follow your feet

Sunday, July 6, 2014

I Am Sweden

One of my celebratory activities regarding my arrival in Sweden has been to go hiking in the mountains (I would classify these more as mounds in the ground, or blips on an otherwise level plain, but, no matter).

Sweden

There was an interesting group dynamic (in our little posy of three), each with our own self-proclaimed titles.

Sweden

The Moron

A self-diagnosis, which normally I would classify as highly dangerous, but in this case, I thought to be rather accurate. Especially when he told the story of how:

“When I was little, I thought that all gingers were retarded…”

Sweden in summer

If that’s not a moronic thing to think, and then to retell to your friends (one of whom was Ranga) years later, then I don’t know what is.

Sweden

The Ranga

Obviously originating from the hair colour that was similar in hue to that of an orangutan. This title of course meant that many a conversation ended with:

“Oh, but you’re a Ranga, so you have no soul,” (idea from South Park)

Norway

"Oh, but Rangas are retarded so your argument is void," (idea from the Moron)

Sweden

Norway

I, was, alternatively, the Swedish persona in the group. I represented profound peace and modesty in the situation.

Norway

I did not make any Ranga jokes, despite sore temptation.

I did not look down on the Ranga, because he was Ranga.

I did not give him with any special treatment despite his handicap.

Norway

I did not hold it against him that he is lactose intolerant as well, meaning that, after our cheesy dinner the previous night, he was letting rip every 2 minutes.

Packs

I am Sweden.

Monday, June 30, 2014

The Tale of the One Sister

“There was once one sister who was traveling along a lonely, golden beach at midday. In time, the sister reached face off with a horse galloping toward her, traveling too fast to avoid. However, this sister was learned in the magical arts, and so she simply thought to step aside and let the horse past.

Morocco - out to get me

Her brain was halfway through the decision making process when she found her synapses blocked by the large Arab horse, whom she named Death.

Battlements

And Death spoke to her. He was angry that he had been cheated out of a new victim, for travellers usually died when hit by oncoming horses galloping at top speed. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the sister on her great decision-making skills magic and said that she had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him.

Downtown Essaouira

And then Death asked the third and youngest sister (for that is what she was) what she would like. The youngest sister was humble and wise, and she did not trust Death. So she asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, told her that she could pass unscathed and get away with simply that.

The not beach part of the beach

Then Death stood aside and allowed the sister to continue on her way, and she did so, thinking with wonder of the adventure she had had, and admiring Death for his gift.

Boats for safe-keeping

Then BAM! At the last minute, just as she thought that Death had left her alone and was going to let her leave in peace, he hit her. With force. And speed. On the shoulder.

Some more boats

But Death didn’t care. Death just galloped off down the beach. Leaving nothing more than a pile of Steph on the beach. And some stars in her eyes. The dizzy kind. Not the good kind.

Beach in Taghazout

Death, however, did not claim her on this day.”

Beach at Taghazout

Moral of this story: There is danger in everything, even a leisurely stroll down the beach in Essaouira.

Goats up the Argan tree

Sunday, June 22, 2014

All Class

Having had a two-week spell away from Internet and the outside world, upon my return to civilisation I had numerous inquiries into what the time away was like.

Here is an accurate, if slightly biased account, of the most memorable 5 days of the trip.

Terraces in an village

I decided, early on, that it wouldn’t be a real trip to Africa without getting sick at least once. So I got sick.

Down the valley

Day 1 was

“I’m all class… Look, I have vomit on my leg.”

“Hang on a minute, I just need to throw up.”

“You guys keep going, I’m just going to faint.”

“No, thanks, I won’t ride the mule… It doesn’t deserve to be vomited all over.”

Omar and his mule

Day 2 was

“I’m feeling a bit better thanks… Than yesterday… When I was chundering everywhere”

Boy selling Coke on a mountain pass

Day 3 was

“Well, I guess I’m still kind of functioning…”

Wild flowers

Day 4 was

“Never mind, I’m sick all over again”

“You really don’t want to know”

Abdullah

Day 5 was

“Oh, Dad… You have drugs… That’s nice… Thanks for mentioning that earlier…”

“Oh? You only just found them? Did you look earlier? No? Oh, well that would explain it…”

“You know Steph, you’ve come right so quickly, I just don’t think it could be the drugs.”

“I am not sold on that hypothesis, Dad.”

Lac d'Ifni with mule in the foreground

Needless to say, I was and am still, a little resentful about the 5 day lag period Dad put on looking for the drugs that were, at least in my view, my magic cure…

A mountain village

Sunday, June 8, 2014

DONKEY

This week, I have been observing different creatures participating in activities that are highly specific to their species.

Examples:

Tourists doing tourist things… Like taking photos of everything.

The Bus-Goers

Cats doing cat things… Like sleeping all the time.

The Sleeper

Donkeys doing donkey things… Like speeding and pulling big loads.

The Speedster

Camels doing camel things… Like chilling out and walking on sand dunes.

The Awesome

Mum doing Mum things… Like buying things.

The Consumer

Dad doing Dad things… Like protecting himself from the Sun.

The Protector

So… I decided to play a little game, just with Mum, Dad and myself. The game is kind of like DONKEY, in that any time on of the three of us doing anything remarkably stupid (RS), genuinely annoying (GA) or excruciatingly touristy (ET), you get a number of points assigned to your name (number of points determined by me).