23/11 – Almost like home or watch where you put your feet.

Running on a treadmill on a moving vessel is almost like running in a Swedish forest. Sometimes it’s uphill and sometimes it’s downhill. Sometimes the track leans to the left and sometimes to the right. Luckily, there are no roots to stumble over or branches to duck for. But on the other hand, the track in the forest wouldn’t make you come to a full stop and hitting your stomach into a bar in front of you, the same millisecond you happen to take a step outside the tracks. It would also be easy to beat the view of the pale yellow wall and the characteristic too-small-gym-with-too-much-old-equipment-and-people scent.

18/11 – Time travel at its best.

Day 1.
Actual time: 2 pm
Assumed time by Caroline: 2 pm
Event: Caroline has just got in the car at the airport in Rio to get to Cabo Frio.
Thoughts going through Caroline’s head: "That went well, quickly through passport control and customs and all bags arrived."

Actual time: 4.30 pm
Assumed time by Caroline: 4.30 pm
Event: Caroline arrives in Cabo Frio, checks in at the hotel and starts swapping sim cards around in her phone – Swedish to Brazilian to Danish to Swedish again and finally back to the Brazilian one.
Thoughts going through Caroline’s head: "Nice to have a whole evening to catch up with things and relax, better start with checking if I’ve got any messages on the sim cards I haven’t used in a while."

Actual time: 6.30 pm
Assumed time by Caroline: 5.30 pm
Event: Caroline walks through the restaurant at the hotel.
Thoughts going through Caroline’s head: "How weird, people are already eating and the buffet seems to be ready. They said dinner was going to start at 6 pm though…hm…"

Actual time: 8.10 pm
Assumed time by Caroline: 7.10 pm
Event: Caroline decides to go for dinner.
Thoughts going through Caroline’s head: "Wow, this evening is really long, seems like it never ends, a bit early to go for dinner in Brazil, but why not."

Actual time: 11.45 pm
Assumed time by Caroline: 10.45 pm
Event: Caroline goes to bed.
Thoughts going through Caroline’s head: "Better go to bed at a decent time, check-in is already at 8 am in the morning so will have to leave at 7.30 am. Alarm clock at 6 am should give me a nice and long morning to have breakfast and pack my bags, no need to do that now."

Day 2.
Actual time: 6.35 am
Assumed time by Caroline: 5.35 am
Event: Caroline is fast asleep. The phone rings and Caroline picks up the phone while checking the time on her phone.
Front desk guy in the phone (in Portuguese): "Bla …….. driver, …..bla bla airport, bla ….. bla 7.30, bla check-in… bla."
What Caroline understands: "Your driver is here waiting for you to go to the airport; you were going to leave at 7.30 for check-in." 
Thoughts going through Caroline’s head: "&#%€%”&;”#€&#@”#"
Caroline tries to ask (in her best Portuguese): "What time is it now? Is it 7.30?"
Front desk guy: "Yes, yes, 7.30."
Caroline tries again: "Is it really 7.30? Not 5.30?"
Front desk guy again: "Yes, yes."
New assumed time by Caroline: 7.36 am
Caroline to front desk guy: "5 minutes."

Actual time: 6.45 am
Assumed time by Caroline: 7.45 am = 15 min to check-in
Event: Caroline rushes down after have panic packed her bags, including collecting hand washed underwear which had been spread around the room, splashed some water on her face and put whatever clothes was next to the bed on.
Thoughts going through Caroline’s head: "This is not happening."

Actual time:6.46 am
Assumed time by Caroline: 7.46 am = 14 minutes to check-in
Event: Caroline cannot find her driver.
Caroline asks the front guy: "Was it you who just phoned me?"
Front desk guy: "Yes."
Caroline: "Have you seen my driver?"
Front desk guy: "No, but I think he left."
Thoughts going through Caroline’s head: "%#@#€#/%X! This is really not happening. Especially not the first day at a new working location with new colleagues and extremely especially not with a colleague, who has been counting down to being relieved today for the last 27 days."

Actual time: 6.50 am
Assumed time by Caroline: 7.50 am
Event: Caroline finally manages to get a hold of the driver after having tried about 34 versions of the amazing Brazilian operator/area code mystery set-up.
Caroline to driver: "Hello, I’m so sorry."
Driver: "Good morning."
Caroline: "Have you left? Where are you?"
Driver: "In my room."
Caroline: (quiet) "I totally overslept. I’ve missed the flight now, right? Or can we still make it?"
Driver: "Yes, yes, we have to leave at 7 am, I will be right down."
Caroline: (quiet again) "What time is it now?"
Driver: "Ten to seven."
Caroline: "So it’s not 7.50 am?"
Driver: "No."
Caroline: "Wow, eh, I’ll have time for breakfast then."

What front desk guy actually said on the phone at 6.35: "Your driver just told me that check-in has been moved to 7.30 am, so you will have to leave a bit earlier."

Despite the wake-up shock of my life, I thus made it on time for check-in. Took a deep breath, put a smile on and pretended I was all ready and set to go. Just another normal morning on my way to work – sure, dream on.

Argentina 2010

San Telmo, Buenos Aires.

El Zanjón

Línea A is worth a trip even though you don't need to go anywhere.

And the escalators at San Juan is yet another time travel.

Buenos Aires must have the coolest buses in the world.

No wonder I had time issues when arriving in Rio. Argentina seems to work with a different system; 25 hrs per day, or even more, would be quite nice though.

 Paradise.

 

 Winery of Familia Di Tommaso in Maipu.

16/11 - Marvellous Mendoza and Home of the Hilux.

Not only have I spent a couple of days in paradise, and been having some of the best wines and meat ever, lately. I’ve also been in Hilux heaven. Everywhere I turned, there was a version of the amazing vehicle. It already started at the airport on Friday, when Juan walked straight towards the dusty, black Hilux with my two bags in his hands. I instantly knew it was going to be a good weekend and we weren’t even out of the parking lot yet.

About an hour and a half later, we opened the gate to the ranch at the bottom of the hill, engaged the 4WD and made the last bit up to Rancho E’Cuero. And what a place – two days of being spoiled with food, wine, hiking, and horseback riding, surrounded by amazing nature. I could easily have stayed up there for a month or five.

The standards were set at the top right away with a proper Asado for Friday lunch, where Pedro was in charge of the bbq, and some beautiful wines in the sun on the back deck. The hours, where a wine glass was not attached to my hand during the following 36 hours, were spent on horse trekking and hiking. From the back of my black beauty Fernet, who definitely knew a lot more about where we were going than I did, I enjoyed walking along on mountain ridges and through gorges with absolutely stunning views. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t classify myself as a confident gaucho enough, to swing my new camera around every time a photo opportunity was in view, but a couple of pictures made it through the lens. While still sober, and before the first glass of Malbec for the day made it into the system, my lungs got to experience the high altitude during a Saturday morning hike. Again, the impressive scenery never ended and while trying to keep a steady breathing and heart rate through valleys and up the hills, we spotted the odd condor in the distance and some red deer being on a close lookout.All in all, it was a weekend in paradise, for all senses, where everything was beautiful, delicious and relaxing. Not to mention the quiet, dark nights with all the stars.

Perhaps Tupungato and Mendoza is the place for me?

10/11 – The rock star experiences Danish hospitality – and lack of same?

 Arrived in a rainy and grey October Copenhagen the day after the triple summer party, with a kinder hangover than I probably deserved. While running on the luggage belt to optimise the baggage delivery system, I managed to pick up my phone and accept a lunch invitation. And trust me, Danish rye bread lunch with pork sausages, salmon and pâté has never tasted so nice. From thereon, the Danish hospitality increased to a very appreciated level with magnificent home made spare ribs in the evening. Might be a bit of a mission to handle two batches of 5 kg, each requiring some 10 hrs in the oven, but man they were good, Henrik.

Once the workweek started, the private hospitality had to be replaced by professional hospitality, which was quickly proved to be very much absent, at various restaurants in the city.

Since I sort of felt like a semi-Dane together with the Danish residents Trinidadian and Canadian colleagues, we thought we should find a nice place to eat together with our fellow work mates on the Wednesday night. First attempt might have been a bit ambitious, too big a crowd for too small a restaurant when not having a table reserved – fair enough to be rejected at the door. Second attempt put Denmark at the very bottom of the scale when it comes to service, even below the extraordinary shop assistants you normally come across in the country. Kind of hard to explain to the foreign visitors, why the owner had to physically shove us out the door of a half empty restaurant, well kind of hard to understand it at all in the first place. After another couple of attempts and loosing half of the party with the words “F**k this, we’re going to _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _.” (replace the dashes with random letters making the name of a slightly famous hamburger chain) we gave up the search for getting some sort of special dinner and dived into one of the main stream steak houses. Luckily, there were only four other guests to be spotted in the school canteen so not impossible that they would find us a spot.

However, only after convincing the girl at the door that they wouldn’t have to speak English to us and that we would manage with Danish menus, we got a table - food in sight, finally! Or so we thought. Polite as we were, spite the close to starving status of our stomachs, we sat down and waited to be attended to. And we waited, and waited, and waited a bit more. In a desperate attempt to get some attention, and at least a drink perhaps, the Scotsman yelled out “Hej!” in his very best Danish when the next waitress galloped by. He got an instant reply of “Hej hej.” and she was gone again. Hm…perhaps the hint wasn’t clear enough.

Somehow, I don’t get how the excellent Danish private hospitality can turn into such disasters when applied professionally. The only native Dane of the party on the shocker night was clearly both bothered and embarrassed. After apologizing for someone else for the N’th time he gave up. We agreed in unison at the table that we much rather have three guys playing statues and eavesdropping behind our chairs, like at restaurants in Brazil, than having to bring out signal flags and sirens in attempts to get in contact with any random personnel, as in Scandinavia.

Luckily, the Danish week was finished off at the private hospitality level. After being able to count the home cooked meals during the last five weeks on one hand, chickpea soup with chilli and lentils, served with freshly baked naan bread and enjoyed in nice company, was definitely spot on. Thanks Andreas, it’s always nice to leave with a last positive impression.

8/11 – Who needs the beach or why did I ever leave?

Since I couldn’t get the beach and sun I wanted, or the new places with the new friends I’d planned to visit and meet, I decided to make a total U-turn for my time off. Some winter and cold instead, in a familiar place with old friends. Arrived in a dark Luleå on Friday afternoon to spend the weekend with two old friends and their 15 months old daughter. A weekend of no plans, no stress, snow, darkness, Winnie the Pooh, Teletubbies and experiencing – live – how far food can get from a plate with just a tiny spoon and two tiny hands. (Three meter of spherical radius proved not be enough to stay safe.) Had hardly taken my shoes off and gotten the first cup of tea in my hands before the white wonder started to fall outside the windows. Of course I was going to get the first snow of the year, beautiful.

The following couple of days were spent playing in the snow, and going for walks, during the few hours when the sun was up, and indoor activities the rest of the time, with baking ginger bread as one of the highlights. We decided quite early in the process that the biscuits should be divided into two categories. One tin for the ones including baby sneezes and which had been poked by ten little fingers and rolled with a rolling pin covered in saliva, and one category for the rest.

Last night was the night for the big happening, Miss Happy’s best friend was going to stay the night while his parents had a, probably very well deserved, evening by themselves with dinner and cultural events. The basic maths I thought I’d learned in primary school was turned upside-down right away; 1+1 does not make 2, but rather 4 or 10 or so. Two trolls, three adults, two cameras and a sea of toys. It weren’t the mini people who were the exhausted ones after an hour on the floor. The little friend also inspired me for some tactics to use when hitting town on weekend nights. Why wait for someone to give you a cuddle, you just need to walk straight up and do the attack-hugging thing. Don’t give the victim a chance to resist and if they don’t respond quickly enough, you can quickly turn the attempted hug into a headlock. Seems to be very efficient to get some physical contact when needed. 

As a very rare reaction, I wasn’t too bothered that my flight southwards was delayed when going back this morning. I actually didn’t mind hanging out up there for another little while, not even at the airport. So far, there are two places in the world where I’ve experienced that my shoulders drop a few inches and all my possible worries seem to leave my body when I step outside the airport on arrival. Northern Sweden, with Luleå, Kiruna and the pristine Villvattnet, is one of them. To see the golden fan-like piece of art outside the exit at Kallax, stop, have a look around, take a deep breath and…exhale slowly… Gone. Makes me wonder why I ever left in the first place.

3/11 - Rootless or Rock star?

Two weeks, work, three countries, family, four flights, course, two hotels, friends, three party nights, AC cold, four beds and total lack of home cooked food. During the last couple of weeks I’ve probably been balancing on the fine line between living a rootless life and a complete rock star life. In case I happen to be half asleep when you ring and I answer in the wrong language, I would hereby like to apologize in advance.

It was all perfectly planned with water sports in the east and northeast, wild life in the northwest, water falls in the west and friends slightly to the southwest. However, due to some unforeseen paperwork details, the kite surfing holiday in Fortaleza with surroundings, suddenly had to be replaced by anything outside Brazil – November week in Scandinavia for example. A weekend in Arraial do Cabo was the same Wednesday afternoon changed for an extra weekend in Copenhagen to await the course starting the following Monday. The mission for the rest of that day, in between work handovers, was thus to cancel flights, hostels and rental cars, plus the more frustrating task of disappointing travel companions. Departure no later than the following day so quick change of the return ticket to Europe just before leaving the office.

While now being very close to dipping my toes in the rootless ocean on the wrong side of the line, I was more grateful than ever that some of my friends seem to adapt Brazilian time zones also in Sweden. After a few minutes chatting with one of the three musketeers I concluded that partying in Stockholm sounded a lot more appealing than no partying in Copenhagen. Thus re-booking of ticket again. Then off to stock some liquid party material the next morning for special delivery and last chance panic tanning on the beach, before falling asleep in the Airbus heading towards Europe.

Quick stop Uppsala before packing the Havaianas and beach top - not often summer parties take place in October. On arrival at Kungsholmen, one of the three hosts quickly informed me that we were doing the rock star story here; I was in town for the party only. No words to be mentioned about courses in Copenhagen or other possible reasons for leaving Rio. Fine with me, anything to please the hosts. With one bottle of Cachaça in each hand, Brazilian mini denim skirt and earrings making more noise than Christmas angel chimes, I rocked up and started mixing the Caipirinhas. And what a party, thanks so much Pontus, Malin and Fredrik, you saved my week.

Think I’ll stay on the rock star side of the line for another while, feels better that way and it suits my new jacket better – which is a whole story itself for another day.

November 2010 photos

 

 

 

"I valet mellan att må bra och ha rätt väljer tyvärr de flesta att ha rätt." Mark Twain

“The more I travel, the more I like it here. New Orleans is getting close and London is pretty good, but nothing is like Rio.” 100% Carioca Mario