To curse in hassaniya

“I curse the day when your father switched off the light and your parents’ hair mated and magma shot out of your bum!”
It’s can’t get any worse. The one who does not get cold shivers from that one has a thick skin.

Cursing is often one of the first thing you learn in a new language, and sure it can be grateful in some situations. Not to know them, but to recognize them. If someone is cursing the day when you pooed magma it’s not very grateful to stand there and say “eh’e, eh’e!” (yes, yes!) with a smile on your lips.

Like in my country, Sweden, most of the bad words are about cursing, with the difference that here it is God who curses (“may Allah curse the day that…”) instead of “cursed shit!” as many of us say in Sweden, or “fuck this shit” as you might say if you speak English.

(I’m so sorry for my bad language in this post. But it is interesting.)

Time to close this year

“But hitching didn’t die a natural death — it was murdered. And there’s little evidence that it was as dangerous as we think.”

Said the New York Times earlier this year. And during 2012 I have done a lot of hitch-hiking. My thumb has taken me traveling in Sweden, Denmark, Germany, Switzerland, France, Morocco, Western Sahara, Mauritania, Zanzibar, Malawi and Zimbabwe. All in just one year.

Most of the experiences has been good, only one man turned out to be over-sexual (and of course it was in Switzerland, where else but in the rich of richness?). During the year I’ve met people born into slavery and refugees trying to get into Europe, but failing.

While sorting out old diary-notes lying around I found this piece:

“I was sitting behind him on his bike. He was going so fast down the hill I couldn’t bare keeping my eyes open. ‘There’s Malawi!’ he shouted. ‘What?’ I screamed back, slowly opening my eyes. ‘There’s Malawi!’ He screamed again and pointed at the lush green hills in front of us. I was awestruck.”

Three days later I found myself trekking up the hill to Livingstonia, monkeys chatting in the trees for company and an old man who spoke no English to show the way through the shortcuts. There was more climbing than walking and at one point my backpack pulled me down backwards, down the cliff, and balancing on a root and grasping for another one to cling to, I was ok and got myself back onto the track. I will never forget than nerve-killing moment.

2012 was also the year when I got malaria for the first – and hopefully the last – time of my life and nearly died. I’ve met the best couch surfing hosts I’ve ever had. I got a bachelor in journalism at the Mid Sweden University, freelanced for radio and magazines, got my heart broken for the first time and I buried my cat who’s been with me for sixteen years. I was homeless and spent five months on couches and mattresses at different friends. I also found a home, a place to which I want to return to after trip after trip.

And thanks to all of you who has read my blog. You who has been with me from the beginning, and you who dropped by during the year. Thank you. Now I look forward to a new year with travels, challenges and friends. Happy new year!

A Malmö-winter

Winter has been here for a week now. At first I thought it would be as always – some snow for a day or two then just a sea of slush – but not this time. It’s been cold. Almost too cold for being the south of Sweden. The ice has been thick and the snow crisp and clean.

Yesterday was Luciadagen (the day of Lucia) and everywhere there were the songs of Lucia and the traditional Luciatåg and Lussebullar and glögg and… traditions. Finally – the christmas feelings are here.

Chocolate to balance your chakras

My first night in Wroclaw I met a local woman from couch surfing who invited me to have a drink. After checking out a number of places, all being too crowded, did we end up at a small Hindu inspired café, only serving vegetarian and vegan things. I decided to come back many times while here, but I could never find the way. Until now.

After nearly two weeks in Wroclaw I decided that I HAD to find this place again, I walked up and down the streets, could not remember the name of the place and daylight it looked so different.

Today as the sun set I was lost in the other end of the city. For some reason I’d decided to see as much of town as I can before Saturday, when I leave. When darkness fell I saw myself defeated and took a tram back to rynek. Finally in a place where I sort of know my way around I decided to find the café. In the dark it was easy. Almost too easy. So now I am sitting here, with a thick hot chocolate and a warm vegan tomato-sandwich, a big picture of Vishnu beside me and I am happy. So very happy. Next time in Wroclaw, I’m gonna be a regular here. Is cheap, cosy, spiritual and just perfect. Kala-chakra, right next to Kalambur. It’s actually the same place, and if you want alcohol you just go to Kalambur to buy and bring it in here.

“I don’t understand you”

The lady in front of me looks just like Piglet; light pink face with a small mouth and cute nose, wearing an old-pink dress. She is short and round. She is also talking. To me. In Polish.

She is smiling, I am nodding and giving her a big smile back. Wondering if I have to understand her words or if she’s just joking a little, the words themselves not being that important. I do that all the time. Nod and smile.

Underground chocolate

As my hands started to stiffen from the cold air I asked my host if we couldn’t have a cup of tea somewhere, “is there a special place you usually go to?” I asked. “YES!” She said, and stopped. “I just have to remember where it is. My partner always tease me because I can never find the place. But you know, from the market place, there are so many roads. I’m not sure which one, but come we’ll try and find it.”

We walked back to the market from the cathedral and turned left. On the narrow road we asked a girl if she knew where it was. I cannot write the conversation for you, because it was all in Polish so not even I know what was said. But we turned around and walked across the square to the other end, then took a left turn.
“Here it is! Around the corner, now I recognize the street.” she said, and we walked up past the Hill Hostel and there, to the right, was “the dragon café”; a big room divided in two by a thin wall, a little underground lounge music, lots of small tables and cushions everywhere. Over the bar was a dragon’s head. The walls were ruff and every here and there were metal grids painted black stuck onto the walls. On the door to one of the bathrooms someone had carved “Maciek ❤ me" into the wood.
In the evenings there is live music and if I lived here I would definitely be a regular at that place. The hot chocolate was just (as I told you yesterday) perfect.

Working in the opera

With his dark apricot shirt, the wild hair and thick beard he is the stereotype of how I imagine opera directors. It is mesmerizing to see the directors and actors work together, and as the singers raise their voices so does the hair on my arms. And I am amazed by how many young people that’s working here.

It’s a struggle for perfection where every detail has to sit just right. But despite all tiring repeats, “no no you lift your hand like that” “no turn an inch more to the right” or perfecting the voice with the music. In opera the ideas of what is masculine, feminine, rich or poor become so strong and visible, in parts it is frightening to see. I know very little about opera, and I wonder if there is a classical piece that turn the stereotypes upside down?

Most of the conversation is in Polish but sometimes English or French words finds their way. The singing is in Italian, imagine it’s hard sometimes to understand what is going on.

Yesterday my friend told me this is the 16th best opera in the world, according to an international rank of number of shows, visitors etc. the opera in Warsaw only comes around number 36. It is thanks to a steady team that over and over again set up new shows, sometimes with experienced singers or dancers hired from the outside for a short while. “In Warsaw they always put together a new tram for every show” she said.

This is probably my last post about opera, tomorrow I’m meeting M and A for more photos and then I will probably be headed to Poznan.

A queer night out

As Agata sang the people crowded the space in front of her, dancing two by two to the traditional Polish song. I was amazed by how many people were out on a Tuesday night, dancing and drinking. It was at Cherry Club in Wroclaw, I was there with four new friends. One – M – who agreed to join my photo project together with his boyfriend.
There was karaoke and apparently Agata is pretty used at taking home the victory; a bottle of vodka. This night though, she didn’t. But the vodka in Poland is too cheap already.

Earlier, when the evening first began, I met two guys for a drink. One of them could help me out finding people for the project, though as we met I forgot all about the photos I have to take and we talked about everything else. They bought some vodka shots and sour cucumber, “you know, when people in other countries throw it away ’cause it’s off, that’s when we serve it.” P said and we had a great evening. By almost every table in the pub there were telephones and a little note saying which number led to which phone. A man sitting at the table behind us pulled out the chord ’cause the phone was ringing too much. “It’s good if you see someone cute at the other end of the room and you want to say hello,” one of the guys said before we took another shot of vodka.

As they had to go home M had arrived with a friend and suggested we went to another club. As we walked another of my new friends joined and we all ended up by the cathedral. The lights were amazing and as Agata came to join us we stood by the cathedral looking over the river and the national museum with the lights reflecting in the water.

When the cold got too much for us we walked to Cherry – one of three gay-clubs in town – and I had to text my host and let her know I’d be home late. She replied that’s great, and told me not to come back too early. And sure for me it was fine, I had no job to get up to in the morning, but a few of the rest did. How they manage today I don’t know, ’cause the party continued for long.

Opera!

Today I met a woman from Russia working as a pianist at the opera house here in Wroclaw. She invited me to the performances and promised to introduce me to some of her queer friends in town (since that’s what my photo project is gonna be about). We had a coffee and she told me a lot about the world of opera, Russia and we talked about languages and the difficulties with borders. She had performances booked in England as a pianist, but got no visa for the whole period and had to cancel seven shows. After that no one dared to book her again – to advertise and put in money and organisation in a booked performance that might be canceled was too risky.

Tomorrow evening I will meet with a photographer in town who has said he might be able to help me finding people for my project. I’ve also moved to another couch surfing-host and we’ve just spent the evening together over tea and dinner. She is amazing. This can’t be anything else but an awesome week. Opera, queer and more sightseeing – I want to know every corner of Wroclaw.

My first day

Inside the cathedral three women chanted a prayer over and over again below the statue of saint Mary. At the market square the same man as last night played the bagpipe and the atmosphere was relaxed, but yet something old and heavy was still there subconsciously.
I think the sadness came from the broken buildings, the bricks that has fallen off and the facades that hasn’t been polished since long.

There was something heavy lingering in the atmosphere, but that can be a feeling within me since yesterday when I during three hours met three people all going through difficult breakups at this very moment.
The town is old, but in a different way than Edinburgh. The past feel closer. As if it’s still alive inside the people.

Note to self.

Trams are silent. You have to look properly before just running across a road, just now I was almost run over.

When on the tram I at first thought I was the only one there, but then I heard a bump and looked behind me. Two very drunk men were lying on the floor at the back, hardly moving. A few stops later a police car pulled over beside the tram and two policemen stepped inside. The one kicked one of the men in the side, said something to the people in the tram who just got on and some of them laughed a little. The policemen told the men to get up and more gently than I believe the Swedish police would have been they followed the drunk men outside and got them into the car.

A few minutes later I walked along the main shopping road, the sun set already as the plane landed some hours earlier and just a few people were out. Two young men sat by the side of the street and played reggae tunes, they smiled back at me and as I had passed them the sound of a bagpipe filled the air.

I was on my way to meet some other couch surfers for a drink, right now I’m sitting outside Starbucks waiting, freezing, for them to come. The music from the bagpipe still filling up the air.

The outfit

I always wear a particular outfit when I travel. But this time, I could not take my old trekking boots but have to wear my everyday shoes, and it just doesn’t feel right. How can I travel when my feet still feel like at home? Though hurting a little bit more. At times like this I realize how nice those boots are to my feet, but they need a lot of love before I can wear them again.

The rest of me is covered in blue jeans and an old brown knitted top. This time I brought a small bottle of shampoo (which I had none while travelling France and Switzerland) to keep my hair somewhat clean. How more ready can one get? Bring it Poland!

Though I already remember why I’m always arriving to the airport in the last minute, this waiting is wearing me out.

the Polish Couches

I’ve sent some couch requests to people in Wroclaw and I am amazed by how one girl immediately answered “come and stay for a few days, or a week. Or stay for as long as you want” and she’s not the only one. Before even getting there (I’m leaving Sweden on Saturday) I am already regarding Poland to be the most couch-surfer-friendly country I’ve been to.

As for now I know that I will stay in Wroclaw for about twelve days and I will spend about three days in Poznan. I will be working on a photo-project that I for now call “Queer Wroclaw” and I will either portrait the life of a queer group of people in the city, or I will portrait one or two queer people living there without a certain focus on the town itself. We will see what happens when I get there. I am very excited and can’t really wait to get started! If you happen to know someone there who is queer, please let me know. I want to get in touch with as many people as I can.

This far I don’t really know where to stay from Saturday to Monday, but I do know I can stay on a sleeping mattress Sunday to Monday, enjoying home-cooked Polish food from the hosts mother if I’d like to. And I’m sure the weekend will sort out as well, at least I’ve been invited for a beer with some other surfers my first evening there and a place to sleep will always sort itself out more or less.

Projects

The photo-course I’m taking will finish off with our own project, starting next week. There are now a few days before we need to hand in our idea and plan on how to accomplish it. My ideas are all swirling around in my head, the one I really want to do is in Sudan and I do not have the finances to take me there, despite the fact that the ticket to get there actually isn’t That expensive. But I simply can’t afford it at this point in life.

What are my other options?
I want to do something in Wroclaw. I don’t know what. I have never been there, what is the city famous for? Are there any people living in interesting sub-cultures to hang out with? People sitting at bars? What would I want to say with that? There is a small town nearby with a riverbank famous for it’s richness in gold – how about a photo-project on that small town simply? Portraying people living there, the question is: do they speak English? How would I communicate what I am doing if they don’t?

Idea number two.
My mothers friend and a woman who has been in my life since before I was born is deadly sick. She has cancer inside of her head and they cannot remove the whole thing. I would love to do a photo-project about her, her life and her struggle. But is now the right time to do it? When I have the pressure of a deadline?

The third idea is just a big ocean of ideas flowing in and our like waves in the Atlantic. I can’t put words on them yet. But I really want to go to Sudan, and I am angry that my finances must put a no to it. If I can find a quick way to earn some extra SEK, I will go to there for two weeks, portraying the people left by the government when the dams were built. The people no one cares of. That’s what I really want to do.

But hey, maybe Wroclaw has a hidden treasure among it’s people? I surely am curious on that town.

Destinies

As I was looking for inspiration, facts and the general state of the world the other day I came across a document showing the destinies of some refugees who died while fleeing their own countries. I’m gonna share some of them with you, and I believe it is important we all remember that it’s not our fault but we can do something to change the future.

A young man from Afghanistan died from smoke inhalation from fire lit in tin can to keep warm inside an abandoned truck.

A 32 year old man from North Africa was tortured and shot by smugglers. He was found outside Thriassio Hospital.

A 16 year old boy from Syria was killed after a car chase in Evros. The Greek border police and FRONTEX officials were involved.

A 25 year old man from Sub-Saharan Africa drowned. He was found in port of Ceuta in an advanced state of decomposition.

An Iranian person, the sex is not known, died in an accident. The smugglers’ car overturned as they tried to avoid a police road block.

An unknown person died instantly after being run over by a train near Feres while walking along the railway.
Khaled Khodena from Iraq was murdered due to his religious beliefs after deportation from Sweden, his asylum claim was rejected.

An unknown person drowned. He/She was pushed off a jetski when the smuggler saw coastguards approaching in Andalusia.

An unknown man was murdered, shot by Frontex officer while shooting at boats crossing TR-GR border by the Evros river.

25 men from Sub-Saharan Africa suffocated while traveling on a boat with 275 others. The SOS was sent 35 miles from Lampedusa.

A 23 year old man was crushed to death. He was found in the wheel-bay of an Iberia passenger plane in Spain.

The past week I have been researching how refugees are treated around Europe and I’ve been trying to find out more about Frontex and their work. I heard many stories about them when traveling in north west Africa, but in Europe no one seem to know them and the governments doesn’t want to talk about them. Frontex is the company that keep unwanted people from entering Europe. Unwanted by who? I ask. No answer. Yet.

I have also been trying to plan my trip to Sudan in December, and I have come to the conclusion that I can’t go this time. Instead I am looking at the possibility of going to Latvia and do my photo-project with the stateless people living in the country. It’s been done many times, but I believe it’s a story that has to keep being told.

Back to work.

So, I’ve got one week of work this month. One week of scheduled work that is for a company other than my own. It feels good to have someone telling me when to be working and when not to, when I work for myself it’s often hard to stay focused and it can be hard noticing any progress until an e-mail pops into the mailbox saying “Yes! We are interested and want to buy your article about slavery in Mauritania.” To get there takes a lot of time.

Today’s focuses has been on the meter maids that’s gonna start strolling down the streets of Broby, making people parking their cars on the trottoirs pay. Today has also been about the two year old girl who is threatened by deportation to France – despite the fact her real mother is gone. The young girl is currently living with a foster family here and rumors say her biological mother is threatened. Now the rumors say a lot, and we had some difficulties finding out the truth today. What is really going on? The whole media world of Sweden has been working on the case for the past four or five days.

Friday is my last day or work and after that I will check out my possibilities of going to Jordan next month, or perhaps December.

Gone

“There you are! Jean-Paulo said he lost you, again” my friend Francesco said as he came up to me in the tram. I had taken a “free hugs” sign and ran after the little group from the flashmob emerging towards the subway. I met some new friends and the three of us departed from the group as we arrived at the right station from where the trams would take us through Milan. But we needed something to drink first.

I keep getting surprised when I’m outside of Sweden every shop sell alcohol. We went inside a normal supermarket and got water, soda and liquor. Then we mixed some drinks before running towards the tram. Though there was no need to run; this is Italy. The tram left an hour later and with music pumping loud, people screaming, sweat dripping and the mood on top we danced our way across Milan in the two trams hired by the couch surfing team.

I’m afraid we missed both the flashmob and the giving away free hugs though, it was two of three things I looked forward to the most this weekend. Next year perhaps.

On a shoestring

With my bag filled with sandwiches I’m ready for a heavily low-budget and super-party weekend in Milan. It’s a gathering of over a hundred couch surfers celebrating the 6th  meeting in Milan. There’s gonna be a flashmob, tram party and who knows what else.
Bye bye Sweden and Bring it weekend!

Though, at the airport I realized I might be a little too excited for this weekend. Despite the train being half an hour late, I still arrived at the airport over two hours early. A cup of tea and very many very small and slow sips later there was just an hour left. Now Kastrup isn’t the most exciting airport ever, rather the opposite. To do when inside the security gates: shopping, shopping, fika, shopping, food, shopping….. Sure fika is a big interest of mine, but it’s simply too expensive to make more than a half time here. And half a fika isn’t that much of an interest of mine. Can’t we just speed up the clocks a little?

Criminal charges

A quick update. In Germany the police said we could either report the man to the police in Switzerland Or in Sweden. In Sweden the police said “you can make a report but nothing will happen, we won’t do anything about it.” So I sent an e-mail to the police in Switzerland, asking if I could report the whole thing to them via e-mail.

They replied:
“You must submit a criminal charges at the Swedish police (with the photo of the car and the number of the car). The Swedish police must then make a request for the ascertaining for the unknown car- driver to Switzerland (Interpol). Then comes the Inquiry to the police of Canton Solothurn and we answer back to the Swedish police. Then make the Swedish police a criminal charges against the car- driver. Finally, comes the lawsuit to Switzerland on our court.”

I will now print the e-mail and walk back to the Swedish police. Why must this be so difficult?

Pictures

The mountains by Chamonix, the window shutters in Neuchatel, triathlon in Lausanne… it was a calm and relaxing trip with some adventures that you’ve already read about. In case you think my writing hasn’t been descriptive enough, here are some photos from France and Switzerland.

This divided world

”Ten writers won’t make Sweden overpopulated, it’s half empty anyway” he said. “But Sweden and Norway are great at supporting writers, so don’t misunderstand me. I’m just pointing out a few cases.”
I was in the audience at the Malmö Exile Forum 2012, speaking was Ghias Aljundi from Syria. He is working for Pen International for freedom of expression with the focus on the Middle East and North Africa. Today was about the writers who live in exile, what it is like to be a writer living in exile and how to tackle the issue with writers having to escape their home countries and start a new life in a new country with new way of life. How can a journalist from Syria or Bahrain keep her audience and her name in a whole new society? As one of the writers said: “I didn’t lose my audience. I regained them by facebook.”

As we sat in the room the terms “west” and “the rest of the world” kept on appearing. I got sick of the division we always make of the world, why can’t we all just be one? It’s always this “us” and “them”. I feel not as many answers were given today as questions were asked. But the discussion is up and will keep on going.

And I grabbed the opportunity and will go to Jordan to meet Syrian writers hiding in their neighboring country. When? I don’t know, as soon as I can. With a new course in photography starting this week my time is limited though.

Full moons

“Tonight is a blue moon” our host said. I looked out the window and saw the big moon, “it’s because it’s the second full moon this month” she said. I suddenly remembered how I calculated my time in Africa by full moons.

My first African full moon I was in the dessert, the second one in the Mauritanian capital Nouakchott. When I in Malawi looked up at my forth full moon I could easily remember the other ones; where I was, what I was feeling, who I was with, what we did and it gave me a perspective on how much time that passed.

Right now we are in Nyborg, just finished a fantastic dinner with homemade hummus, scones, chilli marinated mushrooms and salad. Entering Denmark gave me one of the strongest feelings ever of coming home.

As we entered the country the five Scandinavian flags greeted us welcome home. Home sweet home. Though I could stay in Denmark forever, Nyborg is amazing with all it’s history and sweet people. During the Kalmar union it was even the capital of Sweden.

Fairytales

Going through southern Germany and France is like travelling in a fairytale. Everywhere are castles and churches looking like castles. It’s easy to travel back to times in your own head to an era of princesses and great dragons and heroes… If that ever was true.

Our host went to work early this morning as we stayed sleeping on the couch. I was dreaming that I moved into a castle. As I woke up I realised couch surfing is like a fairytale. While others spend tens of euro on accommodation we just go home to someone, have a nice meal together and sleep.

We will take some time checking out the town Flensburg today before we start hitchhiking to Nyborg.

Sharing cars

Random people were standing at the parking with their suitcases, we with our backpacks, waiting for someone to pick them up and drive them to where ever they’re going. A woman was on her way to Berlin, we to Hamburg. Another guy waited for the same car as us: a name found on the internet with a phone number and a short note saying “25 euro, to Hamburg at 8:00”. At eight the driver still hadn’t showed up and we were six people waiting for him. Yes, six. There must be something weird with this guy we said, and as a big blue van drove into the parking we were a bit sceptical. This was not a man who wanted to share his car, this was a man who wanted to make a profit as a cheap taxi.

We screwed the moral and went with him anyway. It was still a tenth of the price of the train, and the knowing that we would get to Flensburg the same day with ease was too appealing.

In Germany this car-sharing is pretty big and a common way of transport. I know some who try in Sweden but it never gets really big.
We shared a car from Bonn to Hamburg today, and another one from Hamburg to Flensburg.Suddenly we are so close to home, and while Emma can’t really wait to be back I am already thinking of moving to France for a while. From the first of October I don’t have anywhere to live anyway.

Now we’re about to have dinner with our host in Flensburg, and tomorrow we have a host in the Danish city Nyborg waiting for us. After that, we are going home. And to the police to report the man from Swiss the other day.

Bonn!

We just arrived in Bonn, an within an hour I will meet my long missed South African friend Katherine again. We haven’t seen each other for eight years, but used to study together at Parktown in Johannesburg.

We got here through car-sharing, for 20 euros each Michel brought us all the way from Freiburg. With us in the car was Wolfgang – a man in his fifties with dirty shorts, a big open shirt and bare feet. He had brought his homemade tea from herbs he picked himself and it was one of the best cups of tea I’ve had. Inspiring man that we had not met if it was not for car-sharing.

Michel is an artist and make his own music. When asked what kind he replied “strange music.” He’s working on an album that he wants to release digitally this year. I think I’ve changed my mind about this sharing cars, you Do meet interesting and exciting people that way, somehow I thought you had to hitchhike to reach the excentric ones. But no. We might just car-share tomorrow as well, we have a very long distance to move. Bonn to Flensburg. Wish us luck! The next day might just be home sweet home. If I ever find one.

A trip to the police

As we told our host in Freiburg what happened to us on the road earlier today he urged us to the police station. Now we just came back to his house, getting the mattresses ready and setting the alarm on 5:30 tomorrow. We are getting a shared car to Köln and the driver leaves at seven, and our host will give us an early morning tour around the city first.

At the police station the officer listened to us and then she spoke with her colleagues. “Because this happened in Switzerland and you are from Sweden there is nothing we can do. You have to either go back to Basel or go to the police when you come home.”
So we decided to go straight to the police as soon as we enter Malmö on Saturday.

Freiburg!

We walked up to an older couple and asked for a ride away from the tiny parking place where we had landed. They gave us a ride a few kilometres, to a petrol station outside Basel where we walked up to another couple and asked if they were going to Germany.

They brought us all the way to Freiburg, and although we’re still a bit shaken we are having a nice cup of tea at a nice café waiting for tonights cs-host. Finally, life is great again.

Shutters

One day I walked past a bright orange building in Malmö with the friends. The curtains all looked disgraceful in contrast of the building and my friend cursed the inhabitants for not match the curtains with the facade.
Here that just doesn’t happen. All shutters are matched with the building itself and windows are filled with colourful flowers rather than ill matching curtains.

Switzerland is one big hallelujah moment for old and colourful designing.

Fragments of Switzerland

“You don’t pay, we forced you with us to have lunch so you don’t pay. After all we always share the check between us and it’s much easier to include yours as well.” One of the old men said after inviting us for a luxurious lunch in Martigny. They didn’t exactly force us though, we hadn’t eaten since breakfast many hours earlier and came with them more than willingly.

It was noon and the men had both red and white wine, and afterwards they said they would drive us all the way to Lausanne even though it was a detour for them. “When I saw you by the road I immediately went back 40 years in time. I used to hitchhike Everywhere!” I think it was the oldest man in the company who said it.

When approaching Lausanne there was an airshow with airplanes flying in formations. “It’s the Swiss army flying Swedish gripen” one of the men joked.

Suddenly the man next to the driver turned around in his seat and said with strong voice “This is The Lake of Geneva! And there is the Castle of Chiel.” The view was astonishing with the mountains behind the lake and the clouds reflected in the silver coloured water. A man was surfing on the waves behind a speedboat.
“Over there you can see Mont blanc and Chamonix” someone said and pointed at a point far behind the low clouds.

With 12 old men

Whenever the car hit a bump in the road the old men shouted “oooah!” It echoed between the walls of the mini van. When we reached the highway they applauded and cheered as well as when we passed the carravanettes (is that really a word btw?).
But that is not where our journey began this day.

We hitchhiked with three sisters in their sixties out of Chamonix. The thick clouds hung low between the mountains and we drove right into them as we started the drive down our first mountain in Switzerland. Then, coming close to the edge, we saw the small town of Martigny reveal itself down far below us. The steep hills were decorated by black grapes.

The ladies dropped us by the turn off to Lausanne and not long after did the mini van stop. Inside were twelve old men cheering at us, we stuck our heads inside to see if there really was any space for the two of us. “yes yes! Here is space, and here!” They said, and we decided to squeeze in.

Dedication

“c’est que?” I asked as our teacher said synonym after synonym and I got none of them. She looked at my classmates, three of them are pretty advanced in French, and some gave some different suggestions in English while others shrugged their shoulders. Just a few actually speak English which means we have to try our hardest to explain everything in French. Our teacher doesn’t really speak English either. Eventually I got the word and I’m happy for the help we all give each other in class, it’s warming my heart this chilly evening knowing I’m going back to these people tomorrow, we’ve even been thinking about extending our course another week and skip Switzerland, though it would cost us too much money.

But I am definitely coming back here again. Now there is too much new stuff to do and see, the level of dedication to our studies could be greater.

Off we go!

I’m living ahead of my time, I will have another week of work before I head to Milano to meet Emma. But our preparations has started. Emma has bought a new backpack to get a good feeling for it before our trip in Africa starting in January. We have made a plan for where and when to hitch-hike on our way back home from Chamonix, this is what it looks like (though it might change as we get there):

Sunday (19th august): flight Copenhagen – Milano then hitch-hike Milano – Chamonix
Saturday (25th of august): Chamonix – Lausanne.
Sunday: Lausanne – Luzern – Zurich (lunch and afternoon in Luzern)
Monday: Zurich
Tuesday: Zurich – Freiburg
Wednesday: Freiburg – Bonn (dinner with my long missed Southafrican friend before she smuggle us into her room)
Thursday: Bonn
Friday: Bonn – Flensburg (it’s gonna be a long day…)
Saturday: Flensburg – Copenhagen (almost home!!!)
Sunday: home sweet home, and the travel abstinence will have a new beginning.

Chamonix!

Hitch-hiking through the alps, from France through Switzerland and all the way back home. Now it’s official. The 19th of August I am flying to Milano to meet my friend Emma. We will in one way or another get ourselves to Chamonix where we will intensively study french for a week. Then the trip continues by thumb back to Sweden.

What you can look forward to:
Amazing photographs of people, and some extraordinary stories of a weeks course in French, the life or two (very) short term expats and the road back home.

Bring it, August!

The smiling police.

I was sitting behind Emma on her bike, singing ”I was riding through the city on my bike all day…” as we slowly rushed through the streets in Sundsvall, on our way to the university. Suddenly Emma braked, “There’s a police here! Quickly, get off!” I jumped off the bike and we walked side by side along the road. As the police officer came up close she smiled a little towards us, but said nothing. We gave her a shy glance and looked at each other, knowing we had done something illegal. I’m really back in Sweden, we respect the police here! I thought for myself. Thirty meters later we got back onto the bike.

The past days we’ve spent like that, in cute summer dresses biking in the city with me on the back singing and Emma working up her muscles. The sun has been shining and everyday has been just perfect.
Saturday 27th of May was the day when Loreen brought Sweden the first place in the final of Eurovision Song Contest, and next year we will host that huge game. We couldn’t help ourselves from screaming out loud (very loud) every time we got ten or twelwe points. It was also the day when Sundsvall got invaded by hundreds of awesome motorbikes, and it was my last day in the city, tomorrow morning I will start travelling south again towards my dear friends in Stockholm. The capital of Sweden.

I came home.

The familiar “pling pling pling pling” started as I passed the railway, and one minute later a train passed me on my way to my favourite café. I’m back in Sweden. The realization struck me breathless and I was happy. I am back home. The sun has been shining from a blue sky ever since I came back, it’s warm and the streets, squares and parks are filled with sunbathing people preparing for the bikini season. A couple more weeks, then I might even be ready for the first dip in a lake. A blue Swedish lake.

As I walked inside tant Anci och fröken Sara, the café, it felt like coming home. I don’t know how many houres I’ve spent in that place, but it’s way more than I spent in my own living room. I ordered a cup of tea, chose the red tea with orange and ginger. Three hours later one of my best friends came by and we had that perfect lunch only they serve. Fresh pasta with Karl-Johan mushroom. If there is a heaven, it has to be within the walls of tant Anci och fröken Sara in the Swedish city of Sundsvall.

This morning I looked through all photos from Malawi, and I fell in love with the country all over again. I can’t wait to go back. I will share some of the photos with you just now.