I’ve covered a lot of miles in the past few months. They don’t all get marked down here, but it’s been intense. England, France, England again, Denmark, Germany, Switzerland, France again, Switzerland again …
And in just a few days, Italy.
I’ve made it into the heart of the exiled Romantic. It’s utterly beautiful. It’s been three months, and I’m ready for the big, final three weeks. But I’m also ready for Texas in September after that.
I walked, straight up (almost), from Chamonix, where Victor Frankenstein went to escape his demons, and met his monster. I spent nights looking across to Mont Blanc and the Sea of Ice where he grappled with his monster.
Now, it’s up in mountains, down in valleys, through Switzerland.
The rest of the film crew gets here in just four days. It’ll be good to stop filming myself.
Lately, I set up the camera on a tripod, then run around in front of it and talk, then run back and turn it off. Then I walk for a while before repeating the process. This can’t be how Spielberg does it.
I found an Olympic-sized pool in Martigny and got in a couple of workouts. It felt slow and heavy. I think the water’s heavier at atmosphere, but studies are inconclusive.
Now I’m taking what the French call a “pause” and what we call a “break” for a couple of days. I have to write some syllabi and assignments before classes start.
Then, the film gets going again.
The Simplon Pass, Venice, the bay of La Spezia, Rome, then finally, the Hellespont.
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