Historically, I don’t think this has ever happened before. Probably won’t be a sequel, either. Consequentially, I’m feeling some physical fatigue after two back-to-back crayfish parties. Combined, Charlotte (pictured blurrely above) and I likely chewed and sucked my way through a hundred of them lil’ red Chinese and Turkish critters.
Though only about 1.5 hours from Copenhagen International Airport (a little less from Malmö across the border), once you arrive at Talldungens Gårdshotell, the contrast couldn’t be more visually profound.
Just a few clicks from the gorgeous east coast of Sweden to where softly rolling hills and lush green valleys of Österlen take over the landscape, is where you’ll find a uniquely picturesque farmstead called, Talldungen Gårdshotell.
This bright yellow hotel is neatly nestled in a small grove of towering, ancient pine trees just outside the tiny village of Brösarp.
Shot this beautiful house last night sometime in between the third and fourth course of a fabulous dinner at Talldungen – a rural hotel just outside of Brösarp in Österlen, the that stretches along the eastern seaboard of Skåne County in southern Sweden. Talldungen will be part of an upcoming “Sweden Weekend Getaway” story.
The other day I remembered that I’d once had a postcard sized framed text hanging just above the light switch in the bathroom of my old bachelor pad in Göteborg. It had a single statement that read,
“Never do nothing.”.
I can’t remember whether I coined that phrase – or just stole it. In any case, the three words worked well for me then – and I still try to live by them today.
The objective of hanging the motto was to remind me to stop avoiding challenges. It gave me a well-needed shout-out to take a driver’s seat approach to life and steer forcefully towards my goals – however lofty or banal they were.
The motto also inspired me to start making mental to-do lists and then consciously rank them in accordance with what I thought could be reasonably accomplished each day.
As a consequence, I started competing with myself. A habit I’ve continued with ever since.
Admittedly, at that stage of my life, in the mid 1980s, I certainly needed something to get me to stop procrastinating. Back then, I was dividing my days between painting canvases in my kitchen studio, working part-time as a substitute teacher in (Philosophy, English and Art) and spending weekends either working for or patronizing several of Göteborg’s most popular bars and restaurants.
It was both a creative period (in which I produced some 200 paintings), but also an undeniably self-destructive era where I indulged in way too much of pretty much everything.
I remember often feeling guilty for not working harder at my burgeoning career as a painter of abstract art and eventually taking the plunge to work full-time as an artist. And to make matters worse, the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle I led back then really took its toll on my ability to focus. There were just too many distractions and diversions. And because I’ve periodically had a hard time making decisions, I’d often end up doing absolutely nothing. Nothing meaningful, anyway.
I won’t go as far as to say that thanks to the framed motto, everything turned around for me. But it certainly helped remind me to never do nothing.
Earlier this morning, here in Västra Hamnen, Malmö. First a strengthening session at Kockum Fritid’s gym just a few hundred meters from our condo and then a dip in the chilly but refreshing Öresund Sound. Priceless quality of life.
I shot this mini portrait with triathlon competitor, Anna Eriksmo a while back. This is a new and tighter edit of a lengthier version. Anna’s so amazingly focused at whatever she does.
If you don’t dig this, well, then we have one less thing in common. Cool cats, Les McCann and Eddie Harris classic, Compared to What, recorded live for their album, Swiss Movement, at the Montreux Jazz Festival in 1969. Aside from the tune’s great grooves, listen to the lyrics. So apt.
Fifty years old. That’s what my younger brother Tyko would have been today, on the 21st of July.
Since his and my birthdays are just one day apart, I’ll of course always be reminded of Tyko’s tragic passing. And though today marks one of the year’s sadder days (the other being the date of his death), I still try to spend some of it reminiscing about our old times and remembering the sound of his contagious laugh, boundless, often off-the-charts sick sense of humor and perhaps above all, my brother’s unique ability to be brutally honest about how he felt. Which I intend to do more of going forward…
Rest in peace, Toddles.
I haven’t been to a Trader Vic’s in probably 45 years. The last time was somewhere in West Hollywood in Los Angeles (on Robertson or San Vincente Blvd?) and it was likely with my mother and one or more of her friends.
I remember being a little freaked out/excited about the Polynesian sculptures, totem poles, warrior masks, ornately carved shields, wooden spears and the restaurant’s huge fire pit.
Tonight we enjoyed a sumptuous three course dinner at Trader Vic’s here in the Seychelles. Like I remembered from my previous visit, almost half a century ago, both the interior and exterior of this Trader Vic’s was richly decorated with the similarly, somewhat sinister looking busts and heads stemming from Maori, Hawaiian and Tahitian mythology as well as a whole lot of other less serious props and trimmings.
Before our meal, we enjoyed two classic Trader Vic cocktails at one of the most well-stocked bars I’ve been served at in a long, long time: Mai Tai and Tiki Puka Puka. The friendly bartender above was literally and physically behind our tasty beverages.
Generally speaking, street portraiture is a 50-50 challenge. At least if you like me, prefer letting folks know a few seconds beforehand that they’re about to be digitally eternalized.
No matter where in the world I might be, half the time, my subjects agree wholeheartedly to letting me capture a candid shot of them. The other 50% either turn their heads, raise their hands to cover their faces or get a little pissed off by my audacious behaviour. A combo of all these reactions happens once in a while.
Met these slow life specialists during today’s sail excursion to the once privately owned Moyenne Island off the coast of Mahé in the Seychelles.
Creole, Indian, African, Chinese and Russian and all kinds of blends and cross pollinations. Yeah, the Seychellians represent a fascinating melting pot of cultures and ethnicities – a beautifully wide and colorful spectrum of folk spread across 115 tropical islands – way off the coast of east Africa in the Indian Ocean – and actually a popular pirate hangout – way before the Somalis started hijacking boats and ships.
Everyone we’ve met so far has been genuinely friendly and the vibe here is as about as easy-going as it is in most of South East Asia. It’s about as beautiful, too. Not quite up there with the Maldives, but pretty close.
A huge difference, on the other hand, is that the weather is considerably more agreeable on the Seychelles than in say, Laos, Burma or Thailand. It’s humid and hot, but with nowhere nearly as unbearably high temperatures or dense humidity. It reminds me of Hawaii’s singularly comfortable climate.
That said, I’ll admit that it was a bit hot and humid during this morning’s 5k jog and my paddle board session a few hours later. And I was literally drenched in sweat after our hour long evening walk along the narrow road to Treasure Cove Hotel & Restaurant. Then again, I was carrying a hefty bunch of camera gear on my back.
Speaking of restaurants, so far, we’ve had two formidable dinners: at the aforementioned Treasure Cove, where I enjoyed a cajun spiced, blackened tuna, and last night’s sumptuous red snapper in ginger and soy sauce at La Perle Noir near our hotel.
Speaking of our hotel…it’s nice and has a really sweet stretch of beach property right in front of our balcony. The staff is kind and helpful. I just wish they could hold off a little on the Karaoke serenading. Spoken like a true curmudgeon…