Poor self management skills...

I'm worried that I have lost all my creativity!

Even I do not really think I have, I am afraid to have lost my self management skills or at least think they are too weak to keep me away from instant gratification in form of iPad games.

Honestly, I do play too much. All that time I use sitting on my backside parking virtual cars or scoring goals in a silly digital football game, I could have used to play my bass guitar, write stories or draw, paint or build.

Maybe I should just delete those digital distractions, and sit down to to be creative instead. It worries me I feel scared to think that thought. Then I really must be an addict.

But isn't this what it is said about sins or addictions for us humans,  the level is constant. So if one smokes, drinks and what more and stop one of the addictions, the rest just increases to keep the level the same.

I've stopped smoking 4 years ago and quitter alcohol 2 years ago and I do not get onto other women (maybe not even to my own wife) so the level of my sins or addiction is probably just on iPad games. 

Maybe that is a good thing and I shouldn't really worry too much?

Look good naked.

I have this exercise app on my phone. It is a daily five minute work out -well, if I do it everyday it is- and it should tone my body in a way so I could even get to look good naked. It is a good and tough work out and I try to do it every day.

It has become my wife's favourite app, but not (only) because it tones my body. No, mostly because I always find ways to procrastinate the exercises and often do house work instead.  

Friday 18th. of August.

And I have nothing much to say, so I'll say it. “Nothing much”.

Today would have been my mothers b -day. Would have, she isn't alive anymore.

She would have been 87 years old today. She died when she was 66.

21 years ago. I was 34 years old back then. The following year I left Denmark to go to Spain and study. I have never moved back.

How would she have been like, had she lived until now? One of those question you can never find an answer to. So why try?

Maybe because I visited one of my uncles and aunties in Denmark this summer. And they are the age my mother would have been now. Well, my uncle is one year older. And he is fine. Absolutely fine. Healthy, witty, interested and curious and has a huge growth mindset. So has his wife. She must be the age my mum would have been and she still roams around in the kitchen and make and bake and cooks and cleans, and argue with her husband and he is nagging her back. They have always been this way. I think they need it like that.

I must write to them. He gave me his email address. Imagine that. He is 88 and he has got an email.

I must do that, soon. This weekend. Okay.  

Tokyo Tales #1

Outside my window lies an urban landscape so very different from any European urban areas. At the first sight it reminds me of the Star Wars "Death Star" surface as Luke Skywalker peace over and through it in the first Star Wars movie.

I am in Tokyo in the Shinjuku district in a room in a hotel. Well, room is perhaps not the right word. Probably bedroom could do as it is simply a queen size bed with a bathroom attach. And a TV. Yes, the room I've booked is that small.

From high above the city seems so sterile and empty. Grey concrete, glass and metal structures as far the eye can see. On the surface though, when walking the streets, it is lively colourful and inspiring in this certain Japanese sense of being inspiring.

This is my 3rd time in Tokyo and even this time is only a brief stop over on the way to a rock festival in the mountains, it still leaves an impression.

Typical Japanese impression I could say, but what is that?

Is typical Japanese the way the houses are build and the way it all look like it has been randomly built, with no greater plan and concept?

Is typical Japanese the bright colours and light and noise coming from speakers and shops and the numbing number of neon signs and advertisement boards?

Or is all this what it means to be typical Japanese?

At least for me this seems to be what I recognise every time I get to Japan, either the main islands in the north or Okinawa further south.

There is a certain feel and vibe about Japan. Japan to me is a mix of new and hyper and extreme old fashion.

It is hard actually to explain this, but on street level it all seems so ultra modern and cutting edge. Extreme fashion statements and technology from all corners. When you get inside a post office or train ticket office, you suddenly feel like boosted some years back in time. There is paper folders and old fashioned computers and calculators. An a lot of paper. Piles of paper and grey cub bards. Nothing much cutting edge or 2017 like here.

3 X manipulated Centre point perspective.

Japan journal #1

After 4 nights I some rainy mountain in the north of the Honshu island, I am now back in Tokyo and to the heat. It was just incredible to get out of the Shinkansen train this morning and feel the difference. Vilounterely ive stayed out in the rain for 3 days, well more or less. If it wasn't raining then it was just damp and wet and all the clothes were damp and cold, but the music and the spirit kept it up. It wax a great experience and I would probably go again, if there is s convincing music lineup.

Naeba with the Fuji Festival in Niigata prefecture on Sunday late afternoon when the sun nearly broke through the thick clouds.

Tokyo this Monday at lunchtime, sunny and over 30 degrees,

Fuji Fables 2017 #1

Finally, I have made it to Fuji Rock Festival in Japan.

Previous this event was hold at the mighty Mount Fuji, however the weather never really played ball for the organisers there so the Festival got moved to a ski resort in the mountains just south of the city Niigata.

Normally a very quiet and empty place during the summer months, but now music lovers from many countries gathers here to enjoy 3 days of rock'n roll music.

The town itself is a bit worn down, or at least so it seems, and to some extent it do reminds me of ski resorts I have seen in the Chech republic and Slovakia with reminicences from the post soviet east European era,like on this photo where the contrast between old and new is obvious.

Denmark Docs # 5

Take the train. Close to finishing the Denmark leg of the 2017 summer vacation. Sure it is a bit sad, but we have had a great stay in Denmark and here by I would like to say thank you to all of my family who have put up with the two of us.

Last train to Copenhagen for the Morten send in 2017.

Denmark Docs #4

After about 2 weeks in Denmark, finally it has become a bit like summer. Not sure this is all over the country but it is at least here where we are in Løkken, a small'ish beach and bathing town in the far north west of the country.

Denmark docs #3

My wife with the "big boy" sculpture at ARoS Artmuseum in Århus. An artwork by the Australian artist Ron Mueck. So scary and realistic.

Denmark docs #2

Tai tai like a Hammerhøi painting in Fåborg Færgehotel Restaurant.

The Denmark docs. #1

Prolog:

This is to be the start to the Denmark Documents.

A summer adventure through my homeland, which I have not visited during summer for 7 years.

Before we get to start, there will probably be a short Stockholm story and a London letter. Anyway, that'll just be an interlude before I begin the Denmark documents.

I wrote this prolog as I'd anticipated it to become, however, it was all just in my imagination. Everything went entirely different and I could or maybe should actually change the heading of the whole post to “Airport Poetry” or “rear mirror reflex ions from a tired traveller”.

So, because of this “going different entirely” there is not going to be any Stockholm Stories just now, and the London Letters will probably just be a fart of a note about a rush hour between terminal 3 and 5 and if we make it or not. Make what? Yeah, make what?

Make it to our connecting flight to Copenhagen off corse!

Scandinavia is famous for many things being in art, design and thinking and being one of them from birth I have a certain pride in being Scandinavian and also a certain respect for Scandinavian enterprises and companies as being good and have a certain standard. So weeks ago when I finally decided to take action and get going booking flights and some accommodation for this years summer vacation, so when the airline came up with a quotation for the trip we wanted to undertake - and a good one - I didn't hesitate to chose the Scandinavian Airways System as the carrier to bring us from our home in Hong Kong to Europa and my country of origin, Denmark.

Boldly spoken, that airline -SAS in short- was the first airline I'd ever heard of as a silly wee boy from a hamlet in the deep dark of Jutland - and this mainly because Denmark was the biggest kind of togetherness or enterprise I could fathom and therefore was the centre of everything I was taught by my parents, in the media and at school and about my roots and entire cultural heritage.

So, back then as the itinerary was planned and thought through with all our sidetracks and diversion -which in fact turned out to have an immense impact on the quite challenging 24 - 26 hours or journeys we have just ended- I did not have any worries booking a long haul flight with that airline as they -in my mind- would deliver a good product.

My tai tai on the other hand, as she is from the British Isles, are a firm believer in the services of British Airways and asked why I didn't choose them?

"They have the much better price!" was my answer. And they did. There were much money to save choosing the Scandinavians.

 

To be continued.

A year in 6 minutes and 13 seconds.

A new experience and an old one.

No, I do not think I have writers block, I just don't feel like writing anything for my blog!

But.

One more word and yet another gesture and my left hand raising up to touch my beard and give it a good scratch. Because it is a new beard - some weeks old now- and man it is itchy.

But it also feels nice to touch it and it is a new experience to me. I have had beards before but never a full one like the one I am growing now, so it is quite new. I've had moustaches and a silly little string beard and also one of them kind of moustache that goes all the way up to both ears. But never for real. It has always been for the fun of it for a month or so. And mainly in Movember. For the joke of it.

But now it is in the midst of the beginning summer -if you can say so - and this time I think I'm serious about it. All the way to the day I get sick and tired of it and shave it all off.

It is interesting to see how a real serious full grown beard will influence the way people perceive me.

One thing I haven't really thought about before now is my new ID card.

So what has happened. I am now a permanent Hong Kong resident with the right to stay and work here on a permanent basis without a two year work visa. So, one day I went to the immigration for the final short interview where I got my new rights and also ordered a new ID card as a permanent resident of the Hong Kong SAR of the People's Republic of China.

I said before I might shave my beard of again one day when I get sick and tired of it, right. But now listen to this. The day I was at the immigration to order a new ID card they also took a picture of me for that card, and that day I had the beginning of a beard. Not just some small thin whiskers, but a real full grown growth of beard hair on my face. Imagine I shave it all of and then decide I want to go to on the train to China, the real China. In my passport I do not have a beard but on my Hong Kong ID I do.

As a permanent Hong Konger I think I can get a 5 year multiple entry visa to the real China. But, at the border to real China they are also somehow more fierce with inspections and things has to be clear and because us gweilo's to them all look the same, I might have some trouble explaining or seeming to be the same.

However, leave those worries to the time when they get real. In the next couple of months I am not going to go on the train to China, perhaps in about a year, for Easter.

In one months time I am going back home to Denmark for the first time since Christmas 2013 - 14, and for the first time in the summer since 2010. 7 years ago.

2011 was Japan. 2012 the USA. 2013 Spain. 2014 Mongolia and Japan. 2015 Scotland. 2016 Italy. First think I'm going to do is to go to the supermarket to buy herring and cheese. Then go to a hotdog stand for a hotdog, followed by a visit to a bakery for some "Danish pastry" which ironically is called "bread from Vienna" in Denmark. And this, I think, I'll repeat every single day for 3 weeks. I am really looking forward to it. What I might not like is the extra kilos I'll be wearing after the 3 weeks back there with a diet like that, and the trouble of getting all the ketchup and mustard and remulade and curry sauces out of the full grown beard.

But maybe that is going to be the time to shave it off again when it gets too unhygienic and greasy.

I'll still wear it in the picture on my new ID card though. And on this one.

 

The RatRace Cafe

Or just simply RatRace cafe.

Probably it would be every business man's or cafe owners dream. A cafe with a steady stream of customers coming in, standing in line and picking their coffee, breakfast bun, yoghurt cup or sandwich and then disappear out of the door as fast as they entered.

Plenty of seating but not overcrowded busy because the most costumes is the takeaway type. Mainstream men and women conducting an early morning, on the way to the office RatRace type breakfast. Something fast and small on the go. The line never gets shorter. When one costumer is out the door, the next steps in through the other to line up.

I felt a bit like an intruder. Sitting there at the table enjoying some waiting time and a nice coffee. No rush, just sitting with time on my behind.

The RatRace had started on the bus from one of the suburbs to the central districts in Hong Kong. Normally when I'm on that particular bus, it is later in the afternoon and I am on my way to some leisure time or hairdresser appointment or just some deliberate slam shopping in the fancy part of town. This morning, I was on it to go to get my new permanent residence. The line for the bus was excessive. Never have I seen it like this.

Yes, normally there can be quite a big queue, but never like this RatRace queue. Folks from the suburbs going to work on Hong Kong Island. The heavy trek goes to the island from the suburbs in the new territory early the morning. At peak times between 8:30 and 9:30, the commute can be unbearable because of traffic. This morning we got the bus just before the roads and causeways clogged.

At the first stop in Wan Chai we got of. There is a walk way where pedestrians can cross the main traffic ores from the train station and the residential areas to the big office and commercial buildings along Victoria harbour. From the distance, the walkway was a dark silhouette against the morning sky. And the RatRace was on. Hundreds of humans on the move towards the space or cubicle or office or shop or wherever they spent the most of their time awake during the week.

The walkways were busy too, as the cafe where we were going spend out time waiting for an appointment. Two timeless people in a sea of people in the RatRace. Do not misunderstand this, we do have our own RatRace, it just isn't as RatRacy as this one.

And the cafe is evidence and every business man or woman or bar or cafe owner would love it like this, if they could keep up with the demand. This one can. Normally this brand of coffee shop is occupied by students on laptops with paperwork piled up in front and on chairs next to them and you can never get a seat.

This one of the brand is not. Maybe it is just too early for them. Students do not participate in the common mans RatRace.  They have their own.

Toothache!

If you had to choose between toothache and any other pain you could have, which one would you choose?

I've been suffering a terrible terrible toothache these last days. It came from out of nowhere. One night it started to come through in the back of my mouth. I'd just been to the dentist to book a check up appointment and even I'd felt something brewing at that very tooth, I'd not expected it to break out this abruptly. In the middle of the night to Friday last week I woke up with this horrible horrible toothache.

Bummer and such a stopper for the expectations of a nice weekend in Macau with friends and a nostalgic concert. The Village People and Björn Again at the Venetian Theatre.

In the morning to Friday the ache had faded down and I felt somehow fine, fine enough to get to work. Knowing the danger I called the dentist to ask if I could come for a wee look and at least pick up some painkillers to get me through the weekend and Monday, until Tuesday, and my appointment.

She could see me at 6:30 PM. OK, very late start for the weekend trip to Macau and unfortunately a cancelling of a team dinner out with colleagues from year 2.

One thing good though, I could play football before going to the appointment and I played quite a good game if I am allowed to express so my self. All day no sign of - or not much - that toothache.

As I finally came to sit in the chair and my dentist took a look and hammered on all teeth in the area, it turned out it was the tooth I'd expected and it had a crack.

I kind of already decided by then it had to come out. My dentist, she is very good and honest, gave me three options. Pull it. Repair it with some kind of ring to hold it together and lastly the root canal treatment.

The root canal treatment. I seriously hate that. However effective it is, the treatment is so long and painful even under anaesthetic. Don't you agree, even with a shot of drugs, it feels like you can feel every bloody instrument the dentist put inside your tooth and roots for several hours.

"After that we need to observe it" she added. Right away I knew it had to go. "Observe it". Yeah, right. This is short for "from now on this tooth will give me pain and trouble until I break apart anyway. Not only pain, also money.

It must go, I told her. I can live without and have done so in the other side of my mouth where the twin tooth cracked and got pulled more than 15 years ago.

"We can do it now! She offered.

I did think we maybe should do it, however I was on my to Macau for a nice weekend with good food and entertainment, and also felt it was a bit rushed and I would rather procrastinate and push the pain ahead of me until the coming Tuesday.

So I declined using excuses like: "no, not tonight, it is late on a Friday and you should also be going home and I am on my way to Macau and all that. So I pushed it out and took a selection of painkillers from the dentist to keep my up.

Not many things is worse than a toothache.

And I felt this later the same evening after arriving to Macau. The toothache came creeping again as I winded down to go to bed in our lovely hotel.

"Pain always comes during the night to tell you the areas you have trouble with". The wise words from my wife's physio therapists. I tended to the selection of painkillers.

" I give you two different painkillers. Some not so strong and some very strong. Take the not so strong first. If it doesn't help take the strong ones. They'll last 24 hours".

I really thought they not so strong ones would do the job.

They didn't. After an hour with no relief, there was no way out and I got out of bed and swallowed on of the mega painkillers and went back to bed. With such severe toothache I thought I would not get any sleep.

In the morning I woke up and the ache had faded. Still I could sense it and now and then it came through like a little annoying kid who always make sure you won't forget about him.

The breakfast at out hotel is one to enjoy and somehow the tooth left me alone during breakfast. Later we were out and about it suddenly kicked back in. "Hello, it's me again, your toothache".

Man, did I regret not having pulled it out the evening before.

Then like out of nowhere it was like the painkillers decided to start helping me and I got some relief. Enough to enjoy some hours exploring the old town of Macau.

From then I started to take the painkillers in succession of each other, like advised by the dentist and I took booth of them together, which seemed to help and I could make it through the days away.

I too, the last one of my little helpers this morning at 11 and phoned the dentist again to ask if I could come for more to keep my happy until the appointment Tuesday evening. I just couldn't face another night in pain.

In fact the dentist clinic called me to remind me about my appointment tomorrow and I took the opportunity to ask if she could see me today. A quite funny and abrupt conversation followed in which both I and the dentist assistant from time to time didn't understand any of it. And so I turned up at 5 palm as I believe I'd understood she said I could. In my mind just to get some painkillers to keep me safe until the appointment Tuesday afternoon.

There was a patient in the chair as I arrived. As he came out I got invited inside and sat down in the chair.

"Have you slept these last nights", she asked and I admitted I had a bit but also that I'd had been in real pain.

"We can take it out now".

This time I didn't chicken out.

"I need to inform my wife I said".

"Fine, but let me give you the anesthetiser first".

No way out anymore, and here I am now. No more toothache. With a light head but somehow numbness in my left chin and a taste of blood in my mouth. In front of me two more small plastic bags with colourful pills. Some for pain relief and then a full five day course of antibiotic to finish.  

When a book finally catch me.

Tell me if you think there is anything better than to tuck oneself into the duvet with a good book and get lost in it?

Hardly. But sometimes it can take a while to get drawn into the universe and get that kind of lost you really want to be.

What is the reason?

Sometimes it just goes like this: open book, read first quarter of first page and I'm hooked. Other times it takes lot longer. Maybe I have even lost some entertainment this way not being patient?

But my belief is like this, if the book hasn't got me hooked after at least 3 to 7 pages, it won't happen.

At the moment I have got another experience. I'm reading yet another Henning Mankell story. No, not Wallander. This one is one of his stand alone stories.

It has taken me quite some time and pages to get into it and the kind of hooked I need to be to go to bed with the incitement to tuck in with my book.

And this book is not even the same kind of building up tension and dropping set up's for me to think to deeply about and search the pay off. Though it has me hooked in the certain Mankell way. He has this particular talent to surprise you with really different matter and subjects. And ant hills.

And I don't really know how he does it.

But man, it is great that he can do it and it helps to get to bed in a decent time, because I want to read.  

Escaped butterfly, recaptured.

If I should write a book, then it should be a good one. Period.

Maybe it should be called something like: "The Laguna of the escaped butterflies".

Imagine the place where all the escaped butterflies vacate? How many ideas would rest a place like that?

Maybe you don't really get the point of what I am saying here, so I need to explain a bit, just a little bit.

When you get an idea, you need to pin it immediately and not think " oh yeah, this is brilliant I have to remember this until" and then it is gone forever. The idea is a butterfly, well as a metaphor. And when you see this extremely beautiful example, you must catch it and pin it. Butterflies are slow, yes, but do not underestimate their ability to suddenly be carried away by some unforeseen wind. It happens, all the time. An idea, as good it might be seems to be there forever, you think because you got it, so it must be for eternity.

Puste kuchen. If you think like this, you must have lost many. Like I have.

Sometimes in the night I can wake up with this amazing brilliant idea. "I must remember that and write it down in the morning". A little smile and back to sleep. Next morning, get up and get on with the daily routine as always, and the butterfly? It' long gone to the Laguna of escaped butterflies where it flaps around among thousands of other butterflies.

Always carry a notebook or have some app available on your phone, to write down your ideas when they strike.

In a previous post here I mention something about some butterflies escaping. One of them I managed to catch again and have registered and it is about my theories with how different cultures and people drive their cars or how the traffic works in those different places.

Living in China, well, in China light as you very well could call Hong Kong, I have had good opportunities to travel in mainland China and get some impressions from the kingdom in the centre, also about how they drive cars or rather how their traffic system works. If you can say it does, as for a westerner it really can seem just chaotic. But it does work, and this is because everyone expect it like this and so are aware of what comes ahead for more than what we do in the organised west.

I have always thought the traffic system in China must be like they drive their car like they preciously rode their bicycles.

And really it could be, because everything moves a bit like in slow motion and everything in and out among each other In a very organic way. There are rules and yet, there are not. Or they are just not known to anyone from the outside. This can work on bikes because every one drives very slow and are on their guard and expecting everything at every minute and this makes it kind of safe. And - I think - more safe than at home where you drive by the law and a fixed set of rules and where to be aware of the unexpected is not an option. Because there is no unexpected behaviour and if there is, it will soon be dealt with, either by law enforcement or other players in the traffic.

In Europe you really cannot act out in the traffic and do alternative things or take decisions that only suits you and your way of getting from a to b. In China you can, and it is fine. Everyone expect it to happen and so they are aware and therefore it is possible and the other players just adapt and get on with their own business. It is chaotic bit it works and there is a flow.

This Easter I visited Oman. Last Easter it was Iran. The traffic again here was incredible different than the law and order Europe I come from.

In Oman for example, I felt they drive like they must have rotten their camels years ago.

In Oman, like in China and Iran there was a lot of traffic. And a lot of cars. And big cars and not many in them. Mostly only one, the driver. Maybe it was the same in Iran, I can't really remember that now. Anyway, I didn't like the traffic in Iran. It was just too many cars and they were driving even worse than the Chinese. Yes, that is my opinion and sorry about that.

In Oman, like in Iran and China, loads Of traffic and cars with not so many in them either. It was a bit more civilised on the big carry ways and avenues in Muscat, but when you got in to the different neighbourhoods in the city or in some of the smaller towns and cities in the country, there was cars everywhere and they were mainly just parked everywhere. There was no real parking spaces and no order. And here my comparison with the camel riding comes in. In the old days the people has come to the cities on their animals and rode direct up to the shop or restaurant they wanted to frequent and "parked" the camel just outside, alongside all the other camels while master and family was doing what ever.

The worst times was in the evening when everybody and anyone was out and about and wanted to frequent the same eating places or shops or souks. There were no system early. Where there was a spot, there was a car parked. Close and tight and often I was wondering how on earth they could get every car out again. If they could, they would drive all the way to the entrance to a eating place, or at least as close they could get, and then honk their horn to get someone to come from the kitchen and take an order for take away. Then they would just sit around inside in their air-conditioned vehicle and wait until the waiter or cook would come out to take the order.

It was annoying and yet, OK'ish, because the country is big and you can get away from it all by driving - your car - into the wilderness. There you could park everywhere. But not get takeaway, except takeaway of peace and quiet.

So this was one of the escaped Omani butterflies.

Good to check that one off now.

For the matter of soul peace, I should maybe mention my theory about Danish traffic and driving? Dead boring and predictable. No passion really. Just how you are told to do it and strict after the rules. Except for some cases people who cannot stop speeding.

To be or not to be, a bastard!

Being creative is being creative. And it is hard. Being creative is very demanding.

It can be easy to avoid, or it is easy to avoid. Just start flicking through your Twitter account or turn on the TV, then you know your creative time has vanished. And you will never grow and never succeed in anything.

Being creative is challenging, but challenges is where we grow.

No one ever grew by having everything come too easy and if thing come to easy, we sure do not value it as much.

Was this the start I hoped for for this post/ essay/ feature?

I do not really know. When I was thinking about what to write about, I thought it to be about the difference between the challenge to make a drawing every day and to write something every day.

For the last long time, I have been trying to keep a ritual going and writ and draw and practise playing the bass guitar again.

It is hard and demanding. And very diverse. Every of these tasks are pulling different strings in my mind. Different skills my be no also touching very personal limits and borders.

The writing and drawing are provoking my own honesty, but in different ways. Both are art forms where you can push out and show your most inner thoughts and most personal passions and desires and imagination and not always is it completely acceptable or appropriate thoughts coming out or up to the surface.

Of the two different forms of expression, I feel most comfortable in drawing and letting my inner life come out through my drawings. It is as a drawing cannot be as sensitive or maybe complete extreme as something written.

Or maybe it can, but for me it doesn't feel that way, yet.

Is this because I am very good at controlling what I draw, in the sense as to not exhibit myself and get into a situation where I could be criticised and judged or is it maybe because I am too weak to dare to strip my self naked by bashing and my inner thoughts out for the world to see.

Even in many of the writing advise I've seen, the advise is to be rough and. Honest and to provoke the audience and reader.

For someone trying to overcome lame writing and to become someone worth reading, I need to improve and to be more direct and uncomfortable in my writing. Or maybe it is to become more unpredictable.

Maybe also when I am drawing? However drawing for me, is not as intense an express form as I feel writing to be.

Drawing or painting is more about aesthetics and form than it is about bursting out ones heart and badass behaviour for a provocation and a reaction.

I have a couple of plots and ideas for novels or short stories. But it is not anything too sinister in my mind yet. When I read about tips and methods of writing, it is often said you have to "kill your darling".

In the sense if something doesn't fit and ruins the narrative or is to blunt or week, you have to let it go. Even if it is your first idea and your entry into the universe you have created. I it doesn't fit, just leave it to rot.

But, can I be a bastard?

I am not sure.

Many years ago I was working on a comic. It was a bit of a hobby for me back then and I was mainly using it for a kind of second life valve. Not the digital avatar platform where you actually is an avatar in some cypher room. What I did back then was some release from a very isolated and stagnant student life, with no money and not many adventures, so I created a world to escape into where loads of things happened to my alter ego.

In the comic, I let some terrorists blow a bomb at a gas station somewhere in northern Finland, and the lady of the house got -if not killed - then very injured and I remember my girlfriend at the time asking me, how I could kill or injure a character I'd invented and brought to life myself. The comic was never full ended. It got stolen from a car I was travelling around southern Spain in in the late nineties, after I finally got out of my comfort zone I Århus, Denmark and some kind of life actually started to happen to me.

The comfort zone is a roadblock. Get out of that zone. It's good to be in the "Zone" but not that one.

The Oman files: The tale of two hotels

A couple of smetterlinge (butterflies) escaped me today.

I'll get back to those butterflies escaping later because I want to start with a complaint like it will suit me as a westerner travelling in the other part of the world where the standards might not just be like we are used to.

But, first a disclaimer; PLEASE do see this as a kind of joke and a writing experiment. Normally I do not complain about my accommodation or much else when I travel to parts of the world where life conditions and the mindset is so much different from our western "know it all better attitude" and I do not agree with the right to complain if something isn't up to a standard we could await -in our own life setting, that is. I know I am a guest in another country and are honoured to be able to look into another culture and the truth is many of the problems we face when travelling is so called problems for the privileged also known as "1. World Problems". Frankly expressed, the problems mostly arise because we compare to our own culture and expectations within our settings rather than the the actual thing we face just in front of us.

Anyway, I'm gonna do this and start rant about the hotel I stayed at in Nizwa and at the same time try to make a comparison to a similar hotel I stayed at in Sur.

Safari Hotel. A mid sized Omani hotel at the outskirts of Nizwa. I found it on Booking.com and reserved a room prior to my arrival. Admitted, it wasn't the hotel of my first choice, but it was a hotel where I could reserve a room without involving a credit card.

I did the same with Al Ayjah Plaza Hotel in Sur, which , seen in the back mirror, probably turn out to be the best hotel I have stayed at on this Easter trip through Oman.

Maybe this could also be a reason I want to rant, I mean when one hotel in the same category get's it, why wouldn't another one be similar?

 

It Started ok. The room was ok. Clean enough for me. Not perfect or fancy, a fine little Omani culture kind of hotel, like the other one in Sur had been it. And see, that one wasn't a picture perfect one either, it had the same two stars, however, it had some character and charm and I feelt it as soon I entered the reception and encountered the receptionist.

Safari also had it's own style, but not the same charm and straight from the beginning I had a feeling something was missing. I just couldn't pinpoint it. Yet.

At Al Ayjah Plaza in Sur, the lady behind the counter was Thai and she radiated confidence and positivity and made me immediately feel welcome because I could feel she cared about her guests and her hotel.

At Safari hotel there was a bloke at the reception. He wasn't an Omani. Probably from India like so many other people in the service sector in the sultanate. So what was it about him that was different, other than he was a bloke from India and not a lady from Thailand? At that point I couldn't tell but I had a feeling he was in a defensive position from the very beginning.

I got my room-key and all the instructions to get there in the lift and the code to wifi, what more could a man wish for????

Did I say room-key? Yes I did. And, it was a good old fashioned key on a cheap plastic key ring.

Me into the lift and got up to my floor to find my room. As the lift door slit open at my floor, I saw in front of me a couch arrangement and on their another bloke lying down with a phone glued to his ear. As I came out he changed position and sat up straight, still continuing the conversation on the phone. First I considerate him as another guest but I'll get back to that later.

The room was nice and spacious. Not so big like the one in Sur, but it was al right.

Got settled in and as a normal gesture as a traveller in those days I wanted to check out the safe and set it with my passcode.

In Sur, the safe had not played ball with me from the very beginning either. I needed assistance to set my code. What exactly was the problem, I can't recall just now.

Here in Safari Hotel, the safe was locked from the very beginning.

Not the biggest problem, I would go and talk to them later, as I did it in Al Ayjah Plaza.

There was another person at the front desk when I finally got to go find out. I explained the problem with the safe and she called the "boy". Yes, I really think she said that. And a wee bit later the lift arrived and out came the guy I'd seen lounging at the sofas on the 3rd floor on his phone. The lady explained the issue and he came with me up to the room. He typed some numbers into the display on the safe, but nothing happened. It was locked. He tried again. Nothing. Now he didn't know what, so he said "sorry, safe doesn't work.

As I asked him if he had a key or could fix it somehow, he just said no.

That was it. Not that I couldn't take all my valuables with me, sure I could and in times before I have done so, but now I got a bit cross and stubborn because it seemed he didn't care the least.

Back at Al Ayjah Plaze, a guy had come with me to the room and we had fixed it. He cared and so did the manager.

Now I demanded we should go down to see the manager at Safari Hotel and if they couldn't fix it, I would have another room.

At the desk again, the lady I'd talked to before listened to me and the explanation given from the "boy" and then said they had no other rooms similar to the one I was already occupying. They had smaller rooms.

When I asked to see the manager, she pointed at a younger Omani gentleman sitting in a sofa a bit aside being busy on his phone. The "boy" followed me like a puppy when I went straight to the guy on the phone who was supposed to be the manager. He looked up a bit irritated to be disturbed while he was on his phone and also maybe a bit surprised. I started to explain about the safe and I wanted to change the room, then the "boy" started talking and explaining and I making excuses. The manager looked from him to me back to him. Then he said the safe was broken and they couldn't fix it, but the hotel was safe and everything would be fine.

I am sure he could be right with this. I really feel Oman being a safe and honest country and I could leave valuables in the room and nothing would happen. But what if not?

So I said to him, " What if not?"

Then again they exchanged some words in Arabic and we went to the desk and the lady got down two keys. "We have these two rooms, but they are not the same size like the one you are in now". Mr. Omani Manager said.

Now I realised it with him also. He didn't care. Really. It was like he wasn't really in charge and the "boy" could explain him the safe didn't work. And then, well, then the safe doesn't work! That's it.

Ok the . Me and "boy" into the lift up to the 3rd floor into one room. No good. Next room. Could be? We looked at the safe and "boy did the same thing again jotting on the keys and "beep. the door opened and he told me the code being "000#" viola! Sorry, but I want to set my own code. He looked at me like "what?" Now I was pissed. "To freaking hell with it all". It's OK, I'll just stay in the room and take my valuables with me when I leave.

I could see the "boy" was pleased about it all, so they could continue the status quo in tha hotel, because now I understood. They didn't care at all. I am sure those guys are playing such a trick of doing easy on Mr. Omani Manager and he is not checking up because, frankly, I do not think he really cares. He is the manager of a two star hotel in the Second biggest city in Oman, and he thinks he is cool and running a hotel.

At Al Ayjah this little issue was done and dealt with in 15 minutes and here. Nothing had changed. And as I just decided to leave it be, I am sure that safe is still not working and they still do not care.

From now on I saw everything about the place with these eyes and I am sure I am right. No one really cared.

At the breakfast buffet, At first I saw no one from the staff in the room. There were one table along one wall to the side with a buffet. Some food was out in those buffet heaters. There was some sliced sausages, the typically middle eastern baked beans called "foul", some boiled eggs and then some supermarket packages of white bread just slammed onto the table in the plastic bags and some butter and those typical hotel and restaurant butter and jam portion containers. There was paper cups for the coffee and tea? I beg your pardon, paper cups for coffee and tea. Last time I think I had an experience in such a wasteful and not caring management of a hotel was in the United States.

Some other guests was sitting in the room but still no sign of any one from staff.

I took some foul and some sliced sausage. It looked a bit gross, but I gave it a try and actually the foul was alright, and I can quite happily eat that for breakfast every morning.

Some more guests came and picked something and suddenly from behind a counter appeared another young "boy". He went to the buffet and rearranged some plates and bread packages and then went back to his hiding place behind the counter, picking up his phone again.

Cross cut to Al Ayjah Plaza in Sur. They also had breakfast included.

When I came to breakfast, I was welcomed by someone from the kitchen. Sitting down at a table, someone came to me with the menu and explained the options. When it arrived, it was freshly made and very tasty.

They were helpful and they cared and I was really looking forward to going again the next morning.

At Safari Hotel, not really. Only the thought of the foul got me down there again the second morning. But man, the second morning it was gross. Like someone has been putting the whole salt pot into it.

I think I've never had anything this salty. And behind the counter, the same "boy" was hiding, occupied with his phone. Ever time I came to or left the 3rd floor, some one from "staff" we're lounging on the sofas up there, getting away from the eyes of the manager but busy on their phones. They just didn't care and the manager didn't care and so the Hotel was memorable bad experience and not any I would recommend to anyone. But Al Ayjah Plaza in Sur. Sure. Go there.

Smetterlinge. I promised you stories about the butterflies escaping. But the nature of butterflies escaping is that they are not there anymore because I can't remember what it was.

The Oman files: The Heat is On - Welcome to the Desert.

15 years ago I crossed the desert in Egypt from Com Ombo at the river Nile in the south east and up through the oasis's Kharga, Dakhla to Bahariya oasis close to Cairo. It was in a car and we were a mixed group of 6 young travellers from 4 different countries and a driver and guide from Egypt. It was in January 2002 and I was travelling in Egypt for 6 weeks with my girlfriend.

This was not the first desert experience I've had. The first was one year prior to the big Egypt trip and it was also in Egypt, but the Sinai peninsula. On this occasion we were trekking through the desert on camels backs for 3 days and two nights.

On both these encounters with the desert it has meant sleeping rough under the stars in the desert, and for anyone who has never experienced the desert, go and do it and sleep rough. It is an amazing experience.

Now I'm cruising through Oman and has been sleeping rough in nature on one occasion. Again. Try it out. Ok, this time it was not in a sandy dune desert, but still some sort of a desert, like the most of Oman is.

This time I chose a wadi, which basically is a canyon somewhere in the hills. I found it on my way from Sur at the coast and inland towards Nizwa and the mountains just to the west of Muscat.

There was a track leading into the wilderness and I followed it for a long while until I arrived at this little stream of water with some trees and something that looked like a camping site.

At the time I arrived, the place was in shade of the surrounding mountains and it was not to hot to get out and wander around. So I did exactly that.

Again the silence came at me like the first time on my first little outing into the wild I got a bit creeped by the silence. Being on my own maybe adds to it, because no one is talking.

It is hard to describe how this silence can be different from what we normally describe as silence, because it is so much more than quietness in ones house or anywhere close to something man made. It is like man made things, even they are just quiet things, still radiates some kind of sound or some kind of disturbance to nature. Like the black rectangular monolith in Stanley Kubrick's "2001. A Space Oddysee". Every time that thing shows up it causes some disturbance somewhere and somehow.

Anyway, there I was sitting on my very own, on a rock, next to my rented vessel and was...bored. But calm. And enjoyed being bored. Just be. Listening to the water in the stream. To the occasional bug buzzing past and to the fishies and frogs in the water and the sound they make when they break the water surface to catch an insect or whatever it is they do when you hear that special "blob or splash" sound.

After a while all these small and normal insignificant sounds did in fact quiet down the noise in my own head, until these noises faded and became insignificant. Compared to the first day I experienced the silence of wild nature and got scared by the sounds and noises in my own head, staying out there calmed everything down and all the issues bothering me in my daily life perhaps got caught by one of the fishies and frogs blob Bing or splashing through the surface or tangled in the buzzing wings by one of the passing bugs until I was just a man sitting alone in the wild thinking of nothing.  

The Oman files: Beautification & Bolz Platz

As a male, one thing you have to do every other day or so, is to shave yourself. Well, unless you want to become a hipster with a huge Mr. E beard or if you just want to maintain the scruffy sexy look of a 3 day beard.

The matter of shaving is something males in the western world mostly has to face themselves. However, it has not always been like that.

In the good olden glorious days of western civilisation, I believe to know there was barber shops dotted around in the streets. These was probably gentlemen's dens and perhaps meeting points for regulars, just like a pub would be it. At the barbershop, gentlemen of all kinds and class could walk in to have their facial hair taken care of. And have a laugh and a chat and maybe get some of the latest gossip and the more important football results. What have become of those social institutions in the modern western society?

Thinking about it, I can only remember having seen a combined hairdresser and barber in Aberdeen in Scotland - I sure can remember this because I went there on my wedding day- and another one I found in Taomina on Sicily. This was more a kind of gimmick for tourists I think. Anyway, I do like to go to the barber to get a good shave.

Now zoom in to the the intergalactic flapdoodle and the UAE and the sultans Galaxy again. In Dump-bai, I saw they had barber shops, so naturally I went there to get good shave and a facial wash and cleaning. That is nice and here they understand the value of that and it is nothing awkward about it. After leaving the system at the UAE on a shared shuttle, I have organised my own vessel for my research around in the sultans universe for interesting and memorable experiences -to tell the grand children I will definitively never have- to upgrade my brain to MYOS P47.

Last couple of days I've docked my pod at Sur. A costal hub, mostly famous for fabrication of sea fearing contraptions and fishing. And now also tourism. Mostly because of its beautiful beaches and lately also because of a significant marine life. Anyway, what stunned me for both the UAE and also here in the sultans Galaxy is the barber shops. On nearly every corner, you have a barber shop. Here named such as "Gent's Hair Fashion" or this one I particularly liked "Men's Beautification and Facial". And soon after I was again sat in the barbers chair waiting to get my face covered in foam.

So, my point is, why can some societies maintain a culture around mens facial hair and making it a social event to go to the barber to get shaved when this tradition has become close to extinct in the western culture?

Another social male event I have come across on my adventure, is the culture around the "Bolz Platz". The word originates from German. And "Bolzen" is a term used for kicking a ball around anywhere where it is possible. Yes, I am talking about football. I don't know how to translate this into English. It is a "fun kind" of nickname for a playing football in a hobby kind of fashion. The word "Platz" can mean square, place and pitch. So literary it means a somehow square even surface where you can kick a ball around. If it includes goal post is not important. Again in German you would say, "Es ist wurst" if you have posts or not, and actually the word "wurst" means sausage, so in German when something is not important you can actually say that it is sausage.

But now I'm drifting away from the Bolz Platz. So this Bolz Platz is not a stadium or anything near a regular football pitch with grass and lines. It can be anything.

Here in the sultans Galaxy, I have seem more Bolz Platze than I have seen ever before. And they can be found everywhere, also when you least expect it.

In the desert outside a wee village. You can find an cleared even dirt pitch with some sort of metal constructions for goals. Sometimes there is even put up some lights to act as flood light to let the game go on longer time in the evening. I have seen them play. 2 teams & 11 a side with substitutes and a referee and even other villagers coming as audience to watch in the evening when the temperatures again allows physical activity without risking a heat stroke.

Unfortunately I have not yet had the possibility to take part in any game on one of the many Bolz Plätze I've seen here. However if I get the opportunity and feel I can keep up with them, then I would certainly do it.

Maybe they should try to utilise these amazing pitches for some sort of "Bolz Platz tourism" and let the local lads Bolzen with a team of interested visitors.  

The Oman files: Intergalactic flapdoodle.

Another ones of those days. Again I'm either to late or too early to catch the action. By now I should have got it, but I obviously haven't. I tend to linger around taking loads of time in the morning getting ready and out. And by doing so I am missing the action. Absolutely nada is going on between noon and early evening when I am kind of ready to face the music. It is simply too hot. I have been walking around in the streets in search for the real life in the baking sun, while everyone of those real people I've been looking for has been lingering around inside in their air conditioned houses, waiting for lower temperatures before they venture out again.

In fact I should know this from Spain and Italy, however, it seems I've not converted it to this planet in the sun, yet.

So the question is if I should get up earlier and get out at sunrise to get some of the real action? Says the good side of me, the white Snowy, sitting on o e shoulder. But, I'm on holiday and want to do what I feel like. In my normal life I always get up early to be the action!

That was the reply from the black Snowy on my other shoulder. Or should I rather call it the black "Jar Jar Bings" just to continue in this strange intergalactic flabdoodle I've kind of set up from the day I left the space station in the dessert in the UAE.  

The Oman files: Silence and red dust.

Finally, I could get out in the sultans Galaxy on my own pace.

I hired my own transport. And got an upgrade. Not really so sure I like it much this time, the upgrade I mean. Normally it's cool to get an upgrade. When it is flight seats or hotel rooms it's normally to the better. When it is car rental? Many would probably jump and celebrate to get a bigger ride. I would rather have the one I'd booked. In this case a smaller SUV, for the off road possibilities in Oman.

The man on the other side of the desk in the boot said he didn't have any in that class, so he gave me a bigger one. It is a HUGE one, and just the sheer thought of filling that tank gave my the creeps. But, there's always a silver lining.

I'm in Oman and in Oman petrol is what they have plenty of and therefore they sell it very cheap, compared to western standards.

I filled up that monster truck with 60 something litres and I paid...?

Are you ready?

For 60 something litres of unleaded super petrol I paid the equivalent to 240ish Hong Kong Dollar or about 30 Euros or 25 British Pounds. I bet many in Europe would be happy about that. It kind of similar to what you pay to get from Edinburgh airport to my mother in laws house and even less than what I have to pay for a taxi from my house to the airport at home in Hong Kong.

So what's the problem that I do not agree with this.

It is too cheap. It is not sustainable and at the end of the day it will have an impact on climate change. What I've seen here in UAE and in Oman, the culture around cars, is devastating for the environment. At the moment it can probably still do, but in a not so distant future, also this place will be congested by cars.

It is like cars has replaced the camels.

At least it is in my head. Where before everything was measured in the number of camels, now it is measured in cars, or the size of them. It is like they cannot walk any distance. The car has to be just right next to where they are. (Sorry about those discriminating remark. It is meant in a kind and jovial manner, like I also can make fun of myself and my own awkward opinions and beliefs.)

And now I have one on my own on loan for 8 days. And do I enjoy the mobility it gives me being here and having the possibility to get around and see stuff.

It does. So see, I am just a hypocrite.

A hypocrite, on my own in the sultans Galaxy who left the commodities in the mother ship and ventured out in the galaxy in my own, rented, pod.

First I followed the common route, like the other pods venturing away from the mothership. Using my google maps on my phone and an old fashioned route map.

At one point a sign gave a hint about a Wadi away from my direction. I was curious and in good time to reach my destination and felt the urge to feel nature, so I indicated to leave the main stream and headed away. Shortly after the main route took a left turn and disappeared over a hill. To the right a little dirt track led in to the country side. I followed the track for a long while and suddenly I found myself in this stunning little Wadi, canyon. I put my ride under - partly under- a tree. And got out.

The heat was hitting like a hammer.  This must be like it would be like to be in a hot pot. My ride was covered in a layer of fine red dust.

Having slightly adjusted to the heat, silence took over.

How often do we in the modern world get overwhelmed by silence? The only thing I could hear was the sound of my own head. And that was too noisy. How can I get my head to stop being so noisy?

Actually it was scary. I didn't know how much noise my own head makes and what that must mean to me & my state of mind.

In my normal life, everything else is so noisy and hectic so I enjoy being left alone in a quiet place to think or create or struggle with my own projects.

To me that feels quiet and relaxing.

Here, this form of normal quiet reflective thinking was just like an annoying noise and I don't think I can really understand what happened.

So I'm going to do it again and possible stay put somewhere for a whole night. Hopefully completely alone. Like the native North American Indians did it to get inspiration and time to think and reflect.

One time before I've done the same in a forest in the south of Denmark.

It was good. It was like this thing when you leave your comfort zone.

That's where the magic starts.

The Oman files: Touch down.

I asked for this me self, didn't I? Absoluty nothing to do here. That could be a nice thing some times. Just not when you want adventure.

Or entertainment.

Arrived at the sultan galaxy's biggest and most important settlement, Muscat, I realise it is not quite as romantic as I'd imagined it to be.

From being a small settlement around a tiny natural harbour to the modern capitol, the city Muscat of today have undergone one huge transformation, a transformation driven by one single catalyst: oil!

Maybe it does shine through. Yes. I am a bit disappointed about the Muscat I've found and the Muscat I thought I would find. Yes, I expected it to be somewhat modern an developed. What I didn't expect is how it is modern and developed and how much of this development is centred around the fossil fuel industry and a development of a culture of cars. Big cars.

By leaving Dump-bai, I hoped to get far away from that kind of culture and hoped to find something more balanced and sustainable.

I was wrong.

The modern Muscat I found is based on cars and cars having to park somewhere.

In the new Muscat the city planning is made with a huge amount of cars in mind and so there is no real atmosphere and to take a stroll through some interesting small or bigger streets with some sort of life and sense of character, is only to find in the very old part of town. However, to get there, you'll need to take a taxi or hope your hotel provide a a driver or a shuttle bus so you just need to waddle from your room to the bus, and from the bus to the souk or wherever the trips goes. That way you can easily avoid all those distracting "locals" and their odd culture.

Let's talk about sustainability.

Check out Twin Atlantic.

Never heard them or about them befor my Cathy flight last Friday and it turns out they are from Scotland.

Twin Atlantic: Hold On

Dubai files: Day three. The escape.

Alabama Shakes woke me up at 5:17 AM, blasting their enchanting tune "Hold On. In to my sleeping subconcience. The rough ride out the space station in the dessert was at 7:30 AM.

Estimated walking time from my space station quarter to the dock for the rough ride was 27 minutes at the most, 17 at the least.

Had to make sure to pick up all essential necessities as I wasn't returning to this den, ever again. 

Not because I didn't like it. Not at all, in fact I quite liked it. It was big and nicely designed. The cozy and with one of them extremely comfortable duvets you can find in hotels. Well, in some hotels. Wonder how it is going to be on the next dessert planet away from the "empire".

There was some sparse sign of civilised settling sin the empty space between the empire Dump-bai and the sultans system of Oman. Now and then in the deserted space our ship passed strange life forms on their search for nutrition. 

After some time we had reached the check point at the outer range of Dump-bai imperial space and we docked at the empire controlled checkpoint. Leaving the empire wasn't free. 35 AED out of the pocket and thank your for being allowed to breathe the air, or should I say the exhaustion from way too many way too big cars.

"It ain't over until the fat dog has sniffed".

 A while of no mans space. Cruising at low speed. Just the occasional life forms were in sight while we slowly approached the sultans custom station. As we finally docked to it everyone of us had to leave the shuttle and grab grab the luggage out of the haul to line up for inspection. We were encountered by custom troopers who carefully rummaged around in the suitcases and backpacks. Nothing to do about it, so we might as well have some fun about it. A little chit chat with the not unfriendly troopers.

Thinking it was over and ready to return the luggage into the boot of our transport vessel, we got called back into reality once again.

Our luggage had to be lined up on the ground, one after another and then we were asked to step aside.

From a shed a trooper came walking towards us, in one hand he had a lead and a big black fat dog trotted after him.

The dog was let loose on our luggage and it had a good sniff at it. Nothing seemed to be interesting and after the dog had abandoned our luggage it was let loose inside the haul of our transport vessel.

It was a good show. The dog was big and cute but obviously not interested in anything it was let loos on. Which I guess was a good sign for us and the prospects of getting further into the galactic of the sultan.

Another empty space before yet another checkpoint where we got to stand face to face with the sultans official migration officers.

Having been at visa issuing desks in other countries, I can tell when something is slow.

This was slow. Slow to the point where you ask yourself if those on the other side even can be bothered. Finally I got to face one of them who had sunken so far down in his chair so his hands working the keyboard -slowly - was at the level with his chin.

Many questions about how many days and when I was leaving and my country of birth and a prize for the visa and I left with a stamp and a date in my documents stating I can remain in the sultans Galaxy for the next 30 days.

Unfortunately I am not.

Dubai files. Ground research.

Decided to be a real traveller arriving in Dubai early morning on April fools day 2017. This means I got me self and me luggage onto the Dubai Metro and rode the 2 stations from the airport to the neighbourhood where me house for two Dubai nights was located.

It was really not a big deal and the only aberdabei was the very early hours when I arrived and naturally no room was available or ready for me. Got me "volleyballs" installed in the locker room and went on a ground research trip in the neighbourhood. I chose that location coz I'd seen the bus for Oman was leaving from somewhere around, so I went out to find it and get me self a ticket to Oman for Monday morning.

An in between thought. Or reflection? Dump-bai has no street life, really. Hereby I mean there seem to be no sense of neighbourhood belonging and no "stam kneipe", like the Germany version of the local little pub or bar or cafe around the corner where everyone i owes everybody. Here everything is  entered around the centres and malls and only reachable by cars in huge five lanes freeways and to show off wealth is more important than close and genuine relationships.

Another thought. Experiencing this place leaves no doubt in my mig the human race could build a space shuttle and could colonise another planet. This place arisen from the hot dessert sand is evidence it is possible. Dump-bai is a freaking space station in the dessert.

The brown gold from the Middle East.

 

Dubai files: Day one. Air.

Those 8 something hours went pretty quick. Must have been having a nap. One especially sore muscle in my neck speaks its own language. 

Watch two movies, or rather semi watched one, "Rogue One" the Star Wars story -had a rough time keeping awake- and watched "Arrival" with this Adams lady as a linguist who was drafted by the US military to try to translate communications with aliens who had parked 12 ships across the world in different locations.

The main story was this obvious one we already know too good. Alien ships comes to the earth and what happens next.

However this one wasn't really about the aliens, it was more about how human kind on the earth today can't really understand each other and don't have the patience or decency to corporate or trust each other and give enough time to clearly understand each other's messages. This became the real thrill and conflict in this story.

Another connection or I found with this film as a similarity to Ed Wood's hilarious worsterpiece "Plan 9 From Outer Space". 

And how's that? Well, like in Plan 9, aliens arrive to the earth and try to make contact and help the human race to overcome differences and hostilities towards each other, but we (humans) misinterpret their effort and think we are being attacked and so throws our whole arsenal of weapons of mass destruction against them.

Without spoiling this for anyone who wants to watch the "Arrival"' I'm not going to plant any spoilers. One thing I'm going to say is the film is deeper than some of the other "Alien arrives at the earth" and "War of Worlds" films. Much deeper and the Herero is not a big muscle guy with loads of weapons.

Ground control and story two in short.

Check out "The Pretty Reckless" and "Twin Atlantic" bands.

They were new bands to me from the Cathy playlist.

It starts with one word.

"Write one word at the time". Sounds like quite believable. And it should be, it is an advice from one of the greats when it comes to writing. Stephen King. 

So what about this advice? "Put one colour at the time before you look for the structure."

And then a homemade painting.