You naughty!

Oh yeah, the white stuff. It is here, finally!

Snow. That lovely stuff that softens all noises, makes kids happy, lights up places even at night (albeit with some help), covers the landscape so nicely. Also, snow. That white glibbery something that lets people slip, fall over and in the subtropic flatlands of Basel seems to make the people all gaga. Yes, we spent four months of late fall and early winter moaning about the 10th non-white Christmas on the bounce and when the snow finally arrives, we wish it back off to hell, even though it usually comes from high above.

As I am writing to you out there, I am in my warm home. Listening to the sound of somebody doing some awkward sports outside. You can not possible try to tell me that literally still hours after Christmas anyone is fit enough to do a serious workout. Bring on the snow and suddenly the whole neighborhood starts to feel like having to protect their walkways from that mean white layer.

I have hardly spent half an hour on this and I have heard at least two shovels and one leaf blower trying to banish the frozen demons from the North. Ok, this place was burnt down by some naughty Swedes almost 400 years about, but seriously, should we fear another invasion by this folk? Or just leave that snow where it is, as it is. It is not going to last long anyway!

Afram Island!

One thing about those EURO bandwagons is that you should not jump on too late. My early decision to go for Iceland has been vindicated last night now, with Aron Gunnarsson's blue army beating England to a place in the quarterfinals. In typical nordic understatement, nobody from within that camp in Annecy would have predicted this, but then again, nobody would have said that it was impossible. Now they are off to Saint-Denis again, up against hosts France, with arguably nothing to lose. Their no-nonsense style of play has even impressed my grandma, and I am still not convinced whether she watches football or just footballers' hairdos. At least she knows that there is a difference between football and woodpecking - some TV commentators apparently don't!

Of course I kept supporting my own team, Switzerland, until they were out of the tournament, but once again we seemed to choose a pretty innocuous way of getting out, losing a 50-50 arm wrestle against Poland on a day of football most people would have forgotten already. Unless they are from Poland, Wales or Portugal that is. They say Granit Xhakas ball that he sent wide in the shootout has not been found yet. Wait for it to collide with the missile one Lionel Messi sent out of the Met Life in East Rutherford at the end of the Copa America final against Chile, a testosterone-laden battle that made a few of the EURO games look like womens' games.

Much has been said about Spain and Italy colliding early in the EURO tournament, an occasion that would have made quite a few people chuckle. Though, let's be frank, Spain should have done better than to slip against a Croatian outfit that did not survive against a perennially mediocre Portuguese side and Italy for once were just too good early on to have their R16 destiny in their own hands. Finally, Belgium have finally arrived at the tournament, beating Hungary by plenty and making it look ludicrously easy in the process.

As we look set for another couple of days without our daily dose of the green screen, let's bask in the joy of Icelandic folk. They say, big men don't cry (or similar). Last night I could not help it!

Thor's Army

Stade Geoffroy-Guichard in St-Etienne is usually known as a hell's entrance disguised as a football ground. When the local team of AS St-Etienne plays there, it is also known as the "green cauldron" or as our german friends would probably call it - the green hell. After events last night, we should ask ourselves whether the blue fairies of Iceland changed this.

Icelands's travelling support turned up in vast numbers, making people wonder whether anyone has stayed at home. Quite unusual for a football team's tournament support, families and children were out in style. It seemed as if an entire huge village community went on holiday together, all proudly wearing their blue shirts. And then they all celebrated their anthem, which unlike the Portuguese counterpart is a never-ending chant just about the beauty of a country and not a blood-filled rousing war cry.

The storyline continued on the green pitch of Geoffroy-Guichard, where the men in blue were initially outplayed, conceded a goal to one of those Portuguese Hollywood actors and to add insult to injury, they were discarded by some TV reporters as a bunch of woodpeckers. Fair enough, their tackling style may be agricultural at times, but then again, some of the much hyped sides from South America tend to play the beautiful game just as beautiful.

Portugal being their usual mercurial self, they went off the boil in the second half and Iceland did not take not to capitalize. Birkir Bjarnason, a born hero (he plays for Basel, that's why!), latched onto a cross and put it past the Portuguese keeper for the equalizing goal. And as hard as Portugal, helped by their Turkish friend in the referee's jersey, tried, they did not manage another goal. It may have been a draw, but it felt as if Thor's cast had just beaten Hollywood to the Oscar.

Visiting Vikings

Memories of a lovely time with some wonderful people in Paris are still fresh and it is to make sure they can follow this that I write this in English. I may have been to France, but quite frankly, English seems to be my strongest language these days. Also, I have fresh memories from some funny cat & mouse games with the police in Milan, but do you really want to read about that? Don't think so …

Recent experience has taught me that one of the loveliest areas in Europe, with even lovelier people must definitely be Scandinavia. So, let's talk about Denmark, shall we?

It was last year in July when I got this cheap cheap plane ticket to Copenhagen. I thought this might be a good opportunity to fill some gaps in my plane pictures collection and also a chance to finally get a sniff at visiting Scandinavia again, more than ten years after I had last been there. The way up to Copenhagen was almost boring, apart from the last few minutes on approach to Kastrup where my Helvetic eyes were treated to how they make use of the sea over there.

I made my way out of the airport into the very same approach path very quickly and got a first feel for what they apparently call normal weather. Living lightyears away from the North Sea I rather felt this was gale force wind. Nevermind that, once I was used to it, I had to change my position anyway. The Flyvergrillen on the other side of the airport is much more cosy and wind-protected, but probably the only thing close to a jungle in all of Denmark. None of the pictures taken from there would give that away however.

Firing rounds and rounds with a Canon generally makes one pretty hungry, so I decided to try out one of those nice danish hot-dog sandwiches. They are basically the five-star-deluxe version of what you get back home and should be easy to get there, because the people behind the bar should speak English, right? Everyone does so in Scandinavia, up to the extent that you'd even expect the boss' 13-year old child helping out at the kiosk to do so. Well, that particular girl didn't, but nonetheless, I got my sandwich and my Coke.

***

24 hours later, I had just left my last photography spot to head back to the warm safety of the terminal building. Flight radar information suggested that the plane for my flight back home had just left Basel on time, so I had to be back in the terminal in time too. Expecting a stroll through security I just hastily threw a look at the departures board. London Gatwick Gate 5, London Luton Gate 7, Stockholm Gate 6, Basel Gate … oh hang on … Basel cancelled. I am not one to spread panic if I see that word, but in this case cancelled was not going to mean "no photo", this time it meant "no way home".

Not surprisingly, mere ten years' experience in or around the airline business were now going to pay off. And while I have a habit of being generous to people in immediate need for help in complicated situations, this time it was a case of making hay before anyone else could. Thankfully I did not have to recover any luggage from anywhere and after a few text messages from and to my connection within the airline, I decided to proceed on my own. Proceeding by plane would have cost me an arm, a leg, some more and probably the entire next day. But in the back of my mind I had what I thought was something brilliant.

From running around in the terminal before I knew where the DSB railway counter was. I asked the lady behind the counter if she could get me a ticket for the night train. "Do you think you are the first one today?" she asked back with a dirty smile that beat almost anything that I had seen in Scandinavia before. The price? I did not care, because a) my airline was going to pay for it anyway and b) I was just glad to be in for another 15 hours of pain.

In downtown Copenhagen I did not have much time to lose, so I took a look at the Tivoli, albeit only from the outside and I treated myself to the traditional danish gourmet cathedrals that are McDonalds and Seven-Eleven. A burger, some fries, some danish pastry and some water for the long way down south. I probably paid a fortune for the train and the food, but the experience as a whole? Priceless!