To my way of thinking, which is usually wrong, there is a hierarchy of mountain towns in Colorado based on how mountain-y they really are. And by mountain-y, I mean scenic, authentic and a pain in the ass to get to.
"What we do to the mountains we do to ourselves," says the blocky handwritten text across the Native American activists Klee and Princess Benally, and on the face of it, you're bound to agree with this gently oblique environmental sentiment.
Telluride, best known for its world class ski resort, has in recent years become more popular as an off-season destination. Large numbers of visitors flock to the box canyon during the spring and fall, when there are fewer people and the town is quieter from closed seasonal businesses.
The box canyon of Telluride in Colorado was surely made by unicorns who clicked their golden hooved heels and created a natural amphitheatre straight from a kids picture book with mountain peaks that thrust skyward protecting the town below with daily alpenglow and rainbows.
The festival always showcases a diverse slate of up and coming films, and also resurrects important and forgotten classics from the past. It is incredibly valuable for both filmmakers and cinephiles to see as wide a variety of films outside the mainstream as possible.
From Cup Final to The Human Resources Manager, from Lemon Tree to Zaytoun, Riklis has always talked about the untalkable in his films: Peace, humanity, and the ability to discuss what makes us different, while also celebrating our contrasts.
Ski towns are called ski towns for a reason. I get that. But you'd be surprised by just how many golf addicts live in those towns and can't wait for those courses to melt each spring and show their true colors.