Skip to main content

travel memoirs

old pictures and memories of what has been
the camera is the greates tool for capturing a moment
often we don't remember so much of what we experienced..things fade after a while
our photos serve as instant journeys back to that specific moment







Cape Town
wow, what a magic place!
i kept saying to myself each and every day that i spent there, that i could and would and will live there one day. at least for a year; soak in this magnificent place, with the light, the powerful nature, the people, and the dramatic contradiction that you are faced with all the time while there.
my first journey outisde of Eurpoe- innocently backpacking to Thailand and i ending up in the north of Sumatra, in the province of Aceh. war.. but the people, the energy, the food, th nature, the place..wow. not from this world!


Burma! did i really go there? was that really me?
sometimes i marvel at the magic of my sometimes impulsive decision-making. i follow a feeling, not a logic. i go where my heart tells me to go. not logical, sometimes dangerous, but always an incredible andf life-changing experience.


ah, the people of the desert..Sinai..
magical nights, days full of laughter and wise people.
diving in the red sea- silence and synchronization with the breath of our planet.
blue, sun, dry, hot...and cold beer.



i once read a travel quote that said "i have seen more places than i remember and i remember more places than i have seen"
i actually don't understand this quote, techincally speaking. but i feel the words deep inside me- i feel what the person who wrote this means.
i also have travelled so much that i sometimes marvel at the moments i glimpse when i look at old photographs. and sometimes i hear myself telling stories from a journey, which i can actually not remember the details of. i just feel a string of moments and experinces tied together, like pork balls on a barbeque stick from the night market in Chiang Mai- and i love dipping them in the hot and sticky sweetchilisauce to spice them up.

i love travelling.
i would not be where i am, or who i am, without all the challenges, experiences, drama, love, and most of all the people, that i met, on the of road my travelling life.






Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Linda meets a "real" sadhu on the banks of the Ganges

So it's early morning, before sunrise, in Varanasi. i'm staying at the Yogi lodge in goudalia, the old, smelly, labyrinth of Varanasi old city. my travel companion, Katja, is sleeping sweetly on her thin, stained mattress, bundled up with a trillion dusty blankets.
i'm hunting for a real Aghori baba.
I did my dissertation at uni about the Pashupatas- the really nasty, crazy renunciates, who follow Shiva. they eat dead flesh, they live at the burial grounds, they smear their bodies with ashes from the funeral pyre. they drink water from a human skull, and they behave in different funny, weird ways, to be like Shiva. they scare people and they give respect.
apparently, these sadhus only exist today in Nepal, in the Pasupatinath.
but, I had read and heard, that another, related tribe of sadhus, called "Aghoris", still could be found in Varanasi, close to the burning ghat, where human bodies were burning day and night.

So I was walking, early that morning, toward…

the "fake" aghori baba turns out to be "real"

ok. I wrote this blog a few years ago. the moment was one of December 2008- so a while back.
I was up early, sunrise, just me and the monkeys and the pilgrims and the babas and the chai-wallas...and i guess yeah, it's normal to be up at sunrise in Varanasi, despite the fog, despite the cold- or maybe precisely BECAUSE of these things. No point staying in bed. The monkeys wake us up anyway and it's goddamn freezing, so let's get a warm, energizing chai, and let's pray that we get out of this suffering called life- where it's cold, foggy, and the annoying monkeys steal our bananas.



So I was on the lookout for this type of dude. I had written my dissertation at uni (SOAS, amazing SOAS!) about these kind of babas, admittedly not existent anymore in India, but in Nepal, in the Pashupatinath, yes. I had been told by my Hinduism professor that yes, some of them did still exist in Benares, eating dead flesh, and doing their weird laughing. I love it! How weird and creepy…

getting drunk on absinthe in Bar Marsella

Absinthe
Also called the Green Fairy, from the French- La Fee Verte. Others called it the Green Goddess or the Green Muse.
But the Green Fairy isn't just another name for absinthe; it is a methaphor for artistic transformation and enlightenment. It opens up the mind to a freer state, a place where exploration of poetical pathways and new inspirational ideas can grow wildly. To the Parisian bohemians of late the 1800's, the Green Fairy was a guide into their artistic world, where new, groundbreaking art was created. Absinthe was to the artists of the time what smoking weed was for the hippies in the 60's; their "revolutionairy guide" and what they believed was the substance that "opened their minds".
Artists, poets and writers reached for a glass of the Green Fairy for inspiration to their creative works and during "the green hour", in the late afternoon, many glasses were consumed in Parisian bars and cafes- but not just that, apparently, s…

I finally went on that life-changing trip

I first came to Puglia in 2008, I think it must have been early October. I'd had an awesome time in Tuscany and Rome and Calabria and was arriving there by train, filled to the max with beautiful experiences and electric connections, not really expecting much else than just a half-boring yoga teacher training that I had signed up for, not really knowing what else to do with my life after finishing my degree in Indian Philosophy at SOAS, University of London. 

As the train cut through Basilicata and into Puglia, the amount of olive trees that swooshed past started to be shocking. After a while, I realised that it just wasn't going to end. Endless amount of them, large, proud, thick. Planted in perfect rows, with no sigh of the end, or the horizon. 

My eyes widened as I started to think I was hallucinating. Was I going insane?
It went on for hours. Endless olive trees. I felt as if there was a movie on repeat outside of the train window. 

As the train finally stopped in Bari, I wait…