, Wales average village population does not exceed 1000. Despite looking important on the map, 99% of villages offer just a small cafeteria and a nice sight.
Which is beautiful.

Whistling Sands, Aberdaron

Aberdaron, as the Lonely Planet guide states, is an end-of-the-earth kind of place.
Roads connect people to places. Thus, most of the earth can be reached only by a walk.
Highway and main roads connect to a limited and selected number of spaces. To break this gentle control, small roads in Wales do the job.
following a thiny and nervous road in the Llyn peninsula, I find myself in a desert beach surrounded by black stones.
I meet two persons:

• A young fisherman
• A technician who's trying to repair the cash payer for the parking. Even remote beaches have a two pound parking fee!

On the last edge of the peninsula lays Aberdaron. Here I find a small Cafe, serving sandwiches filled by fresh Aberdaron crabs. This place is all white painted wood, warm canvas. It's crowded by 60ers turists from Cardiff. Everyone is speaking in Welsh.
What does Aberadon offer?
Malichony, rains. Magic islands.
Most important, it offers intimity like no other spot on the earth does.

Travelling is movement. I cannot stare at Beaumaris castle more than 15'.
Following 10' in Beaumaris Courthouse. So uneasy place! So much enphasis on death sentences, tortures and witch-hunting. Dark emotions, people's favorite.
Several questions make my mind pale:
What is the substitute of witch-hunting?
Why humankind burnt witches for centuries?
And what do we do now instead?

Wales is full of witches, warlocks, and wizards.
I am the lizard king. I can do everything.

Wales day one

Wales in just two hours West of Heathrow.
What the hell I am doing in Wales?
Nature is, most of the times, the direct creator of the most stunning beauties. Views, sights which leave you breathless. Unexpected colors, gigantic masses with potent shapes, pure lines.
Elegant felins, thousand of birds flying together as a pink cloud. Crocodiles, born to kill.
Most of humans can only try to replicate the power of the universe.
Wales is not that disruptive. Wales is beautiful. Its landscapes are sweet, green and warm.

First visit, unforunately, a disappointment. Hay-on-Way.
The town of second hand books is useless. True, there are a lot of second hand libraries, true the maior festival (it's in one month) is a unique event, at which even Bill Clinton likes to partecipate. Dunno, what the past president likes in looking through one billion of insignificant old, stinky books.
The ruins of an old castle host the outdoor library. It's without personnel, in fact it's called the honest library. If you like a book you just grab it and deposit half a pound in a box. When I was there it was raining a lot. It's romantic when it rains over a million of books.
In fact here it rains at least ten times per day, for just a few minutes.
Day one ends in Betws-y-Coed. Walking in a forest, muddy soil, to the waterfalls.
Sleeping in a cottage, with a lot of white painted wood. Warm old Wales !

Map of Intelligence

Talking smart, looking intelligent, I am not sure these are real signes of intelligence.
Evaluating intelligence in a discussion requires to take into account the capability to adapt to the current situation.
Two quick examples:
1. In a political discussion you may prefer to be perceived as not extremely smart by certain enemies, so that they won't see you as areal threat.
2. When you meet the first time your boss' wife, a very beatiful but insignificant woman, you may prefer to talk about easy and silly matters to be liked by her.
In my view intelligence is not linear at all. Up to a certain threshold is about a deep analysis, then it's a quantic jump to the adaptation zone. Like Poincarè maps, two distinct areas of behavior are separated by a stiff curtain.
Evaluating intelligence is even more complicated. If a potential political rival seems not extremely smart in the first occasion you meet him, you may want to discount the possibility he is only pretending to be average to leave you relaxed.
And so on.
Obviously eveyone agrees that intelligence is understanding people, and, probably, nothing else.

Paintball; Platoon

Today Team A6 gathered together in a battlefield to play paintball. I have been shot in my throat, in my arm when I was already eliminated, in both my legs like Elias in Platoon, when the Vietcongs shot him 20 times before he died.
I did not like watching people so eager to shot at me. Hidden in the woods, journeyman snipers seem mercyless.
And they are, with semi-automatic air guns screaming. My hairs green of oily paint.
Where is my general?
Soldier boy, made of clay,
Now an empty shell,
Twenty one, only son,
But he served us well,
Bred to kill, not to care,
Do just as we say,
Finished here, greeting death,
He's yours to take away

Pale blond on A4 Audi, two Koreans follow on a BMW 730 d

So pale blond sad woman you drive big German car on which Volkswagen spent billions for marketing, media and advertising in the last 10 years.
Almost two tons of steel, in dark blue. Four silver circles on the front.
OOOO is premium.
OOOO is wealth. For someone.
Still you look so sad, awkward, exitant, with pointless red glasses, followed by two Korean punks on a big diesel BMW.
West of Barcelona in front of you, sweet sunset, you so pale.

Everybody hurts, sometimes: Bachelor party

A slow cab was bringing us to Marselle Bar in Barrio Cino, REM screaming on FM 104.2.
My best friend telling we are mature, adult. Still one weekend like this would always be possible. Maybe.
Running wild when teenager, growing up in acid cotton of wealthy society. Cynic, sarcastic, tender. Now night arrives with her purple legion. Family man, happiness in front of me, it's time to donate childhood last jems, and call it a night.
Don't let yourself go, 'cause everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimes....
Childhood memories roll faster. 5.
8.
14 years old. More than 20 years of fun, laughts, friendship. Of life. Of doing it in our way, of pretending to be adult.
Now, one last time, we feel the moment to say goodbye.
Finally, sleeping together we hear someone vomiting in the dark, alone.
We laught, until tears.
Everybody hurts. You are not alone.

Wales eyeblink

5 days in Wales, that's my short post-MBA vacation. Two weekends with my fiancè in the City.
Wales, immaculate. Crispy hills and cold beaches. I am gonna love it !