Some say all the big cities are the same: In Paris you’re not in France, it’s all its own world, London is not the real UK. it’s an international blend of places etc. Landing in the New world and in New York, I realize something. The first morning I had a cup of coffee from the local cafeteria, enjoying it standing by and looking out at the Hudson river. The distances and size with its icy streaming water felt really rough and raw. There, although being in the heart of one of the greatest cities in the world, the great Atlantic to the East and large forests in the north felt very tangible.
After Christmas we went up state to go riding at Hunter mountain, skiing in a rain-turning-into-snow storm. It was wet but beautiful, and from leaving a +15 degrees New York, where I went skateboarding at Chelsea by the river the day before, we came back in the night just before the winter storm hit the next day. Bringing in 20 cm of fresh snow on to the city streets, slowing everything down and forcing people to adapt. Feeling that although surrounded by loads of people, all the great architecture and technology in the world, nature still had command on it all. It makes you small and even makes the city feel small, which is somehow a great feeling.