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.

 

The Cuban Cigarbox.

Monday at lunch time I have duty in our cafeteria. Normally not much exciting happens in those 30 minutes I am in there. However, today I got some kind of surprise as something completely unexpected happened.

At one of the tables a boy sat with a wooden box. And that box immediately caused me to start associating. For many years I have not seen a box like that, and here in Hong Kong never and yet it was so incredible familiar to me and I fact I had to go ask the boy if I could take a photograph of his box.

 

He was a bit sceptical at first as I came up to ask him what was inside. He looked at me as if I was going to blame him for anything.

"This is just my pokermon cards cards he replied and opened the box to show me, as if he would show me it wasn't anything inappropriate.

The bad was a old fashioned cigar box. Rewinding now to my own childhood.

 

I had many cigarboxes as a boy. They were quite common on the countryside in Denmark in the 70ties. Even my mom had some for her collection of buttons in her sewing kit. My dad had them as well in his wood workshop. My brother and I had them for our collection of plastic animals and Cowboys and Indians and maybe some stamps and cuttings from the pop magazines.

With one magical touch all these memories just came up to the surface as I saw this box today. Mesmerising. Must be the word for what I felt.

for so many years I have not seen anything like that box. A lot of Tim boxes, and cardboard and plastic and foam and paper and and and and. But a wooden cigarbox with a matriculate closing mechanism. A little fitted metal lock in it own simple complexity.

As I asked the boy if I could take a picture he just looked at me and nodded. "My dad has got more of them he said."

It was a real one , from Cuba. Just as Fidel Castro dies I see a real Cuban cigarbox at our school in Hong Kong. Some coincidence.

"Do you think he would give me one?" Yes, I really asked the boy that question. Again he just looked at me. "Maybe, I don't know" he said.

Let us see if some day he comes to my office with one of his dad's empty Cuban cigar boxes. 

Frustration

Dead tired and out of sync with what I really want. And then I can't.

Writers block. Is it? If it is it must mean that I am a writer.if not I cannot suffer reform writers block. Then is the no idea about what to write just common normal. As I as a common normal doesn't write a thing.

No, I am not a writer and this is not writers block. This I a bit of frustration and tiredness I guess. I have just been reading an essay about Participation in Design. It was someone clever from M.I.T. -yes that M.I.T- and was about design and architects role and way of work in this new millennium. In many ways very interesting and uplifting and important in the way I am thinking myself, which now seems to be lingering as a new kind of trend among younger people.

So why does this frustrate me, it seems it should be uplifting for me.

I read it as part of a online Harvard Course I am currently take now, and I liked it. Or rather I liked the parts I can remember from it. This is my frustration.

I need to develop and to take on new knowledge and gain new skills and I really really want to. I have done all assignments by now and are good in it, however, reading all this clever stuff is what frustrates me. Not reading it. It seems interesting and I like it, but I can't remember a bloody f...... thing of it. As soon as I am about one sentence or 17 words in it, my mind starts to wonder. Suddenly I remember some episode from the children's film camp I participated in when I worked in eastern Germany and my mind are occupied with that for a minute.

Then I shuttle myself back to the text and back to the beginning and I start all over, but the text is complete new to me, as if it is the very first time I read it, and I've just read it less than two and a half minutes ago.

When my good Tai Tai asks me what I learned in the session, I can't tell her a thing, because I do not remember.

I can remember episodes from all our holidays and I can remember passages in fictional books I've read and I can remember from day to day when I read a book, what I read the night before. But I can't remember or focus when I read clever non fiction or should we call it academically reading.

I believe I have a growth mind set. At least I've learned I need to have one, so I believe I do.

However, with reading stuff like this I just need to say: I can't.

Even there is no such thing, I can't.

So maybe I am suffering of some kind of disorder. A denial of clever academically stuff. Denial of difficult stuff to read disorder.

Must say it do sound like something one could suffer from. In 2016.

So what do I do about it.

Read it again and again to hope more and more of the sentences will stick on the inside of that social led brain of mine.

Some of it does. But not nearly enough and it frustrates me so immensely much.

To go back to the essay I've just read before I started to write here.

I can only really remember something about the architect Mies Van der Rohe and something he said about the people taking ownership the buildings he created and how he couldn't stand they would personalise those buildings because it would ruin his functional aesthetics to the bit about the author sitting stuck in traffic with a friend, raving about all the ignorant and selfish owners of huge SUV's and Hummer's and other mega fuel eating carbon monsters, who causes the traffic to break down.

Two statement, two paragraphs that stuck in my memory.

From an entire essay.

So frustrating. 

But it is not writers block. It could be readers block!

Anyone out there who can give my a useful tip or three?

8:27 PM

At this time at night it is pretty quiet in our little home. 8:27 PM. Quiet in the sense of both of us doing stuff. (Then a little smirk on my face, but this is some complete other story).

Doing stuff like work stuff. Is mostly what we do at 8:27 PM.

Sometimes I do what I do now. Write. Stuff. Like this, it with another subject.

Tai Tai is at a point of change in her life and are finding it hard to keep up. I understand why. She is basically doing 1.75 jobs at he moment. And has no time for anything else.

I also do more work than usual. At he time I am doing a Harvard course online, and every week I need to check in and write reflections, connections and puzzles. And then I try to write as much as I can. And I try to draw and do some digital painting. Painting like in art painting. It was a passion I had many years ago. I was always painting and drawing. I really loved and enjoyed doing it. I was in a flow when I did that. I miss doing that for real. My excuse it now this one; "we don't have any room for it in our little house here in the village."

8:33. And true, we don't. Now I draw and paint on an iPad. And I write on a iPad.

12 hours ago my working day started for real. 13 hours ago, I was preparing to leave the house to catch the bus or what ever transport comes first, and take me to school.

14 hours ago my Tai Tai left for work. Poor poor Tai Tai. Even she does it to herself.

15 hours ago I started my morning routine with a workout. 16 hours ago I was asleep. In 20 minutes I will go to bed again. I will try to read and crash after 4 minutes. Lights out.

In 9 hours I will be up again drinking 3 big glasses of water before going down on my knees for the daily workout. In 10, Tai Tai will leave for work again. And here we go again.

8:42 PM. I will copy this writing from the app I use into my blog and post it.

8:44 PM. Copy.

8:46 PM. Paste and adjust.

8:47 PM. Publish.

Another cycle is over.

Dream a new painting.

Imagine to have a big empty space to use as an atelier. Like a real atelier. With huge Windows on 3 sides. And one big one at the ceiling. A place to have 4 or 7 canvases up at once. And I mean big canvasses. Not just iPad sized canvasses like I have now.

In a space like that, there should be no need to clean up or to put everything back into drawers and shelves and cupboards when finished and exhausted after a long days fight with those canvasses.

Just switch off the loud hifi stereo system. Turn off the light and go through a door into the rest of the apartment or house. Drink an ice cold soda and off to bed in the opposite end and go to sleep next to the beloved tai tai.

Dreamer. But wow, I would like that. And there should've a view. A great view from that atelier. Maybe towards the sea or some amazing mountains. There should also be a door out to a balcony or to a rooftop above the atelier. At one end of that rooftop should be a kitchen. Sinks, workspaces, oven and gas cookers, shelvings and cupboards and fridge and freezer.

Walls just made of glass with huge sliding doors to one side out to a covered terrace area with table and chairs.

Dream a little dream of an atelier like that.