The Welsh experience

At the very end of the Dublin Port is the check-in to Wales. It is early morning and still dark. We are only a few foot passengers and we all watch episode after episode of Friends on the large screen at the back of the boat.

Two hours later the ferry arrives in Holyhead. My book says it's a boring place, so I catch the train directly to Bangor. A middle sized town with one museum, a nice chuch and a buzzing atmosphere thanks to the university. I have my pack lunch in the bible garden - can't tell the differece between the plants as all the leaves are authumn grey.

The sun is shining and the man at the post office explains how to get to Ll... - the village with the 4th longest name in the world. I walk along the road, cross a large beautiful bridge and my camera batteries are out. The shop sells postcards with the long name and I get a couple just to prove that I've been there.

Spend my last pounds on a pint at the local bar while waiting on the train. An hour or so later I'm back in Holyhead. The ferry cinema is screening "Ladder 49" and I fall asleep despite the big waves and fire men shouts from the film.

Jag måste gå och lyssna på det här bandet...

A day in Drogheda

This is Ireland

BL Neon Signs does not have one of their own.

Belfast October 2005

1 & 2: Unionist murals by Shankhill Road
3 & 4: Hope Nursery School by Shankhill Road
5: Catholic murals by Palestine Road

They live their logo

The Swiss flag is their logo. The stamp they proudly put on everything around. For them a quality stamp, an identity sign and logo for a way of living.

Good ideas make my legs weak

Sometimes you just hear about these things... Problems that people encounter and then find a brilliant solution to.

Today I was listening to the radio, Newstalk 106 as always, and heard this British guy talking about his new key delivering company.

The idea is like this: people register online and send their spare house key to them. Then when they lose it or lock their key in - they just call them. 24hrs delivery, anywhere in London.

The fee is something like £30 a year and then an additional £20-something when you need to get your key delivered.

Pure dead brilliant. www.mysparekey.com

The wrap from heaven

The best wrap I've had in my life came from an Italian deli in Zurich... Salmon, rice and loads of green stuff. Not to mention the deadly little soya fish...

So we thought people cared (about the Nobel Prize)

Thursday, 12.58pm in one of Zurich's largest bookstores.

Silence, ordinary commerce, no 'these are the possible ones'-table, no radio on.

-Are you going to turn the radio on, to hear the announcement of the Nobel Prize? We ask the girl at the info-desk. -Eh, no. She answers and gives us a confused look. -I wouldn't think so. And that is next week by the way. -Oh? Are you sure? We look at her, then each other, then her again. -100%, she answers and sort of waits for us to understand.

Right, we leave the store somewhat confused. We thought it was today, we had read it was today. How much are they disagreeing in the academy? Is there a major crisis? Has this ever happened before?

A few minutes later we have moved on to look at stuff in the Swiss Army knife store(!), and there they have the radio on. "Harold Pinter" is all we hear in the flow of words at the news in Scwytzer Deutsch. Quickly we're heading towards the nearest bookstore. This time, an English language one.

We stop just inside the doors.

Silence, ordinary commerece, no 'these are the copies we dug out from the basement'-table.

And we thought the world cared about this. On the other hand. Who said Switzerland was the world...?

Creative clean hyper kicks

Dear All,
Switzerland is deadly. Absolutely wonderful.

Imagine a city clean and beautiful, old and new, well organised and creative as nothing else. Zürich it is.

The airport in Zürich is quiet and calm. People arrive, follow the signs, talk in low voices and get on the train. The train takes you to the baggage claim and main exits. Across the street is the train station from where you 12 minutes later arrive in central Zürich.

Lonely Planet writes that Zürich is the new Berlin. Creative, buzzing, inventive. Possibly right. Probably right. Though sizewise, politically and societally different, the willingness to progress is common. So is the love for design, art and odd bars.

Art is the reason why I at all thought of coming here. Art and all the rest are definetly reasons to return.

The absence of moisture

For the first time in my life I have met someone without the ability to smell.

Imagine this oddity. You can't see it, you can't feel it, you can definetly not smell it. It's nothing noticable, nothing people remember once told.

How many times has not a chocolate muffin or a box of georgous smelling cinnamon tea been put under his nose with the expectancy of a reaction. But no. Nothing. He still can't smell anything. He might even take a sniff and add -I'm sure it tastes great...

The more I dwell on it, the more peculiar and interesting consequences I see. This man is not awfully into cooking. He chews an awful lot of gums. He never has to much cologne. He puts a lot of importance in the texture of things.

For example the texture of food. If the veggie doesn't feel right, then it's left on the plate. Sushi is loved for it's soft pieces of fish. And my Swedish hard bread is refused for its absence of moisture.

Imagine what we use our sense of smell for all the time. To determine where to go, if the water is fresh, if the fish can be eaten. We determine other people, add it to our profiles of the ones around us. Like them or not like them.

How this works for the man without the ability to smell, I don't know. I just know he smells really good.

En kilt ar en kilt ar en kilt

En kilt ar en kilt ar en kilt, trodde jag och akte till Glasgow med min kompis Ana. Staden kanns industriell och konstig - sarskilt i meningen full av gallerier och moderna konstprojekt. Vi bodde pa universitetets hostel. Det enda jag har bott pa dar man far en personlig badmatta i papper nar man checkar in.

En kiltbekladd sackpipespelande skotte stod naturligtvis pa huvudgatan nar vi tog var forsta titt pa staden. Och battre blev det. I Glasgows vastra delar, runt universitetet, finns de gottaste kvarteren - de oslipade pubarna, arabiska kvartersaffarer och indiska restauranger.

Sa vad mer an lycka kan man kanna nar tva indier delar ut flyers for en restaurang - kladda i kilt. Nej man tar inte saker som de ar. Man drar inte bara pa sig en kilt och tror att man ar skotte. Man ar indier och anpassar den skotska nationaldrakten efter sin smak och sitt tycke. Sa tva svarta, slicka skjortor med tva enkla svarta kiltar.

Ana och jag at indiskt den kvallen och pratade om energin, lyckan och styrkan med att anpassa utan att ge upp sig sjalv.

Edinburgh ar den snygga skotska staden, Glasgow ar den raa, industriella men rasande kreativa. Pa vag mot CCA - Glasgows kreativa center dar musik, utstallningar, bar och workshops mots - gick vi forbi nagra affarer och en kiltskraddare.

Igen, ta dig sjalv och den tid du lever i och lagg till det du vill fran tradition, historia och sammanhang. Eller fran andra hallet, kla dig i kostym om det kravs - men anpassa den till dig och den tid du lever i.

Tillbaka i Dublin undrar jag var irlandarnas fusion kan ske, eller sker. Jag letar i turistshopen, pa marknaden, i affarerna.

Narmast kommer ett par underbyxor med Guinnesstryck.

Var tid har sina fenomen, var plats har sin sak. Jag funderar vidare och letar sa lange efter en ram till min badmatta i papper.

Hanover Square, Dublin

Hanover Square is in Dublin's Liberties. It is nothing near a square, rather the tiniest street ever seen.

Images from Kilkenny and the Arts Festival

Postcard from Georgia

It is absolutely fantastic to be back in Georgia, the country where salad is called komposti and mama means daddy. The capital Tbilisi is the same chaotic place as a few years ago, full of friendly people and crazy drivers. It is slightly more expensive now, but you can still buy cigs a piece on the street and get a bottle of the gorgeous beer Kazbegi for about 70 cent at a decent bar.

It was good to be on a real airline again after all the Ryan-trips lately, one where you have designated seats and free newspapers (in Czech and Georgian, but who cares). In an otherwise packed plane from Prague I somehow managed to get three seats to myself and slept like a baby all the way - as opposed to the real babies who screamed their throats out. Then finally, stuffed with airplane food after two flights, I arrived in Tbilisi exactly five years and 1 day since last time.

My friend and her husband to be met me at the airport and another friend took us back to the city. The car broke down three times on the way and the groom had his foot ran over by a passing car while pushing.

My friend's mum, who goes under the nickname Achrana (bodyguard), waited for us with a massive dinner. I made the mistake of mentioning that my dress was slightly big, so you can just imagine her mission... Did I mention that I had chicken with walnut sauce for breakfast?

Today I have practised my signature in Georgian letters to be able to sign as witness in their way and now I've headed out for a walk along the main street to see if I still find my way around. The coming days I will catch up with a few people, help my friend the bride with whatever she needs and try to stick to bread for breakfast...