Adrien Lafeuille

Welcome

I manage investment strategies and conduct research for asset managers and family offices. I took detours across few continents into commodity trading, NGOs, government and military roles.
I am into chess, coding, astronomy, and music. I am an engineer and geographer by training, and use the Internet to dive into books, documentaries, and online courses. Free knowledge, late-night math? Count me in.

Collaboration, idea-sharing, and casual conversation can begin here:

Email: adrien.lafeuille@gmail.com
Phone (UAE): +971 56 124 8859
Phone (CH): +41 79 958 46 77
LinkedIn: linkedin.com/in/adrien-lafeuille

You will find on this website some insights into what sparks my curiosity. Enjoy your visit!

About me

I am an investment professional with a decade and an half of experience in financial markets, executing complex strategies, managing risks, and optimizing investment portfolios within leading multi-family offices and trading houses.
I specialize in market analysis, trade execution, and developing investment strategies across hedge funds, real estate, equities, credit, options, futures, and other derivatives.
Throughout my career, I have operated in high-performing, culturally diverse teams through global trading experience and international living.
I have a strong background in portfolio construction and management, financial modeling, risk management, programming, and quantitative analysis.

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Last updated on October 2024.

Places

Traveling is a curious endeavor, an act of moving through the world without fully understanding it, much less grasping it in its entirety.
Countries, with their borders and flags, often feel too vast to pin down in a single thought. Cities, however, are like fleeting moments—specific, alive, and sometimes just out of reach.
This is why, instead of compiling a grand list of nations, I find myself more comfortable listing cities, places I’ve touched but rarely ever held. It’s not about chronology or geography. The cities appear here in no particular order, maturing in my memory until they become something I can finally write about, something that asks to be put into words.

Some places demand to be spoken of, while others—those omitted—are cities I’ve never quite finished visiting or processing. They're like books I’ve started but never finished, leaving them suspended in a fog of half-experiences. It’s not that they’ve eluded me entirely, but that I’ve yet to sit with them long enough to understand what they’ve left behind.
This collection is an attempt to capture those that have settled in my mind, however briefly, and to acknowledge that perhaps no place can ever be fully known.

Saint-Malo | Montreux | Goz Beida | Kailua-Kona | Ubud | Phi Phi | New York | Sofia | Los Angeles | Balaclava | Brussels | Paris | Meguet | Hamilton | Nassau | Lille | Tel Aviv | Amman | Venice | Nasiriyah | Helengeli | Orta San Giulio | Singapore | Tokyo | Lausanne | Bordeaux

Saint-Malo

Saint-Malo, the walled city rising defiantly from the sea, cradles memories of adventure and quiet reverie. Each photograph taken there tells a tale of windswept shores and granite ramparts, where the Atlantic waves crash as though they never tire of challenging the stones.

It was beneath this stormy sky, amidst the labyrinth of narrow streets and sunlit cobblestones, that I married my love. The salty air and distant calls of gulls were our witnesses, as if the sea itself blessed our vows.

In the morning light, the shadows of tall ships stretch across the sand, and you can almost hear the echo of François-René de Chateaubriand, "ces flots, ces vents, cette solitude qui furent mes premiers maîtres."

A city of sailors and dreamers, Saint-Malo whispers of distant horizons, and I, like a wandering sailor, always find myself drawn back to its shores—where love once anchored me.

Montreux

Ah, Montreux, where the mountains stand sentinel over the tranquil lake, and the sun, a masterful artist, dips beneath the horizon, splashing the sky with strokes of gold and lavender.

For over a decade, this enchanting haven has been my sanctuary, a place where each day unfolds like a cherished page from a tome long forgotten, filled with melodies that linger in the air, hauntingly beautiful long after the last note has faded into silence.

Here, the fragrant blossoms dance in the gentle zephyrs, their vibrant hues weaving a rich tapestry against the grandeur of the towering peaks. As the sun descends behind the formidable Alps, the lake transforms into a vast mirror, reflecting dreams yet to be realized and tales yearning for expression. In Montreux, music flows like a river, echoing from the venerable walls of the illustrious festival that venerates the sublime art of sound.

In this tranquil abode where beauty entwines with creativity, every moment pulses with life, each sunset a glorious symphony—a poignant reminder that existence, much like the depths of the lake, is both profound and ever-changing, beckoning us to delve into its mysteries and embrace the ebb and flow of time.

Goz Beida

I spent several years in the vast landscape of Chad, witnessing the complexities of existence and history in the making. Each day, I engaged with those seeking solace, navigating the dusty pathways of Goz Beida and observing the resilience of the displaced.

Under the blazing sun, the rugged beauty of the land speaks of endurance—of lives marked by both hope and hardship. The community in Bahai embodies a spirit that forges connections amid uncertainty, each interaction contributing to a shared narrative of survival.

In the refugee camps, the weight of reality reveals the profound strength of the human spirit. As stars emerge in the night sky, they witness the struggles and triumphs of those seeking refuge—a silent affirmation of resilience.

In the face of turmoil, I discovered a quiet strength in the Chadian people, a testament to the enduring spirit of humanity. Amid the echoes of conflict, a collective yearning for harmony blossomed—a reminder that even in the shadows, the light of hope persists, urging us to ponder our place in this intricate web of ordeals and dreams for a brighter tomorrow.

Kailua-Kona

In an earthly paradise where the sun embraces the ocean, and the very air hums with the spirit of Aloha, I found myself captivated by Diamond Head, that ancient volcanic sentinel, its rugged majesty whispering tales of yore to those who wander its slopes.

The Aloha spirit dances through every nook and cranny, wrapping both traveler and local in a warm embrace, though the solemn echoes of Pearl Harbor remind us that even paradise carries its burdens. The laughter of children mingles with the crash of waves, a sweet symphony of life where memories linger like the scent of plumeria in the breeze.

On the Big Island, the Mauna Kea Telescope reaches for the heavens, a marvel of human endeavor set against the backdrop of the cosmos, a testament to our yearning for understanding. Here, too, the surf culture thrives—where intrepid souls ride the waves like poets crafting verses upon the sea.

And let’s not overlook the culinary treasures—fresh poke, kalua pork, and fruits so sweet they rival nature's finest indulgences. It was in this enchanting realm that I proposed to my wife, a moment forever etched in my heart, like the sun setting over the Pacific. Each return to these shores is a joyous pilgrimage, a reminder that in Hawaii, land and sea, history and culture, entwine in an everlasting dance of life.

Ubud

In Indonesia, amidst the lush embrace of Ubud, a transformation unfolds—a blend of spirituality intertwined with modernity, where luxury nestles in the heart of the jungle. This paradise stands in stark contrast to the war-torn landscapes I had traversed, offering a tranquil refuge that serves as a balm for the weary soul.

The air is thick with the fragrance of frangipani and incense, as ancient temples rise, their weathered stones steeped in a timeless spirituality. The locals, with their warm smiles, embody a rhythm that transcends the chaos of the outside world, drawing one into a deeper understanding of existence.

Indonesia is a country that teaches you the importance of stillness, of looking and listening. Wandering through vibrant markets, I felt the weight of my past experiences begin to lift. The blissful peace of Ubud, with its rich traditions, became a sanctuary where I could pause and reconnect with my essence.

In this haven, far from the shadows of conflict, I found a divine detachment—a place where the soul could embrace stillness and reflect on the journey that led me here, discovering a profound and liberating peace amidst the tranquil jungle.

Phi Phi

The Phi Phi beaches of Thailand stretch like a shimmering ribbon of paradise, where sun-kissed shores greet crystal-clear waters, and adventure mingles with the gentle lapping of waves. This fabled land, often deemed a playground for the young and reckless, revealed itself to me as a haven of tranquility, where the raucous laughter of revelers blends harmoniously with the whispering sea.

Here, the youth crash like waves against the shore, surfing the swells while the sun paints the horizon in splendid hues of gold and lavender. Yet, amidst the thrill, a deeper peace reigns, as the scent of coconut and jasmine beckons one to pause and reflect.

In this captivating land, I discovered that the pursuit of pleasure can also offer a delightful respite. Thailand, with its stunning vistas and vibrant culture, is not merely a destination for the adventurous; it is a sanctuary where the heart finds both joy and stillness, a place where the art of living is, quite truly, a matter of balance—and perhaps a cocktail or two.

New York

New York, that grand metropolis, has long cast a spell upon my imagination—a siren song of culture and music that resonates deep within my soul. Yet, my understanding of its intricate fabric is but the sum of fleeting visits, each brief encounter leaving me yearning for more.

Strangely, I have always found the city exsanguinated, cracked, confused, and weary, as if the dreams of countless souls have etched their aspirations into its very essence, leaving behind a haunting echo. My pursuit of the ideal place I envision remains forever unfulfilled, a mirage just beyond my grasp.

I vividly recall my first visit in the immediate aftermath of the financial crisis, when the city wore its desolation like a tattered coat, a testament to its tumult. The streets felt somnolent, yet amid the shadows, resilience flickered brightly, reminding me of the human spirit's tenacity.

Each return to this vibrant city is a child’s dream, a fervent longing to uncover its mysteries and immerse myself in its kaleidoscopic culture. It is a bittersweet pursuit—an invitation to return, time and again, in search of the elusive ideal that dances just out of reach.

Sofia

Sofia is a city that hums with life, history written in every stone, yet pulsing with the optimism of a future not yet realized. A good friend calls it home, and there, amid the old streets and rising buildings, he found his sweetheart. It’s a place where the past meets the present, where the architecture feels like it’s been standing forever, but the people walk with their eyes ahead, toward something better.

Surprisingly vibrant, Bulgaria captivated me with its energy. The old churches and monuments stand tall, but what’s more striking is the hope that runs through the people. They’ve seen the struggle, and yet there’s a quiet belief that each generation will live a little better than the last.

I left Sofia with a sense of renewal, heartened by the thought of a country on the rise, of a city where history doesn’t weigh people down but instead lifts them up, pushing them toward something new.

Los Angeles

I never saw myself as part of Los Angeles—never thought I’d chase fame or set foot in the world of show business. My relationship with public exposure has always been cautious, like eyeing the sun from the shade. Yet, my first visit to the city was on Thanksgiving, of all days. The usual rush was absent, most restaurants closed, and we ended up at a modest community spot, sharing a meal with strangers. It felt oddly personal, like we had stumbled on a side of L.A. that few ever see.

I arrived wary, expecting a city of facades and shallow dreams, but found something different. Beneath the palm trees and polished storefronts, there was a pulse—life that stretched beyond the red carpets and billboards. The Walk of Fame, as it turns out, doesn’t just lead to stardom. It winds through neighborhoods, past lives that have nothing to do with the spotlight, and the dream is still alive, bigger than any one version of success.

“What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.”, wrote Bukowski. In L.A., that fire is constant, but so is the sense of possibility. American optimism, in all its unapologetic grandeur, feels like it’s at its peak here. For all its contradictions, there’s something about this city that keeps pulling people in, daring them to walk through. L.A. may be a place where dreams are sold by the pound, but it’s also a city where they take root, grow wild, and, for some, come true.

Balaclava

After the whirlwind of welcoming a newborn, Mauritius felt like the perfect retreat—an island stopover between exhaustion and renewal. The Indian Ocean greeted us with its turquoise stillness, the air heavy with the scent of salt and frangipani. Life here moves with the slowness of the tropics, a rhythm you can’t help but sink into after weeks of sleepless nights.

There’s a sweetness to it all: the warmth of the sun, the gentle sway of palms, the food—fresh seafood, curries spiced with a mix of Creole and Indian influences. Each meal was a small discovery, full of flavors as vibrant as the island itself. The jungle nearby was lush, alive with hidden birdsong and the rustle of leaves, offering its own kind of peace.

Mauritius may be small, but it holds a world of its own—one that welcomed us when we needed a pause, a breath. A refuge, where the joy of new life could settle and find its balance in the slow embrace of island life.

Brussels

I have sometimes found myself in Brussels, drawn there by one of my good friends, who has made his nest in this curious city. There is an air about the place, something subtle yet undeniable, where the old and the young move through the same cobbled streets, their lives entwined but distinct. The cafés spill onto the squares, laughter and conversation mingling with the scent of waffles and beer—a mixture of warmth and conviviality that feels both familiar and, as a Frenchman, just a little askew.

Belgium, after all, is a land that mirrors France, yet reflects it through a different, softer lens. Here, the streets do not demand critique, nor do they invite the sharp eyes of comparison. Instead, everything feels terribly pleasant, as though life itself is content to move without the pressure of perfection. Perhaps that is why it is so easy to linger, to let time pass with less urgency, savoring each bite of moules-frites, each sip of a cold Trappist beer, as if the very act of living were a celebration.

In describing Belgium, I can’t help but think of painter René Magritte, whose works, much like this country, capture the surreal in the everyday. There is an untouchable quality here—an understanding that life need not always be examined but simply enjoyed. It is this balance, this quiet charm, that makes Brussels feel like a place apart, yet so deeply familiar.

Paris

Born provincial, I always held a quiet defiance, a secret love for Paris. The city of light, both dazzling and indifferent, has been a backdrop to much of my early life—where I studied, lived, worked, and continue to return, drawn by family, old friends, and the shared milestones of life’s passages, whether in joy or in quiet reflection.

Paris, for me, is an old companion. It’s not just a city but an idea, an unspoken truth that follows me wherever I go, an enduring ideal that I carry with me around the world. I have wandered its streets endlessly, slipping through the boulevards and alleys like a shadow, letting the city reveal itself in fragments—corners of forgotten cafes, narrow lanes where history seemed to whisper from the stones. Paris was both an escape and a confrontation, a place where beauty meets nihilism in the most natural way, where life could feel full of promise and utterly weightless in the same breath. Every return feels inevitable, as though the city itself expects it.

It is a place that, like France itself, is eternally changing yet stays rooted in the same myths and contradictions. “There is never any end to Paris, and the memory of each person who has lived in it differs from that of any other.” , wrote Ernest Hemingway. My own memories of Paris remain varied—vibrant with youth and spontaneity, but also quiet, reflective, a city that has shaped who I am and continues to resonate within me, long after I’ve moved on to other shores.

Meguet

Meguet, a remote town in the heart of Burkina Faso, became my home for a year, a place that challenged and transformed me in ways I could never have imagined. There, I undertook the enormous task of rebuilding a dam—a project of astronomical proportions for my younger self. The atmosphere was electric, filled with the hum of hard work, the frustration of failure, and the relentless will to fix what went wrong, all under the watchful eyes of thousands of villagers. It was a baptism by fire, but one that remains, to this day, among the proudest achievements of my early life.

Life in Meguet was as different from my own as I could have imagined—a radical shift from the world I knew. Yet, the kindness and resilience of the people there, their simplicity and strength, reminded me of the frugal farmlife of my own roots, tracing back to the South West and Center of France. It was in this distant, sun-baked corner of Africa that I found a piece of myself, forged in the shared toil and quiet dignity of those who live by the land.

As I watched that dam slowly take shape, it was more than just an engineering feat; it was a defining moment in my life, a lesson in persistence and humility. Even now, I find myself checking at night its contours on Google Earth, reassured by its enduring presence. "If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster, and treat those two impostors just the same..." Meguet taught me the truth of that Kipling line—the balance of success and setback, and the quiet strength that comes from facing both.

Hamilton

Bermuda is a British jewel adrift in the Atlantic, where pirates once plotted and the first settlers of America found a temporary shore. A peculiar capsule of time, it stands as a charming relic of British aristocracy entwined with the easygoing rhythm of island life. Here, the winds carry tales from centuries past, and the proximity to New York lends the air a certain cosmopolitan grace, though still distant enough to let time drift on its own terms.

The island is a surprising mix of the cultivated and the wild, where nature thrives with lush greenery and small, tight-knit communities hold fast to their traditions. And while most tourists land at Dockyard, bustling for a glimpse of paradise, the heart of the island remains blissfully unspoiled, a sanctuary for those who seek it. The beaches, the cliffs, the winding roads—they all feel personal.

Meals here are a reflection of the island itself: a fusion of British formality and tropical flair. Fish chowder seasoned with black rum and sherry peppers, local seafood that tastes of the ocean's depth, all savored in the quiet warmth of a place where the world outside feels far away.

Life on Bermuda flows like the tides—slow, deliberate, and with a rhythm that makes you lose track of the days. My visit here was not a sprint but a leisurely stroll through a place that has managed, against all odds, to keep its soul intact, offering its charm to those willing to wander a little further.

Nassau

Nassau, where the sun gleams brightly on turquoise waters and the island’s moods shift as rapidly as a sudden tropical storm. The vibrant population reflects the climate—often cheerful, sometimes tempestuous—capturing the essence of the Bahamas, where history and modernity dance together in an irresistible rhythm. Here, the air is thick with stories of seafarers and adventurers, each corner echoing the past while looking toward the future.

The culinary scene is a delightful adventure, bursting with flavors that celebrate the island’s rich maritime heritage. From conch fritters crisped to golden perfection to the freshest fish caught just hours prior, every meal feels like a celebration. Nassau’s culinary offerings are as diverse as its people, a testament to the cultural tapestry woven over centuries of trade and migration.

Amidst the modern beats, Nassau’s soul remains firmly anchored in its heritage. The island embraces both its rich past and the vibrant energy of contemporary life, where the laughter of locals and visitors alike fills the air. Life here flows like the tides, seamlessly blending joy and resilience. Even when storms loom on the horizon, there’s a warmth in the heart of Nassau, making it a haven for those who seek adventure and tranquility in equal measure.

Lille

Lille was my first secret crush, a siren of the North of France that captivated my heart and imagination. In my student days, I found myself drawn to this vibrant region, where the echoes of centuries past resonate in every cobblestone and façade. Beyond the tales of its mining industry, I discovered a profound history interwoven with Flanders and Spanish influences, crafting a narrative rich with flamboyant monuments that stand as sentinels to the past, yet pulse with the vibrant life of the present.

The people of Lille, with their warmth and welcoming nature, embody the very essence of the North. Their kindness envelops you like a comforting embrace, inviting you to partake in a social life that extends far beyond the vibrant nightlife. It is a city with an active spirit, where social policies breathe life into community, nurturing a culture of togetherness and shared purpose. Lille was not just a place I admired; it was a canvas upon which I painted my dreams, and the first city to hire me for capturing its beauty through my lens. That summer spent observing and photographing its streets was a vivid dance of colors, a love letter to a city that inspires with every corner turned.

In the spirit of Rimbaud, whose roots lie in this enchanting region, let’s remember the verses that evoke a sense of longing and joy: "Il faut être absolument moderne." In Lille, the modern intertwines beautifully with the historical, and each moment spent within its embrace feels like a celebration of life itself, a blissful reverie of art and existence.

Tel Aviv

Tel Aviv is a question mark of a city, a bustling enigma that I visited several times for work, yet never managed to capture in a decent photograph. The place felt too dense, too alive, too complex to reduce to the static form of an image. The street food was a revelation of course, or rather a confirmation, and the character of its people, a vibrant blend of Slavic and Mediterranean roots, pulsed through the air like a live wire.

This city is like a hydra, with multiple heads; some vibrant, others shadowed by history. It exists in a state of perpetual motion, an entity brimming with the weight of millennia, yet exuding a futuristic vibe. Tel Aviv appeared to me both adolescent, nervously reacting to the tides of daily life, and yet it bore the serene wisdom of ages past. It was a paradox, alive and restless yet somehow reflective, embodying a history that is constantly being forged.

I found a solitary image etched in my mind—a burger joint oddly empty during the World Cup. The emptiness spoke volumes, a quiet moment in a city bursting with life. It reminded me that within the bustling beehive of Tel Aviv, the pulse of history thrummed beneath the surface, a vibrant life that sometimes allowed for stillness, revealing the complexities of existence in a place so full of contradictions. An author native to the city once described Tel Aviv as “a city that constantly moves forward, even when it is falling apart”, and maybe therein lies its charm: the relentless spirit that persists, molding a hopeful future with every step forward.

Amman

I spent several months in Amman, a city that presented itself as an unexpected marvel after my time in the wilds of Eastern Africa. Having known only the polished infrastructure of Europe and the rawness of the African bush, Jordan’s capital struck me as a place that hovered between the two—a landscape both rustic and refined, as though suspended between the unfinished and the accomplished. Its streets, woven deep into a valley, held me in constant wonder, for walking from one place to the next often left me questioning whether I tread upon a road or the very roof of another's home.

Amman’s marketplaces, bustling and alive with vendors hawking jars of amber honey and fresh spices, were a testament to the enduring traditions of the region. The fragrance of cardamom mingled with that of citrus, and the wares, simple yet rich in their heritage, seemed to whisper stories of desert and sea. On warm nights, fireworks from jubilant graduates would scatter across the valley, flickering like stars descending into the city below, as though the hills themselves were celebrating the passage of youth into adulthood.

Amman is like a brilliant fragment of some forgotten dream—a city where the present meets the past in harmony. Or so it felt to me: unfinished, yet whole; a city both in progress and already there, its charm lying in its continual shaping, like the soft sands sculpted by the wind.

Venice

I need to confess a guilty pleasure: flying off to Venice, alone, under the cover of night. It was during a sleepless weekend at the Biennale, where the art was supposed to take center stage, yet it was the city itself that captured me. Venice, this suspended dream between the Orient and the Occident, is a place that has always drawn adventurers, a refuge for those who search not just for treasures but for answers. Its history, as thick and tangled as the canals that snake through it, whispers of trade routes and far-off lands, a once-flamboyant hub that has lost everything and yet, nothing.

The merchants are long gone, and the commerce that made it powerful has dwindled to mere tokens of tourism. But somehow, Venice is still there, not in decay, but frozen in time—a relic of the Doges, always at the mercy of its patrons, yet forever at the cutting edge of culture. As if the weight of history hasn’t crushed it, but preserved it in amber, it stands as both a monument and a muse. The narrow streets, the hidden passageways, the constant ebb and flow of the water—it all feels like an answer waiting to be uncovered, if one dares to stay long enough.

And perhaps that’s Venice’s secret. It has lost the battle for relevance, but not for meaning. It sits quietly, neither here nor there, on the edges of time, offering not solutions but the space to ponder them, for those brave enough to wander its forgotten corners.

Nasiriyah

Iraq stands as one of the cradles of humanity, and among the places I have been most fortunate to live and work. To this day, my time there feels like a dream shrouded in haze, as if I had walked through the remnants of an ancient civilization rather than a land steeped in modern conflict. In Nasiriyah, Erbil, or Samawah, I found myself questioning the nature of my presence: was I truly there to contribute meaningfully, or was I simply gathering yet another stamp in a passport that marks territories many would never dare approach? The real question wasn’t whether Iraq was dangerous—although it was—but whether I was testing myself, drawn not to the chaos but to some inner search for the unknown, an encounter with a place that defied all expectations.

The landscape, both physical and political, felt insurmountable, as if I were standing at the foot of the Tower of Babel itself. The rivalries and entanglements between factions loomed far beyond my comprehension, like forces of nature I could not influence. I was there to tackle practical issues, work on projects that seemed urgent, yet they felt minuscule against the broader historical weight of the region. The present seemed almost irrelevant in a land so deeply embedded in the origins of time itself, where centuries ebb and flow like the waters of the Tigris and Euphrates. In such a place, where civilization itself once took its first breath, today's struggles felt like fleeting shadows on an ageless canvas.

And yet, I am still processing the experience. What I saw, what I did, and who I left behind—none of it seems to fit easily into the framework of understanding. Iraq left me with more questions than answers, and perhaps that is what a place so ancient, so elemental, is meant to do.

Helengeli

Helengeli Island, tucked away in the Maldives, is the kind of place that makes postcards feel like understatements. Pristine water so clear it feels like the air just gave up, white sand that makes you question every decision you've ever made that didn’t involve walking barefoot. The resort there—isolated, luxurious, and everything you expect from a high-end escape—comes with fresh seafood, tropical fruits, and cocktails that arrive with little umbrellas because, of course, they do. The sunsets are criminally beautiful, almost as if the island is flexing its natural charm, reminding you that you're insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

And yet, I felt this odd sensation lurking beneath the surface—something off. Guilt? Maybe. Vulnerability? Definitely. It’s hard to explain how sitting in paradise can feel so unnerving, but it was as though the island was whispering: something’s gotta give. Maybe it’s the side effects of spending too much time in places where luxury is the last thing on anyone’s mind, where you keep your guard up because you never know when life will pull the rug from under you. Or maybe it’s just that being wrapped in that much comfort makes you realize how fragile everything is.

In any case, I never could shake the feeling. The whole experience was an exercise in dissonance—this perfect, serene landscape against the mental background noise of a mind that never quite lets its guard down. Strange how not fully enjoying something so globally coveted felt like a betrayal of sorts. Maybe I’ll go back one day and see if I can reconcile with it. Maybe not. I’m still working that one out.

Orta San Giulio

Pontecagnano and Orta San Giulio, two gems tucked away in Italy’s landscape, offer an intoxicating blend of history, culture, and—of course—food. Because in Italy, food is not just sustenance; it’s poetry on a plate. In Pontecagnano, the salty air from the Tyrrhenian Sea mingles with the scent of fresh basil and olive oil, as if the wind itself has learned the secrets of Italian cuisine. Ancient ruins pepper the horizon, a reminder that while modern life hums along, the ghosts of history linger in every piazza, every stone, every whispered word of dialect. Here, life is savored slowly, like a perfect bite of homemade pasta—al dente, just right.

Orta San Giulio, on the other hand, sits like a quiet masterpiece by the lake, a place where time doesn’t so much stand still as it gracefully flows, like the gentle ripples on Lago d'Orta. This little town, seemingly suspended between heaven and earth, exudes a refined elegance—la dolce vita in its purest form. The narrow cobblestone streets wind past charming houses painted in pastel shades, leading to hidden trattorias where you can sip local wine and indulge in risotto as creamy as the sky at dusk. It’s here you realize that "art de vivre" could just as easily have been an Italian concept, so perfectly balanced is the blend of modern life with the slow, deliberate cadence of tradition.

Non sempre ciò che vien dopo è progresso: not everything that comes after is progress. And that’s the charm of these places. Whether you're traveling from the north or south, east or west, Italy always seems to deliver just the right dose of southern life—a warm, sun-drenched reminder that modernity doesn't need to rush. The Italians have mastered an equilibrium, where you can hold the ancient in one hand and the present in the other, never tipping the scales too far in either direction. Like a perfectly balanced cappuccino, just sweet enough, no matter the time of day.

Singapore

Singapore was, perhaps predictably, not waiting for me. My first visit coincided with the city bracing itself for the Grand Prix, towering barriers rising up like walls, cutting off entire sections of the cityscape from the wandering eyes of uninvited guests. From my office perched high above the bay, I watched the organized frenzy below, the lights and roar of engines. And yet, with all that energy humming in the streets, I felt a quiet dissonance—a yearning for something slower, older. So I turned away from the skyscrapers and their reflections in the water, drawn instead to obscure museums, relics of a past that existed long before the gleaming towers of modern Singapore took their place.

Make no mistake, the city was pleasant in its own way, even charming in parts. It moved with purpose, efficient yet gracious, like a host always ready to offer a perfectly timed smile or an impeccable service. There was a rhythm to it, an eclectic mix of cultures and histories, but beneath it all, an undercurrent of speed—a kind of rush that never seemed to break stride. Even in the smiles that greeted me, there was a practiced air. They were sincere, yet distant, as if every interaction had been smoothed over, polished like the marble floors of the city's luxurious hotels. I felt taken care of, certainly, but in the way a stranger is—deferentially served, but a stranger just the same.

Sitting in the quiet corners of those forgotten museums, away from the relentless march of modernity, I found a fleeting sense of place, a whisper of something more familiar. Yet even then, the city's sleek modernity was never far from my thoughts, like the hum of a Formula One engine you can’t escape. I left with the promise of return, knowing that there was still more to uncover beneath its polished surface.

Tokyo

My experience in Japan is an odd one, as I landed in Tokyo with the peculiar goal of visiting Disneyland—an extended stopover with an almost surreal destination. I hadn’t come for the temples, the bustling Shibuya crossing, or the whispers of old Edo. Instead, I immersed myself in the colors and clamor of a distinctly Western creation transplanted into the heart of one of the most culturally rich countries in the world.

Disneyland Tokyo, though familiar in its American origins, felt paradoxically Japanese in its obsession with order, its meticulous design, and the quiet reverence of its visitors. It was as if I were observing Japan through a warped mirror—modernity and exuberance packaged in the form of a foreign amusement park, but revealing subtle reflections of the country itself. This juxtaposition was amusing, yes, but also enriching, as if by experiencing something so alien, I had inadvertently brushed up against Japan’s core: its capacity to adopt, perfect, and reinvent the foreign while maintaining an unwavering sense of identity.

Japan is both modern and traditional, a country where the ancient and the futuristic live side by side, or so we are said. But it was hard not to feel this truth resonate within the walls of Disneyland. The park seemed, in its own strange way, a metaphor for post-war Japan—rebuilt and exuberant, yet existing in a carefully crafted dreamscape where everything is polished, controlled, and safe. Like the country itself, Disneyland offers a fleeting escape from the complexities of life.

The society outside, drawn apart by modernization yet bound together by deep-rooted familial ties, mirrors the themes of many Disney stories about separation, reunion, and the power of connection. As I strolled through the park, I couldn’t help but wonder if this experience—seemingly lacking in cultural substance—somehow tapped into an unspoken essence of Japan. Was it a superficial diversion, or had I, in the most inadvertent way, touched something deeper about this nation’s resilience, its insouciance, and its ability to find harmony in the contradictions of modernity?

Lausanne

Lausanne was never the final stop—it was more like a layover between two lives. I worked there, sure. Grabbed a sandwich, missed a train, and definitely sipped a few overpriced coffees. But the truth? I never really participated. Lausanne was a place where I’d show up, glance at my watch, and think, "Alright, let’s keep this moving." It had the energy of a pit stop, with its clean streets and Parisian echoes, yet never enough allure to make me stay. The real gravitational pull? Montreux. That lakeside gem was like a planet with a massive orbit, always dragging me back into its serene clutches, making Lausanne feel more like a polite afterthought. The kind of place you smile at from across the room but don’t ask to dance.

Don’t get me wrong, Lausanne had all the charm and sophistication you’d expect. The cafés were nice, the people looked busy enough to be doing something important, and there was even a subway that reminded me of my old Paris days. But the irony was thick: I came here to escape that kind of rush, and yet found myself surrounded by the same frantic energy. Lausanne, with its Olympic ties, prides itself on Pierre de Coubertin's famous saying, "It is important to participate." Well, I barely participated. I was always just... passing through. It felt more like an anchor dragging me back to France when I was desperately trying to sail somewhere else, to feel untethered.

Lausanne was like a well-worn book you pick up out of habit, familiar and reliable, but never quite captivating enough to hold your full attention. You flip through the pages, recognize the patterns, but always close it before reaching the final chapter.

Bordeaux

Bordeaux is my hometown—or at least that’s how I introduce myself. I wasn’t born there, but I was raised in its embrace, surrounded by warmth, love, and family. Yet the Bordeaux of my youth was far from the shining jewel it is today. The streets were cold and cracked, the grandeur of its architecture hidden beneath a layer of neglect. It was a city in disrepair, as if it were waiting for its own revival, just as I was navigating my own journey through education. Over the course of a decade, Bordeaux transformed itself with painstaking care, standing as a beacon of pride, the envy of Parisians and tourists alike. Some days, I find myself secretly envying the city, wishing I could have a little rejuvenation of my own.

Bordeaux's history, woven with tales of sailors and explorers setting off for distant shores, is perhaps what planted the seed for my own sense of adventure. Its museums whisper stories of those daring voyages, of crossing uncharted waters, searching for something more. Maybe that’s where it all began for me—an understanding that life is about setting sail, even if your journey begins in the calm harbor of a familiar place. Bordeaux has always been my starting point, the city where my story begins. I never wanted to escape it. It wasn’t about fleeing home; it was about leaving the nest, knowing one day I’d return, not as someone looking to belong again, but as a traveler eager to share stories from far-off lands.

Oddly enough, I did return to Bordeaux, once, as a tourist—sleeping in a hotel, exploring the streets with fresh eyes, almost like a stranger. When I sat back at the family table the next day, I finally understood: I didn’t want to escape the city; I wanted the experience of leaving it, of coming back with stories to tell. Bordeaux isn’t a place to flee, it’s the place that sends you out into the world, only to welcome you back with open arms. It’s the womb of my journey, the place where all adventures start, and no matter how far I go, it’s always there, waiting to hear my tales and send me off again.

Reads

Writing about books has always felt a bit odd to me. There's a certain intimacy in reading—a private conversation between the pages and the reader that feels too sacred to dissect.
I’ve decided to make available reading notes only for the books I have truly appreciated. This isn’t about critique; I’m not here to judge or analyze every detail. Instead, I want to share my thoughts and reflections on texts that have resonated with me, inspired me, or simply made me feel seen—and perhaps, inspire a new reader or two along the way.

The Curious Treasures of the Lost and Found
In the Shadows of Giants of Science
Confessions of a Finance Reader
Thrill Your Shelf

The Curious Treasures of the Lost and Found

"I hate traveling and explorers," Lévi-Strauss declared, a line that cut through the fog of travel clichés. In the realm of travel literature, where the temptation to rely on platitudes is strong, Lévi-Strauss’s L'Apothéose d'Auguste jolted me awake. His keen observations stripped away the romanticism that often clouds our understanding of exploration. Instead of seeing cultures as mere backdrops to my own adventures, I confronted the uncomfortable truths about the people and places I encountered. His honesty forced me to recognize that travel is not just about picturesque landscapes but about engaging deeply with the complexities of the world, challenging me to be a genuine participant rather than a passive observer.

Travel had always been a kind of reckoning for me, a confrontation with the world that revealed and concealed in equal measure. In Roughing It in the Sandwich Islands, Mark Twain captured the raw beauty of Hawaii with a sharpness that danced between humor and profound observation. I recalled the first time I read his accounts, laughing at his wit while feeling a pang of recognition; here was a man who ventured forth only to be ensnared by the absurdities that often accompany exploration. Twain didn’t merely describe the lush landscapes; he sketched the folly of human expectations against the stark realities of the world. The way he painted the natives was both comedic and tragic. I often found myself reflecting on my own journeys—how often did I arrive at a destination with a head full of fantasies, only to have them unraveled by the messy truths of the people I encountered?

Twain's adventures made me reconsider my own observations and assumptions. I remembered a particular trip to a bustling market in Pouytenga, where I stood, overwhelmed by the cacophony of sounds and colors, trying to make sense of the whirlwind around me. Much like Twain's observations of Hawaiian culture, I felt both an outsider and an intruder, my foreignness glaring against the mosaic of local life. Twain's humor reminded me that there is a delicate balance in travel—between admiration and judgment, between engagement and detachment.

This thought was echoed in Claude Lévi-Strauss’s Tristes Tropiques. His prose was heavy, laden with the weight of philosophical musings that made me sit up and pay attention. He took me into the depths of Brazil’s jungles, where civilization felt distant and often absurd, revealing a world shaped by its own rules and rhythms. Lévi-Strauss's reflections on indigenous cultures challenged me to reconsider my preconceived notions. I realized that in my own travels, I often approached new places like a tourist rather than an engaged participant. I thought of those moments when I had reduced vibrant cultures to mere bullet points on a checklist, overlooking the rich fabric that made them alive.

Reading Lévi-Strauss pushed me to confront the identity I carried with me, the lens through which I viewed the world. He wrote about the complexities of culture, about how people adapt and respond to external influences. I remembered a moment in a small village in Chad, where I was invited to share a meal with a family. I sat at the table, feeling both welcomed and alien. They spoke a language I didn’t understand, yet the warmth in their eyes transcended words. In that moment, I realized the importance of presence over participation, of being fully aware of the cultural nuances that danced around me, much like Lévi-Strauss had experienced among the tribes of the Amazon.

Gavan Daws’s Shoal of Time weaves history and personal narratives, transporting me once again into Hawaii's past. His work echoed with the spirit of exploration, but it was the depth of his storytelling that captivated me. Daws captured not just the historical milestones but also the essence of place—the wind, the waves, the stories held within the islands themselves. As I read, I found myself contemplating my own relationship with history. The stories I carried from my travels felt like fragmented memories that needed stitching together, much like Daws had done with the narratives of Hawaiian kings and commoners alike.

I thought back to my visit to the ancient ruins of Ubud, where each stone felt imbued with the spirits of those who came before. Daws’s exploration of the interconnectedness of individuals and their histories made me reflect on how my own background shaped my travels. The way I viewed a place was often colored by the stories I had inherited, the tales of my ancestors that shaped my identity. Daws’s intertwining of personal and collective histories resonated with me; it was a reminder that every place I visited had its own narrative waiting to be unveiled.

The Sahara in Theodore Monod’s L'Émeraude des Garamantes: Souvenirs d'un Saharien presented a stark contrast to the lush landscapes of Hawaii. In the vastness of the desert, I felt a profound sense of isolation that mirrored Monod’s reverence for the land. The desert was not merely an expanse of sand; it was a world unto itself, alive with its own rhythm. Monod’s reflections brought me face-to-face with the harsh realities of survival and the beauty that arose from the starkest conditions.

His reverence for the desert people and their way of life sparked memories of my own encounters in arid climates. I recalled wandering through the deserts of Ennedi, the sun beating down on me, and how it made me question not just the environment but my place within it. The desert stripped away the superficial, revealing the essence of existence. Monod’s words resonated deeply as I felt the weight of the sun on my shoulders and the sand beneath my feet. It was a reminder of endurance, of how landscapes shape not just the people who inhabit them but also the travelers who pass through.

As I wove through these narratives, a common thread emerged: the complexity of identity, shaped and reshaped by the act of travel. Twain's humor and Lévi-Strauss's contemplative insights created a tension that was both enriching and disorienting. Daws and Monod grounded me in their respective worlds, urging me to look beyond the surface and understand the intricate layers of history and culture. I often thought about how I navigated these complexities, carrying my experiences like stones in my pocket, each one weighing me down or lifting me up depending on the day.

In each of these texts, I found reflections on the absurdity inherent in travel. There was a vanity in seeking the exotic, a desire to collect experiences like rare coins. Yet, amid this absurdity, I discovered humor as a vital lifeline. Twain's laughter echoed in my mind, reminding me to take myself less seriously and to appreciate the missteps and misadventures that inevitably came my way. The most memorable moments in my travels arose from the unexpected—an impromptu dance in a village, a conversation with a stranger that spiraled into hours of shared stories. I often thought about the times I wandered off the beaten path, how those moments became the essence of my journey.

I concluded that to be a traveler was to embrace the absurd and find joy in it. I had learned to wander with a light heart, to laugh at my own mistakes, and to seek connection rather than validation. The world was vast, filled with stories waiting to be discovered, and I understood then that the greatest journey was not just across borders but within myself—a quest for understanding in a world that often defied comprehension.

Travel was not merely a series of destinations; it was a way of seeing, a perspective that shaped the way I lived and loved. Each trip left its mark, a reminder of both the beauty and absurdity of existence itself. I realized that a humorous traveler, one who could laugh at the inevitable chaos and absurdity of it all, could uncover the deeper truths that lay hidden beneath the surface. In the end, I understood that travel was both a search for meaning and an embrace of the absurd, a journey toward a more profound understanding of myself and the world around me.

▪ Twain, Mark. Roughing It in the Sandwich Islands. American Publishing Company, 1872.
▪ Lévi-Strauss, Claude. Tristes Tropiques. Plon, 1955.
▪ Daws, Gavan. Shoal of Time: A History of the Hawaiian Islands. University of Hawaii Press, 1968.
▪ Monod, Théodore. L'Émeraude des Garamantes: Souvenirs d'un Saharien. Éditions Gallimard, 1980.

In the Shadows of Giants of Science

The pursuit of scientific knowledge is both an exhilarating journey and a humbling experience. Newton’s laws, Hawking’s cosmic revelations, Feynman’s engaging pedagogy, and Sagan’s philosophical musings all illuminate the complexities of the universe while reminding us of our inherent limitations.

As I read scientific books, I often felt less like I was perched atop the shoulders of giants and more like a child, gazing up from the ground at their towering figures. Each author stands as a formidable presence in their field, illuminating the dark corners of knowledge while casting shadows on my own limitations. Their insights, vast and intricate, weave an elaborate web that beckons the curious mind to explore further.

In Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica, Newton lays the foundation for modern physics, articulating the laws that govern celestial mechanics with striking elegance. Reading Newton is a bizarre sensation; I felt both awed and outsmarted by his brilliance, nevertheless knowing that Einstein would eventually challenge the gravitational framework he established. Newton’s mathematical formulations serve as a blueprint for the cosmos, yet they simultaneously reveal the limits of human understanding. His genius shines brightly, inviting readers to ponder the intricate dance of planets while highlighting the vast expanse of knowledge that remains just beyond reach. As I turned the pages, the interplay between Newton's theories of gravity and Einstein's introduced a compelling dialogue about the nature and scope of scientific knowledge. The need to replace Newton's framework with Einstein's relativistic model raises important questions about the evolution of scientific thought and the inherent limitations that accompany our understanding of the universe.

Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time continues this exploration, inviting readers to grapple with the very nature of time and space. With remarkable clarity, Hawking tackles concepts like black holes and the Big Bang, making them accessible to a broad audience like me. Yet beneath the surface of his engaging prose lies a profound complexity that challenges even the most astute minds. Hawking’s ability to illuminate the cosmos while urging us to confront the unknown is both inspiring and daunting. Navigating through his theories left me with a deep sense of admiration, coupled with a humbling recognition of my own intellectual limitations. It’s the kind of book that dazzles you, leaving you at a loss for words; you can't quite summarize it—you just have to read it. Like a comet, it illuminates the darkness with a violent burst of intelligence, yet it passes too swiftly.

Richard Feynman’s Six Easy Pieces offers a refreshing perspective on fundamental physics. Feynman’s trademark charisma and humor infuse his lectures with an inviting warmth, drawing readers into the realm of science. His work serves as a monumental reminder of the challenges inherent in simplifying complex concepts. Feynman’s knack for conveying depth through simplicity left me with a newfound appreciation for the art of teaching. His playful exploration of scientific principles reminds us that even the most profound truths can be expressed with clarity and joy.

Carl Sagan’s Cosmos beautifully intertwines science and philosophy, taking readers on a lyrical journey through the universe. His prose resonates with a sense of wonder and curiosity, inviting us to contemplate our place within—you guessed it—the cosmos. Sagan’s reflections often echo the thoughts of philosophers like Descartes and Pascal, who grappled with the nature of existence and the pursuit of knowledge. Through Sagan’s lens, I was reminded of the interconnectedness of scientific inquiry and philosophical exploration.

The extraordinary personalities behind these books—outsiders devoted to the pursuit of knowledge—further enrich our understanding. Newton's meticulous nature, Hawking's indomitable spirit, Feynman’s infectious curiosity, and Sagan’s poetic eloquence all converge to create a dialogue that transcends time. They exemplify the deeply human endeavor of inquiry, reminding us that the quest for knowledge thrives even in the face of uncertainty.

And ultimately, grappling with the vastness of the universe and the intricacies of knowledge proved to be a profound yet humbling experience. Richard Hamming's You and Your Research resonates here, reminding us that the essence of scientific inquiry lies not merely in the answers we find but in our willingness to ask the right questions, and urging us to embrace the uncertainty and wonder that define the pursuit of understanding.

▪ Newton, Isaac. Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica. London: Joseph Streater, 1687.
▪ Sagan, Carl. Cosmos. Random House, 1980.
▪ Hawking, Stephen. A Brief History of Time. Bantam, 1988.
▪ Feynman, Richard P. Six Easy Pieces: Essentials of Physics Explained by Its Most Brilliant Teacher. Perseus Books, 1994.

Confessions of a Finance Reader

I initially hesitated to write a review of finance books. Much of the business literature out there seems to oscillate between being gloriously unscientific and a touch self-congratulatory, lacking the intellectual rigor that really grabs me. But in the recesses of my mind, I always harbored an unexpected enthusiasm for tales of collective delusions and the motivations that underpin our shared follies. Acknowledging this feels akin to confessing a love for reading gossip columns at a journalism awards gala—who really wants to be that guest?

Well, enter Michael Lewis. As a former banker turned bestselling author, he’s a delightful find. He has this charming way of writing, and yes, he’s often reminded us that Liar’s Poker is not a how-to manual for budding traders. Lewis possesses an incredible knack for turning the intricacies of financial instruments into gripping narratives. When he peels back the layers of the 2008 financial crisis, he exposes the murky workings of Wall Street, illuminating how a handful of savvy outsiders—those who truly understood the chaos—managed to profit from the disaster waiting to unfold. It’s a wild ride of insights and calamities, demonstrating the absurdity of financial speculation while highlighting our collective tendency to ignore the past, blissfully marching toward oblivion. Lewis is more storyteller than journalist; his writing dives deep into the personalities driving the financial machinery, allowing us to connect with the human drama behind the numbers. In a way, he channels the spirit of Mark Twain or even Hunter Thompson—more classic novelist than investigative reporter.

Then there’s Niall Ferguson, who adds a broader historical lens to finance. In The Ascent of Money: A Financial History of the World, Ferguson explores how money, banking, and investment have evolved, arguing that financial innovations often lead to societal upheaval. He makes the case that every financial revolution—whether it’s the birth of credit or the stock market—comes with its fair share of chaos. Ferguson and Lewis are on the same wavelength, probing those collective delusions that often blind us to the lessons of history as we leap into the same pitfalls, driven by a relentless pursuit of profit.

The meticulous work by Bethany McLean and Peter Elkind on the Enron scandal—also a documentary that came with a delightful soundtrack—sheds light on the intoxicating allure of hubris and the cult of personality that surrounds some business leaders. The Enron executives serve as cautionary tales of how groupthink can lead to colossal failures. The authors paint a vivid picture of how these self-proclaimed geniuses deceived themselves while ensnaring thousands of employees and investors in their web of lies. Here, just like in Lewis’s tales, the outsiders—the skeptics—who dared question the company’s practices often found themselves at odds with a culture that thrived on ignorance and greed.

Charles Mackay’s Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds provides a historical backdrop that contextualizes our current financial follies. He chronicles the frenzies that have gripped the public—think tulip mania and the South Sea Bubble—offering insights into the psychology of crowds and the irrationality that often accompanies mass behavior. His work serves as a dark reminder that the dangers of mob mentality are as timeless as finance itself.

Anthony Trollope might not be a financial author per se, but his exploration of ambition, deception, and moral ambiguity resonates with the themes of the other works. The Way We Live Now captures the essence of societal greed, revealing that the characters navigating this landscape are often more concerned with appearances than substance. The relentless pursuit of wealth, devoid of ethical considerations, spins a cycle of delusion that echoes through time.

In a refreshing twist, Douglas Kennedy’s Combien? delves into the interplay of desire and the quest for wealth. While his narrative leans more personal and introspective, it effectively unpacks the psychological motivations behind financial decisions. The characters wrestle with existential questions about money’s value and the meaning of a fulfilling life amid an unending chase for more. This thematic exploration parallels the ideas presented by Lewis, Ferguson, and others, showcasing once again how individual motivations can lead to broader societal delusions.

So, what’s the takeaway from this eclectic mix of finance and fiction? The perspective of the outsider emerges as a vital theme. Whether it’s the short-sellers in The Big Short, the skeptical investors in Ferguson’s historical narrative, or the whistleblowers in The Smartest Guys in the Room, those who dare to challenge the status quo are often sidelined. There’s a persistent danger in ignoring history’s lessons—a seductive trap with fatal consequences.

And let’s not overlook the delightful irony of how finance professionals often pepper their hedge fund letters and investment missives with references to the humanities, attempting to lend gravitas to their otherwise transactional pursuits and trying to cloak their numerical conquests in a shroud of cultural sophistication.

Maybe the core issue is that finance, at its essence, sometimes feels devoid of intrinsic meaning. The solution? Try to do something worthwhile with what it produces: the money it generates for the winners. Hence, as Lanchester pointed out, the obsession of billionaires with philanthropy; their day jobs may lack significance, but meaning must be excavated from the charitable initiatives they pursue with their vast fortunes. For some of them, the most valuable thing they can do with their riches is cultivate a reputation outside the financial sphere that aligns with the idealized image they have of themselves. It is, in a sense, a curious transformation—these financial titans, who’ve triumphed in a game of chance, now aspire to become the philosopher kings they believe they are. In that spirit, perhaps I shall also bid farewell with a classic Latin proverb: Sic transit gloria mundi—so passes the glory of the world.

▪ Mackay, Charles. Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds. Richard Bentley, 1841.
▪ Trollope, Anthony. The Way We Live Now. Chapman and Hall, 1875.
▪ Lewis, Michael. Liar's Poker: Rising Through the Wreckage on Wall Street. W.W. Norton & Company, 1989.
▪ McLean, Beth, and Peter Elkind. The Smartest Guys in the Room: The Amazing Rise and Scandalous Fall of Enron. Portfolio, 2003.
▪ Ferguson, Niall. The Ascent of Money: A Financial History of the World. Penguin Press, 2008.
▪ Lewis, Michael. The Big Short: Inside the Doomsday Machine. W.W. Norton & Company, 2010.
▪ Kennedy, Douglas. Combien? Viking Adult, 2013.
▪ Lanchester, John. For Every Winner a Loser. London Book of Review, vol. 46, no. 17, 2024.

Thrill Your Shelf

If you enjoy unsolved mysteries, here’s one for you: the thriller genre is often overlooked. It’s dismissed as mere entertainment, yet it is a true piece of literature that captures the complexity of our world. Thrillers draw you in with their haunting melodies, capturing the raw essence of struggle, despair, and fleeting hope. You find yourself lost in the notes, resonating with the pain and truth that reverberate through every page. Their stories serve as melancholic ballads that dig deep into the human condition, exposing the dark underbelly of society and the moral complexities lurking beneath the surface.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Larsson isn’t just a book; it’s a revelation, peeling back the layers of Northern European aristocracy like the wrapper of a forgotten whiskey bottle. Here, the rich pull the strings, and the political scene simmers with tension. Mikael Blomkvist is your average journalist, ensnared in scandal, yet he becomes a pawn in a much larger game, navigating a world steeped in deception. Lisbeth Salander is the chaos agent, the wild card who flips the narrative on its head. This isn’t just fiction—it’s a critique of a society that wraps itself in civility while festering with corruption. The chilling exploration of these characters mirrors the overarching themes of moral ambiguity and the façade of social order that permeate each of these narratives.

Grangé’s Congo Requiem delivers a gripping tale that devours you whole. Of course, it has everything to please me: a violent jungle backdrop that’s both beautiful and brutal? Check. Commodity trading intricacies that reveal the exploitation at play? Check. French intelligence and military undertones lurking in the shadows? Check. A tangled family story rooted in Britain that adds personal stakes to the international intrigue? Check. Grangé weaves a narrative that feels like a high-stakes poker game played with loaded dice. I found myself awake at odd hours, heart racing, swept away in a whirlwind of espionage and familial loyalty. You can’t help but wonder how Grangé's works have been so frequently adapted to cinema, as the books are so dense that even a long series couldn’t do them justice.

DOA’s Citoyens clandestins plunges you into a world of political cynicism that feels brutally clinical and nihilistic. Each character is pulled straight from a nightmare, stripped of hope and marching toward inevitable collapse. The stark, cold prose reflects a reality where loyalty is an illusion and betrayal is the only certainty. It’s a relentless ride through a dystopian landscape where the characters grapple with their shattered ideals, their struggles hitting you like a punch to the gut. This examination of despair resonates with the themes of moral decay and social critique found in Larsson’s work, both authors forcing you to confront the ugly truths hidden beneath the surface.

La Théorie Gaya, a key entry in the ambitious Cycle de l'Homme et de la Vérité, transcends the thriller genre; it serves as a philosophical exploration that challenges the limits of the human psyche. It’s dark, twisted, and makes you ponder the path humanity is on. Chattam, a best-selling author who—unduly—has never claimed a major literary prize, crafts stories you want to take on the train, but you’ll end up missing your stop, lost in his web of ideas. To complete the immersion, he even suggests a playlist to accompany his books—a soundtrack for your descent into madness. It’s as if he knows you’re going to get lost in his world, and he wants to set the mood just right. The narrative plays with your mind, challenging you to question the very nature of progress and morality, just as Grangé and DOA have done through their unsettling portrayals of humanity.

Thriller authors deserve their rightful place in literature and on the shelves of any library. They excel at diving into the abyss of human nature, wielding their narratives like weapons against a complacent world all too eager to ignore its shadows. Larsson’s exploration of societal rot, Grangé’s gripping tale of exploitation and survival, DOA’s nihilistic plunge into political chaos, and Chattam’s haunting philosophical inquiries all tore at the fabric of our consciousness, pushing readers to confront the truths we often prefer to overlook. These aren’t just books. They’re a challenge, an invitation to stare into the void. And sometimes, if you’re brave enough, the void stares back.

▪ Larsson, Stieg. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Norstedts Förlag, 2005.
▪ Grangé, Jean-Christophe. Congo Requiem. Albin Michel, 2006.
▪ Chattam, Maxime. La Théorie Gaya. Albin Michel, 2006.
▪ DOA. Citoyens clandestins. Éditions du Seuil, 2013.

Links

Welcome to one of the last remnants of the internet wilderness. No algorithms, no curated feeds, no clicks assigned a dollar sign. Just a patchwork of links to real human work—scrappy, raw, and alive.
This is a stash of unfinished scientific and literary thoughts, coding projects that might only work on a good day, and portals that open up to fascinating pockets of the web.

Magazines | Online Libraries | Online Projects | Research Portals | Finance Scholars

Magazines

Quanta Magazine is an excellent resource for anyone interested in science and mathematics. It features in-depth articles that explain complex topics in an accessible way, covering a broad range of fields including physics, biology, mathematics, and computer science.  It also features a quarterly puzzle section where you can submit your solutions for a chance to win a T-shirt. I gave it a try and ended up giving my wardrobe a nice upgrade.

Edge.org is the online website of The Reality Club where some of the brightest minds gather to explore complex ideas and share their insights. Their Annual Question contributions are a fantastic read, offering a diverse range of perspectives on the same subject.

Long Reads is a platform dedicated to curating and publishing long-form journalism and storytelling across various genres. It features a diverse array of articles, essays, covering topics such as culture, politics, science, and personal experiences.

The New Yorker offers in-depth reporting, commentary, essays, and original fiction. It covers a wide range of topics including politics, art, and social issues.  It’s one of my few physical subscriptions; I came for the Pulitzer-winning articles and stayed for the cartoons.

The London Review of Books features critical essays, reviews, and discussions on literature, politics, and culture. It often includes contributions from notable authors and scholars offering insightful commentary on contemporary issues.

Philosophical Review publishes in-depth articles and discussions that explore a wide range of philosophical topics. It aims to advance philosophical knowledge and understanding, and is hosted by University of Notre Dame.

Harper's Magazine combines literary and journalistic writing, offering a blend of essays, fiction, and cultural criticism. It covers diverse subjects, from politics to the arts, offers thought-provoking content and distinctive voice in American journalism.

Los Angeles Review of Books focuses on critical essays and reviews, with a particular emphasis on contemporary literature and cultural commentary. It is also a platform for writers to engage with literary works and cultural phenomena within the literary community.

The New York Review of Books publishes essays and reviews about literary and cultural topics. It is an influential platform for thoughtful analysis and discourse about literature and its impact on society.

Online Libraries

The Online Books Page provides access to thousands of free books available online, hosted by the University of Pennsylvania. It includes links to various formats, including plain text, HTML, and ePub, and covers a wide array of literature and historical texts.

The Library of Short Stories is a collection of short stories, featuring a diverse selection of both classic and contemporary stories, allowing users to discover new authors and genres.

The Library of Mistakes is a free-to-use library focuses on the study of financial history and the lessons learned from past financial mistakes. It offers a collection of resources, including books and articles, aimed at helping readers understand economic principles and the historical context of financial decisions.

The Project Gutenberg is one of the largest and oldest digital libraries, offering thousands of free eBooks, including many classic literary works.

Online Projects

Foldit is an online puzzle game that allows you to contribute to scientific research by folding proteins. The goal is to find the best configuration for a given protein structure, which can help in understanding diseases and developing treatments.

Galaxy Zoo makes you participate in classifying galaxies and contribute to our understanding of the universe. Volunteers can help identify different types of galaxies based on images taken by telescopes.

iNaturalist allows you to record and share observations of wildlife, contributing to biodiversity research. You can upload photos and help identify species while also connecting with other nature enthusiasts.

The Project Gutenberg, mentioned earlier, also enables you to transcribe and digitize classic literature and historical documents, making them accessible to the public. This contributes to the preservation and dissemination of knowledge.

CERN Open Data offers access to real experimental data from CERN and contribute to research by analyzing particle physics data. You will nevertheless need a background in physics or data analysis.

World Community Grid allows you to volunteer your computer's idle time to process research for humanitarian causes, such as cancer research, clean water, and climate change.

BOINC is the Berkeley Open Infrastructure for Network Computing allows you to volunteer your computer's processing power for various scientific research projects, from climate modeling to astrophysics.

SETI@home main project is now in hibernation, but there are still related projects that analyze data from radio telescopes to search for extraterrestrial intelligence.

Kaggle is a platform that allows you to participate in data science competitions, collaborate on projects, and explore datasets. It is a great place to cut your teeth on machine learning.

Research Portals

Arxiv is a repository for preprints in in the fields of physics, mathematics, computer science, quantitative biology, quantitative finance, statistics, electrical engineering and systems science, and economics. Researchers can upload their articles before they are peer-reviewed, allowing for quicker dissemination of findings. Users can subscribe to specific categories or topics to receive email alerts whenever new papers are added, making it a valuable resource for staying updated in their fields of interest.

IDEAS is the largest bibliographic databases for economics literature. It provides access to a vast array of academic papers, articles, working papers, and books in the field of economics. Users can search for publications, track citations, and follow specific authors or topics.

Experimental Mathematics Website offers a wealth of resources including books, journals, mathematical societies, software, and tools focused on experimental mathematics. It serves as a hub for researchers looking to explore and share innovative approaches in mathematics.

Open Problem Garden is dedicated to unsolved problems in mathematics, providing a platform for mathematicians to contribute to and discuss open questions. It's an excellent resource for those looking to engage with cutting-edge mathematical challenges.

Meta-Research Innovation Center at Stanford focuses on improving the validity and transparency of scientific research through innovative research practices. It aims to address issues such as reproducibility and bias in scientific studies, making it a valuable resource for researchers interested in enhancing the integrity of their work.

Finance Scholars

Alex Chinco regularly publishes papers about active management and cross-sectional predictability. To date, my favorite thought piece of his is Proving You Can Pick Stocks Without Revealing How, where he introduces a zero-cost, zero-knowledge proof system that convinces investors of a trader's stock-picking skill without revealing the strategy's details, and further extends this concept to a theoretical new spot market for profitable trading ideas.

Blas Moros writes about books, including finance books, and a variety of key terms and concepts. He also runs a website named The Rabbit Hole, so you’ve been warned.

Doyne Farmer has developed a theory of market ecology and founded the field of econophysics at the Santa Fe Institute. If you think this is not applied science, think again: he co-founded Prediction Company, which was later sold to UBS and then Millennium.

Wouter J. Keller is a computer scientist who has shared extensive thoughts about asset allocation and momentum. A collection of his papers is hosted on SSRN.

Cosma Rohilla Shalizi works primarily on the statistical analysis of complex systems models. He also writes about other people’s science, hosts hundreds of small essays, and has remained loyal to HTML 1.0. Judge for yourself as you navigate the adventurous intellectual safari that is his website.

Jevin West writes about how sociological and economic factors drive and slow the evolution of science. He thinks critically about data and has co-authored The Art of Skepticism in a Data-Driven World. The full book title includes an expletive that suggests a certain frankness.

Campbell Harvey has extensively covered the Global Financial Crisis. He also maintains the largest financial glossary on the Internet, from A-shares to Z-Score. Of course, there is an app for that.

David Hsieh is a finance professor writing about hedge fund risk analysis, biases in hedge fund databases, and asset-based style factors to model the risk of hedge fund strategies.

Edward O. Thorp needs no introduction: math professor, inventor, best-selling author, hedge fund manager, gambler. He wrote extensively on option pricing, the Kelly criterion, statistical arbitrage strategies, and inefficient markets.

Marcos Lopez de Prado has directed numerous theses and is among the most prolific researchers in quantitative finance. He has significantly advanced the adoption of machine learning and supercomputing in the field while also developing statistical tests that help identify false positives in investment strategies.

Eric Stafford writes about liquidity, fire sales, and private equity replication. He has published seminal papers about the impact of managerial decisions on stock performance and limited arbitrage in equity markets.

Erik Falken is an economist who went long on low volatility names before it was a thing. He is the author of The Missing Risk Premium and created RiskCalc, Moody’s private firms default probability model.

Aswath Damodaran extensively covers valuation case studies, teaches about valuation principles, and maintains a wealth of annual data on equity premium metrics. His work consistently offers a fresh perspective on controversial valuations.

Nassim Taleb is a philosopher, statistician, author, and self-described flâneur. He often engages in spirited debates about why the Gaussian distribution should not be used in social science, insisting that it overlooks the chaos of real life. Of course, not everyone agrees with his take, and some have challenged the relevance he’s so passionately denouncing. He remains a great read, whether it’s his books or research papers, always offering sharp insights that provoke thought and discussion.

Timothy Gowers is a combinatorics professor with excellent vulgarization skills. He is renowned for making complex mathematical concepts accessible to a broader audience, and is the author of Mathematics: A Very Short Introduction.

Kevin Dowd is a finance professor whose work covers monetary and macroeconomic policies, heavily influenced by Austrian and Public Choice economics. His research often delves into the intricacies of economic theory, blending rigorous analysis with a critical perspective on conventional approaches.

Terence Tao is a mathematician whose work is often so advanced that I probably understand only a fraction of a fraction of his research. However, his website also features valuable teaching resources and insightful advice on careers and writing.

Grigori Perelman is a mathematician renowned for proving the Poincaré conjecture, famously refusing both the Fields Medal and the Millennium Prize. Since 2006, he has lived in seclusion in Saint Petersburg. I wish he had a personal page, but for now, it’s Wikipedia that will have to do. It remains unclear whether he has stopped his mathematical research or if he continues to work on the Navier–Stokes equations and the problem of their solutions' existence and smoothness. Ultimately, it serves as a reminder of how many invaluable insights research is meant to share and transmit, rather than be confined solely to individual efforts or academic papers.

Marco Avellaneda was a prominent figure in the development of mathematical modeling in finance. He is best known for the Avellaneda-Stoikov market-making formula, but his research contributions extend far beyond that. Wiley published a comprehensive in memoriam that encapsulates his extensive work.

The Simons Foundation, founded by mathematician and hedge fund manager Jim Simons and his wife, Marilyn, supports research in mathematics and sciences, including autism and education. Jim Simons, who passed away in 2024, notably supported initiatives like arXiv and Quanta Magazine through his foundation, both mentioned above.

Tools

This website is hosting several small tools I have developed and use frequently. In 2020, some of my source code was archived for 1,000 years in an Arctic Code Vault? Similar to this site, each tool is a self-contained webpage that runs entirely on the client-side, without relying on any external dependencies.

RSS News
A client-side RSS crawler that pulls news from around 60 selected sources, analyzes each content and automatically editorializes articles into relevant sections, excluding common English words from keyword selection. Key sentences from articles are assigned weights based on their relevance and displayed as highlights in thematic overviews.

arXiv Explorer
A lightweight tool that fetches and organizes recent submissions to arXiv, and includes a small built-in search engine.

Local Weather
A minimalist weather app that provides a 7-day forecast for temperature, precipitation, wind speed, and UV index, based on the user’s location.

Chess Engine
A simple chess engine running on a minimax decision tree, thinking six moves deep and using alpha-beta pruning to skip analyzing moves that are not valuable. The engine optionally assesses key opening strategies, then calculates allowed moves, assigns values to pieces and positions, tracks move history, and evaluates both sides' positions as the game progresses. It has an estimated ELO of 1300-1400.