Art and Stuff in Vienna

We spent approximately 30 hours in Vienna. And during that time we very spontaneously visited the Albertina museum, which kind of exceeded expectations.

First: this hipster picture I’m very proud of.


Next: some of the art. This one is called black on black. I’m not kidding.


And here we have some water lilies by Monet. When I was a kid I read a book about this. About a little girl with the same name as me, who travelled with her grandfather to Paris to see Monets water lilies. I was thinking about that story as we looked at this and it was a tiny bit surreal.


And here are some of Degas ballet dancers (I’m trying to make it sound like I know what I’m talking about), a painting by Matisse, and then a few others I don’t really know anything about but they look nice.


Oh, and this one’s by Picasso:


Wow. And to finish it off, some van Gogh. (I like the sketch, it feels a bit more personal than a well thought out painting).


Even though that’s nice too.


This is the type of hostel  I’ve always wanted to stay at but never have. When – well, when I feel like it – I think I’ll post about a bunch of highlights from this random travelling. It’s doing my soul good.


Something Budapest and Vienna seems to have in common is their preference for huge pillows. Not something to complain about.


Budapest views in greys and blues.


Back home

From my other home. Oldenburg, Germany. It’s where I went to my first Teenstreet camp, six years ago. And with the same schedule, venue, traditions it felt like coming home. Like it is the same faceless crowd every year, and each time you get to know some more of them, by saying hi in the shower line or accidentally eating next to each other.

It was weird this year though. So many people weren’t there who usually are. People I’ve talked to a lot lately, I couldn’t anymore. I found myself laughing and turning around to tell someone, only to find people who wouldn’t get that inside joke. I know now why people want partners in crime. People who have been to the same places you have, in the same order.

Anyway, I think it’s the type of thing where every year is and will be great, but also a new thing, and I’ll have to accept it as that.

On a completely different note; MY FRIEND IS GETTING MARRIED TOMORROW (!!!) My mom’s gonna do her hair. And here are some pictures of that, because it’s really, really pretty.

Zambia Travel Diary – Last Day

2015.09.22 02.02  There’s someone screaming on the plane. Not constantly, just every now and then, but imagine a man’s voice sounding like a baby that’s almost crying. Also the movie I just watched left me with a bit of a bad feeling. I know I shouldn’t be scared, and I don’t know if it’s offensive that I am, but I decided to take a short walk and must’ve walked past where he sat so he started screaming and clawing with his hands (he sat a few seats in by the windows though) and I jumped and almost ran a few steps. Now in my seat with my heart still hammering, but it doesn’t really matter because I don’t think I could have gone to sleep anyway and now at least I’m not stuck in some middle stage.

This made me think of what a good story idea it would be to have someone mentally ill try to take control over a plane, and then make it really disturbing (Not to judge this man in question, literally don’t know anything about him), but the story idea creeps me out even more.

09.09 We’re landing. I can’t decide how much I mind. But I do want to take a walk through the forest behind my house. Just a short one. Because that’s a part of me and my childhood, but not, never, part of the frustrating feeling I want to move away from home for. (Sidenote: The 2nd Law by Muse on low volume is a very suitable background for flying today)

16.32 It wasn’t as cold as I would’ve expected when we stepped off the plane. Sweater was quite enough even though I could feel the colder air on my face, clear and crisp. It’s definitely autumn, but the leaves are still green, the sun still brings warmth to your face and the sky was blue. It could almost be a spring day, one of those early ones when you make an attempt at walking barefoot but the stones are cold under your feet. Or an early morning at a summer scout camp, or taking a break from skiing and having your body warm and the sun reflecting on the snow to melt your icy face even though the air is cold. I love these things so very deeply.

I did take a walk when I got home, even though it had started to rain and drops slid down my face. I found some colourful leaves then, that showed me that maybe this is autumn, but I don’t mind, that’s what I had expected. I am, however, gonna take a warm, long bath now. (I realise right before getting into the bathtub that my hair still smells like Zambia)

21.52 I’ve never been very patriotic. I love and very strongly dislike my country in the way you do with things that are what you are, yet so very different and they don’t understand. I love the way the world looks now, with the possibility to be international and unbound by cultures and borders, belonging everywhere and belonging nowhere, and it was first recently that I realised that regardless of the rest of my life, I will always be Swedish. It’s too late, I’ve already spent too much time here. I still try to ignore it though, maybe because most of the time I don’t even feel it. It’s like what I wrote earlier, that I don’t feel like I’m coming home, I’m just going to a different country. Lies, lies, how could I believe that it wouldn’t affect me to see it from the sky, forests and small fields surrounded by tiny red houses, like toys my brother played with when he was younger. How could I believe I wouldn’t react to the smell of it, like I’m inhaling lakes and forests, or the way everything is green green when we drive from the airport under blue sky dotted with tiny clouds, the sun shining down on my from the side window and the air bright in my lungs.

I feel like this is the thing I will never remember, and always be taken back by. I can see it, the type of life I want, filled with travelling and differences, and the way I always forget until I’m welcomed home, like the way I was welcomed home today while walking through the forest, the rain drawing tears on my cheeks like a sacrifice, like a purification, like a reminder that you’re here and you’re tiny, these forests knew you before and will bloom for many afters.
It’s a weird thing to have, such a big home.

(And I’m happy now, curled up and warm under white sheets, with the misty and dark autumn night outside. It’s different, jumping into autumn like this, because I like time to long for things, like eating chocolate and savouring each tiny bit, but now I’ve mashed it into my mouth and life is big, grander, great and waiting for me outside the door.) Goodnight.



I’m happy now, which is nice. I’m at my grandmas summerhouse next to a lake and I got to sleep in the big glass room with all the plants. They only have candles out here. Candles and the strong scent of flowers I didn’t quite notice during the day. My body is itching with this, the need to get away, get out of places, maybe that’s why I’m happy to just fall asleep under a different roof, regardless of where I am. My wanderlust is so unpredictable, sometimes barely there and sometimes so strong that I get happy-sad just from talking about islands far away. Anyway, I’ve also been so fascinated with conversations lately. I’ve always been allergic to small talk, meaningless conversation, but I’ve realised I’ve got no clue what constitutes meaningless. A few days ago I went to pick up a friend at the airport, and on the way there I spoke for ages with another friend, conversations that might not always have been about the deepest stuff, but still were exactly the social interaction I needed. Today I spoke to someone else and I suppose the topics were sort of serious but I was just very bored. And this is no expected ’teenager bored of her family’ stuff, I just didn’t get anything out of it. Maybe it’s because the conversation was just different people speaking. It didn’t have any life in itself. Sometimes conversations soar and fly and run away to places you could never expect, and you get excited, because you want to catch up. And sometimes it’s just one person talking about something, and then someone else talking about something different. Don’t you want to spin on, dig deeper into the subject, speak fast or slow but have the sort of conversation that’s a journey instead of a silent destination? I love the run.

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Sweet dreams (or happy mornings)


I swear to God I will never forget. I could write down page after page of the inside jokes, the memories and the stories from this week, but I prefer to keep them securely in my heart, just in my head and in the messy handwriting in my moleskine. I’ve been away to a youth camp where I always seem to spend the best weeks of my life, and I do not want to be here. I do not want to be home. I want to still be there, not thinking about the fact that the disadvantage of getting to know people from all over the world is that you can consider yourself lucky if you get to meet them once a year. And now I’m stuck in this room, in this house, in this city and in my school with these people. If I could, I would relive the weeks I spend at this camp over and over again for the rest of my life. I just want to go back.


So, tomorrow I’m off travelling! Heading to France for a few days, to visit a friend in Aix en Provence and it’s the first time ever I’m flying somewhere on my own. So if this blog is suddenly and mysteriously abandoned, I’ve probably crashed, been kidnapped, stepped on the wrong plane or something else along those lines. Just giving you a heads up. Image

Seriously though, look at this place!? I’m there to visit my friend, but her living in a beautiful french town is quite a bonus. And I love travelling, especially going places on my own, it’s terrifying and exhilarating how everything depends on me and I feel like it’s a test, a shot at seeing how it is to walk the earth alone. Not belonging anywhere except for on the ground I stand on in that second. And then there’s the contrast of going to visit someone, where you suddenly put all your trust in that person, who’s the only one who actually knows the language and the people there. Trust her to take care of everything. And we’re gonna have the best of times. Image