April and May: Where did they go?

In April, Bjørn and I had our wedding party in Costa Rica.

We had gotten married in Norway earlier in Norway in 2013 in a small ceremony. The April celebration in Costa Rica was organized as a fun evening with lots of dancing and happy friends and family.  It turned out that way with Bjørn breaking any possible myth that Scandinavians are stiff and do not dance!  In fact he danced more than everyone else at the party - and he has rhythm in case you are imagining the kind of robotic dancing that we in Latin America think of whenever we imagine - according to stereotype - agitated Northern Europeans on the dance floor!

Here is a view from the hotel where we had the party.  This is the Atlantic, near the national park Manuel Antonio.

In May, the highlight was the 17th of May celebration of Norway's Independence.  It is arguably Norway's happiest day. They do impossibly tasty cakes, they have champagne all day and a majority of women and many men wear their national costumes.

A Berlin Punk moment

When I was a teenager punks represented a distant world.  Who were these people?  We did not have them in Costa Rica. Or at least I never saw them in the streets.  They existed only in MTV videos and magazines.  With the years I forgot about them.  I rarely saw again not even when I lived in London, one of the punk meccas. A species in extinction?  And then out of no where this young man caught my eye in Berlin.  I stared at him in silence with the raw fascination of teenage eyes. That pink hair. Those lines in this pants. The heavy leather jacket.  And yet there something was odd about a punk moment that did not feel quite "punk". I think it is the mobile phone moment.  His posture makes him look as if were a performer that is taking a break so that he can continue the show later (the more challenging attitude that I remember like in the photo below). 

Begging Shirts and Weird Art

I am sitting at this tailor shop. An eager tailor in his sixties is tempting Bjørn. A fantastic salesman, he is not letting Bjørn leave empty handed.  There is this one shirt, he insists, that will be perfect for Bjørn's body.

So here I am. Collecting my patience with a polite grin on my face and a Samsumg in my hand.

I escape the shop mentally wanting to grab something, anything, that will keep me seated because despite the tailor's exceptional enthusiasm for his own work, I am bored.

I find The Guardian.  Or their application on my phone grabs me.  What colors.  What power to hook you to a screen.

I read about Putin and Crimea. I also learn about that debris found near Australia and think of plane crashes and imagine the pain of the relatives of the Malaysian airplane passengers. 

I close my eyes and close down the world news section.

By now Bjørn is immersed in the world of shirts. He returns from the fit room showing me a shirt which we both agree is too wide (The tailor won, you see. He got Bjørn to take off his coat, sweater and shirt and try his shirts!).

Bjørn is gone and I return to the virtual world.

I look for the Art section.

There are these articles.  Some famous people declare that this or that piece of art is the best in the world (ridiculous!) or weirdest (interesting!).  

The approach is so subjective and yet it tickles my mind.  

Click. Click.

One more click and I find:

The 10 weirdest artworks ever

The article includes a photograph of Louise Bourgeoise - my art heroine -  whose reproduction I own.  And I laugh because that is the point of that photo, at least on a Saturday afternoon and you don't want to get into deep analysis of what she means in that provocative photo.  (Do look for in the article).

I hope we will leave the shop soon.  

Shirts are everywhere. They seem to stare as if offended by my indifference.  And they look as if they were begging to leave the plastic and be taken to our home.

Bjørn is back and he shows me the one shirt that he likes.  Touch the fabric, he asks me.  The tailor man is happy. He won.

Now I turn my phone off and get ready for our next move: an afternoon shot of Saturday caffeine.

A day in Berlin

I have been in Bonn for a strategy session. Last night I came to Berlin to speak at a Deutsche Welle TV program run by Carlos de Lago and produced by Yaotsin Botello. 

This program is structured around three themes. Today they were: Venezuela, Ukrania and energy security.

Video

This blog is personal and I will not get into energy systems and nasty politics.  Let's just say that I made the case for renewables in Europe in contrast to those arguing the case for more of the same (more oil and gas and more climate change). (Luckily those joining the program did not endorse a dirty energy future!)

The recording took place at Club Plus a film house in Berlin.  I got there at 10am, chatted with the producers, got some coffee and a friendly lady applied make up to the guests and the anchor.

We had a good conversation and I truly enjoyed the tone, content and format of the discussion.

Here are some photos of my walk after the show.

From an amazing book about Berlin (Too heavy to carry!)

A Berlin siesta

You must be in Germany!

Kind of cool

The Market of Imagined Lives

I have been in Germany for a few days and - finally - the sunshine touch my cheeks.

I just returned from a walk in Bad Godesberg where I am staying (near Cologne and Bonn).

I love the odd faces at the local market.  Especially because I cannot decide whether I like (or not) the things I found. 

Abandoned dolls.  Useless things.  Innocent teacups.  LPs from another era.  Keyboards from the days when computers looked like buildings. And all these old clothes and shoes whose smell calls for a trip to the washing machine.

And yet I love these markets.  Watching people look for things.  Observing things being pushed from an era onto the next.  And as I looked at cash transactions I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the story behind each item. How did it get there? Who was the owner?

Some things are hideous and my imagination creates the story of the birthday present that ended up at the charity shop.  Other things have aged with grace: classic leather bags, classic novels, and silverware.  Some do not age for example the crystal glasses and chandeliers.  And others, perhaps a majority, will never be owned again.

And I think of the owner who passed away. I imagine those owners' reversal of fortune that made them sell her precious items - against their will.

The imagined lives of the owners have tickled my imagination and I hope to soon return to writing short stories.

Below are the photos from some of the items with the strongest personalities.

The three musketeers

She hates the rain

Who will finally buy me?

We all need Vitamin D

Mr Cool

Shut up!

Forgotten items

What am I doing here?

One, two, three. . .  "cheese"!

When I grow up I want to be Barbie!

Glimpses from another era

Who cares about age?

My new bed

Life in plastic is not fantastic

I Amsterdam. We Amsterdam. They Amsterdam

Amsterdam broke the curse.

For about two years, every weekend that we had spent away from home had been wet.  Berlin? Rainy. Istanbul? Rainy.  Stockholm? Rainy.  Barcelona? It had not rained but that weekend must have seen the coldest Catalan April in decades. 

Bjørn and I had joked that Amsterdam would -  inevitably - be wet and we did throw a yellow umbrella in the suitcase.

Mr Dutch Weather had other plans for us:  An impossibly sunny city with the sunshine squeezing in the narrow streets as the world's most charming bicycles marched in Amsterdam as if greeting the Spring.

We rode bicycles and every time we stopped to take a photo we had the same happy reaction: What a fantastic day and isn't this a cool city?

This photo could probably only be taken in Holland! Bjørn had found a brewery that operates underneath this windmill. We then walked to café near by and they were so into their business that when Bjørn (who rarely complains about anything) mentioned that the expresso was "a bit cold"  was faced with horrified Dutch barista that insisted - as if he had committed a crime -  that the coffee was on the House). 

Am of course, how to miss the popular "I amsterdam" sign?

. . . or the spectacular museum?  (We shall be back).

Bjørn is Amsterdaming.

The city has done a huge investment in art and this is part of the cluster of museums that you can visit. 

And of course friends: here I am with my friend Marjon who I have known since I was 19!  And this is lovely Nikki.  Bjørn and Tim (el papá de Nikki) finally met!

Forks hanging from the ceiling

Last night Bjørn said I needed to get out, get fresh air and have a warm dinner in a restaurant of my choice.

"Too many days inside the flat" said the husband to a pale wife who had worked at home for too many days without a break.

I got ready and off we went to a restaurant. Any restaurant. Except of course the colorful Indian place around the corner that had caught fire a few weeks ago.

And we walked for a while until we found a hidden jewel: a refurbished restaurant that smelled French and felt Norwegian with forks and spoons hanging from the ceiling. I kid you not; see for yourself:

We ate Norwegian fish that tasted fresh and, I was told, had been sustainably harvested.

We escaped upstairs to avoid dessert and discovered a bar with the friendliest face near the entrance:

And beautiful bottles at the back

And if you are reading this and have kids, you will not like their sign: The Rules of House had warned guests not to bring children to the Bar or else they, the children, would be grilled!

Once we came out from the bar, we looked down to the second floor: the ceiling looked tall and the tables peaceful.  Friends and couples were still enjoying their dinners and we left, happy, and wanting to be back.

And today I felt the difference and have worked well with fresh air inside my head.

And yet.

I have not left home for quite a few days.  

Four? Five?  

I am working. 

Typing away.  

Meeting deadlines. 

Dealing with work in Europe and work in Costa Rica

I am happy.  I love what I am doing. And yet. A week like this one is unsustainable for my body or mind. 

So I am taking a break and will go for walk and watch this calm video and photos which I made a few weeks back when I went for a beautiful walk near the waters of Inderøy with my mother in law.

Video