It’s getting darker for every day here in northern Europe now. Temperatures are still relatively humane and I hope the colorful foliage on our garden’s trees and in Malmö’s parks last for a few more weeks. I’ve been shooting a lot in Slottsparken recently and have a neat little autumn film project in the works.

If you’re a Netflix subscriber like me, mid-autumn means it’s a great time to discover and binge-watch a couple of drama series – as means to sneakily ease yourself into accepting that we’ll all be spending more time indoors than outdoors for the next 5-6 months. 

A Brittish friend on our street recently recommended Broadchurch and I’m already halfway through the first of three seasons.

The plot isn’t spectacularly original or terribly riveting, the opposite is probably a more appropriate discription. Which is concurrently exactly what makes the show so intriguing. Like many Brittish dramas that unfold somewhere in the Brittish countryside, or, in this case along the southeast coast, near Dorset, it’s the amalgamation of mundanity coupled with the privilege of unbridled voyeurism that pulls you in to the town of Broadchurch and the well-played characters seemingly ordinary lives. Like a good Agatha Christie novel or film, the show spends a generous amount of time establishing the main characters and then allows for ample time so they can be self-implicated suspects in the ongoing murder case

Fans of the The Night Manager and The Crown will enjoy yet another wonderful performance by Olivia Colman in Broadchurch as tough but warm-hearted detective Ellie Miller. The image above is from a small lighthouse not far from where we live.

Mrs Raboff and I went for a wonderfully energizing 10k run this morning in what I think was the best possible weather; zero wind and 12 °C/53 °F with a little sunshine – just to add some color to our path along the beach. It was my first run in a while and though relatively slow paced, I feel good to have completed the challenge. Running with 6kg less around the waist seem to make it a little easier on my knees and ankles.  Could also be my imagination. We’ll see later today how sore they are

The beach run here in Malmö is nothing short of phenomenal. Especially on days like this when it’s so sublimely placid. After being utterly immersed in hyper-intense Bangkok – where over 8 million people dwell – an early morning run on an empty beach felt surreal. By the time we reached the halfway point, in Limhamn somewhere, and were on our way back to Västra Hamnen, we met dozens of colorfully dressed joggers of all ages and strides.

I ran with the new iPhone Xs Max in my pocket and took the above/below shots with it. The new dual camera’s larger sensors, new image signal processor and neural engine chip produce images with an astonishing amount of dynamic range. Face ID unlocks the phone seamlessly and though a whole different UX (user experience), I’m already up to speed navigating throughout iOS12 using the intuitive swiping gestures.

Home again after an eventless night flight home from Suvarnabhumi Airport on a Thai Airways Boeing 777. The cabin was almost full, but Charlotte and I got really lucky and each had three seats to ourselves (and sat right behind one another). We both managed to sleep for about 6-7 of the 10,5 hour, 8640 kilometer distance. As we filed through “monkey class” and then saw how relatively small and cramped the pricey Business Class seats were (the 777 was a bit long in the tooth), I think we actually slept more comfortably.

During a couple of the flight’s remaining hours I re-watched “Solo: A Star Wars Story”, the franchise’s spinoff prequel tale of Han Solo, the charming scoundrel, daredevil pilot, and captain of the spaceship, the Millennium Falcon. Despite Ron Howard directing, Woody Harrelson starring and mostly solid performances by a cast of live action and CG actors, the film’s still gotten mixed reviews. I thought it was entertaining and provided an interesting backstory for a few of the original trilogy’s characters. Then again, I’ve been a fan of most of the Star Wars feature films ever since I was a kid.

As the plane descended and started its path towards Kastrup International Airport, we could see that the rainy autumn weather wasn’t too different from when we took off from Bangkok, ten hours earlier. Aside from the sun peeking out for a few mintues and the 20 degree drop in temperature, that is. It’s nevertheless good to be home. I’ve signed a lease for a new creative hub/gallery/art studio. and can’t wait to get started working on it.

My 4 week strategy of eating a fastidious, plant-based diet, aligning my meals with a intermittent fasting regimen and getting at least an hour of intense exercise per day, has proven to be a successful combination. I’ve shrunk my waist’s girth by 4cm/1,5in and reduced about 5kg/11lbs of excessive body fat. It’s nothing short of an amazing accomplishment and I feel pretty fucking proud of myself.

Honestly, I don’t think I have ever eaten so much fruit and vegetables as during this past month. Above all, I don’t think I’ve ever been so successful at avoiding crappy food – or, stuff I know will only satisfy my tastebuds – including ice cream, popcorn or other snacks, no pastries, candies or other processed junkfoods. I’ve calculated that I skipped about 60 meals this past month, i.e. most breakfasts and lunches. Not a single food frenzy for a month. It’s been such a relief just to not  have to think about food so damn much. At home, I feel it’s a constant worry about what to eat and when – as if we’d all starve to death if we didn’t put our meals on the very top of our priority list.

It was Charlotte’s suggestion that I kickstart my journey with 10 days of intense Bikram Yoga at Kata Hot Yoga on Phuket. I did, and it turned out to be an excellent way to get going. And after the first few days when a nagging – but not debilitating – headache subsided, it was surprisingly easy to adjust to the new daily routine. I complimented each morning’s sweat-dripping yet energizing yoga class with afternoon beach walks and when there were waves, some surfing, too. And I continued with long, daily walks and pool laps whilst in Bangkok. On top of this, I also practiced Qigong and/or Yoga 4-5 times a week, either at Suananda Studio in Bang Rak or on my own (image above). Losing weight around the waist has also let me go much deeper into several poses.

While morning diets have consisted of fruit, vegetables and nuts, I’ve been keeping to a more flexible, pescatarian diet for evening meals and avoiding eating altogether for at least 8 hours during the day. Which of course means I’ve enjoyed dinners tremendously and eaten a wide range of dishes, including pad thai with tofu, hand-rolled tuna nigiri, spicy fish tacos and plain ol’ fish n chips. I’ve sorta seen dinner as a way to reward myself for keeping my daytime intake so lean.

It’s hard for me not to sermonize about how triumphant my journey has been. As with everything that inspires me, I can’t help but share my findings – so that friends and family can also enjoy the blissfulness that I’ve experienced. I’ve always been excited to share my views on music, food, travel, photography gear, whatever.

And so, there’s now no doubt in my mind that the only realistic and natural way to get in better shape and lose excess body fat is to calibrate a balance between what you eat, how much you eat and what your body really needs to function, endure, repair and regenerate.

I like to think of it like this; if your body isn’t able to make use of what you eat, that it takes more energy to digest than what you gain from it because the food is crap or you’re system can’t handle all of the day’s intake, you’re quite literally using your body as a garbage disposal and allowing your tastebuds to make judgment calls it is incompetent to do.

Folks, we’re living in an era of food frenzy where the abundance of food has led us to an extremely unhealthy relationship with the planet we exploit so thoroughly to produce it on. Eating excessively has become an addiction and a natural, yet unquestioned, part of our need to constantly entertain our tastebuds

The hundred thousand dollar question: will I be able to withstand temptations upon returnng to “normal life” back home in Malmö?
The trillion dollar question: how the hell do we rid ourselves from an addiction that could eradicate us as a species and practically annihilate our planet? Or, should we just let everything take its course and assume that Earth’s self-healing will eventually realign everything?

I can’t help but be mesmerized by the intensity of traffic in downtown Bangkok. I’ve experienced some heavy-duty congestion in Hanoi, Hyderabad and Nairobi. Even PCH (Pacific Coast Highway) can get clogged up during rush hours. But those places don’t come anywhere close insofar of the fierce force and magnitude of all of Bangkok’s cars, trucks, buses, tuk-tuks, motorcycles, skytrains, subways, cyclists and pedestrians heading somewhere simultaneously.

Yesterday, I walked from the shopping district at Siam Center/Siam Discovery/Siam Paragon via Sukhumvit Road all the way to Thong Lor, soi 23, which is about a distance of 10 kilometers. There’s always street-level activity going on along Sukhumvit Road and yesterday was no exception. The noise level is almost deafening and the air thick with fumes. Still, I always get a few good shots and decent footage during my urban treks. Yeah, I know, Bangkok is certainly not the healthiest place to powerwalk.

As I was hittting the pavement down Sukhumvit, which is the city’s main artery, I reflected now and again about the complexity of Bangkok’s current traffic situation. And it made me wonder if in the future all the buses, trucks, cars, motorcycles and tuk-tuks could likely be replaced with fully autonomous electric vehicles. Most street-level traffic seems to consist of solo drivers in cars, trucks or on motorcycles. So ride sharing alone would for sure help to reduce traffic.

The obvious caveat would be that the prosperous and super-influential petrochemical industry would fight to the very last drop of oil before allowing such a scenario. Unless of course, we all use fossil fuels to generate electricity needed to charge all the batteries.

Before the Skytrain was inaugurated 1999, getting around Bangkok was a tedious and an unpredictable activity. At times it could be a real nightmare. Back in the late 1980, depending on the time of day, taking a cab from Silom or Sathorn to Asoke or Thong Lor in the Sukhumvit district, could take anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour and a half. It was absolutely nuts.

Today, the Skytrain is very popular and has become the preferred way to move about in Bangkok. Which means that during rush hours, it’s almost as crowded as on Tokyo’s morning subway along the Ginza line. They might need to hire official pushers and shovers soon.

I shot the clips for the above short film during these last couple of days. Mostly with my iPhone and a GoPro.

More images from Bangkok can be enjoyed here.

Enjoyed a set of jazz classics by local musical quartet, Jook-kru Brass who were performing on the sidewalk of Sukhumvit Road the other afternoon. I admire the brass band’s tenacity – competing with the pandemonium emitted from Bangkok’s indisputably busiest street takes some real artistic courage. I met them on my way to dinner at the Japanese restaurant Isao and they were still playing on my way back to Thong Lor about an hour later.

Last night I saw a riveting new documentary on Netflix about multitalented musician and producer Quincy Jones. What a tumultuous life he’s lived! I knew about some of the world class musicians the man had worked with. But the film really provides new insights as to both Quincy’s genius and fragility as a human being. I just found some of his many brainy quotes here.

Aside from having several of his solo albums in my Apple Music collection, including the outstanding »The Dude«, the only two remote connections to »Q« I have is that my late father also worked with Frank Sinatra as an actor in a film called “The Man with the Golden Arm” from 1955 (my dad’s wearing a hat and sitting immediately to the right of Sinatra at the poker table) and younger brother Tyko who during the mid 1980s was good friends with Quincy Delight Jones III, Quincy Sr’s son from a marriage with model, actress and photographer, Ulla Jones from Sweden. They stayed in touch until Tyko eventually left Stockholm and moved permanently to L.A.

Yesterday, while eating dinner at a small restaurant here in Thong Lor’s popular foodcourt, The Commons, I couldn’t help but eavesdrop on a conversation between a 30 something American (or, Canadian) guy and an American (or, Canadian) women sitting in the booth in front of me. It wasn’t really a conversation they were having, though.

It was more like the guy was giving his sermon or lecturing her. I have no idea what their relationship was. But regardless of if they were a couple or just good friends, I was astonished at how much he seemed to enjoy talking about himself, his accomplishments and what he must of thought was an infallible approach to life.

As I was eating my way through the day’s only meal while listening to the guy’s endless oration, I contemplated why we men have such a constant need to assert ourselves, share our many anecdotes and assume that the world has actually been starving for our universal wisdom. Knowledge we men are so generously giving away to practically anyone willing to listen.

Maybe she was thoroughly enjoying his rant. Maybe she just wanted to get him into bed and listening to his lecture was just a (boring) means to an end. Or, perhaps, to her, he represented a father figure. Someone to help her find »enlightenment«. Who knows, right?

In any case, I felt sad that we men – not all, but enough to go around – really are so self-centered and full of ourselves. As I walked down the sidewalk, eventually to the stretch of sidewalk where I met the tailor above, I wondered if I was just like that unapologetically talkative dude at the restaurant. Constantly giving unsolicited advice and unasked for guidance. Probably. But what about the tailor? When he gets home after a full day of sewing, measuring and threading, does he just sit in a sofa quietly with his family? Probably not.

During this trip to Asia, a working hiatus, if you will, I’ve tried to uncover the layers that form the composition of Joakim. I like to consider myself a reflective indivisual. So this is certainly not the first time I’ve been on a introspective journey. As could be expected, it’s been an analytical, self-concious process where I’ve taken inventory of everything from habitual behavior and things that triggers emotional instability (and vice-versa) to my insatiable need for creative input/output and perceptions of what’s really important in life.

The endgame of this five week long expedition is to figure out a way to reduce non-essentials and keep laser focus on the stuff that I can influence and which will incontrovertibly add tangible physical, emotional, spiritual and creative value. I’ve still got a couple of weeks to go, but I already feel interesting discoveries and important insights have been made. I’m betting heavily on that after this trip, I can achieve a more holistic perspective and approach to life – if I try hard enough and keep to the straight and narrow path – which I’ve discovered already resides within me.

I’ve sailed with T/S Helene a couple of times and when I was younger, with a few other old sail ships of her generation.

On the first occasion, two years ago, I met the skipper and chairman of Ystad’s Sailing Club, Pelle T Olsson and his friendly crew of enthused sailors. It was then that the idea of making a short film about T/S Helene began to simmer.

Though the ship was originally built as a schooner in 1916 at the Ystad Shipyard, after a storm in 1943, which tore her rigg completely off, she was refitted as galliot (a single-masted cargo boat or fishing vessel).

T/S Helene is officially recognized by the Swedish National Maritime Museums – a public agency under the Ministry of Culture – as a historic and culturally significant vessel. In Swedish,she’s »K-Märkt«.

Shooting a film on a ship like T/S Helene had its challenges. I can imagine how hard must of been for Steven Spielberg during the film, Jaws. I used a stabilized Sony A7III with a Zeiss 18mm prime lens, a GoPro Hero 6 and Canon’s 70D equipped with a 50mm f1,4 lens for the earthbound footage. The DJI Mavic Air stood for the aerial shots. Except for the scene on top of the mast, which was so eloquently captured by the young sailor, Atle Runstål.

Gained a few new friends yesterday during a culinary safari led by buddy and colleague Thomas Engström. We ended up in the Banglamphu area where we ate at a small vegetarian restaurant tucked away in an alley a few hundred meters from Khao San Road.

In the 1980s, Khao San was a meeting place for backpackers  from all over the world. I’m sure it still is. You’d meet there, stay a few nights, enjoy some good, cheap meals and then move on to Bali, Samui, Goa, Chiang Rai or the mysterious Myanmar. It was a carefree, free-wheeling period of my life, signified by casual socializing, superficial friendships and laconic romances.

I’ve spent many hours along Khao San Road. And I’ve slept at a half dozen sketchy places on that short stub of a street. You could pay as little as 50 baht per night for a small room on one of the guest houses’ dimly lit floors. A guest house staffer would unethusiasticaly show you to a room with a small bed, a ceiling fan, wafer thin walls and a generic padlock to lock your door. Showers and bathrooms were shared and everthhing was wet, dirty, noisy and uncomfortable, but I loved it. Each guest house had a restaurant on the ground floor with cheap, decent food and most places would be packed during the evening when a couple of popular pirated films were shown back to back at 7 pm and 9 pm. on a large TV or projector screen.

It was such a stripped down existens and one that I could afford to live for a half a year or so after working a summer unloading gazillion banana boxes from rusty old ships in Gothenburg’s harbor.

Along both sides of Khao San Road were several shops specializing in cassette tapes with pirated music. Except for the usual comical misspellings, tape labels looked like the real deal and sounded pretty good, too. At least for the heaadphones connected to my beat up old Sony Walkman

This was a couple of years before the compact disc went mainstream.

Side note: According Wikipeida, The first commercial compact disc was produced on 17 August 1982. It was »The Visitors« by ABBA. The first 50 titles were released in Japan on October 1, 1982, the very first of which was a rerelease of the Billy Joel album 52nd Street.

Most Khao San cassette shops had a wide selection and I usually found some of the music I liked back then (and I still listen to, at least from time to time). Taking long bus and train rides and drowning out noise from a neighbors room in a guesthouse was easier while listening to greatest hits and mixtapes with jazz favorites, which included, Dave Grusin, Larry Carlton, Lee Ritenour and Stan Getz. I want to recall that back then a tape cost about 100 baht, or so. I usually carried about ten in my backpack and must of spent a small fortune on batteries.

After my very first trip to South East Asia, I started staying at a guest house a few klicks north of Banglamphu at the C & C Guest House first location in a temple neighborhood that I can’t remember the name of. At some point, I’d invested in a couple of small speakers that I could connect to my Walkman’s headphone jack. The sound must of been horrific.

Fast forward to 2018 and I’m laying in a nice Bangkok hotel, listening to a playlist on my iPhone with ambient electronica (chillout grooves) from Apple Music (yup, I’m one of the few folks I know of not on Spotify). Same, same. But different.

The scenes from Khao San Road in Danny Boyle’s film »The Beach« with Leonardo DiCaprio and Tilda Swinton, offers a fair depiction of Khao San Road back in the day.

This is what last night’s dinner at Chennai Kitchen here on Pan Road looked like. A few minutes earlier during my evening walkabout, it started to drizzle and I just barely made it inside before a torrential downpour flushed the sidewalks and streets. My place is just a minute and a half down the street, so I’d passed Chennai Kitchen on a daily basis and wanted to give it a go before moving on to my new digs.

I have mixed feelings about Indian food. On the one hand, it’s not something I often long for. But once I do eat it, very rarely am I disappointed. I’ve gotten a little sick a few times, which may explain my anxiety about choosing Indian before, say, Thai or Japanese.

I’ve been to the sub continent few times (but never Chennai/Madras) and love the chaos, colors and vibrancy of India. I was there most recently in April filming a beachfront yoga retreat in south Goa. During my stay, I enjoyed some of the best vegetarian food ever. The curry was spicy but never too hot and everything was always delightfully flavorful. Tasty food on a beautiful beach during a colorful sunset will inevitably add to most dining experiences.

Chennai Kitchen hasn’t exactly spent a lot of time on trivialities like interior design, lighting or tableware. The ceiling mounted florescent panels cast a dim, blueish glow across the small dining room which had four or five basic tables and chairs. But then again, guests don’t come there to appreciate the physical space of the family run restaurant. According to a huge flag hanging from the wall with the TripAdvisor logo on top and the word »EXCELLENCE« printed centerstage, the main attraction at Chennai Kitchen is undoubtedly the food.

As per usual, I asked my waiter (who might well have also been the owner) what dishes returning customers tend to order. He had no problems making a recommendation and ten or so minutes later, the tray you see above showed up. I know he mentioned lentils and tomato soup, and the rice was plain to see. But the rest? Who knows. But it was all very delicious.

I really love the bustling street life here in South East Asia. Though Tokyo’s one of my favorite Asian cities, its street life pales when compared with Phnom Penh, Hanoi and Bangkok. So many contrasts and interesting things going on.

Yesterday, I went for a 10k walk up Sathorn to the lush Lumpini Park and back via a little grocery shopping at the exuberantly ruinous Villa Market in Saladeng. Like the amateur I am from time to time, I planned my walk during the hottest part of the day and became so sweaty, that my white t-shirt soon turned gray with perspiration and stuck to my body like a second skin.

As I headed out, I immediately reflected on how hot it was. Instead of waiting for the midday heat to relent, I continued, reasoning that if I only pace myself and walk slowly enough, it’ll be ok and I’ll not sweat so much. But I soon realized there were two pivotal flaws with my logic. First of all, I can’t walk slowly and secondly, however abundant escalators are here, there is still no way for a mere mortal to avoid having to climb up a few steep stairs while walking in Bangkok. And even if I treaded ever-so carefully to the top of an overpass, with the temperate at 32 C, not becoming sweaty was never an option.

How the Thais maintain their cool all the while dressed in office outfits and suits, I do not know. They must have developed natural heat resilience genes that help their sweat glands tolerate much higher temperatures when compared with most westerners. You’ll certainly often here Thais complain about the heat, complaining about the weather is a universal thing. But I’ve never seen anyone nearly as drenched in sweat as I was during yesterday’s walk.

I’m going for my first ever yoga class in Bangkok this morning and will take my 10k walk later in the afternoon. When the sweltering heat has subsided a bit. The shot above is from one of my favorite areas in Bangkok, Rattanakosin. Which is also the oldest of the capital’s neighborhoods. More images from this fascinating city can be found here.

Speaking of Greek food, which I appreciate as much as I do Thai and Spanish cuisine, here’s a photo of a classic crispy Greek salad on a gorgeous blue plate that I took during an assignment trip to the breathtakingly beautiful island of Santorini.

When I was living in Göteborg/Gothenburg back in the 1980s and 90s, during the period when I was painting, I’d venture from my apartment at least one a week to “Saluhallen” – an old classic food hall and market where I’d buy Greek Kalamata olives, feta cheese and a loaf of Hungarian sourdough bread at a small shop called Alexandras – owned by a fellow that went by the nickname of Elvis. Adjacent to the food hall was a warehouse where a company sold vegetables at wholesale prices. I’d return to my kitchenette where oil paints and unfinished canvases waited, with all the ingredients I needed to make myself a nice big Greek salad and a bowl of hummus. It was a simple life.

Back to Santorini.

I believe I’ve posted something about this before, but when we we’re there in 2016, we shared much of the sights and attractions with hundreds of Chinese tourists. Curious as to what so many folks from China were doing on Santorini in October, we asked around a little.

The explanation from a waiter at one of the restaurants we ate at a few times was nothing less than extraordinary. According to him, the island had for about a year or so been enjoying a tremendous boom which had in fact extended the tourist season with three months. The boom, the waiter continued, was thanks to an extremely popular romantic movie in China that ended with a young couple getting engaged or married on Santorini.

Personally, I’d never seen so many variations of selfie sticks or, gleefully smiling Chinese tourists, for that matter, as during our four days in Greece. More images from that trip here.

A collection of my work related food and drink photos can be enjoyed once you click here.

When I was a kid growing up in the US, there was this tremendously popular western series called, »Kung Fu« that had a huge following among me and my friends. The show’s gauntly character, Kwai Chang Caine, was a wandering apostle of Chinese philosophy with a black belt in Kung Fu. He was portrayed by a the actor David Carradine.

The soft-spoken Caine used proverbs and aphorisms to solve conflicts that arose along his lonesome journey across the American Old West to find his half-brother. But where his fortune-cookie wisdoms didn’t persuade the antagonists, his lightning fast fists and feet certainly could – and some butt would be kicked in each episode.

Second only to reruns of “The Wild Wild West“, “Kung Fu” was a favoite I’d watch almost daily. I particularly enjoyed the flashbacks of when Caine was a young boy in rural China. Each episode would have at least one of those flashback scenes – seemingly shot with a soft lens or one that had been covered with a thin layer of vaseline – where a mentor at the Shaolin Monastery in Hunan Province where he was raised, would instruct the young Caine, referred to as »Grasshopper« in martial arts. More importantly, at least from my point of view, the mentor would emphasize that it was crucial the young apprentice be mindful of everything going on in his life; socially, emotionally, spiritually and, yes, culinarily.

For some reason, “Kung Fu” popped into my head while twisting and turning and bending my body to get to the correct configuration during one of today’s more gruelling poses.

It was my eighth consecutive Bikram Yoga class today and I suppose I momentarily lost my ability to concentrate at a 100% level. A while later, as I was regaining consciousness from Savasana (the dead body pose), I started to feel really hungry. I’d not eaten anything prior to the class and it was now almost 10:45. A wide range of food ideas started flowing over me. One of the first was pizza. I figured I could be generous and perhaps treat myself to a few slices of freshly baked pizza pie. If for no other reason, than to commentate my weeklong accomplishments on the yoga mat.

Like the next guy, I love pizza. Most people do. Pizzas smell good and if you’re lucky, they taste great, too. And a pizza is still a relatively inexpensive option when dining out.

Finding a really good pizzeria, you know, where the crust is thin, the dough chewy and the sauce zesty, can, however, be a big challenge. Quite frankly, I’ve not eaten many really good pizzas in my life and very few in Sweden. Pizzas do the job, fit the bill and fill you up…but it’s sort of the old emperor’s new clothes syndrome. Nobody seems to acknowledge (or, worse, care!) that generally speaking, pizzas are flavorless and made half-assed. Not even the most reputable pizzeria in Malmö makes a pizza worth an honorable mention – despite the wood-fired oven the owners claim makes their pizzas so fantastico. Honestly, they suck. A pizza is only as good as when there’s been some mindfulness poured into the dough, sauce, seasoning and toppings. Sadly, that’s rarely the case. People that run pizzerias, wherever in the world, seem only to be in it for the money. There is no passion. No mindfulness.

As I was slowly walking out of the yoga studio, sweaty as can be and still not sure what to eat (or, where), I came to the realization and conclusion that it would be extremely counter-productive to eat a pizza for lunch after a 90 minute workout. It would be like eating a half a loaf of bread.

On my up the stairs to my apartment and shower to cool off, I reasoned that if I’m going to be seriously mindful about what I eat, I need to look at the face value of my choices. And when it comes down to it, what is pizza if not baked bread covered with tomato paste, fermented milk (cheese) and whatever toppings. And as fulfilling as that may be, there’s actually very little nourishment in a pizza. It’s comfort food. Plain and simple. Sure, a pizza is usually easily accessible, you stuff your mouth with it, feel full and content (at times, painfully so) – and then a few hours later, whatever’s left of the pizza leaves your body without having done much for it.

Long story short (too late, I know), I ended up going back to the same place I’ve been eating at for the past week. A corner restaurant where I am served by the same sweet waiter (an older guy with a super-high pitched, Mickey Mouse voice), order the same exact dish (stir fried vegetables with tofu and steamed rice) and leave the same tip (10 baht).

Tonight, together with an old friend and his family, I’ll splurge a little and celebrate my culinary mindfulness – at Dimitris organic Greek restaurant.

The pizza above comes from a shoot I had for Smarta Kök earlier this year.

From yesterday afternoon’s long beach walk. Remarkable skies right now as we’re edging into monsun season here. I’ll never cease to be amazed by the spectacular formations created by cumulus clouds. Infinite variations of fleeting beauty. A healthy reminder of how ephemeral everything really is and how important it is to take the time to experience life in real-time – not just screen time.

Checked off Bikram Yoga session number six this morning. Might of been the best class yet for me. Woke up a little earlier today to offset some lower back pain (which I’ve had for about 24 hours) with 20 minutes of Qigong, before class began. Not sure what or where the pain stems from. Could be my slightly rigid bed – or, that I’ve pinched a nerve during one of the spine postures or  snapping situps. Could also come from jumping prematurely off a surfboard the other day. Regardless, I think doing Qigong before Yoga is the way to go until the pain subsides.

Each class has about 10-12 participants and the demographic is a really mixed bag. About half are Thai and the rest are westerners from all over Europe. Most are in the 30s or 40s with 1 or 2 being closer to my age. There’s one lanky Italian guy (his name is Lorenzo and his shorts are minimal, so I’m only assuming he’s from Italy) and a couple of pasty Russians or Ukrainians in their mid 20s.

Sometime during pose number 15 or 16 (of a total of 26) I started speculating about what motivated the others in the studio to train Bikram Yoga. What was the driving force? Weight loss? Increased stamina? Improve elasticity? Prolong life?

Like many kinds of self-generating exercises, but especially when originating from the Far East, there are usually several self-proclaimed, yet widely contested and feverishly debated benefits that are given top billing by the protagonists. But reliability is often undermined when these advantages get too much exposure. They tend to reach an almost mythological status and that’s when my alarm clock goes off.

As per usual, I’m an optimistic sceptic who prefers to take a holistic approach in favor of bombastic and unsubstantiated statements. After all, I’ve worked most of my adult life within the dubious advertising industry. So I know a thing or two about creative writing and crafting powerful, bullshit reeking headlines.

What I can tell you with half a dozen Bikram Yoga classes under my belt, is that the training has definitely increased my body’s flexibility, my ability to decrease my heart rate through breathing, and, of course, my heat tolerability. For sure I’m feeling stronger, more physically balanced and mentally focused than when I started my hot yoga challenge, about one week ago. But like I mentioned above, with a wide-angle lens on, those benefits can just as well be ascribed to my current vegan diet and extremely puritanical lifestyle.