Jokers Cave of Games

The electrical wiring of places like this puts a different standard on the table than what we perhaps tend to be used to. Facades of buildings are withered and broken with garish signs attempting to cover it up.  A concept that tends to fascinate me as a Westerner, whenever I go to Asia, Africa or the likes, is the local market. The way people in the destination actually live their everyday lives. Of course, it is sometimes hard to reach beyond the tourist market and find the real ones, but that is also part of the challenge of experiencing the other culture. We go to other cultures, other countries and try to get a sample of how they live their lives, but the more the destination is adapted for tourists, the less of that we actually get. When I looked through the travel agency's recommendations for eating out, for instance, one of the most highly recommended places was Viking Pizzeria. Yep, for that ultra-Swedish feeling, it was the place to go if you were Scandinavian, ...

Vacation. For me, it's always been hard to relax, to take a vacation and really enjoy it. Guess I am tense that way. Still, to arrive way early in the morning, just after sunrise, and feel the 35-degree heat blasting down with palmtrees of the jungle swaying all around you and the gentle seasurf rolling across the beach, that helps a lot. The Apsara Beachfront resort left something to be desired, for sure. The rainforest is aptly named and rain will quite often crash down unlike anything we are used to in Scandinavia. And it eats buildings up. The locals tend to have very waterresistant houses, putting energy into the lightweight roofs, while walls are very often totally non-existant. A hotel can't really have that luxury, since we tourists tend to keep valuables and a sense of privacy with us, no matter where we go.  The first room we got lasted for the day. During the night, we slept very poorly and awoke to strange, pattering sounds. Vendela thought the room was swarming w...

There will be no order to the pictures or how they are presented. Just basically spur of the moment and the story will unwind with no regard for narrator thread.  This first picture is from the first surprise, from the room. Imagine storming in and rushing into the bathroom the first thing, like you do, only to see the dark wall light up as your roommate starts to unpack. And around that time, you're surely not able to lift yourself off the porcelain throne :) Who has a full-wall window between the bedroom and the toilet? One-way mirror would be something else, but this? And to make matters more interesting, our friends Darren and Kelly were actually upgraded into a room that was more or less the same, except there was no window! No… how shall I put it… soundproofing. The next picture is the Ila Lounge, the bar for us who went All-Inclusive. Truth be told, we shouldn't have. It wasn't really cutting costs and you did get somewhat tired of the food in the rest...

Just a little thread, a little reminder, about what life is all about. Never forget, it's about being happy. Here are some thoughts on how to be just that... For all of you who need it...  ·           Social bonds. I happen to be somewhat, if not overly, introverted by nature. Some would perhaps disagree but considering the definition of introversion, I am. That doesn’t mean that I don’t like people, or interactions. In fact, even though I am introvert by nature, good relationships provide the strongest base for life satisfaction. Instead of surrounding myself with innumerable friends, I choose to have a few deeper connections and really nurture them. Like my family! ·           Make a difference. By making a positive difference in the life of others, I allow them to make a positive difference in mine. By helping and reaching out, I increase my own feeling of self-worth and add meaning to my pitiful lit...

The breakfast. Breaking the nightly fast was something we were looking forward to. Denied the opportunity to eat in the Bistro, we were somewhat starved when the morning finally came. Interestingly, there had been several notes celebrating the splendor of the breakfast, but surprisingly little information providing practical details. In fact, when we went down and started yanking the door, a young lady provided us with the information that it would be another 15-20 minutes before breakfast was served. And then she looked at us and tried to lock the door, as if we would decide to sneak in while her back was turned to snatch a scoop of Kalles kaviar perhaps. Unfortunately, the door wouldn't lock, even after her insistent attempts, so she instead placed a small ashtray outside the door to stop us. Let me just add, for a moment here, that I live in a modern world. I have seen zombie movies, alright? This barrier wouldn't really suffice to stop a horde of ravenous proles, clawing to...

Communities. Society. Collectives. Social gatherings. For some people, these words give comfort and meaning. Together is the banner under which we all gather. There are enormous advantages to be had from a gathering of people, to be sure, and I will laud these in time. Presently, however, I wish to comment on the Towel Event. Towels - are they a sodalitarian resource or the individual's property? I have lived alone for most of my life, and thusly come to cherish the bastion of sanctity constituted by the comfort of my own towel. It smells of me, and I know the creases and wrinkles like the back of my hand. That towel is part of a elite selection of towels that serve only me, personally. Enter the Dames. Yep, that's what I will call the two ladies who govern my life. These Dames seem to consider towels a form of common amenity. You come out of the shower, you grab the one that is free. It's that easy. And the situation grows even more complicated when you consider the fac...

Let us start where we left off. Slow train bed and breakfast. We passed Kutens Bensin, the designated waypoint for turning off the main road (wherein is meant a small asphalt road, barely enough for two cars to pass each other. Then there was a small metal ball on top of a stonewall, a sign that with a shaking handwritten scrawl declared "Slow Train". Turning it, we came upon a garden no less. Parking on the grass, to one side there was a barn with a side that said "Eater" and to the other, a standard residence. The garden was in rickety shape, overgrown and ignored. The cellar entrance to the house had been opened, or swung open by itself, with a sign plastered over it that said "Jimmy Polke Välkommen Hem". For some reason, it brought to mind the return of a lost love one, who spent the last years in jail. Anyway, we moved around the residence to the main entrance and peeked suspiciously at the door. It looked just like somebody lived there. No signs o...