Designer Johan Lindeberg and Torekov Pizzeria

Late afternoon a few days ago, Charlotte and I enjoyed what could possibly have been the best pizza in all of southern Sweden. We were curious to see how designer and photographer Johan Lindeberg’s cooperation with the owners of Torekov Pizzeria had played out.

I don’t know if I’ve ordered a pizza straight off the menu in this part of Sweden. Back in the day, when I was living in Gotland and DJing at Burmeister in Visby, they served an incredibly yummy pizza with Parma ham, sun-dried tomatoes, Kalamata olives, and Mozzarella cheese. It was perfectly spiced and I missed nothing on it. So, obviously, that fond pizza memory is the recipe I benchmark against. Ever since I tend to add and subtract from the standard Swedish pizza menus in order to at least get as close as possible.

Fortunately, the owner of Torekov Pizzeria, Yakan Selim, obliged my request for a tailor-made pizza and it tasted damn close to the one I remember enjoying so many times at Burmeister.

“Bur” was both my workplace and preferred hangout on my off-days in the summer of 1992. Bacillen, Einar, Pierre, and a few others would usually meet up there for a pizza before heading into the Vietnam War-themed Saigon, possibly the coolest bar I’ve ever guested (and had my own key to).

I’ve never been to Napoli and have therefore yet to experience what an original Margarita tastes like, but it’s definitely something that’s on my list for 2021.

Pandemic vs Climate Change

Here’s a new piece for the Resurfaced series. I don’t do much political art, but this project felt important somehow. If not to you, at least to me right now.

Sometimes I feel like a hostage. A victim of hijackers or kidnappers where the culprits are the established media. I don’t think I have an unhealthy ingestion level, but what I do listen to and read, tends to put a large emphasis on two main headline topics: the pandemic and the climate. I find this to be even more true now that Trump is off-center stage.

Granted, both are extraordinarily important issues, regardless of whether or not you believe in all or just some of what the media broadcasts 24/7. If you don’t believe in either, well, there you go.

Like the next guy, I am easily seduced or hypnotized by big fat headlines. And so, I often forget that the media’s business model is fundamentally about generating engagement – just like Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, TikTok, Snapchat, Google, and every other social media outlet out there. The more eyeballs they attract, the more advertising money they rake in.

The main difference between traditional media and “SoMe” is that because traditional media has been around a lot longer and has content produced by a team of purportedly unbiased reporters and journalists, it continues to enjoy a higher level of believability (if not authoritativeness).Folks in my generation still tend to rely on old-school media brands to get their lion’s share of “indisputable facts” and opinions. And since it’s no secret that many – including your’s truly – choose news sources that reinforce rather than challenge opinions, you don’t need a degree in behavioral psychology to grasp how we find ourselves in an echo chamber, shutting out all and any opposing views and thoughts that question our opinions or facts. We become hostages of the media and eventually victims of Stockholm syndrome. Feeling mushy about a media brand is dangerous stuff.


This piece stems from a visit to an abandoned workshop or factory somewhere. The photo doesn’t have a GPS tag…and neither does my memory. It’s another installment in my Resurfaced series.

I am continuously fascinated by these rough, unfiltered industrial environs and how often I discover mesmerizing readymade shapes there.

I’m increasingly cognizant of how the rational work of architects, engineers, and technicians – unintentionally or, perhaps subconsciously – can often add something more than just the obvious functionality; an aesthetic dimension.

There’s something liberating about not at all knowing or, even caring, what purpose an old pipe like the one above had, what fluid(s) flowed within, and what the residue still lining its inner chamber consists of.

The vast complexities of industrialization are hard for me to comprehend. I’m trying to grasp this in order to better understand how difficult it is to make significant changes to improve the planet’s health.

When I saw the container ship stuck in the Suez Canal the other week, it reminded me of how complex a world we have built for ourselves. It’s both frightening and fascinating. Not entirely different from the ongoing pandemic.

A list of the products within the 18,300 containers stacked on the Evergreen Marine would have likely had a Made in China tag.

According to this official statistics site, there are over 25 million factories in China where nearly 200 million people work.

There must be an abundance of abandoned factories there…

Thoughts and Views From Vejbystrand

Here’s a bold statement coming from 57-year-old likely suffering from delusions of grandeur: I believe my most significant artistic contribution has yet to be created. Brash as it may be, it is nonetheless a mantra that keeps my creative fire burning. The great mystery is in what shape this artistic contribution will take and if it will be a participatory, collaborative venture or a singular artistic expression. Perhaps a combo. Until I figure out or arrive at a conclusion as to how this will manifest itself, I’ll continue to execute creative ideas that appear more or less randomly on my radar screen and drawing board.

Here’s a collection of illustrations themed on Vejbystrand and inspired by travel posters from the 1930s. After bouncing around the idea or concept for the illustrations for a few years,  last fall, I decided to use 10 of my favorite photographs from the village as the basis for the project. They are now printed and on display at Strandhugget, our local restaurant here in Vejbystrand.

The Serpent

Once in a blue moon, something other than an old movie catches my attention while randomly scrolling on Netflix’s site. A few days ago, I came across a miniseries called The Serpent. The series has an intriguing plot, it’s beautifully shot, has good acting, and really groovy music from the 1970s. Best of all, it takes place in Southeast Asia, primarily in the Thai capital Bangkok. Highly recommend giving it a watch, especially if you, like me, traveled around Asia in the 1980s and came across dubious “gemstone agents” and other shady characters while crisscrossing the continent carefree with a small stack of traveler’s checks in your money pouch and the yellow bible, South East Asia On A Shoestring in your hand.

Like most westerners that sought out adventure and something different culturally, especially after having done the Eurail or Interrail thing, Khao San Road in Bangkok was the “hub” that we passed through at some point or another. After roughing it in India, Indonesia or Nepal, this a westernized version of the Orient – where you could stock up on just about anything you needed: food, clothes, visas, fake ID cards, tattoos, and knickknacks to send home. You could also make (CCP) phone calls here and the post office wasn’t too far away.

My first time on Khao San I stayed in a room at a guest house with wafer-thin walls and a shared shower for about $1/night including a banana pancake and coffee breakfast. There were a lot of travel agents on Khao San and if you weren’t into Bangkok’s many tourist attractions, you could stay put in the area until it was time to leave for the next adventure north, south, east, or west. I usually chilled out three or four nights before getting tired of the crowds and nagging tailors and pushing onwards.

The shot above was taken sometime in the mid-2000s when I was on Khao San Road to research for yet another travel story about the area’s (in)famous backpacker scene.

Hong Kong

Shot the Hong Kong night skyline for a travel magazine a while back. It was my second visit to the former British colony yet I was still taken aback by the city’s intensity and variety.

I think I shot this with a Canon 1D Mk III or a 5D Mk II mounted on a Gitzo Exact Mountaineer tripod, which I to this day consider part of my go-to tools for serious projects. It’s lightweight, sturdy and reasonably fast to extend.

Herman’s Pseudonym (Mark I )

Another Easter begins. The above piece, “Herman’s Pseudonym (Mark I)”, refers to a Qigong instructor I was taught by a few years ago named Herman. He was good, but I found it peculiar that he demanded to be called “teacher”, like a pseudonym. I haven’t called anyone teacher since middle school and don’t understand why using his given name Herman could have rendered my impression of his teachings any differently.

Still way too much mysticism and cure-all fairy dust spread by Qigong “masters”. At its core, Qigong is basically a series of movements and poses which improve the circulatory flow of blood oxygen, and joint fluids.

While the Oxford-Astra Zeneca vaccine kerfuffle continues to unfold, there’s still no solid news on when and where inoculations will be offered for my age group in this part of Sweden. Very confusing. I wouldn’t mind flying over to New York or even L.A. just to get my jabs.

I’ve been exposed (but not completely unshielded) to potential infections for more than a year without getting sick. I did have a few days with some respiratory issues last summer. But as it was the only potential symptom from the virus, I didn’t feel inclined to get tested. Later, in early fall, Charlotte and I tested negative for antibodies. Go figure.

I’ll continue to be careful, but the pandemic is becoming increasingly strenuous.

Childhood Art

In my childhood house on Alfred Street in Los Angeles, the walls were covered by literally hundreds of paintings. Far from all, but many had religious motifs and were often dark, gloomy portraits of Jesus in various stages of crucifixion. The artworks in our home had been collected by my father during his tumultuous gallery years and when he abandoned the family in 1969, these dreary paintings loomed on our walls for many years to come. Unsellable and obviously a painful reminder of my parent’s relatively short-lived marriage and its dramatic dissolve.

I mention this as it might explain why I am so much in love with colorful, nonfigurative, and semi-abstract motifs in my own artwork.


A collage of photographs from a traditional wedding, a shopping street, and a Buddhist shrine in Tokyo. Japan is high on my list of places I’d like to return to once travel is possible again.


By far my all-around favorite country, Sweden is nonetheless also home to really imaginitive passive-aggressiveness. This collage is dedicated to all of us that often forget to put that little plastic separator on the conveyer belt between our food and the customer waiting behind us at the local grocery store. The condescending, authoritative look you get – often with a snarky smile – as he or she evenhandedly places the separator at just the right distance to your last item, is priceless. Would make for a great exhibit idea.

Le Chaos du Fromage

Brain fog. Long covid. Quattro Stagioni. Kim Jong-un. Musk’s exodus to Mars. Arthritis. Superficiality.

There are so many things I still don’t understand. Especially Quattro Stagioni. How can you mix four kinds of cheese together on a pizza and still expect to be taken seriously?

But on a more serious note, how can NK’s supreme leader, Kim Jong-un, clearly a textbook megalomaniac with official joviality, be allowed to govern over so many millions of people and be given inherited access to a military arsenal which could easily annihilate most of South Korea and possibly even Japan and the US?

Then there is art.


This new piece bears the title “Unknown” because I wanted it to symbolize my embrace of the process in which it was created. I seldom know beforehand how anything I do is going to turn out. I don’t pre-visualize what the end result of what I write, film or photograph will be. I might have a rough clue or expectation, but mostly, when I’m finished, it’s an intuitive feeling, a voice (or, a deadline), that tells me I can’t take the process any further.

By accepting and enthusiastically welcoming the unknown, the puzzle, maze or riddle never gets boring.

Society is too focused on predictions.

Somewhere over Mandalay
This was my view as we left the city of Mandalay. It caught my attention this morning after reading about the continued terror against civilians following the military coup in Myanmar a few weeks ago. Sadly, the world watches passively on the sidelines – perhaps avoiding a confrontation with China. Chicken shit politics, I say.

Where is the UN?

If there is any tangible benefit from our endless traveling for the last 25 years, it’s feeling sincere empathy for the people we’ve met around the world, especially when they are in trouble.

The nature of war is to slaughter. Alas, the nature of the soldier is to unequivocally obey the orders of his or her superiors. But it is a learned nature, not a natural one. Emotions are systematically amputated. through threats of physical and mental reprimand and punishment.

Only once such obedience has been instilled can soldiers beat and execute civilians without remorse or regret. All they have to do is wave the flag of duty and obedience. No different from any other era in human history. We have not evolved much, despite high-flying thoughts of ourselves and our in essence superficial accomplishments.

Life Quote

These skulls were captured near a place in Cambodia called “the killing fields” where millions of people were murdered during the brutal regime of Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge. I’ve published this image before, but when I saw it just now, it reminded me of a quote I like to recite. The image illustrates it perfectly:

I believe in life before death.

Now, does this mean I don’t believe in life after death? Or, just that whatever happens to us after we die should in no way be confused or conflated with what being alive is like? I haven’t given it much thought.

The quote was “given” to me by an old friend and whenever I’m at a crossroads or ambiguous about taking “a plunge”, I try to remember his quote.

The Scream of Approval

I’ve not posted about it before, but about a month ago, I was accepted/invited to join the Swedish Artists’ Association, a society of artists of which Eva Bonnier, Bruno Liljefors and Carl Larsson were members.

I’m reminded of Groucho Marx’s quote about joining associations: “I don’t want to belong to any club that would accept me as one of its members.”

Initially, I was dubious about joining. Would it be a club for mutual admiration? Or, would there be some tangible benefit? Perhaps my art would have some kind of seal of approval because I was a member. We’ll see.

The new piece above is called “The Scream of Approval” and represents how I sometimes feel when the over-analyzing gets to me.

Knox Flushed

Here’s a new piece called “Flushed”. It’s dreamy and has several ingredients that I used because they somehow reminded me of a recent interview I heard with Amanda Knox. Amanda is the American exchange student that was accused of murdering her roommate, Meredith Kercher from Great Britain. Knox was definitively acquitted by the Italian Supreme Court, but after watching the documentary (Netflix), I couldn’t shake off an inkling that she and perhaps all involved in the case, were concealing something. That her plea of complete innocence was at least partially disingenuous. As someone close to me pointed out, Amanda Knox is super manipulative. It’s as if she’s flushed some evidence down the toilet. Metaphorically speaking.


From an early morning walk around downtown Hyderabad in southern India. Like in any big Asian city, walking around in the wee hours, before shops have opened for business and pedestrian and street traffic has yet to become overwhelmingly intense, meeting locals is easier.

Hyderabad is the joint capital of Andhra Pradesh and Telangana states, and I spent about a week in rural areas of Telangana filming a demonstration of device-to-device wireless technology.

I’ve been to India a few more times after this scene was captured and have always enjoyed my visits, regardless of purpose or assignment.

Palm Tree Pearls

“Palm Tree Pearls” is a new piece for my “Resurfaced” series. A collage of images shot in Southeast Asia during my lastest visit. Superimposing or blending photographs that individually have little emotional pull on me but that together create something interesting continues to fascinate me. The Resurfaced project has forced me to look at my world differently. To see the uniqueness in the mundane and discover compositions within compositions within compositions. The base image for this piece was a string of LED lights wrapped around the trunk of a palm tree. If you look carefully, you can see the inverted lights to the right in the painting.

Volcano Climbing

I’ve gone cage diving with Great White sharks, ballooning at the foothills of the Atlas Mountains, walked with lions in South Africa, and gone jogging in Death Valley California during a balmy 55C/131F morning. All exhilarating adventures that provided an adrenalin rush and a story to tell. But of all the more or less precarious things I’ve done so far, climbing up and down from the ridge of  “Volcan de Pacaya” was definitely among the most treacherous.

I remember it being unbelievably steep and that there were no marked paths or signs after ascending from the tiny village below the mountain. But it wasn’t so much the walking on hot, edgy, razor-sharp lava rocks or, jumping over narrow streams of lava, which was not easy for a novice volcano climber like me. Instead, it was the gentle rumblings from within the volcano’s opening just a few hundred meters above that gave me the heebie-jeebies. What if there was an eruption while we were up there?

Resurfaced: Travel Art

I’ve heard of a shop in Moscow where one could buy souvenirs from several famous destinations to give the impression to your guests and neighbors that you’d actually been there.

In the film Total Recall, customers of a virtual travel agency offered a neurological implant that could provide a wide range of false experiences.

Perhaps in the future, virtual travel will be the most reasonable way to travel. The most guilt-free, risk-free and cost-effective way to experience places in real-time. Hundreds of people would wear body cameras and have microphones streaming live video and audio from places like Paris, London, Moscow, Rio, Tokyo, and Mallorca.

Above: the piece to the left is called “Arrival: Val d’Orcia” and the one to the right is titled, “Arrival: London”. More of my resurfaced series here.

Leaning Tower of Pisa

This was my view a few years ago below The Leaning Tower of Pisa after a weeklong visit to the Amalfi coast.

Thoughts on Qigong

Some thoughts on Qigong which will hopefully clear up the mystical connotations associated with the practice.

Many new practitioners of Qigong have unreasonable expectations. These anticipations are often followed by disappointment. While Qigong provides many benefits, you should not expect the practice to be all-curing. It cannot be that. Qigong is not a religion. It is not your superhero.

Qigong can help you to achieve balance and harmony, inwards and outwards, through an intentional, holistic approach to life. First and foremost, practicing Qigong will provide valuable “tools” to maintain a balance, an equilibrium, between your mind and your body. The very meaning of the words Qi Gong means “energy gathering” or, “to work with energy”. Your body encapsulates a lot of energy. Qigong will not only help you release it but also spread it throughout your body and mind across time. This is achieved through movements, through stillness, and, arguably the most important of any conscious activity, breathing.

Qigong has many facets and paths to help you move forward in life. Start small and let it grow within you. By keeping your initial expectations at a reasonable level, you will certainly find that practicing Qigong is a powerful ally in your quest for health and clarity.

Peaking at Twenty Six

This is a new piece for my “Resurfaced” series called “Twenty Six” a composition of surfaces from a dozen different cities on three continents.

It’s a long time ago, but I distinctly remember thinking that when I turned 26, I had somehow reached “Peak Life”.

From 26 and onwards, I would be closer to 30 than 20 and, worse yet, I still hadn’t come up with a master plan. I was completely focused on surviving and trying to figure out how to make use of my creative abilities.

Today, at more than twice that age, I realize that I was thoroughly wrong about reaching Peak Life already at 26. Somedays, I don’t think I’m there yet…


Tom & Don: Deep Fake

This was my view earlier this morning. I shot it through a window using an old camera from 2013. A Fujifilm x20. Digital cameras don’t age very well, but the x20 is still fairly capable and useful. There was a beautiful full moon when I took the shot, but the camera just couldn’t capture it the way I’d seen it. So, I took a close-up of the satellite that orbits our planet with a 400mm lens and then superimposed it on the above composition. Deepfake or ShallowFake?

If you’ve seen the deepfake videos of Tom Cruise and know a little about the real Tom Cruise, you might find it interesting that the people behind these eerily accurate videos chose him as their subject matter.

I mean, not only is Tom the actor most famous for his leading role in the Mission Impossible franchise, a series of films brimming with deep fake tech. But the man behind the mask is also a devoted follower of the Church of Scientology – which some would argue is a totally fake religion.
I’m now looking forward to seeing a deepfake video of Donald J Trump recanting all of his thousands of doubt-sowing statements and completely renouncing his tentative plans for running for president in 2024. That would be a really cool deepfake video.

The Fog

Sometimes, the fog rolls in with impressive speed. A clear sky can within moments, not even minutes, be replaced with a thick, silent mist. The obscured view displaces my focus and leaves me feeling a bit perplexed, lost even. Then the levitating fog slowly rises and moves on.


Lars, a friend, who’s actually an old boss, dropped by yesterday for a coffee and a glazed donut. He’s a few decades older than I, but in enviously good health, physically and intellectually. What a blessing for him and his family.

I’ve never judged anybody by something as trivial as age, gender, or ethnicity. In my worldview, the only thing that really matters is substance. I can find something interesting, at least for a little while, in almost anyone that can somehow intrigue me with their profession, life story, or creative endeavors.

I can even find remarkably superficial people, folks that hide their true selves behind a pretentious facade, to be if not interesting, then at least entertaining. For a while.

It’s been said of me that I wear my heart on my sleeve. That I lack a filter that would otherwise help me to navigate emotionally through life. But the older I get, the less I feel inclined to play games like hide-and-seek. The, I-am-who-I-am/take-me-or-leave-me-mentality is certainly preferable at my stage of life. At any stage of life, really.

The collage above is a multi-generational, multi-geographical theme that includes images from visits to India, France, the US, and Cambodia. It’s aptly named Geogenerational.

Pandora’s Boxes

I shot this collection of locker boxes somewhere, but I can’t remember when or where. When I saw it in the archives just now, it reminded me of how full of surprises life is. That sometimes, our curiosity takes us places we hadn’t expected. I thrive on curiosity. It drives me forward, takes me on adventures and creative challenges that help me evolve as an artist and a human. However, sometimes, I get the feeling that I open too many creative boxes at once and spread myself too thinly.

A Winter Night in Jukkasjärvi

From a visit to the far north where, several years ago, Elle and I stayed a night at the Ice Hotel in Jukkasjärvi.

We each had a big, comfy sleeping bag placed on a wide and thick reindeer fur. It was cold, but also exciting to fall asleep in a room where all the furniture, including the bed we were on, was made of solid blocks of ice.

When we woke up, Elle looked around and said, obviously surprised that we had survived the cold night, Papa, we made it!”.

Now that this usually chilly winter is coming to a close, it seems somehow reasonable to feel a sense of hope about the future. That we made it to the other side and lived to tell stories of cold winter nights.

Dreams vs Truth

This dreamy night shot is from Colombo, the capital of Sri Lanka. I took it late one night just before the flight back to Europe.

I thought of it as a metaphorical image for my strange dreams that I think the chemotherapy is given me. So far, the injections have provided few benefits, but, fortunately, hardly any side effects, either. Aside from these really weird dreams. But those could also be related to our strange times. Or, both. Probably both. Maybe I should see the dreams as a benefit?

This morning I watched an interview with cognitive scientist Donald Hoffman where he claims there is solid scientific evidence that people trying to seek the “truth” about their existence, the reality of life, be that religiously, culturally, or cosmically, do not fare as well as those that just “playing the game”. Ignorance is bliss, in other words. From a biological perspective, natural selection, the survival of the fittest, and so on, I can subscribe to Hoffman’s theory. All animals are quintessentially programmed to survive and procreate. Everything else is basically fluff. Insurance policies, tools of power, myths.

Taken to its extreme, Hoffman means that the philosophical field of existentialism, the quest for the meaning of life, is just a waste of time and doesn’t really help humanoids survive or evolve. On the other foot, it’s the eternal quest for truth that makes life an interesting journey: What is my purpose? Where do I come from? What happens when I die?

Here’s the interview.

At Pier’s End

This concrete pier is not far from Vejbystrand. It’s on a beach called Eskilstorpstrand (near Båstad). I found it uniquely fitting for the hint of optimism that ineluctably arrives in my mind with each and every spring. I saw the round lifesaver at the end of the pier as the poetic metaphor for the elusive vaccine.

I’ve not heard anything about when or where the vaccine will be made available to a mere mortal like myself and honestly, I’m having a hard time grasping how both local and central Swedish governments have fumbled the rollout of the vaccine. Yes, yes. I realize it’s a complicated project, logistically and quantitatively. But the vacuum of relevant and updated information does not bode well for the country’s recovery. So maybe the pier’s even longer than it looks. Or, maybe the lifesaver is an illusion. I hope it’s not.

No Rush Limbaugh

I captured this surface in an industrial area of Da Nang, Vietnam. I think artists should be willing and brave enough to share their political convictions and societal opinions often and in any way they can. I can’t help but feel engaged in things and subjects that at least momentarily grab my attention and my heart. The American radio talk show host Rush Limbaugh has recently died. Good riddance, I say. The vile rhetoric he spewed through his show and social media made for a widely successful multi-decade-long career. Sadly, his racist, misogynistic bullshit will linger in many dumb-ass listeners’ ears for years to come.

I think the saddest thing about folks that buy into viewpoints made by people like Rush Limbaugh and Alex Jones, is that they don’t understand how fake it is. That neither of those fine gentlemen genuinely believe in the opinions they orate. It’s a schtick, a product, a mantra that has made them famous and wealthy.

In America, disingenuousness is part of the social culture, institutionalized, even. It’s how so much business is done. The old saying, “There’s a Sucker Born Every Day” prevails. Success at any rate, at any cost. I hate that about the US of A. It’s shameful. No wonder no one knows what’s true and what’s not anymore. I realize it’s a form of salesmanship, albeit taken to an extreme level. Mitch McConnell is masterful at it. Most seasoned politicians and businessmen are.

Rush’s particular brand of undermining, doubt-sowing rhetoric can also be dangerous when it reaches critical mass and becomes the main source of reference for millions of ignorant people. Just like if you constantly watch Fox News or CNN/CNBC, you’ll inevitably become swayed and skewed to that source’s agenda.

But once again, the only real agenda is rating and advertising sales. Money. Beseeching listeners and viewers that either don’t understand what critical thinking means or just don’t care has become the norm. Eventually, I suppose you become so brainwashed that even really reasonable counterarguments are no longer allowed within your field of view.

Unsurprisingly, Trump awarded Rush with the Presidential Medal of Freedom. But for what? Because Limbaugh was supportive of Trump? No, because both men knew the PR value would push their agendas forward. It’s the old I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine, exchange. Two old, obese white dudes fondling each other, knowing good and well that the award will stir up the liberals and enthuse the conservatives.

Anyway. Spring is knocking on the door. I can hear it from here.

Miss Malaga

It’s almost to the day one year ago that I flew to Sweden from Malaga, Spain. We’d been living there for just two months when we realized that this whole pandemic thing was not to be taken lightly and that it would likely have a very negative financial impact on our livelihoods. I jumped ship first and Charlotte followed a few weeks later.

Do I miss Malaga? Absolutely. I miss the cafés, tiny tapas hideaways, and soaking in the sun from our rooftop terrace. I miss seeing people on the streets, hanging out with friends, and taking a long walk ending in a cozy lunch in the old fishing village Pedregalejo. I miss going out for drinks with friends Sam and Sirpa, feeling untethered and unworried. I miss shopping at Mercado Central de Atarazanas, the old market where so much great food was beautifully displayed and reasonably priced. I miss drinking a glass of a caña, a cold beer under a huge umbrella or palm tree on the way to or from a shopping tour.

For close to 25 years, Charlotte and I have been the architects, the designers, the conductors of our lives. And I miss that too. But I don’t feel sorry for myself. Nor does Charlotte. Instead, we feel appreciative of both what we’ve had and what is here and now. The future may not look so bright right at the moment. But eventually, someday, we will return to Malaga, drink a couple of cold cañas, and munch unabashedly from a large bowl of those huge, sumptuous green olives from one of my favorite shops at Mercado Central.

The above image was captured in Malaga, somewhere near our apartment. Which, incidentally, I don’t miss.

Passport to the World

I’ve been going through a bunch of old stuff since returning to Vejbystrand on Saturday. I brought with me three jam-packed binders with all kinds of ancient letters, travel memorabilia, odd concert receipts and even drawings from when I was a child back in 1968.

I don’t know what’s more impressive, the fact that I saved it all to begin with, or, that it’s survived all the moves I made on my own and all the addresses Charlotte and I have had since we met in 1996. While not exactly meticulously categorized, all of it is neatly placed inside transparent pockets. It really boggles my mind that I had the wherewithal to salvage so much of my history. I am above all happy for Elle. I don’t think she’s as confused about who her father is as I am about mine. But if she does read through some of my letters and those sent to me, including a rather lengthy, deep email exchange between me and a philosopher I was subbing at a high school for in Göteborg in the early 1990s.

Among the most interesting memorabilia is one of my old US passports. I became a dual citizen in 1998 or 1999 and most of the stamps are from the late 1980s or early 1990s. I’d almost forgotten how much I’d traveled before meeting Charlotte. So much so that in New Zealand, I had to ask the US consulate in Auckland to add a few pages to my almost fully stamped passport just to cover my onward trips to Indonesia, Malaysia and Thailand that year.

For about half a decade, I was a seasonal restaurant worker: winters in northernmost Sweden at Hotel Riksgränsen, summers in Visby (on the island of Gotland) at various watering holes. Most of the fall and beginning of winter I was traveling in Asia or the US. Rinse and repeat.

I remember how some immigration officers refused to place their country’s entry stamp or visa document next to a nation they weren’t on good terms with or, just didn’t like. Traveling between mainland China and Taiwan could me you might have to sacrifice two separate passport pages.

It’s going to be interesting to see if the yellow vaccination cards make a comeback or if future passports will be forced to include verifiable verification about inoculations. At this stage, traveling still seems like a distant dream.

For some of my favorite travel assignments, head on over to and click on “TRAVEL”.

Vejbystrand Sea Skaters

From earlier today during a slow wintery walk along the coast. I wish I had brought the drone with me…but even more, I wish I could take part in the skating fun. My joints are too stiff and fragile for that kind of activity right now, but I’m sure that if I’d still had my ice skates, I’d probably be willing to take the risk. Happy for all the kids that get to experience a real winter here in Skåne and to see what it’s like when the sea freezes.

Quick Visit to Malmö

Our view last night during Charlotte’s and my sunset walk. It’s one of those shots that I wish I had taken with a proper camera, as opposed to a two-year-old iPhone. There’s nothing wrong with the composition. But the dynamic range and color reproduction is way, way off. I literally held my x100v in my hand heard myself saying, nah, I don’t need to carry this in my pocket, there’s not going to be anything worth shooting anyway. The image is still worth sharing, though. At least to convey the gist of how beautiful it was.