Monday 31 March 2014

Mormor

Søndag var fla'-u'-dag. Efter en enkelt dag hjemme på matriklen gik turen mod Kbh hvor der var firmadag med leverandør-workshops hele dagen, og middag, drinks og FEST om aftenen :-)

Fabelagtig god dag som endte med ømme fusser og træt hoved, præcis som det skal være. Søndag var det tåget da jeg kom hjem, og det kaldte jo nærmest på en lur. Da jeg vågnede var tågen væk, den sidste feriedag ligeså, og i dag har hverdagen så meldt sig med eftertryk. Kære Lufthansa, hvis I vil droppe denne uges strejke, ville det ikke gøre mig noget. 

@N ~ after one day at home I travelled to Copenhagen on Saturday for a full day of supplier workshops followed by company party, dinner, drinks and DANCE in the evening. Fab day; my feet were killing me by the end of it. When I came home Sunday the weather was really foggy which I took as a hint that I should snuggle up on the couch. When I woke up, the fog was gone and so was most of the day. This morning the alarm went off at 5, and now I'm well and truly back in the swing of things. On that note: dear Lufthansa, should you feel like cancelling this week's strike, I won't mind at all :-)

My Saturday night:

My Sunday afternoon:

Bemærk slumretæppet - det er strikket af Familien Hittemis' Mormor, som jeg også får lov at "låne" lidt. Hun er en dejlig dame som bl.a. engang, da jeg kortvarigt brokkede mig over mangel på kvalificerede mandfolk sagde: ved du hvad, egentlig er du jo forskånet for meget. Dejlig mormor :-)

@N ~ my cozy blanket was knitted by my friend's Granny. She's an awesome old lady who once, when I moaned about the lack of eligible men, said "you know, all things considered, you're spared a lot of trouble". She's great :-)


Posted from iPhone 

Friday 28 March 2014

The loot

First suitcase delivered on door step before I woke up this morning. Second suitcase (which was mistakenly not loaded on delivery truck) came just now, delivered by a guy in his own car on way home from work. Good service ! 
Have unpacked now - it's clear that I tend to buy edible souvenirs ...



Souvenirs fra Iran (forsinkede kufferter ankommet i god behold)

It must be love

Nothing better than a barista who makes heart lattes


Thursday 27 March 2014

Welcome home

En liden hilsen fra intercitytoget fra Kbh til Jylland. Jeg rejser let i dag, da flyselskabet meget gavmildt har tilbudt at levere mine to kufferter til døren - i morgen, godt nok, men så slipper jeg da for at slæbe. Så det er æ' så ringe endda :-)

Det har været en skøn tur. Nu skal jeg lige sortere lidt billeder - så I ikke skal bombarderes med samtlige 6-700, +/-

@N ~ blogging from train on way home. Am travelling light; the airline felt it would be too heavy for me to cart two suitcases in and out of train so they kindly offered to deliver them to my door. Meanwhile, my luggage is enjoying an extended stay at Vienna airport. If they're searched, I hope the staff will squeeze in a little Sachertorte or two :-)

I've had a lovely, lovely trip. All that remains now is to sort through the 6-700 photos I took....

Here's one - blurry but happy


Wednesday 26 March 2014

Sounds of Iran

These sounds may lull you to sleep:

1 - cicadas
2 - the garbage van, if you happen to be going to bed around 00:30
3 - a couple of car alarms going off

And you may wake up to these sounds:

1 - an ancient truck spluttering into life. I was all "you'd better give up mate", but clearly, am too pessimistic.
2 - the call for prayer from a nearby mosque
3 - a couple of car alarms going off

Fifty shades

Eskimoerne siges at have 50 ord for sne. Hård sne, blød sne, ny sne, gammel sne, knase-sne, osv. osv.

Jeg tror, iranerne har 50 udtryk for hvor meget de holder af en. Aldrig har jeg hørt samtaler så intenst krydret med diverse udtryk for kærlighed eller venskab, og mit kendskab til sproget er vel at mærke begrænset, så jeg fanger højst sandsynligt ikke dem alle.  Selv en venlig mand, der skulle vise os vej på gaden, fik lige flettet 2-3 høflige næh-hvor-er-I-nogle-rare-damer flettet ind i vejvisningen (det skal lige siges, at ikke alle den slags udtryk er lige hjertevarme; nogle af dem er bare høflige. Så det var ikke sådan at han var ved at fri til os eller noget).  

Nedenfor kan du se en brøkdel af de gode sager der kommer på bordet når der ventes gæster. 

@ N ~ they say Eskimos have fifty words for snow. Hard snow, soft snow, new snow, old snow, crunchy snow, etc. etc.

I belive Iranians have about 50 expressions for how much they care about you. I have never heard conversations so intensely peppered with various set phrases and expressions about love or friendship - and remember, my knowledge of the language is very limited, so I probably only catch about half of them.  It's just the way they talk here.  Even a man who was giving us directions when we were out driving managed to include 2-3 affectionate terms in the brief conversation.  I should probably add that there are various degrees of these "terms of endearment"; some of them are just polite and not expressions of undying love, so he wasn't proposing to us or anything (as far as I could hear)  ;-)

The pic shows a tiny percentage of the goodies that are put on the table when you're expecting company.


Tuesday 25 March 2014

Turns out I may have a gene for shopping ...

Er tilbage fra Tehran - og har været internetløs i nogle dage, så beklager tavsheden. Indlægget bliver kort; det skal op før internettet måske ryger igen. Men det har været en skøn tur - med gamle damer som dansede og spillede musik; ufattelige mængder god mad, restauranter hvor der ikke var borde og stole men "senge", og en shoppingtur efter antikviteter hvor vi var inde i den samme butik ikke mindre end tre gange uden at jeg blev det umulige barn, der bare ville hjæææææm (min søster vil vide at dette er et mindre mirakel).

I skal dog lige have fornøjelsen af mig som chic Iranian lady (-wannabe)


@N ~ back from Tehran, and have suffered a couple of days without internet (certain members of the household suffer a great deal more than I do ...).

This will be a very short post; it's mostly just to say hi and let you know that I went on a shopping trip the other day that involved no less than three visits to the same shop AND I did not do my sulky child act, the way I normally do when a shopping trip lasts more than 30 minutes. My sister will testify that this is a small miracle.  Other than that, Tehran was new friends, great fun, loads of wonderful food, visits with old ladies who would suddenly start dancing and singing, restaurants that did not have tables and chairs but "beds", and so many other things I cannot begin to list them all. Truly great.

...and I cannot believe it, but tomorrow is my last day here.

Enjoy the pic of me as wannabe-chic-Iranian-lady


Friday 21 March 2014

Money money money

Jeg er nu millionær. Millionøse. Jeg har vekslet feriepenge og modtaget et seddelbundt så stort, at Joakim Von And ville få akut lyst til en svømmetur. To millioner var der. Plus det løse. De rækker ikke til et tæppe, men til gengæld rækker de til en hel del safran :-)

Turen til vekslekontoret er et eventyr. Det er nytårsdag, og det myldrer med folk på gaden. De køber blomster, sabzeh, tøj, mad, og frugt i så enorme mængder at det forekommer mig, at de alle må være på en eller anden juicekur.

Vi maser os igennem - mig bærende på mine millioner - og standser ved en gadehandler som sælger SAMANOO - en sjov slags pasta eller cre,e, lavet af spirede hvedekerner. Jeg får straks stukket en smagsprøve i munden og afkræves min ærlige mening ("nom!"). Der ryger to bægre i indkøbsposen og vi når max 10 meter længere hen før endnu en lækkerbisken lokker. Denne gang er det majs med -- ehm, noget smeltet ost. Noget salt og peber. Og et eller andet hemmeligt krydderi. Hold nu op hvor smager det godt!

Det bliver pludselig lidt svært at tumle det hele, for ud over majshalløjsaet får jeg også stukket en isvaffel i hånden. "Velkommen! Vi er glade for at du er her! Godt nytår!".  Siddepladser er der ingen af, men de andre kunder får lige lov at vente, mens der lyn-kreeres et sted at hvile måsen på et trappetrin. Solen skinner, vi spiser is, og bliver gjort stads af mens vi venter på vores vogn (i dagens anledning kører vi en model med fungerende speedometer).

I det hele taget bliver der gjort stor stads af en hernede. Hver gang vi går ud bliver vi standset ca. hvert andet minut af nogen, der skal hilse på A's mor - hun er tilsyneladende venner med hele byen. Og så skal de da også lige se hvem gæsten er. Handleture er sociale begivenheder, og jeg hygger mig stort mens jeg lytter til diskussioner om stridbare svigermødre, en datter der skal giftes, og anden god snak. Ikke at jeg kan følge samtalerne helt, men jeg får små oversættelser hist og pist og keder mig ikke et eneste sekund.

I går aftes fejrede vi nytår. Det er nu 1393. Vi spiste lækker mad og tog utallige fotos foran HAFT SEEN bordet. HAFT betyder 7. SEEN er bogstavet S. De 7 S'er. Det traditionelle nytårsbord er udsmykket med 7 ting, som alle begynder med S, og som alle symboliserer et eller andet godt eller sundt for det nye år. Billeder følger når jeg kommer hjem!

PS - de næste dage skal vi besøge familie i Teheran. Hvor jeg nok ikke har adgang til nettet - I hører fra mig når jeg er hjemme igen.

og PPS - beklager hvis der er mange slåfejl. Jeg springer ret let henover redigeringen :-)



@ N - HAPPY NEW YEAR! It's now the year 1393 and I hope it will bring you much happiness!

I am now a millionaire. I exchanged my Euros for Rials and ba-boom - millionaire! I was given a wad of bank notes and a license to shop, so to speak.  I don't have enough for a big Persian carpet, but plenty for saffron, which is all I want anyway (well, that, and new clothes...)

First stop after the money exchange is a street vendor who sells SAMANOO - a sweet kind of paste made from germinated wheat seeds (I think). He immediately gives me a sample and wants to know if I like it - yup, I do, and it's also something that belongs on the New Year's table so we buy two jars. We only progress about ten meters before another delicacy beckons. This time it is a kind of sweet corn mixed with cheese and a secret spice. Yum!! "Welcome! We're happy to have you here! Happy New Year!" It's hard not to feel special. It's also a bit hard to juggle shopping bags, millions, camera, and fast food, when the guy suddenly insists on treating us to ice cream as well. There aren't any chairs around but he leaves the other customers waiting for a bit while he clears a bit of space on the steps next to his stalls.

We sit there in the sunshine eating ice cream while waiting for our car, and life could be a great deal worse.

I'm getting used to every shopping trip taking at least twice as long as it would in Denmark. Whenever we leave the apartment we're stopped every two minutes by someone who wants to say hello to A's mother - she is friends with most people in town I think. They are also curious to see who I am, and I am greeted with warm welcomes and big smiles from all of them - even if they don't necessarily speak a word of English.

Shopping is a sort of social event and I'm having a great time listening to-but not quite understanding- conversations about difficult mothers-in-law, daughters who are getting married, etc. etc.

Last night was New Years Eve. We had delicious food and took loads of pictures and self-portraits in front of the HAFT SEEN table. HAFT SEEN means 7 S'es and the table is decorated with seven things, all starting with the letter S, which symbolise something good or healthy for the new year. I'll post pictures when I get home.

The next couple of days will be spent visiting relatives in Tehran. Not sure I'll have access to the internet there - I'll be in touch as soon as I do :-)

Thursday 20 March 2014

The search for chic

Nytåret er den travleste tid i en frisørsalon. Alligevel er det første jeg får en modtagelse med åbne arme, og tilbud om kaffe eller te, mens jeg bliver mast ind i køen af damer der skal nytårsstudses. Og jeg siger ja, for godt nok havde jeg derhjemmefra tænkt at det var ved at være på tide at få ordnet lokkerne, men hernede føles det (som utvivlsomt nævnt tidligere) meget akut. Så efter en formiddagslur forekommer en udflugt til den lokale salon at være en helt rimelig plan.

Som sagt er der travlt. Og vi ender med at være der en hel eftermiddag. Men jeg keder mig ikke et sekund, for selv om jeg ikke kan sproget, er det som at være med til en privat pigefest. Der er stemning og god musik, der er damer der får vokset overskæg, og mest fascinerende af alt: en pige fjerner ved hjælp af sytråd i en snedig løkke alle de småbitte hår vi har på kinder, hage, pande, you name it. Jeg får en lille prøvebehandling for lige at mærke det (ikke decideret smertefuldt; heller ikke vanvittig behageligt) men afstår fra den store tur. Jeg kan godt huske første gang jeg barberede ben - så har man sat noget i gang, man er nødt til at blive ved med, og jeg kender ingen sådanne sytrådskunstnere i Danmark. I øvrigt vil jeg gerne forblive i illusionen om at hårfjerning i ansigtet ikke er noget jeg behøver at bekymre mig om. Endnu.

Flere timer senere har jeg forsøgt at fortælle gudesmuk pige at en næseoperation virkelig ikke er nødvendig, har øvet mit "godt nytår" mange gange i praksis, samt fået smukke velformede øjenbryn med i købet, hvorefter jeg tager min nye frisure og går direkte ud i en mægtig regnbyge. Min timing kan ingen i verden tage fra mig.

@N ~ I went to bed around 6AM when I got here. About five hours later I am awake, being fed a delicious breakfast, and generally up for anything. So a trip to the hair dressers seems just the ticket. Especially considering the ever-growing feeling of un-chic-ness I have lamented before.

New Years is without a doubt their busiest time but I am welcomed with smiles, open arms, and offers of cups of tea as I sit down to watch the goings-on while they squeeze me into their over-booked schedule. We end up spending the entire afternoon there and I wholeheartedly mean it when I say that this was better than any cultural outing we could have gone on. I am not bored for a second. Event though I don't understand half of what's being said, it's very much like being at a private girls party. There's laughter, singing, music and jokes. There are ladies getting facial waxes. And most fascinating of all, there is a girl who removes facial hair using only a piece of thread in a sort of intricate loop. It works just like tiny scissors or maybe tweezers, but isn't actually painful I find. But she only does a few sample "snips" on me as I don't particularly want to launch a hair removal habit which will be very difficult to keep up in Denmark. All too well I remember the first time I shaved my legs. It's like unleashing a monster. And I don't know any thread artist back home. Also, I'd kind of like the illusion that this, at least, is an area of beauty maintenance I don't need to concern myself with. Yet.

It's several hours later when we exit the salon. I've tried to explain to a goddess-like beauty that really, a nose job is not necessary; I've practiced my "happy new year" numerous times; and my eye brows look great. As the heavens open and heavy rain flattens my new haircut, I pride myself that my timing is at least as impeccable as my well-groomed eye brows. Hey-ho.

Other news: I have corrected my notes on sabzi polow (an Iranian rice-and-herb dish for which I had botched up my notes). We're off to exchange my money tomorrow and then I will become a millionaire, of sorts. And I'm getting used to the traditional middle eastern toilet, which makes me prouder of myself than I can say.

Sent from my iPad

I always travel with wrestlers

Det er lunt da vi lander. Men måske skyldes temperaturen mest alle dem der står i flyets midtergang og sveder utålmodigt - broen vil ikke som gate-personalet vil, så der ases og mases, så vi kan komme ud af flyet og ind i The Islamic Republic of Iran.

Endelig lykkes det og jeg traver gennem lufthavnsgange som ligner alle andre og ender i en paskontrols-kø som umiddelbart også ligner alle andre. Bortset fra, at damerne i den anden kø ser meget smartere ud end damerne i min kø. I vores iver efter at se tækkelige ud er vi alle hoppet i vores kedeligste kluns. At tækkelig kan tolkes på mere end én måde opdager vi nu. Og det vil ikke være første eller sidste gang I hører mig brokke mig over egen kusinen-fra-landet-fremtoning. Jeg føler mig uomtvisteligt ærbar, og ekstremt u-chik.

Manden i paskontrollen scanner mit pAs, stempler det. Og vips så er jeg endelig rigtig i Iran. Kufferten ankommer sådan relativt hurtigt, og Imam Khomeini Airport forekommer mig meget lidt eksotisk - indtil jeg skal ud. Så føles det hele pludselig ekstremt mellemøstligt. Der er total flaskehals, folk maser, der står militærfolk på række, og en masse mennesker klapper og råber. Forklaringen? Jeg er ankommet præcist samtidig med landets wrestling team, som vender hjem fra Dubai (?) med hæder og medaljer.

Tyve meter længere fremme ser jeg et kendt ansigt, og vi tager turen hjem i ældre men utvivlsomt utrolig stabil vogn. Jeg noterer med tilfredshed at både olielampen og en eller anden anden lampe lyser konstant, mens speedometernålen på intet tidspunkt forlader 20 km/t. Da jeg senere ser en mand lige stikke armen ud af vinduet og med en løs vinduesvisker lige skrabe forruden relativt ren, SÅ synes jeg endelig at spændingen fra 1001 nats eventyr er ved at være der :-)

Mere i morgen.


@N ~ I spend the last five minutes of the approach to Imam Khomeini Airport fiddling with my scarf. I know that Iranian ladies aren't all that fussy, but I'd really hate it if it fell off just as I was being interrogated by the world's grumpiest immigration officer. So I fiddle. And sweat a little because we have to wait around ten minutes at the gate before the air bridge "docks" correctly. But finally we disembark and I find myself trotting through airport corridors that looks just like every other airport corridor I've ever walked through and I end up at an Immigrations queue that also looks pretty much like any other queue.

Except there's a significant difference between the smartly dressed ladies in the Iranian queue, and the rest of us in the Foreigners queue. THEY all look like they just stepped off the plane from Paris, WE all look like we just stepped off the four o'clock train. Turns out you can interpret "modest clothing" in more ways than one. This is the beginning of my feeling decidedly un-chic, and it won't be the last time you'll hear me moaning about that here :-)

The immigrations officer stamps my passport and FINALLY, after years of wanting to go, I am in The Islamic Republic of Iran.  I don't have to wait very long for my suitcase and everything feels very - dare I say it? - like any airport in Europe or the US. Until it's time to exit the arrivals hall. Then it all goes Middle East. Total bottleneck. People pushing. Lots of army personnel hanging around. People cheering and clapping. The explanation for all this? I've arrived at the same time as the Iranian wrestling team who are returning from Dubai (I think) with medals and glory.

Twenty meters ahead I spot a familiar face, break free from possible wrestler fame, and we set out for home in an elderly but without a doubt trustworthy car, owned by a neighbour who owns a minicab service. I note that several lamps, including the oil lamp, are on, whilst the speedometer consistently shows 20 kms per hour, regardless of actual speed. Later, I spot another driver stick his arm out of the window and kind of-sort of clean his windscreen with a loose windscreen wiper. Finally, the excitement from Shezarade's fairy tales start to invade reality. Iran, one is in you. As they say. And so far, loving every minute of it.

More anon!

Sent from my iPad


Wednesday 19 March 2014

Iran, je suis arrivée!!

Her er wifi - ikke vanvittig hurtigt, men nok til et hurtigt "prøveindlæg" og et billede af sabzeh; en uundværlig del af nytårsudsmykningen her.

Min første dag har jeg overvejende tilbragt med at hænge ud i en frisørsalon, lytte til damesladder, blive klippet og få ordnet øjenbryn. Men jeg føler mig stadig i ekstrem grad som den noget uelegante kusine fra landet. Næste gang jeg skal herned, skal jeg have de høje hæle og de tætsiddende klude med, og det hele skal i øvrigt være indkøbt i Paris. Så MÅSKE jeg kan følge med de meget chikke damer hernede :-)



@ N ~ quick post to say hi! The internet isn't terribly fast, but it's here. I won't be uploading too many pics though, before I get home.

I spent most of today - my first day here - hanging out at a hairdresser's salon. You will not find a better place for getting to know people. OK so I don't understand half of it, but gossip is sort of universal and I had the greatest time. I also got a haircut and my eyebrows done. Now I just need some new clothes (from Paris, alternatively Tehran) and then maybe I won't look so much like a homeless person someone's poor cousin from the countryside anymore.  Am seriously behind on chic-ness here.

Otherwise, all is well. I'm thoroughly enjoying myself here!

Tuesday 18 March 2014

I clearly need new clothes


Tur-rapport fra Wien, hvor jeg har tilbragt umanerlig dejlig eftermiddag med at indtage talrige kopper kaffe og kun lidt kage (.....) i det dejlige solskinsvejr. Jeg er på vej til Iran -HURRA- og benyttede lige lejligheden til at krydse Østrigs hovedstad af på listen over byer jeg ikke har været i. Det har jeg nu, og det smagte dejligt. 

Eneste lille ting: for et par timer siden lå jeg mageligt henslængt på en parkbænk og læste, da en lille pige gik forbi med sin mor, pegede på mig og sagde noget i retning af "vielleicht hat sie auch kein zu Hause?"

Ligner åbenbart en hjemløs. 


@N ~ have spent lovely sunny afternoon in Vienna, en-route to Iran. Have sampled the Viennese coffee, limited my intake of cakes, practiced my German (every time I said "vielen Dank", they replied "you're welcome". Something tells me ze pronunciation needs working on). 

Before going back to the airport I took a pit stop on a park bench to lie down and read. I was quite enjoying myself when a little girl walked past with her mum and I heard her ask (in German obvs.) "perhaps she also doesn't have a home?"

Hmmmm.  Apparently I look like a homeless person. But I'm sure the fashion conscious Iranians will sort me out in no time. Well, I hope so. 

Saturday 15 March 2014

Vi bringer et kort reklameindslag



Jeg har netop overværet generalprøven på årets dilettant i det lokale forsamlingshus - en samling af provinsens største stjerner opfører i aften og på fredag "Ballade i Pigepensionen" - om crossdressing, smudslitteratur, moralens opretholdelse, og romantiske forviklinger. Happy ending er garanteret :-)

Dette er ikke helt almindelige piger ...

Men undervises i "udviklingslæren" skal de,
uanset hvad lærerinden mener om litteraturen

Undervisningsmaterialet er forsynet med
... illustrationer

Og ganske uventet opstår der ...

sød musik mellem militæret og den ærbare lærerinde

Lidt mere crossdressing bidrager til forvirringen

Men lur mig om ikke det endte lykkeligt


The travel bugs bite

Alle mennesker har forskellige stress-triggere. Den suverænt værste for mig er, når jeg skal udfylde + indsende en visumansøgning.  Alt andet er jeg totalt sej til; og det jeg ikke kan - det "winger" jeg. Overskud er mit mellemnavn. Bare ikke når jeg skal søge visum til eksotiske lande.  Stress-svedende sidder jeg med vilde øjne og nidstirrer ansøgningen for at være 120% sikker på, at jeg har udfyldt hvert eneste felt og ikke ved en fejl er kommet til at krydse af ved ja ud for spørgsmålet om der er sindssyge i familien. Det tager mig 2 dage overhovedet at få den ud af døren, fordi jeg skal dobbeltchecke alting omtrent tyve gange.  Processen forsinkes yderligere af, at man meget ofte ikke må udfylde ansøgningsskemaet i hånden. Hvilket i princippet er OK, men når et af spørgsmålene er "which other countries have you been to?" og pladsen til besvarelse ikke er bredere end kolonne-vidden på denne blog, så kan det blive en anelse udfordrende....  Min løsning?  Jeg tilføjer en ekstra linie - skrevet på mit højtelskede gamle hakkebræt.  Hvad skulle man dog gøre uden en skrivemaskine anno 1959?

Når så jeg er blevet enig med mig selv om, at smukkere bliver den ansøgning altså bare ikke, går jeg ned på strøget og investerer mindre formue i pasbilleder. Herefter vandrer jeg ind på posthuset, tilbringer ungefär en halv time med manisk at checke, at jeg nu har printet samtlige af de påkrævede bilag ud, hvorefter jeg bruger en anden formue i frimærker på at sende mit højtelskede pas ud i det blå med anbefalet post.

Så sveder jeg lidt igen, for et menneske som mig, der altid har sit pas med (man ved jo aldrig, hvornår man kan blive tvunget til at forlade landet i en fart ...), er det meget skræmmende at overlade det til først postvæsnet, som utvivlsomt vil sende det med et postfly der bare forsvinder i luftrummet over Fyn, og herefter en ambassade, som - er jeg helligt overbevist om - vil lægge det i den nederste skrivebordsskuffe, ignorere det i ugevis, for herefter at tage det frem og stemple ***ACCESS DENIED*** henover det.


...

Jamen, jeg ved da heller ikke hvad der sker i mit hoved. Normalt er jeg relativt rationel, men jeg har altså lige det her blanke område i min hjerne, hvorfra al fornuft forlængst er udvandret.

Og nu er mit pas naturligvis for længst hjemvendt igen. Ledsaget af venlige hilsner fra ambassaden, som både ønsker god tur, lover godt vejr, og gerne vil høre hvordan turen gik, når jeg kommer hjem.

Det er jeg helt sikker på, at I også gerne vil høre om :-)



@ N ~ my passport has been on a little adventure!

I usually think of myself as a fairly calm and rational person. This may or may not be correct, of course. But the one definite exception is when I'm in the process of applying for a visa.  My own private stress trigger numero uno.

First, I pore over the application for about two days. Reading and re-reading the questions; checking and re-checking that I did not accidentally tick the "yes" box next to the question "does insanity run in your family?".

What doesn't really help me is that most embassies write that you cannot fill in the application by hand. They have a very helpful pdf form that you fill in online. Which is of course very well, except often they ask which countries you've been to before, and set aside one line about the width of this blog for the answer.  My solution to this?  I fill in as much as I can online, then print it out and add an extra line underneath on my ancient type writer :-)   and then I hope that when they see my occupation (travel agent) they will understand.

Finally I tell myself to stop obsessing. So I gather up all the various insurance printouts, copies of itinerary and passport etc. etc. that is supposed to accompany the application, and trot down to have a few passport pictures taken.  And then I go to the post office, where I spend about half an hour going over the documents ten times before sealing the envelope with a kiss and spending a small fortune in stamps sending it off by registered mail.

Now it's out of my hands, but that doesn't stop me fretting of course. I'm convinced that should I be lucky enough that the envelope makes it all the way across Denmark without the post office mislaying it (or sending it by air mail on an aircraft that just vanishes), the person in charge of the incoming mail will then place it in the bottom drawer of his desk, let it fester for a few weeks, before finally pulling it out and stamp ACCESS DENIED all over it.

I really cannot give you any good explanation why my imaginations runs wild like this. It is completely ridiculous.  Especially as my passport is now home, safe and sound, accompanied by the embassy's best wishes, their promise of fine weather on my trip (all part of the service), and a request to let them know how much I've enjoyed myself when I come home :-)

I am counting the days - it will be AWESOME!!!

Wednesday 5 March 2014

Velsignet

I en del lande siges det at bringe held, hvis en fugleklat lander på ens hoved.

Jeg vælger at tage denne gigantiske fugleklat, som et vinget væsen med en vis snilde har leveret lige over min dør, som et tegn på at hele huset er velsignet med held.

Den sorte dims over døren er i øvrigt et gammeldags ringeapparat. I gamle dage - altså, dengang farmor boede her og havde fastnettelefon - kunne man høre det i hele gården, når telefonen ringede.

Desværre kan den ikke tilsluttes min iPhone ...


@ N ~ you know how in some countries they say it brings luck if a bird dropping lands on your head?   I take this as a sign that my entire house is now blessed with good luck.

The interesting looking thingy over the door is an old-fashioned "ringer". In the olden days, when my Gran lived here and had a landline phone, you could hear it all over the yard (quite possibly all over the village) when the phone rang.

Sadly, I cannot get it connected to my iPhone ....

Monday 3 March 2014

Ups - fastelavn?

Mit facebook feed har været fuldt af kattekonger og -dronninger de sidste dage, så jeg ved ikke helt hvordan det kunne komme bag på mig, at det faktisk er fastelavn. Men det gjorde det. Pludselig buldrede det på min fordør - og deres timing var lige så god som når diverse velgørenhedsorganisationer samler ind: jeg var på det lille hus.

3 gange bankede de på, før de opgav og afskrev mig som den sure dame, som tydeligvis var hjemme, men ikke gad at lukke op.

Men jeg var ikke lige i en position til at kunne haste-reagere på deres henvendelse. Og nu har jeg sort samvittighed. Kom tilbage, børnlil, kom tilbage!  Jeg har .... æhm.... wasabiærter?!