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.
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