introverted explorer

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Sat, 23 Apr 2011 16:48:00 +0000

Frida, portraits

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Wed, 16 Feb 2011 19:33:00 +0000

Revsundssjön, January 2011

Antibes, October 2009

Valley of Gods

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Fri, 14 Jan 2011 10:32:00 +0000

First seven days in Kathmandu. Imposive, ever vibrating hive.

Streets bustle with life untamed, from open produce stands to open craft-selling booths to jewish cafés hidden amid the exhausted haze of dust and more. Dogs, dogs, dogs, dogs. Look out for mountains passing through swarmed alleys. Porters, early elders.

A million moments to see.

Weekend road trip: Cinque Terre

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Wed, 10 Nov 2010 10:15:00 +0000

A view on the hills shadowing Vernazza, hiking North.

Saturday, October 30.

When we opened our eyes the next morning, I remained sitted in the car and watched for a while the first sunrays pierce through the mist, casting bits of warmth on the hilly scenery. Then the harsh reality hit us, as we recalled the disturbing traffic of the passed night and realized how sore sleeping in the Mini had left us.

Despite being both quite tired we agreed to get going, but the soothing humming of the car quickly led me back to sleep. I only woke up at times to give Hugo directions, and the decision to use the freeway was later taken as the road seemed endless. We figured it was alright to give up the adventurous verve of driving on the small roads in order to spend more time where we knew we wanted to be.

To our pleasant surprise, we saved a significant amount of time and soon saw a sign spelling Levanto, the gate to Cinque Terre. The road started to display a wholly different array of vegetation, and the hills were now scattered with a mass of orange leaves. This was a very different landscape from the one I knew back in France, where the prevalent pine trees remain unchanged throughout the seasons.

The collection of warm quickly faded to unveil our destination at a turn in the road. Monterosso, the first village, was pinned on the coastline railways, silently emerging from the brisk valley. We parked the car and went in the first café to enjoy a tasty local breakfast of rich hot chocolate and focaccia with the fruits we had left. We were there at last, eager to explore the cliffs.

Weekend road trip : Genoa

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Sat, 30 Oct 2010 00:45:00 +0000

On the road to Italy, Hugo and I gaze one last time at the French coast.

Friday, October 29.

Sebastian and I took an early train to Nice to log a 25k run on the coastline. It felt great, though I knew I was on a tight schedule. Hugo ringed my door short after I showered and had a bit of water. It took me about 60 seconds to throw a couple of essentials in my North Face flyweight bag, namely my camera, running clothes and some cash. I grabbed grapes and apples and we were out the door, and soon on the road, in Hugo's 1973 Mini.

We zoomed on the winding seafront and through the Italian border city of Ventimiglia. There in a smaller town we stopped to have some pasta and ice cream, a tasty combination that would set the culinary mood for the rest of this little adventure.

Hours of driving –and dozing for me- later, we reached the outskirts of Genoa, a big and dirty harbor city dwelled on the shore of Liguria, where the land angles before stretching south towards Rome, hundreds of kilometers further.

We passed districts so large they made the city look like a titanic hive of brown shadows and subdued tones whirling in the setting sun. A girl at the Continental hotel recommended us the Fratelli La Bufala, a restaurant in the eastern part of town which turns out to be a international chain originally founded in Italy. Don't be so quick to sign them off though, for they legitimately make the best pizza I have had to date. And that is an understatement. I wonder if they are as good in their other establishments.

The historic part of Genoa is coiled around narrow cobbled squares where tortuous alleys meet in awkward geometry. On Friday nights, the Genoese youth converge in long, ant-like files to meet on the ancient stones of Piazza delle Erbe. People hop from the terrace of the Berto Bar to the Purple club across, sometimes stopping by the traditional Gelateria where they serve delicious ice cream fresh from the day. There we met Margherita, an old acquaintance of Hugo, ordered drinks and talked late, amidst the incessant chatters buzzing between the walls.

Around 2 a.m. we took off to the Mini and watched the Italian girls on their Vespa fade in the night. We drove away from Genoa and parked the car on a dark and quiet lot by a French restaurant, slipped into our sleeping bags and prompty fell asleep.

On the move (into Winter)

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Thu, 28 Oct 2010 23:03:00 +0000

First session at the physical therapy center today.

Located in a small street basement, the place has nothing to do with a clinic, even less with a hospital. It's a very social facility where people of all age and shape join different stations and perform various exercises in a relaxing atmosphere. Contact with the therapists there is absolutely casual and we chat friendly while downtempo tunes by Bonobo and the likes are played in the background. It made such a nice impression on me that I look forward to the next session, where I will receive further treatment to facilitate the recovery of my shoulder.

Mornings and evenings are getting chilly, even here in sweet South. Winter is crawling on us; I chose to run into it.

The Nice-Cannes Marathon is in less than three weeks now, and I have had great sensations throughout the increasing mileage and intensity over the last ten days. Among which a 32k logged with three running friends, mapping the last part of the course and building mental fitness for race day. I will continue to work on this part, with a 28k from Nice already scheduled tomorrow, at 7.45 am. It will probably be my last long run before the marathon, as the important period of taper approaches.

There will be just enough time to enjoy a shower and some food for my buddy Hugo and I are taking a little road trip to Italy over the next couple of days. We will head to the marvellous cliff-hanging villages of Cinque Terre in his newly bought old edition Austin Mini, which should make the trip even more fun.

Now down to some news I have been itching to share for a while, but I wanted to wait till it became a sure thing. It looks a lot like it now.

There's a plane ticket on my desk, dated January 6th, that will take me from Stockholm to Katmandu. After spending Christmas with my family and new year in Sweden with Frida, I will fly to Nepal and work there as a photojournalist, dealing with various assignments from newspapers and magazines. I am really excited because I know this will be an entirely new dimension of experience, a far cry from everything I have done so far.

Of course, I have already spotted some gnarly trails to explore there, and the mighty Himalaya rank on top of the list. But before I leave, a meeting with renowned photographer and Nepal expert Eric Valli seems like a wise move. Take some time to observe his truly fantastic work.

Now off to a cinnamon oatmeal and some good sleep!

If you're looking forward to the post on Italy, read this and that from my first visit to Cinque Terre, last fall. And stick around.

Collision

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Tue, 19 Oct 2010 23:30:00 +0000

Thursday, Oct 6th was the day I crashed my bike into a car on my way home from school.

I was pulling back on the right lane after passing another vehicle when the massive SUV in front of me suddenly braked. Positive I would make it, I unconsciously hit the corner of the bike rack and the next thing I knew, I was miserably sitted on the sidewalk.

From the dull pain radiating through my shoulder, I realized it had taken a full shot, throwing me off my ride while my Specialized had zoomed through traffic smoothly and gently parked further down.

Without a scratch. Unlike me.

After days of numbness, a fair deal of one-armed swim and bike workouts, I have at last recovered strength, only to find out something is actually wrong: possible fracture of the scapula tail (the bottom end of the shoulder blade), and a rotator cuff conflict. What's next? I'll pay 20 visits to the physical therapist over the coming weeks.

Doc said: no backstroke, strength or tough cycling workouts for a safe 15-day period. Yes to running. Yass Yass.

I signed up for Nov 14th's Nice-Cannes Marathon and I really need to focus on running, namely at mara pace. It is the right moment to log more miles and try out different core exercises while recovering. When you're harmed there is often a lesson to learn, may it not be by looking at the injury itself.

Today's double run is there to prove it: 10k @ mara pace before breakfast and 10k speedwork with the tri club this evening. A bit of road cycling in-between and the day could have been ideal.

Off to bed for a good sleep before commuting to school, hopefully in one piece. Train smart!

Summer in Sweden, Marathon report

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Sun, 12 Sep 2010 22:38:00 +0000

I love goats, not sure why though.

Four months have passed since I last published anything. I must agree I am all but prolific. So from now on I'll try to make up for the sparsity of past updates by sharing feelings in a more daily to weekly fashion, and by going deeper through the jumble of memories, one post at a time.

I did it again, I went back to Sweden. For this third time, three months: May to July -official motive: design/programming internship at ANAB Östersund. Between work and endurance training, there was not much time left, only enough to be spent with Frida, living in the now and the spirit of Swedish summer.

Well, it was actually spring when I landed, and with the chilly wind – low temperature combo it could as well have been a soft winter. And then the lakes started to thaw, the ice forming strips of mist as it melted in the sharp light of the sun.

There is something purely magic about light and time in mid and northern Sweden, more so around the eventful winter and summer solstices (See previous post).

Preparing for Östersund's marathon, I came to meet a fair deal of experienced athletes, most of whom Ironmen, who all have been great people to train with or be around. On race day, the sun was shining high, the icy wind has for once died down to a light breeeze, and I was feeling great, apart from a latent tightness in the calves (don't try new things the days prior to a race).

It was judgement day regarding unconditional commitment I had made myself a year before, day to day, and which I had honored every day. Despite the solemn thought, a feeling of pure joy took hold of me as I crossed the bridge, looking over the dark body of still water that surrounds Frösön. I was running the marathon, my longest enterprise, and it was all that mattered.

But part of the promise I had made myself was to complete the race in or under 3:30, so I was trying to be consistent with my stride and keep my pace under 4:50 / km. I reached the half-way turn in 1:40 and felt even better then, so I sped up a bit. A mere 10k further, when I thought I was maintaining an equal physical effort, my pace was in fact gradually dropping!

I took a carb gel and squeezed the thick paste into my mouth. I knew a slight yet critical change had taken place deep in the midst of my limbs: only a few minutes later, inspite of the gel I had just gulped, I witnessed my legs turning to stone. During all those long runs at race pages, sometimes as long as 36k, it seemed very unlikely to me that I would hit the wall. Yet I certainly did, somewhere around kilometer 32, and from that moment the race really begun.

Up till then I was pretty much cruising, and the sustained pace seemed rather comfortable. Now it was a whole different story, as my mind took to reasoning my body. I decided to review the work and dedication I had put in over the past year, and was able to focus again. Friends from the club biked along a few times and helped me get some nutrition for the last 5k. It may not seem much, but when you're deep down with a fight against your own mind, the tiniest bit of support coming from a familiar hand means everything to you. Now it was just about accepting pain and powering through it to conclude with a strong finish. Which I did, when my buddies Hans and Crister gathered around, and galvanized me into sprinting the last 400m. I didn't see the finish line, only a blurred crowd, and that girl greeting me with a medal. Then the irresistible lake. Dive. A bottle of coke from the skies. 3:26 on the Garmin. Endorphins shooting up.

I can go faster.

Pursuing multiple goals with the same intensity can be challenging, and momentum makes it hardly possible to slow down and take a look at your progress. Or at other things. Or live things, like people.

I haven't shot the streets for too long.

Luckily, the neighborhood I just moved is quite lively and instantly brought up my curiosity and the unquenchable thirst of capture that used to animate me. So it shouldn't be too long before I answer the call and making the shutter click.

I now leave you with a few selected photos from this summer.

Some woods are truly imprinting, as if there was an entity, some intangible being in every root and leaf. Nor, Ammerön.

Moose probably know about it. Erick observing their footprints.

They sometimes come very close to the house, at dawn mostly. Erick running in the field, while Frida and Amanda walk home.

No idea what was so funny, but we were all laughing. Great memories.

More photos to come.

Avant l'aube

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Sun, 16 May 2010 21:11:00 +0000

3:30 AM. Coffee already dripping in the pot, toasts on the way. A short bike ride to the lake, on time for sunrise.
As summer solstice approaches, the magic of midnight sun slowly phases in.

Waiting for spring

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Sun, 16 May 2010 20:19:00 +0000

Back in Jämtland, Sweden, this time for three months. Scandanavian spring is more like a soft winter. Nature is only barely waking here and there. However I am already thriving and will be posting more often than usual.

View on the lake, Nor

A wall in Gissler's stable-house, Kännåsen

Horses prick their ears before storm, Kännåsen

Frida in Björn's field, Kännåsen

Feeding the horses, Kännåsen

The Smell of Sweden

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 20:56:00 +0000

Cinnamon, if you ask me.

I left France on Dec 27th for the much colder latitude of Östersund, and stayed long enough to observe the wonders of the white season there. We experienced record temperatures ranging from -25 down to -35° most days, which means the snow will not thaw for months.

I have always been fascinated with the atmosphere of northern regions, and this winter only made me want to go further North. If anyone hears of a journey to the pole, or is interested in going as well, please send me an email. Also, check out the Arctic Circle series by Phil Toledano.

A few tracks of the moment:

Beach House - Teen Dream (album)

Hot Chip - One Life Stand (album)

Caribou - The Milk of Human Kindness (album)

These New Puritans - We Want War

Yeasayer - Madder Red

Dawn in Kännåsen. Bare feet on the balcony snow and that magic light. Someone else was up.

-26°C. A walk to Önsjön and a full moon in broad daylight. Only that.

Beautiful lonely sight, that of a frozen lake.

Even more so from the snowed up diving board.

Guess it's time to go when the cold won't give you your fingers back...

Or fixes you some ice coffee without you asking -no, this is not a paper cup.

-26°C might be a bit too cold a weather to drink coke, though. Not that I ever do anyway.

The lady was probably buying something much warmer.

But New Year's Eve has this power to make you crave for colder drinks.

And I'm a sucker for Swedish ciders, that's for sure. Pretty chill NYE anyway.

Endurance has made me a much moderate drinker.

Gerd, she knows what's up. Looking forward to running a marathon with her in July.

In the meantime, training on the cross country slopes is priceless. Like Östersund's mothership water tower.

Cooking italian delicacies for the family: sicilian meatballs, vegetarian lasagna in consideration for Amanda's choices and my bias for veggies...

...and red fruit charlotte for everyone!

Sort of hard to maintain a strict diet when she's around, for some reason...I like the natural light filtering into this kitchen...

...and F's natural expressions, ie when she wakes up.

Feeling out the temperature in Åre Björnen, before hitting the slopes.

'The Bear' hangs over one of these gigantic lakes closer to inner seas...

...and offers an epic view on the summit, Åre Skutan.

How to build a sidewalk in a few hours.

Nor, sheer wilderness. The human imprint comes down to only a few pieces of wood cut and nailed together into cabins...

...where salmon, spinach and potatoes meal tastes like heaven. Walking from one fireplace to the other.

Ice-haired faces...

...and furry friends equally.

You could find around there the very essence of Scandinavian minimalism...

...or a bit of patriotism.

Wargentinskolan. The Wolf's Lair High School. They even have a pretty angry looking stuffed animal at the cafeteria.

Hans, 80. I met him at Friskis & Svettis, a fitness club. The old man is solid as a rock: runs 4k every day and goes to aerobics three times a week. That calls for respect.

Östersund is known to be a café town, with an insane number of cool places to hang out. Pause is one of them.

Shot in reverse from a couch. The whole place would burn down a couple of days later. Little fella looks suspicious, if you ask me.

Which brings us to the welcoming town of Hell. Norway. The Oslo-Trondheim night train stops there at midnight. Don't tell me it's a coincidence.

Christmas, Oleron

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Sun, 24 Jan 2010 20:24:00 +0000

Small adventures

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 17:40:00 +0000

Usually I swim on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, run on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Sundays. But this week, I stepped out of my routine, eventually for the best.

Having run a hilly 22k on Wednesday night, I wasn't sure Friday morning's class windsprints would do to much good. I turned out to be wrong: by the end of the day, my legs seemed to have cleared out of all the lactic acid. Because I took a nap later that afternoon, I didn't feel tired at night and was still up at 3:00 am, and my stomach started to ask for a treat. Going out for a long run only seemed like an appropriate response to my sleeplessness, so I filled half a bowl with fromage blanc (a non-fat kind of quark), added cereals, a banana, and loaded up with the tasty mix.

Around 5:30 I set out into the dark of the night with gusto and started heading East, thinking of how beautiful the sun rise would be on the seafront, seen with a runner's eyes.

A little over two hours later, I cruised past Nice international airport and kept running up to the train station, not stopping until my Garmin displayed the very satisfying 27k figure. A minute after, I hopped on a train back to Antibes, intrigued people turning around to glance, as I stretched, an ear-to-ear smile on my face. An invitation to push further still.

Distance: 27 km (16.7 miles)
Time: 2:13:22
Average pace: 4'48 km (7'44 mile)
Elevation gain: 732 m
Average heart rate: 152 bpm
Calories: 1732 kcal

Tracks:
The Gadsdens - Got to go
Oi Va Voi - Photograph (feat Dick Rivers)
Simian Mobile Disco - Audacity of huge

Young designers fashion show in Cannes. FM2, 35/2, 400TX

The Finish line

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 01:26:00 +0000

Nice - Cannes Marathon finish, November 8.
Didn't expect it to be so intense, quickly ran out of film.

Liguria #1

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 01:12:00 +0000

Frida came over for All Saints break. A chance to test out the new Ektar 100. We crossed the border and after a quick stop in Genoa, headed to Cinque Terre, a group of five cliff-hanging villages on the ligurian coast of Italy. We stayed in Vernazza, the most quiet and best preserved in my opinion. It's mostly trails and you can't go by car, so you won't really hear any engine except for for trains and scooters. Ideal change of air. Food is excellent too.

Hotel room, Vernazza. Really like her expression when she wakes up.

Doors locked at Monterosso, had to stay on the train till La Spezia. F and my hoodie.

Villagers go out in their boat every morning, for some old school fishing.

Creek over the crest south of Riomaggiore, remote from the flow of tourists. Felt good taking a dip after hiking for three hours.

Liguria #2

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 01:11:00 +0000

Genoa acquarium, biggest in Europe. Still in awe of those beauties.

One of my favorites. If I hadn't had to crop it. If F hadn't stood in the reflection

Done fishing, time for some antipasti.

Sverige #2

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 16:16:00 +0000

Sverige #1

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 22:02:00 +0000

Signs of summer

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 07:25:00 +0000

looking for a location to shoot, i found this abandoned carpet factory with fabien

the amount of junk there is so amazing that the whole place acquires a somewhat poetic thickness

agapè is a christian protestant association, member of ccc international, a church work present in over 160 countries

everyone and each of its members fosters a strong personal relation with jesus christ...

...which they openly display as an integral part of their identity

the cultural variety of the believers, coming from across the six continents, is probably agapè's most distinctive feature

their faith is mostly centered around the notion of collective celebration, through common meals and recreative activities

Ignition

noreply@blogger.com (Erwan Compes) — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 00:23:00 +0000

i find dog/master analogy ever-entertaining

mr joe the peruvian moviemaker, as we sip on a bottle of white in parc monceau, paris

i really love thunderstorms, when the rain seem to splash in a desperate attempt of communication

open art display day on place royale, nantes

probably my favorite from this roll

ent-like creatures are displayed all summer downtown nantes