the facts, maam, just the facts..

Out of a suitcase, into another...

The latest has been my 8th move in one year, 12th move in the last 3 years. It seems that the nomadic heritage of my fathers side is haunting me. Just when we have finished decorating and unpacking in the new apartment, we got bad news... There is water flooding under the kitchen floor.

This means the following: the company that manages the building complex will take 6 weeks to 3 months to fix the problem and renovate all floors, walls and fixed kitchen furniture (not too bad, that). Meanwhile, they will offer us an "evacuation apartment", which is an apartment we could stay in for the time being. We also would be reimbursed for the rent we pay during the repairment period. Yes, very effective they are, them Swedes. But the bad news is that I am tired, I have no energy to move again, and then move back once all the renovation is done. I was just beginning to settle down, when water powers conspired against me again.

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The bravery of being out of range

Yes.. No one has been able to reach my by email or phone... I have been totally disconnected during the last couple of weeks. No body knows my new address either. In many ways it felt refreshing.. For once I am again totally spontanous in running my life, and at home in my relationship.. and for once I am relived of credit companies reminding me to pay this or that monthly installment.

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The last gate to the north

Little did I know... that this new neighbourhood, suburb, address of mine is known to be the last gate to the northernlands... a dramatic way of putting it, might I add... but I can see where it is coming from... Almost more than half of the locals are not local, i.e. coming from other countries. It almost feels like little Finland sometimes, while sometimes it feels like big Ruwanda. The food and beverage industry (can count the number of restaurants on one hand) is dominated by Lebanon and Kurdistan... The pizzas are really horrible, very unSwedish, since every where I went to around this country had great pizzas... Anyway.. there seem to be a sense of sad despreation overshadowing the area, especially reflected in the retro industrial-designed buildings. A little aggressiveness too, not so much peace, love and understanding and definately not one per cent as hip as mother-Stockholm. Well, well, at least I got all the fun that I need within the confines of our little (mobile?) home.

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On a more positive note

For once in many a month, I can sleep long and deep, wake up fresh enough to fix me a so-called breakfast (usually consists of Musli, or some kind of cereal, in sour milk, as well as a coffee and a cigarette). The trip to central Stockholm in the morning is refreshing: 20 minutes by commuter train and along beautiful scenary, with often interruptions of big industrial chaosness and a whole lot of graffity (perhaps worth a picture-blog-post of tis own). I can promise that the same panda artwork waves at me at least three times every morning. Once I get to destination A, I take a buss across the heart of Stockholm into the fanciest of Swedens neighbourhoods, where my work is. Once a week, I am happy to say I am jamming with a Soul band.. yes.. no big double bass drums for a change, instead its nice little brushes-on-snare and experimentation with little percussion pieces in a very multinational band: a swede, an irish, a newzealander and a jordanian, and more nationalities to be announced.

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Last but not least

Lots of conferences to cover this coming spring, watch this space for a whole load of travelling and conferencing. Meanwhile, I am dreaming about food on my mothers table in Amman, Jordan.