Hurra, hurra, it finally got pleasant enough in north Georgia, so that I can sleep with ac turned off and all the windows open. A tad too pleasant perhaps, because when I sat down on my balcony with my laptop, breakfast (healthy: steel cut oatmeal with blueberries and milk) and my morning tea, I had to go search my closet – which is still there, but now looks like a tornado went through it – for some socks – since, like most Swedes, I generally walk barefoot (or in socks) around the house. Very practical – your carpet, untouched by shoes keeps cleaner, longer.
It was raining, too. Not a real rain, just a refreshing drizzle and a fog, which made the mountains on the far side of the lake invisible. Mountains or no mountains, the lake view is still breathtaking, both relaxing and invigorating, inviting, on a cool day like today, for a stroll in the nearby nature preserve or for a joy ride to the mountains… just to check they are still there, behind the fog. :-)
(pictures to be uploaded)
I’ll miss this place, this little town (Gainesville), this apartment, this terrace and most of all this view for the lake (Lanier), the woods and the mountains. I always seem to miss most places with a view.
In Ystad, the beautifully preserved medieval town in Sweden’s southernmost province Scania (Skaane in Swedish) my apartment was shaped like a fan, with panoramic windows from my living room, dining room and bedroom affording – even without going out on the balcony - a panoramic view of the Baltic sea, the ferry harbor with ferries from Poland, Danmark ( mostly the island of Bornholm) and Germany and the yacht harbor; a loooooong, sandy beach framed in wild rose bushes with their heady aroma, interspersed with cute, tiny fishermen’s huts. And, to the left, in front of the yacht harbor, there was en enchanting view of a gammal prison: its buildings and its walled courtyard. No, I am not kidding: this view was very pleasant, since the old prison was stylishly remodeled as an architects’ office and the courtyard sported a tranquil fountain, and a japanese style garden. Cool!
(pictures to be found and uploaded)
In Germany, when I worked in Munich, I happened to specify to relo ( = people arranging corporate relocations) that I’d rather live in the country and have a view of the mountains and some water, if possible, than in the city, no matter how tempting with its cultural and architectural depth, and they surprised me and delighted me with a small but cute apartment over a barn in a typical Bavarian Bauerhaus: wooden, painted, half way between Munich and Garmisch-Partenkirchen. ( The company was delighted, too: this mountain village apartment’s cost was just a tiny fraction of what a city apartment would be, so even with the cost of gas for my daily commute, they still saved a bundle).
The apartment had a small balcony, just enough for two chairs, but a view over the Alps with the Zermatt in the background and Alpine meadows and other Bavarian wooden houses in front of the mountains was huge. And when I leaned out from my balcony and looked to the side, I could also get a glimpse of Sternberg Lake (Sternberger See) , the one in which the crazy Bavarian king, who built all those fabled castles there, drowned … either by himself ot with the helps of frustrated Bavarians, whom he was bringing to the brink of financial ruin. Though now their descendants derive more income from all the turist trafic than from their cows.
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In Costa Rica, my wooden cabin over Monteverde, on the outskirts of a nature preserve, had two acres of land attached to it, with a fascinating, gone wild tropical garden, a path of candy-cane amarillises and wandering light-blue irises suddenly and quite unexpectedly appearing behing the curve of a jungle road, framing a path to the cabin; a mini-banana plantation to the side and a clearing at the back of a cabin, allowing a view of the mountains, of the rain- and cloud forests at the tops, coffe and dairy fincas on middle slopes, and a glimpse of the Pacific down, down and away between the green, green slopes.
There, besides the view of mountains, the sea, the tropical flora, I could also observe some of the fascinating local fauna: butterflies, mariposas, huge and colorful like flowers, some so irridescent and blue like the ocean away, and the birds: funny-looking, “singing” brown colored bell-birds with their long “mustaches” ( I guess they are the only kind of bird with that type of an unusual “adornment”), and fabulously colorful mot-mots, with their tails swinging like a pendulum of an oldfashion clock, and – on a very rare occassion – even resplendent quetzals digesting wild avocados.
The view of the birds I could enjoy most often at predawn, when howler and capuchin monkeys were feasting on my bananas, on the metal roof of my cabin, making such a racket, that it was impossible to sleep, so I usually went up, muttering some expletives adressed to the monkeys, drank my morning coffee outside or at the window (if it rained), and enjoyed the views.
I was initially afraid that lack of sleep would affect my job performance, until I figured out that electricity and with it computers, internet etc. usually went down early afternoon for a few hours, so I could take a leisurely stroll through the jungle to my cabin, take a little midday nap, a siesta, and return to the institute to work till the evening, when we anyway often had open lectures or musical performances for both turists and the locals. I just had to remember to keep my headlamp with me at all time for that pretty scary – amagine all the snakes living there in the brush of impatiens – night stroll back to the cabin. But I digress…
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In Almunecar , a very, very old pueblo blanco on Andalusia’s coast in Spain, straight south of Granada, I lived on the uppermost – 10th – floor of a condo building on the seapromenade.
There the view was of the famed blue Mediterranean (sadly polluted, but the view does not reveal this shameful secret), a mostly stony beach with its fish restaurants and their open pits from which a tempting aroma of freshly caught, grilled sardines waffled all the way up, up, to my 10th floor balcony.
On the beach there were turists bathing and playing in season, and outside the turist season retired expats from all over Europe, but mostly from Scandinavia (Sweden, Denmatk, Norway) and from Germany and Great Britan – the cold weather and high cost of living countries - walking, exercising.. .by the colorful fishing boats and fishermen loading or unloading their nets and fish.
Beetween the beach and the condo there was a paseo along the beach, framed with tall, stately palm trees and full of all kind of open air eateries, where people sipped their hot chocolate and ate churros (Spanish doughnouts) or olive drizzled toasts with garlic and tomatoes for breakfast, or munching on an abundance of tapas all day – and night – long.
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On the left side of the bay, in the background, there were slopes of Sierra de Grazalema and – behind them Sierra Nevada mountains, with some of their peaks covered in snow, while oranges and bugainvilla were in full bloom at the coast. On the lower slopes, the view revealed two pueblos blancos, typical Andalusian white villages, oh, so pittoresque with their narrow streets and their white houses climbing the slopes. Between the villages and the sea there was also a carretera climbing up, up, like a serpent full of moving objects, with tunnels and dangerous curves. It was both exhilataring – and quite often scary – to watch the bravado of cars negotiating the carretera.
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Ah, my places with a view … I do miss them all, would love to return to them all, but not yet, not yet. Right now there are still plenty of new places and new adventures awaiting. Or so I hope. 
