https://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/Los-Angeles-Book-Cover.jpg20002000adminhttps://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/Joakim-logo-white-drop-shadow-01.pngadmin2025-02-18 09:07:362025-02-18 09:08:28Published: Book about L.A.
February 18, 2025 Acropolis Wedding in Athens, Greece
The number of weddings I’ve been hired to photograph is nearly equal to the number I’ve turned down.
It’s something rarely discussed, but despite all the advancements in gear and software, professional photography still comes with many unknowns and uncontrollable variables.
The key to any successful shoot is minimizing as many of those unknowns as possible—and with weddings, I’ve always found that to be exceptionally difficult.
More than anything, the sheer level of expectations from the couple (especially the bride and her mother) makes wedding photography one of the most challenging assignments I’ve ever taken on.
When I saw a photographer capturing a stunning bride and her handsome groom beneath the sunlit Acropolis yesterday evening, I actually felt a little stressed on her behalf.
She’s probably spending the next few days sifting through hundreds—if not thousands—of photos. Phew.
https://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/02/Wedding-Acropolis-Athens-Greece.jpg14322000adminhttps://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/Joakim-logo-white-drop-shadow-01.pngadmin2025-02-18 07:11:272025-02-18 07:11:27Acropolis Wedding in Athens, Greece
February 15, 2025 Jogging to Acropolis in Athens, Greece
I’ve run through New York’s Central Park, jogged past the huge lotus flower pond in Bangkok’s Benjasiri Park, and trotted many miles along the shoreline between Santa Monica and Venice Beach. Heck, I’ve even gone for a short jog in Death Valley, clocked several miles in Da Nang’s My Khe neighborhood, and pounded the pavement in Camp’s Bay, South Africa, with the Atlantic roaring beside me.
So when Charlotte suggested a 5k morning run up the hill to the sacred temple of the Acropolis and then beyond into Koukaki, I didn’t hesitate – though I did send up a quick prayer to the Greek gods, begging them to grant my back the strength and stamina to survive today’s run.
And what do you know? Zeus & Co must have been feeling generous this morning – and a glorious, sweat-drenched 5K jog through ancient Athens is now part of my running history.
https://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/02/Charlotte-Joakim-Jogging-to-Acropolis-in-Athens-Greece-scaled.jpg22022560adminhttps://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/Joakim-logo-white-drop-shadow-01.pngadmin2025-02-15 09:40:542025-02-15 09:40:54Jogging to Acropolis in Athens, Greece
February 15, 2025 A Spontaneous Model Shoot in Plaka, Athens, Greece
You know those generous people who offer to take your picture when the light is perfect or the view is breathtaking – or both? I’m one of them.
In fact, I do it all the time, and yesterday while wandering the narrow streets and steep steps of Plaka just below the Acropolis here in Athens, was no exception.
I find it absolutely fascinating how the “selfie” has evolved into full-blown photo shoots, where people travel far and wide to iconic spots, dress up from top-to-toe, and then meticulously stage scenes for their real – or imagined – “influencees.”
That’s where I step in – quite literally. I reason that the least I can do is help these folks capture a decent image of themselves and, in the process, I try to do justice to the incredible scenery they’ve (and I) traveled so far to see.
Fortunately, thanks in no small way to the introduction of camera phones equipped with wide-angle lenses a few years ago, the selfie stick has become a rarity.
Oh, and I have no idea who this random woman was, where she was from, or if she was a famous social media personality. I just felt obligated to lend her a hand by capturing her striking a pose against a strikingly beautiful background.
https://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/02/A-Spontaneous-Model-Shoot-in-Plaka-Athens-Greece-scaled.jpg25601920adminhttps://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/Joakim-logo-white-drop-shadow-01.pngadmin2025-02-15 06:38:542025-02-15 09:45:15A Spontaneous Model Shoot in Plaka, Athens, Greece
February 14, 2025 Aristotle & the Demi$e of Democracy (and Society)
Aristotle argued that a city must be small enough for its citizens to know one another, to gather, debate, and actively participate in their governance.
If and when a city grows too big, it fractures, and democracy becomes an illusion. If you cannot see, hear, and understand the will of the people around you, how can you rule fairly and justly?
I wholeheartedly agree with Aristotle.
After traveling to so many mega-cities, including Tokyo, New Delhi, Nairobi, New York, L.A. Istanbul, London, Bangkok and Tokyo, I have come to the conclusion that I have been incredibly naive in thinking that we will be able to stop, let alone reverse, the ongoing climate crisis.
Sounds like a copout, I know. But at some point we need to let the “kumbaya” fade away and get real about what we’re facing and then face straight on. Removing plastic straws and driving EV:s are not going to make a difference. Not really.
The wheels of industry have become too large, the machinery too complicated, and the world too cynical for more significant change than what a little greenwashing can muster.
Being in Athens right now feels extraordinarily fitting, as this city (as seen in my photo above) is enormously big and must be incredibly complicated to manage and maintain.
The sheer scale of Athens, the layers of history, and the density of life here make it once again clear to me just how complex urban governance and all that comes with it, truly is.
Still, I am optimistic about the planet itself surviving. The Earth has endured far worse than us, and it will continue long after we’re gone.
So, instead of drowning in despair over the inevitable demise of society as we know it in a few generations, I think we should appreciate our time here as a species and go with the flow. That’s not to say that I think we should get even more diabolical in order to accelerate the downfall. I’m not even sure we could if we tried. But the collective guilt many of us feel, myself included, is not helping anything or anybody. Least of all this blue rock we call home.
https://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/02/Athens-Capital-of-Greece.jpg17562000adminhttps://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/Joakim-logo-white-drop-shadow-01.pngadmin2025-02-14 08:05:362025-02-14 08:07:13Aristotle & the Demi$e of Democracy (and Society)
Here’s one of the hundreds (if not thousands) of feral kittykats “guarding” the sacred grounds of the Acropolis. Built a mind-boggling 2400 years ago, in its heyday, the Acropolis of Athens served mostly as a religious and ceremonial hub, dedicated to Athena, the city’s patron goddess.
Though Athens is one of the most cat-friendly capitals in the world, these furry felines were not originally native to Greece and have not been part of Greek mythology. Ancient Greeks and Romans did however import them to Athens from Egypt (where they were worshiped as deities) to control rats and other rodents. Hats off to cats for that important role.
https://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/02/Cats-of-Athens.jpg17382000adminhttps://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/Joakim-logo-white-drop-shadow-01.pngadmin2025-02-12 12:47:172025-02-12 12:47:17Cats of Athens
Despite the raw cold that has hovered over the city for almost a week, it’s finally starting to warm up. This afternoon, the sun broke through for a while – just enough for me to stash away my hat.
Whenever I stay in a place for a longer period, I start by slowly expanding my walking radius until I get a feel for the area. It’s taken a little longer in Athens because the city is so wonderfully winding and labyrinthine.
I love getting lost here. The moment I feel confident about my location, I deliberately head in the opposite direction and let chance take over. It almost always leads to something exciting and inspiring. The idea of missing out on something is just an illusion. I’m more drawn to discovering a comfortable everyday rhythm than ticking off sights from a guidebook.
I never feel more alive than when I stumble upon something unexpected. I find it hard to simply be in the moment – I have to keep moving, tracking, exploring. Feeding my curiosity with new experiences.
Cities where you have to keep an eye on the pavement to avoid cracks, holes, and dog poop tend to have a lot of soul. Athens is no exception.
I think that a certain degree of decay is a good sign, and Athens’ 3,400-year-old history is visible everywhere. Excavations, small and large, pop up on many streets.
This cosmopolitan megacity exists in a state of chaos where decay and modernity coexist as neighbors. Though, to be honest, there’s far more decay than new stuff.
The position of city planner in Athens has probably been vacant for centuries.
Many beautiful yet utterly crumbling stone houses are in various stages of renovation. A bartender lamented that Athens is quickly turning into another Airbnb city. Rents are increasing so much that it’s becoming hard for locals to afford housing. Young Greeks can no longer afford to leave home.
The patina of Athens reminds me of other Southern European cities we’ve lived in over the years – Palma, Málaga, Lisbon. But really, it was Athens that set the template for most of them.
I’m surprised at how easy it is to reach different neighborhoods in central Athens – Plaka, Syntagma, Kolonaki, Psiri, and Exarchia. The city is big, but if, like us, you enjoy walking for hours, it’s entirely possible to explore on foot.
It’s humbling to stroll through the same streets where Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle once walked – the old men who came up with the whole idea of democracy.
Though I imagine those ancient Greeks are rolling in their graves right now, as the new U.S. president and his sycophantic entourage blatantly ignore and undermine their country’s constitutional democratic principles. It’s the behavior of someone drunk on power. He acts as if he were a king – but in the end, he’s just a clown.
There’s something special about cities built on hills. They may not be the easiest to navigate, but if people went through the trouble of building a city on uneven terrain, the place must have been interesting enough to be worth it.
An olive tasting in Monastiraki costs €4 / $4.30 / 45 SEK, and you get to try around twenty different kinds. Apparently, there are over a hundred varieties in total.
Yesterday, I discovered that a double Maker’s Mark bourbon and a large Nymph beer cost 113 SEK / €10 / $10.90 at our local bar. One of the bar’s co-owners has a daughter who will be interning at the Greek embassy in Stockholm this spring.
When I mentioned that I live in Malmö, she treated me to a shot of cha-cha and another beer. It turned into a slightly more festive after-work drink than I had originally planned.
A loaf of Greek sourdough bread costs 11 SEK / €1 / $1.05, and 25–30 large, meaty Chalkidiki olives go for 25 SEK / €2.20 / $2.40.
The sturdy Albanian woman who works at the neighborhood deli has started recognizing me. Every single one of her recommendations has been spot on. Her sister lives in Södertälje.
Athens is not short on stray cats. They rule the streets, and the little lapdogs are terrified of them.
https://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/02/Technopolis.jpg16382000adminhttps://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/Joakim-logo-white-drop-shadow-01.pngadmin2025-02-09 11:03:302025-02-09 11:03:30Athens: Thoughts from Walks
First day in Athens. Got in kinda late yesterday after my flight from @copenhagenairport and used whatever energy I had left to walk to the nearest local market and stock up on delicious olives (three kinds, no less), tasty feta cheese, the creamiest yogurt, and other Greek essentials.
The one-bedroom apartment Charlotte rented for the month is roomy and comfy and located in Thissio – a neighborhood with a very local vibe – yet close to Acropolis and other ancient sites, some of which I visited today (like the view above from lunchtime today).
This is my third visit to Athens but my first off-season stay. Love this city’s contrast. It’s gritty, modern and ancient all at once. Charlotte says Athens is our new Lisbon just as Lisbon was our new Malaga a few years ago. From a culinary perspective, while not as “fancy” as say, French or Italian cuisines, Greek food is arguably the healthiest of all the countries around the Mediterranean. And I’ve always experienced the Greeks as friendly, welcoming, and generous people.
Going to complete my book about phobias while here and then begin compiling a book of personal stories which I’ve been inspired to create after that my cousin Laura @brushedthread so generously shared her limited edition “Little Memoirs” with me a couple of years ago.
https://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/02/Storm-Over-Athens-scaled.jpg20822560adminhttps://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/Joakim-logo-white-drop-shadow-01.pngadmin2025-02-04 16:27:272025-02-04 16:27:27Storm over Athens
The vast majority of my walks in Osaka were intentionally serendipitous. I had a rough idea of where I was within the city’s boundaries, but I made a conscious effort to explore places and find spaces that in one way or another appealed to me in an unconventional way. Osaka’s density and intensity offered plenty of opportunities, just as long as I stayed clear of tourist venues and kept to where locals were walking, driving, riding, working, and living.
https://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/02/Osaka-Street-Lines.jpg13672000adminhttps://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/Joakim-logo-white-drop-shadow-01.pngadmin2025-02-02 14:15:592025-02-02 14:15:59Streets of Osaka
Back in cold, grey Scandinavia for a short spell. Went out for a long-ish run yesterday morning, my first in over 5 months. Felt great. Especially after a marathon flight path home: Osaka-Bangkok-New Delhi-Copenhagen (KIX-BKK-DEL-CPH) with a 16 hour stopover in India.
I walked about 100,000 steps while in Japan, much of it serendipitously. Above is a view during the intense yet orderly rush hour when many Osakians have just got off from work and are either heading home or to their favorite izakayas for dinner with colleagues.
• Osaka is a busy city yet suprisingly easy to navigate on foot. One of the main streest, Midosuji Boulevard (御堂筋), runs from Umeda to Tsutenkaku Tower, passing through several cool districts like Namba, Shinsaibashi, and Tennoji. This makes it both easy and fun to allow yourself to get lost in the alleys and side streets. You’ll always find your way back to Midosuji.
• On average, I’ve walked 24,000 steps per day, which is 22,000 more than I could manage in early December when my sciatica was at its worst.
• On Osaka’s sidewalks, people follow left-side traffic rules, but cyclists dominate the centerline, happily slaloming through pedestrians at breakneck speeds.
• It’s clear that Japanese people take pride in their work—no matter what they do—but perhaps even more so in jobs that aren’t particularly prestigious. Apparently, this is called “Hokori” (誇り). Such an attitude must bring inner peace but might also hold some people back from reaching their full potential.
• I now understand why Osaka is called “Japan’s Kitchen.” There are restaurants everywhere—about 45,000 in Greater Osaka. Not surprising, considering Osakans seem to eat at least one meal out every day.
• Women working in hotels, shops, and restaurants (or heard over public PA systems) have eerily childlike voices.
• January is a perfect time to visit Japan. Being here off-season means I’ve often been the only “gaijin” (foreigner) around, enjoying a little extra help and great service.
• I’ve had a week of blue skies and brilliant sunshine, chilly mornings (4-5°C), and been able to shed my hat, gloves, and scarf by midday.
• Many more people speak English now compared to the first time Elle, Charlotte, and I were in Japan 16 years ago. Maybe the 1990s sitcom Friends has contributed to an improved understanding of English here.
• I discovered that the nearest Lawson (convenience store) to my hotel has as wide a selection of sake as it does instant noodles.
• I wonder if Japan currently has the most beautiful paper currency in the world. The new ¥1,000 bill features Dr. Kitasato Shibasaburō, a bacteriologist, and the iconic The Great Wave off Kanagawa by Katsushika Hokusai.
• From time to time, I glance up at the skyscrapers and almost expect “Gojira” (呉爾羅) to appear with smoky nostrils and his playful son in tow.
• Bourdain was absolutely right when he described Lawson’s egg sandwiches as unnaturally fluffy, insanely delicious, and inexplicably addictive.
• Eventually, this will turn into a fine little book about my impressions from visits to Okinawa, Tokyo, Kyoto, and now Osaka and Hiroshima. Stay tuned.
After the Japanese breakfast at the hotel this morning, I walked over to the hysterically sprawling Osaka Station and eventually found my way to the Shinkansen train heading to Hiroshima. Hiroshima felt like a fitting destination after the new president’s fiery speech yesterday. The mood among those of us standing by “The Dome”, the only building in Hiroshima that survived the atomic bomb “Little Boy” when it was dropped on August 6, 1945, was, to say the least, somber.
Hiroshima has been in my consciousness since school, and I remember all too well the images of the devastated city in the history book chapters about World War II. I almost always travel with both my passports, and the American one felt particularly heavy in my pocket today as I walked around the UNESCO-protected Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park. In total, 140,000 innocent civilians were killed in Hiroshima (80,000 died in Nagasaki when another atomic bomb was detonated three days later).
I enjoyed a delicious lunch at a hole-in-the-wall eatery (izakaya, 居酒屋) run by a slightly eccentric woman near the site where the bomb caused the most destruction in central Hiroshima. Halfway through my bento box, the suit-clad man beside me broke our silence and asked, in broken English, if I thought Trump would want to annex Okinawa after buying Greenland. We nervously laughed at the idea and toasted each other with a subdued “kanpai!”
I felt just as disheartened in Hiroshima as I did when visiting Chornobyl, Auschwitz, Pearl Harbor, and Choeung Ek (Killing Fields in Cambodia). It’s so incomprehensible and surreal that we humans can consciously cause so much suffering to one another – especially to all those poor children. And now, a new era awaits, where macho men in power will mark their territory, compare lengths, and make the planet even more unstable.
A Few Observations:
The sushi sold at Lawson and 7-Eleven convenience stores tastes light-years better than at 90% of Malmö’s “sushi” restaurants.
The Shinkansen began running between Tokyo and Osaka as early as 1964. The trains still run on time, are super fast (300 km/h), clean, and quiet – the polar opposite of Swedish trains, which are unreliable, grimy, and almost always late. It’s embarrassing that we can’t get our train act together.
I had forgotten how much I appreciate sitting on a heated toilet seat. I can’t understand why this hasn’t caught on in Sweden.
I love the Japanese approach to aesthetics and how it permeates so much of public spaces. Always function over form, but almost nothing is left to chance or carelessness.
I find it a bit hard to process the immense reverence the hotel staff shows me. They have more respect for me than I have for myself.
I’m so inspired by how tidy the room is when I return in the evening that I now clean up before leaving in the morning.
Having miso soup and wobbly tofu for breakfast is actually not bad at all.
A hearty lunch or dinner in Osaka costs about 130 SEK, including a large Asahi/Sapporo/Orion beer.
I met a Russian exchange student yesterday who informed me that it only takes two hours to fly from Osaka to Vladivostok. Unbelievable how vast Russia is – it even borders Norway in the west.
Many of the interactions I have with the always kind, polite, and helpful Osakians remind me of Sofia Coppola’s delightful “Lost in Translation”. Sometimes that film seems more like a documentary than a fictional story. Tomorrow will include a visit to a hotel where some of the staff are robots – a nice assignment from Charlotte (for www.hotelladdict.se).
https://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/Hiroshima-Peace-Memorial-Park.jpg13332000adminhttps://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/Joakim-logo-white-drop-shadow-01.pngadmin2025-01-21 15:16:372025-01-22 00:10:14Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park
Here’s the blurb for a new book I’ve worked on for about three months. I completed the project last week and the book should be published in just a few weeks.
Update: The fires raging through L.A. and Ventura counties are a tragedy beyond belief. My heart goes out to all those affected and all the brave firefighters and first responders.
Los Angeles: A Photographic Journey by Joakim Lloyd Raboff
Los Angeles is a city like no other – vast, vibrant, and endlessly contradictory. For Joakim Lloyd Raboff, born and raised in L.A., this city is a living, breathing being that never stops inspiring. Joakim Lloyd Raboff has captured the geographical, architectural and social contrasts that define Los Angeles’s eclectic appeal. Through his lens, Raboff invites you to see the city’s many layers: its glittering promise, its gritty reality, and the magnetic energy that continues to draw dreamers, creators, and fortune seekers from around the globe. Every image tells a story, every contrast sparks curiosity – this is L.A., up close and personal.
https://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/Los-Angeles-Book-Cover.jpg20002000adminhttps://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/Joakim-logo-white-drop-shadow-01.pngadmin2025-01-06 09:26:042025-01-11 01:59:45In the works: Los Angeles Book
I walked by this dried Christmas tree on my way home from Elle’s apartment last night. It looked so abandoned and sad, somehow. I wondered if the tree had fulfilled its purpose while its pines were still green, glimmering with hanging ornaments, and surrounded by a heap of gifts topsy-turvily placed around its base. Looking at it now, I can’t help but wonder: did the tree get to witness laughter, joy, singing, and excitement as Christmas cards were read aloud, colorful wrapping paper torn open, and presents revealed? Was the old tree left against the building’s entrance temporarily, or simply abandoned by someone who couldn’t be bothered to dispose of it properly?
I can’t even remember when we last had a Christmas tree. It might have been in Vejbystrand or possibly as far back as when Elle was still living at home, half a decade ago.I do recall several idyllic Christmases in Trollhättan at my maternal grandparents’ house. I also know (now) that there was no shortage of intrigue behind the scenes on Örtagårdsvägen 17. Grandmother Agnes did her very best to make the gathering of the various aunts and their families a joyous occasion. She ensured that us kids didn’t have to witness too much of the jealousy-fueled feuds that plagued our family over the years.
As far as Christmas in L.A. goes, well, I don’t really remember them in much detail. We usually had a Christmas tree, and I have a faint memory of decorating them, but not much else. One year, I brought a tree home from the Mayfair Market on Santa Monica Boulevard. I had been working with the guy selling Christmas trees right outside the supermarket, carrying those he had nailed onto wooden stands to customers’ cars. I don’t remember what I made – maybe a dollar an hour – so the Christmas tree was probably a bonus.
Today, 21 years ago, little brother Tyko decided he’d had enough pain and sorrow. It’s been twenty-one years since that devastating phone call from a gendarm in Paris. For far too many years afterward, I felt anxious whenever the phone rang.
Tyko’s departure shattered my life and left a hole in my soul that no amount of joy or time has ever been able to fully fill.
Losing someone so young, someone so close creates a kind of pain that never leaves you. I don’t just miss him; I miss everything he didn’t get to become or see me achieve. I grieve for the moments we’ll never share and the life he never got to live.
Sometimes, I still wrestle with “survivor’s guilt”. It’s a heavy shadow that whispers questions that have no answers. I try to tell myself there’s no fairness to life, that it doesn’t work like that.
Losing Tyko so suddenly on January 3, 2003 will never allow for any real closure – only a silence that grows louder as the years pass by.
It feels like Tyko’s story was stolen, and I’m left carrying fragments of a life that should have been. And yet, as painful as it is, I carry these shards of a life never fully lived because I have to, because remembering is the only way I know how to honor his smile, his laughter, and above all, his love.
If you really know me, you’ll also know that I am not a believer in any religion or quasi faith or floating deity. I try to respect that others find solace, joy and meaning in their faith. It’s just not for me. That said, as I get older, I have to admit that deep down in the dark depths of my consciousness, I keep a small fire burning for the unlikely event that when I do die, I will get to see Tyko again, hear his laughter and feel how the warmth of his smile once again touches my heart. Rest in Peace, Tyko.
Two thousand and twenty-four is about to slip through the cracks. Who dares to predict whether two thousand and twenty-five will be better, worse, or somewhere in between? Not me.
Despite the three-month “pause” this fall, the year still offered a delightful mix of assignments, new book projects, and trips to six different countries—eight if you include Sweden and Denmark.
Highlights of the year:
Hot yoga and surfing in Thailand, skiing in Italy, a month-long road trip to Portugal, wine tasting in Georgia, the bustling ITB in Germany, hiking in the autumn beauty of Abisko National Park, and sailing in Greece. During the year, our little publishing house released five books: four photo books and one about aging in men.
The least impressive highlight of 2024 was the trip to Nerja in Spain, which I don’t quite understand why so many people rave about. The nature is as stunningly beautiful as the town is unbelievably ugly.
25 reflections as the year comes to a close:
These days, when I step onto an escalator, I’m surprisingly focused on the seams between the steps.
I can’t sit on hard chairs for too long. Maybe it’s time to buy an inflatable cushion to carry around.
I’d rather drink an expensive tequila than a cheap bourbon.
I think my short-term memory has started to falter, but I can’t remember for sure.
One of the few perks of a failing memory is being able to enjoy old movies I’ve already seen a couple of times.
Strangely enough, the thought of turning 62 next year feels easier than turning 60 did last year.
Of all the creative careers I’ve had, writing is by far the hardest, but also the most stimulating.
I’ve discovered that Gothenburg is much more interesting today than it was when I left the city 27 years ago…
It was lovely to celebrate Christmas again with my mother-in-law (83) and father-in-law (87). It also felt a bit like an internship for the future.
It doesn’t happen as often these days, but I’m always a little happy not to be the oldest in the room. It’s nice to lower the average age sometimes…
I have less and less patience for people who are self-satisfied, begrudging and those who’ve gone unchallenged for so long they believe they’re oracles.
I’ve started looking forward to retiring in 2.5 years.
My two mottos, “to travel is to live, to live is to travel” and “never do nothing,” still hold true.
As our home’s chef, cooking is most fun when I know our daughter will be joining us for dinner.
At last, I’m beginning to care less and less about what people think of me.
After three months without coffee, I’m also completely free of prostate issues. I still have to get up in the middle of the night to pee 40 milliliters, though.
It’s nice not to be as recognizable at the pharmacy as I was this fall – but also worrying that the staff at the liquor store greet me so warmly and familiarly.
I always travel with indoor slippers in my luggage now.
The best pizzas I’ve ever eaten are made by a friend from New York who lives a stone’s throw from us in Malmö. Much better than those I’ve had in Naples and New York.
I’m inspired by friends who travel a lot and never feel envious or resentful.
The trip that offered the most soul-soothing moments and culinary experiences was to Abisko Mountain Lodge in Swedish Lapland.
Greece is our new Portugal.
I need to cherish good friends and kind neighbors more.
Back in Malmö, where the weather mirrors Göteborg’s dreary gray, as if conspiring to keep the sun and smiles permanently at bay. This corner of Europe seems cursed with an inordinate share of clouds, rain, and fog – a dull, meteorological monotony that feels less like nature’s whim and more of a psychological assault.
I’ve yet to dive into the climatological explanation, which I am certain there is, so when I say I don’t understand, I mean less the science and more the injustice of the many weeks of sunless days. Acceptance, even now, remains elusive. Yet, I suppose there should be room for gratitude – this winter has been mild so far and the storms here by the sea have been manageably few. That is apparently going to change next week when colder weather arrives here in southern Scandinavia.
I’ve never been much for forecasts. The element of surprise – the raw immediacy of experiencing life, including weather, unmediated by prophecies – seems far more appealing to me than hedging on predictions and probabilities.
After days of indulgence – the typically rich Swedish Christmas foods and the decadent excess from two hotel breakfast buffets – it’s a relief to return to something leaner, something simpler. Yesterday, I put together the bowl you see above: black rice, cauliflower, soybeans, sweet corn, salsa, guacamole, raw tuna with wasabi mayo, and garlic-fried cashews – a balance of flavors, textures and colors – and a quiet act of restoration.
Now, I find myself contemplating the year ahead, shaping an approach to health and revival. The autumn was a trial – the discomfort from a herniated disc, relentless pain from sciatica, and the cascade of medications (and tequila) required to endure the elongated healing process. Recovery was if nothing else, humbling, but it also taught me this: my body is owed an extensive detox, a return to equilibrium. A fresh start is no longer just an aspiration – it’s a necessity. So if I paradoxically do make a prediction for 2025, it’s going to be a healthier and more productive year.
So this morning, after I published my Christmas Blues post, I listened to the latest episode of my favorite news podcast The Daily hosted by New York Times journalist Michael Barbaro. This Christmas Day show was dedicated to my all-time favorite musician and lyricist, Joni Mitchell – whom I’ve been listening to while creating my own verbal or visual art since the late 1970s.
https://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/Joni-Mitchell-Never-Lies.jpg13922000adminhttps://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/Joakim-logo-white-drop-shadow-01.pngadmin2024-12-25 13:33:132024-12-25 13:58:08Joni Mitchell Never Lies
Now that Christmas is almost over—Sweden celebrates Christmas Eve more than Christmas Day—I find myself once again reflecting on a paradox that grows harder to ignore each year. While Christmas is marketed as a season of joy and generosity, its rampant commercialization often breeds stress, debt, and a hollow sense of obligation, leaving me feeling soulless and empty especially as there is an increasing amount of suffering in the world.
The focus of Christmas has shifted from sharing intangible treasures like love, kindness, and time to a relentless emphasis on what we can buy and give away. Gifts become tools in a personal PR campaign, aimed at earning love, forgiveness, or, perhaps, mitigating resentment.
Shiny, wrapped presents may glitter under the tree, but they cannot fill the deeper voids—the absence of genuine respect, the weight of unhealed wrongs, or the pain we’ve caused others.
This irony is especially stark when set against the story of Christ’s birth. His humble beginnings in a manger, surrounded by simplicity and reverence, stand in sharp contrast to a holiday season now dominated by excess and materialism in which I am an increasingly reluctant participant.
A low but sharp winter sun shines over the Skåne’s plains rushing past as I sit in first class on SJ’s express train to Gothenburg, where we’ll be celebrating Christmas once again this year. I’m nibbling on gingerbread cookies and sipping Kung Markatta’s Breakfast Tea as we’ve just left Helsingborg, where my travel companion was supposed to join me. Two seats for the price of one.
Regardless of the mode of transport, I rarely travel first class – but it turned out that a first-class ticket with SJ was cheaper than other options for this route so close to Christmas Eve. The first-class ticket, which cost a reasonable 545 SEK, included access to SJ’s “Lounge,” where a small but delightful Christmas buffet was laid out.
In the lounge, I met a shivering family from Singapore who seemed torn about whether they should dare to try the pickled herring, rice pudding, or the slightly sweaty sliced ham. The brave daughter led the way and tried everything.
All my Christmas gifts for the family are safely packed in my backpack, and I don’t have to worry about the presents getting wrinkled. They were, after all, already wrinkled before I packed them. I’ve managed to crack the “code” for quite a few things in life; some came naturally, while others I had to work hard for. Gift wrapping, however, is definitely not one of the things I’ve cracked the code for. The results of my efforts to wrap beautiful Christmas presents are the diametrical opposite of origami.
But it’s what’s inside that counts, right? After all, it takes time to ponder, narrow down, and shop for gifts. Grandma Agnes, however, would not have been entirely pleased with me. She always saved the wrapping paper, and I can still hear her say, when all the Christmas gifts had been unwrapped by the families Andersson, Raboff, Starrsjö, and Felten: “It’s such a shame to throw away so much beautiful paper.” In the basement on Örtagårdsvägen in Trollhättan, there was a cupboard filled with old wrapping paper.
I suspect Grandpa Eskil used some of her saved wrapping paper when the old boiler went out. If we didn’t notice that the house was getting cold quickly enough, Grandpa’s hunting companion, the beagle Ingo (who by the end smelled so bad he had to sleep in the boiler room), would bark promptly to let everyone know he was freezing.
The train just passed Vejbystrand, and, as usual, it felt a bit melancholic. But Gothenburg will be all the more pleasant with just the right dose of happy reunions, indulgences, and hopefully some rest at Draken.
Wishing everyone a MERRY CHRISTMAS (now from somewhere just north of Halmstad).
https://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/Sj-Malmo-Goteborg.jpg14122000adminhttps://raboff.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/Joakim-logo-white-drop-shadow-01.pngadmin2024-12-22 10:58:232024-12-22 11:00:08First Class to Göteborg
Published: Book about L.A.
My new book with a collection of selected scenes and places from my hometown of Los Angeles is now available on Amazon.
Order the new book by clicking on this link if you’re in Sweden, or the United Kingdom, by clicking on this link if you’re ordering the book from the US of A and this link from India, Singapore, and Japan.
Acropolis Wedding in Athens, Greece
The number of weddings I’ve been hired to photograph is nearly equal to the number I’ve turned down.
It’s something rarely discussed, but despite all the advancements in gear and software, professional photography still comes with many unknowns and uncontrollable variables.
The key to any successful shoot is minimizing as many of those unknowns as possible—and with weddings, I’ve always found that to be exceptionally difficult.
More than anything, the sheer level of expectations from the couple (especially the bride and her mother) makes wedding photography one of the most challenging assignments I’ve ever taken on.
When I saw a photographer capturing a stunning bride and her handsome groom beneath the sunlit Acropolis yesterday evening, I actually felt a little stressed on her behalf.
She’s probably spending the next few days sifting through hundreds—if not thousands—of photos. Phew.
Jogging to Acropolis in Athens, Greece
So when Charlotte suggested a 5k morning run up the hill to the sacred temple of the Acropolis and then beyond into Koukaki, I didn’t hesitate – though I did send up a quick prayer to the Greek gods, begging them to grant my back the strength and stamina to survive today’s run.
And what do you know? Zeus & Co must have been feeling generous this morning – and a glorious, sweat-drenched 5K jog through ancient Athens is now part of my running history.
A Spontaneous Model Shoot in Plaka, Athens, Greece
You know those generous people who offer to take your picture when the light is perfect or the view is breathtaking – or both? I’m one of them.
In fact, I do it all the time, and yesterday while wandering the narrow streets and steep steps of Plaka just below the Acropolis here in Athens, was no exception.
I find it absolutely fascinating how the “selfie” has evolved into full-blown photo shoots, where people travel far and wide to iconic spots, dress up from top-to-toe, and then meticulously stage scenes for their real – or imagined – “influencees.”
That’s where I step in – quite literally. I reason that the least I can do is help these folks capture a decent image of themselves and, in the process, I try to do justice to the incredible scenery they’ve (and I) traveled so far to see.
Fortunately, thanks in no small way to the introduction of camera phones equipped with wide-angle lenses a few years ago, the selfie stick has become a rarity.
Oh, and I have no idea who this random woman was, where she was from, or if she was a famous social media personality. I just felt obligated to lend her a hand by capturing her striking a pose against a strikingly beautiful background.
Aristotle & the Demi$e of Democracy (and Society)
Aristotle argued that a city must be small enough for its citizens to know one another, to gather, debate, and actively participate in their governance.
If and when a city grows too big, it fractures, and democracy becomes an illusion. If you cannot see, hear, and understand the will of the people around you, how can you rule fairly and justly?
I wholeheartedly agree with Aristotle.
After traveling to so many mega-cities, including Tokyo, New Delhi, Nairobi, New York, L.A. Istanbul, London, Bangkok and Tokyo, I have come to the conclusion that I have been incredibly naive in thinking that we will be able to stop, let alone reverse, the ongoing climate crisis.
Sounds like a copout, I know. But at some point we need to let the “kumbaya” fade away and get real about what we’re facing and then face straight on. Removing plastic straws and driving EV:s are not going to make a difference. Not really.
The wheels of industry have become too large, the machinery too complicated, and the world too cynical for more significant change than what a little greenwashing can muster.
Being in Athens right now feels extraordinarily fitting, as this city (as seen in my photo above) is enormously big and must be incredibly complicated to manage and maintain.
The sheer scale of Athens, the layers of history, and the density of life here make it once again clear to me just how complex urban governance and all that comes with it, truly is.
Still, I am optimistic about the planet itself surviving. The Earth has endured far worse than us, and it will continue long after we’re gone.
So, instead of drowning in despair over the inevitable demise of society as we know it in a few generations, I think we should appreciate our time here as a species and go with the flow. That’s not to say that I think we should get even more diabolical in order to accelerate the downfall. I’m not even sure we could if we tried. But the collective guilt many of us feel, myself included, is not helping anything or anybody. Least of all this blue rock we call home.
Cats of Athens
Here’s one of the hundreds (if not thousands) of feral kittykats “guarding” the sacred grounds of the Acropolis. Built a mind-boggling 2400 years ago, in its heyday, the Acropolis of Athens served mostly as a religious and ceremonial hub, dedicated to Athena, the city’s patron goddess.
Though Athens is one of the most cat-friendly capitals in the world, these furry felines were not originally native to Greece and have not been part of Greek mythology. Ancient Greeks and Romans did however import them to Athens from Egypt (where they were worshiped as deities) to control rats and other rodents. Hats off to cats for that important role.
Athens: Thoughts from Walks
Saturday. Evening. Athens.
Despite the raw cold that has hovered over the city for almost a week, it’s finally starting to warm up. This afternoon, the sun broke through for a while – just enough for me to stash away my hat.
Whenever I stay in a place for a longer period, I start by slowly expanding my walking radius until I get a feel for the area. It’s taken a little longer in Athens because the city is so wonderfully winding and labyrinthine.
I love getting lost here. The moment I feel confident about my location, I deliberately head in the opposite direction and let chance take over. It almost always leads to something exciting and inspiring. The idea of missing out on something is just an illusion. I’m more drawn to discovering a comfortable everyday rhythm than ticking off sights from a guidebook.
I never feel more alive than when I stumble upon something unexpected. I find it hard to simply be in the moment – I have to keep moving, tracking, exploring. Feeding my curiosity with new experiences.
Cities where you have to keep an eye on the pavement to avoid cracks, holes, and dog poop tend to have a lot of soul. Athens is no exception.
I think that a certain degree of decay is a good sign, and Athens’ 3,400-year-old history is visible everywhere. Excavations, small and large, pop up on many streets.
This cosmopolitan megacity exists in a state of chaos where decay and modernity coexist as neighbors. Though, to be honest, there’s far more decay than new stuff.
The position of city planner in Athens has probably been vacant for centuries.
Many beautiful yet utterly crumbling stone houses are in various stages of renovation. A bartender lamented that Athens is quickly turning into another Airbnb city. Rents are increasing so much that it’s becoming hard for locals to afford housing. Young Greeks can no longer afford to leave home.
The patina of Athens reminds me of other Southern European cities we’ve lived in over the years – Palma, Málaga, Lisbon. But really, it was Athens that set the template for most of them.
I’m surprised at how easy it is to reach different neighborhoods in central Athens – Plaka, Syntagma, Kolonaki, Psiri, and Exarchia. The city is big, but if, like us, you enjoy walking for hours, it’s entirely possible to explore on foot.
It’s humbling to stroll through the same streets where Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle once walked – the old men who came up with the whole idea of democracy.
Though I imagine those ancient Greeks are rolling in their graves right now, as the new U.S. president and his sycophantic entourage blatantly ignore and undermine their country’s constitutional democratic principles. It’s the behavior of someone drunk on power. He acts as if he were a king – but in the end, he’s just a clown.
There’s something special about cities built on hills. They may not be the easiest to navigate, but if people went through the trouble of building a city on uneven terrain, the place must have been interesting enough to be worth it.
An olive tasting in Monastiraki costs €4 / $4.30 / 45 SEK, and you get to try around twenty different kinds. Apparently, there are over a hundred varieties in total.
Yesterday, I discovered that a double Maker’s Mark bourbon and a large Nymph beer cost 113 SEK / €10 / $10.90 at our local bar. One of the bar’s co-owners has a daughter who will be interning at the Greek embassy in Stockholm this spring.
When I mentioned that I live in Malmö, she treated me to a shot of cha-cha and another beer. It turned into a slightly more festive after-work drink than I had originally planned.
A loaf of Greek sourdough bread costs 11 SEK / €1 / $1.05, and 25–30 large, meaty Chalkidiki olives go for 25 SEK / €2.20 / $2.40.
The sturdy Albanian woman who works at the neighborhood deli has started recognizing me. Every single one of her recommendations has been spot on. Her sister lives in Södertälje.
Athens is not short on stray cats. They rule the streets, and the little lapdogs are terrified of them.
Storm over Athens
First day in Athens. Got in kinda late yesterday after my flight from @copenhagenairport and used whatever energy I had left to walk to the nearest local market and stock up on delicious olives (three kinds, no less), tasty feta cheese, the creamiest yogurt, and other Greek essentials.
The one-bedroom apartment Charlotte rented for the month is roomy and comfy and located in Thissio – a neighborhood with a very local vibe – yet close to Acropolis and other ancient sites, some of which I visited today (like the view above from lunchtime today).
This is my third visit to Athens but my first off-season stay. Love this city’s contrast. It’s gritty, modern and ancient all at once. Charlotte says Athens is our new Lisbon just as Lisbon was our new Malaga a few years ago. From a culinary perspective, while not as “fancy” as say, French or Italian cuisines, Greek food is arguably the healthiest of all the countries around the Mediterranean. And I’ve always experienced the Greeks as friendly, welcoming, and generous people.
Going to complete my book about phobias while here and then begin compiling a book of personal stories which I’ve been inspired to create after that my cousin Laura @brushedthread so generously shared her limited edition “Little Memoirs” with me a couple of years ago.
Streets of Osaka
The vast majority of my walks in Osaka were intentionally serendipitous. I had a rough idea of where I was within the city’s boundaries, but I made a conscious effort to explore places and find spaces that in one way or another appealed to me in an unconventional way. Osaka’s density and intensity offered plenty of opportunities, just as long as I stayed clear of tourist venues and kept to where locals were walking, driving, riding, working, and living.
Osaka Rush Hour
Osaka Sushi Dinner
Friday. Evening. Sushi. Overdose.
Some observations and reflections:
• Osaka is a busy city yet suprisingly easy to navigate on foot. One of the main streest, Midosuji Boulevard (御堂筋), runs from Umeda to Tsutenkaku Tower, passing through several cool districts like Namba, Shinsaibashi, and Tennoji. This makes it both easy and fun to allow yourself to get lost in the alleys and side streets. You’ll always find your way back to Midosuji.
• On average, I’ve walked 24,000 steps per day, which is 22,000 more than I could manage in early December when my sciatica was at its worst.
• On Osaka’s sidewalks, people follow left-side traffic rules, but cyclists dominate the centerline, happily slaloming through pedestrians at breakneck speeds.
• It’s clear that Japanese people take pride in their work—no matter what they do—but perhaps even more so in jobs that aren’t particularly prestigious. Apparently, this is called “Hokori” (誇り). Such an attitude must bring inner peace but might also hold some people back from reaching their full potential.
• I now understand why Osaka is called “Japan’s Kitchen.” There are restaurants everywhere—about 45,000 in Greater Osaka. Not surprising, considering Osakans seem to eat at least one meal out every day.
• Women working in hotels, shops, and restaurants (or heard over public PA systems) have eerily childlike voices.
• January is a perfect time to visit Japan. Being here off-season means I’ve often been the only “gaijin” (foreigner) around, enjoying a little extra help and great service.
• I’ve had a week of blue skies and brilliant sunshine, chilly mornings (4-5°C), and been able to shed my hat, gloves, and scarf by midday.
• Many more people speak English now compared to the first time Elle, Charlotte, and I were in Japan 16 years ago. Maybe the 1990s sitcom Friends has contributed to an improved understanding of English here.
• I discovered that the nearest Lawson (convenience store) to my hotel has as wide a selection of sake as it does instant noodles.
• I wonder if Japan currently has the most beautiful paper currency in the world. The new ¥1,000 bill features Dr. Kitasato Shibasaburō, a bacteriologist, and the iconic The Great Wave off Kanagawa by Katsushika Hokusai.
• From time to time, I glance up at the skyscrapers and almost expect “Gojira” (呉爾羅) to appear with smoky nostrils and his playful son in tow.
• Bourdain was absolutely right when he described Lawson’s egg sandwiches as unnaturally fluffy, insanely delicious, and inexplicably addictive.
• Eventually, this will turn into a fine little book about my impressions from visits to Okinawa, Tokyo, Kyoto, and now Osaka and Hiroshima. Stay tuned.
Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park
Tuesday. Evening. Hiroshima.
After the Japanese breakfast at the hotel this morning, I walked over to the hysterically sprawling Osaka Station and eventually found my way to the Shinkansen train heading to Hiroshima. Hiroshima felt like a fitting destination after the new president’s fiery speech yesterday. The mood among those of us standing by “The Dome”, the only building in Hiroshima that survived the atomic bomb “Little Boy” when it was dropped on August 6, 1945, was, to say the least, somber.
Hiroshima has been in my consciousness since school, and I remember all too well the images of the devastated city in the history book chapters about World War II. I almost always travel with both my passports, and the American one felt particularly heavy in my pocket today as I walked around the UNESCO-protected Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park. In total, 140,000 innocent civilians were killed in Hiroshima (80,000 died in Nagasaki when another atomic bomb was detonated three days later).
I enjoyed a delicious lunch at a hole-in-the-wall eatery (izakaya, 居酒屋) run by a slightly eccentric woman near the site where the bomb caused the most destruction in central Hiroshima. Halfway through my bento box, the suit-clad man beside me broke our silence and asked, in broken English, if I thought Trump would want to annex Okinawa after buying Greenland. We nervously laughed at the idea and toasted each other with a subdued “kanpai!”
I felt just as disheartened in Hiroshima as I did when visiting Chornobyl, Auschwitz, Pearl Harbor, and Choeung Ek (Killing Fields in Cambodia). It’s so incomprehensible and surreal that we humans can consciously cause so much suffering to one another – especially to all those poor children. And now, a new era awaits, where macho men in power will mark their territory, compare lengths, and make the planet even more unstable.
A Few Observations:
Tomorrow will include a visit to a hotel where some of the staff are robots – a nice assignment from Charlotte (for www.hotelladdict.se).
In the works: Los Angeles Book
Here’s the blurb for a new book I’ve worked on for about three months. I completed the project last week and the book should be published in just a few weeks.
Update: The fires raging through L.A. and Ventura counties are a tragedy beyond belief. My heart goes out to all those affected and all the brave firefighters and first responders.
Los Angeles: A Photographic Journey by Joakim Lloyd Raboff
Los Angeles is a city like no other – vast, vibrant, and endlessly contradictory. For Joakim Lloyd Raboff, born and raised in L.A., this city is a living, breathing being that never stops inspiring. Joakim Lloyd Raboff has captured the geographical, architectural and social contrasts that define Los Angeles’s eclectic appeal. Through his lens, Raboff invites you to see the city’s many layers: its glittering promise, its gritty reality, and the magnetic energy that continues to draw dreamers, creators, and fortune seekers from around the globe. Every image tells a story, every contrast sparks curiosity – this is L.A., up close and personal.
Christmas Memories
I can’t even remember when we last had a Christmas tree. It might have been in Vejbystrand or possibly as far back as when Elle was still living at home, half a decade ago.I do recall several idyllic Christmases in Trollhättan at my maternal grandparents’ house. I also know (now) that there was no shortage of intrigue behind the scenes on Örtagårdsvägen 17. Grandmother Agnes did her very best to make the gathering of the various aunts and their families a joyous occasion. She ensured that us kids didn’t have to witness too much of the jealousy-fueled feuds that plagued our family over the years.
Remembering Tyko
Today, 21 years ago, little brother Tyko decided he’d had enough pain and sorrow. It’s been twenty-one years since that devastating phone call from a gendarm in Paris. For far too many years afterward, I felt anxious whenever the phone rang.
Tyko’s departure shattered my life and left a hole in my soul that no amount of joy or time has ever been able to fully fill.
Losing Tyko so suddenly on January 3, 2003 will never allow for any real closure – only a silence that grows louder as the years pass by.
If you really know me, you’ll also know that I am not a believer in any religion or quasi faith or floating deity. I try to respect that others find solace, joy and meaning in their faith. It’s just not for me. That said, as I get older, I have to admit that deep down in the dark depths of my consciousness, I keep a small fire burning for the unlikely event that when I do die, I will get to see Tyko again, hear his laughter and feel how the warmth of his smile once again touches my heart. Rest in Peace, Tyko.
New Year’s Oysters
Tuesday. Malmö. The last day of the year.
Two thousand and twenty-four is about to slip through the cracks. Who dares to predict whether two thousand and twenty-five will be better, worse, or somewhere in between? Not me.
Despite the three-month “pause” this fall, the year still offered a delightful mix of assignments, new book projects, and trips to six different countries—eight if you include Sweden and Denmark.
Highlights of the year:
Hot yoga and surfing in Thailand, skiing in Italy, a month-long road trip to Portugal, wine tasting in Georgia, the bustling ITB in Germany, hiking in the autumn beauty of Abisko National Park, and sailing in Greece. During the year, our little publishing house released five books: four photo books and one about aging in men.
The least impressive highlight of 2024 was the trip to Nerja in Spain, which I don’t quite understand why so many people rave about. The nature is as stunningly beautiful as the town is unbelievably ugly.
25 reflections as the year comes to a close:
HAPPY END & HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!
Forecast: Leaner Cuisine
Back in Malmö, where the weather mirrors Göteborg’s dreary gray, as if conspiring to keep the sun and smiles permanently at bay. This corner of Europe seems cursed with an inordinate share of clouds, rain, and fog – a dull, meteorological monotony that feels less like nature’s whim and more of a psychological assault.
I’ve yet to dive into the climatological explanation, which I am certain there is, so when I say I don’t understand, I mean less the science and more the injustice of the many weeks of sunless days. Acceptance, even now, remains elusive. Yet, I suppose there should be room for gratitude – this winter has been mild so far and the storms here by the sea have been manageably few. That is apparently going to change next week when colder weather arrives here in southern Scandinavia.
I’ve never been much for forecasts. The element of surprise – the raw immediacy of experiencing life, including weather, unmediated by prophecies – seems far more appealing to me than hedging on predictions and probabilities.
After days of indulgence – the typically rich Swedish Christmas foods and the decadent excess from two hotel breakfast buffets – it’s a relief to return to something leaner, something simpler. Yesterday, I put together the bowl you see above: black rice, cauliflower, soybeans, sweet corn, salsa, guacamole, raw tuna with wasabi mayo, and garlic-fried cashews – a balance of flavors, textures and colors – and a quiet act of restoration.
Now, I find myself contemplating the year ahead, shaping an approach to health and revival. The autumn was a trial – the discomfort from a herniated disc, relentless pain from sciatica, and the cascade of medications (and tequila) required to endure the elongated healing process. Recovery was if nothing else, humbling, but it also taught me this: my body is owed an extensive detox, a return to equilibrium. A fresh start is no longer just an aspiration – it’s a necessity. So if I paradoxically do make a prediction for 2025, it’s going to be a healthier and more productive year.
Joni Mitchell Never Lies
So this morning, after I published my Christmas Blues post, I listened to the latest episode of my favorite news podcast The Daily hosted by New York Times journalist Michael Barbaro. This Christmas Day show was dedicated to my all-time favorite musician and lyricist, Joni Mitchell – whom I’ve been listening to while creating my own verbal or visual art since the late 1970s.
The Christmas Paradox
Now that Christmas is almost over—Sweden celebrates Christmas Eve more than Christmas Day—I find myself once again reflecting on a paradox that grows harder to ignore each year. While Christmas is marketed as a season of joy and generosity, its rampant commercialization often breeds stress, debt, and a hollow sense of obligation, leaving me feeling soulless and empty especially as there is an increasing amount of suffering in the world.
The focus of Christmas has shifted from sharing intangible treasures like love, kindness, and time to a relentless emphasis on what we can buy and give away. Gifts become tools in a personal PR campaign, aimed at earning love, forgiveness, or, perhaps, mitigating resentment.
Shiny, wrapped presents may glitter under the tree, but they cannot fill the deeper voids—the absence of genuine respect, the weight of unhealed wrongs, or the pain we’ve caused others.
This irony is especially stark when set against the story of Christ’s birth. His humble beginnings in a manger, surrounded by simplicity and reverence, stand in sharp contrast to a holiday season now dominated by excess and materialism in which I am an increasingly reluctant participant.
Oh, and I generated the above image using AI.
First Class to Göteborg
A low but sharp winter sun shines over the Skåne’s plains rushing past as I sit in first class on SJ’s express train to Gothenburg, where we’ll be celebrating Christmas once again this year. I’m nibbling on gingerbread cookies and sipping Kung Markatta’s Breakfast Tea as we’ve just left Helsingborg, where my travel companion was supposed to join me. Two seats for the price of one.
Regardless of the mode of transport, I rarely travel first class – but it turned out that a first-class ticket with SJ was cheaper than other options for this route so close to Christmas Eve. The first-class ticket, which cost a reasonable 545 SEK, included access to SJ’s “Lounge,” where a small but delightful Christmas buffet was laid out.
In the lounge, I met a shivering family from Singapore who seemed torn about whether they should dare to try the pickled herring, rice pudding, or the slightly sweaty sliced ham. The brave daughter led the way and tried everything.
All my Christmas gifts for the family are safely packed in my backpack, and I don’t have to worry about the presents getting wrinkled. They were, after all, already wrinkled before I packed them. I’ve managed to crack the “code” for quite a few things in life; some came naturally, while others I had to work hard for. Gift wrapping, however, is definitely not one of the things I’ve cracked the code for. The results of my efforts to wrap beautiful Christmas presents are the diametrical opposite of origami.
But it’s what’s inside that counts, right? After all, it takes time to ponder, narrow down, and shop for gifts. Grandma Agnes, however, would not have been entirely pleased with me. She always saved the wrapping paper, and I can still hear her say, when all the Christmas gifts had been unwrapped by the families Andersson, Raboff, Starrsjö, and Felten: “It’s such a shame to throw away so much beautiful paper.” In the basement on Örtagårdsvägen in Trollhättan, there was a cupboard filled with old wrapping paper.
I suspect Grandpa Eskil used some of her saved wrapping paper when the old boiler went out. If we didn’t notice that the house was getting cold quickly enough, Grandpa’s hunting companion, the beagle Ingo (who by the end smelled so bad he had to sleep in the boiler room), would bark promptly to let everyone know he was freezing.
The train just passed Vejbystrand, and, as usual, it felt a bit melancholic. But Gothenburg will be all the more pleasant with just the right dose of happy reunions, indulgences, and hopefully some rest at Draken.
Wishing everyone a MERRY CHRISTMAS (now from somewhere just north of Halmstad).