Join our paradise!

Due to the myth that North Mallorca should be avoided during the winter because of nasty rain, has Alcudia beach been going through a metamorphosis since the end of October. From seven kilometers of overcrowded beach have a nature reserve emerged.

A three star paradise nearly for our exclusive use.

Once again we are overwhelmed and are beside ourselves with joy.

Our happiness excess we export to L who is still mourning her lost. She lost not only one third of her brain during the life saving brain tumor operation, but also parts of her memory, fitness, working ability and self confidence.

The greatest lost is the lost of identity.

No way leads back to normal life.

When I call her it appears she is already mourning her inevitable lost of life.

She firmly believes it is her last day on earth. A black day. Every day.

Without a battle she is giving up. She questions the meaning of life, her life.

There is no instant, cheering, honest answer that easily dispels her melancholy.

Everything we do appears completely useless.

No matter what we do to cheer her up.

We send messages, our love, pictures. We call her.

Still her mood is faltering.

We are drowning her with messages, love, pictures. We don’t call anymore as we realize she is sensible enough to perceive our deep concern.

At that moment is she so deep down we can’t expect her to be able to act.

We are not giving up our friend.

We are desperate.

Among all daily messages we send a question: Would she like to join our secluded little paradise?

The answer comes instantly:



What a life!

We landed on a holiday resort with a seven kilometers long beach with soft white sand.

We landed on a perverted mass touristic machine that swallows milliones tourists every year. It is far away from being a peak season. Yet I stumble over nearly naked sunbathing and more or less brilliantly sunburned foreigners as soon as I leave the hotel entrance towards the beach.

Those people who smell suntan lotion are everywhere and I can’t get rid of them no matter how far I go on that wonderful beach. One kilometer, five kilometers. They are there. Lying, sitting, playing football, playing beach volleyball, eating ice cream, drinking beer, coffee, whatever.

They are everywhere and you can hear them even if you close your eyes.

I have closed my eyes for three weeks and still hear them. Even from my secluded balcony on the fourth floor.

Still I love Alcudia beach.

And when I open my eyes again after three weeks there are no more sunbeds, watersports nore glass boat excursions from every pier. No unmercy heat or noises.

No more foreigners.

It’s just we, we few that are here to stay for the long and mild Spanish winter.

We easy going creatures use to acknowledge one another with a little smile while wandering around on the beach.

When the tourist season is dead and the last tourist bus left towards the airport begins a new life.

Everyday life.

What a life!

* * *

She: Here it is high time to tell the readers about the discount the hotel offered you for two articles on their home page.

I: But I hardly mentioned the hotel.

She: I know, this was a very sophisticated marketing.

I: Honey, it’s very cute of you, but don’t make me more intelligent than I am.

She: You have to tell your readers the whole truth, “honey”. Tell them this was no luxury hotel.

I: It was not a luxury hotel. As a matter of fact a rather simple three star hotel.

She: Cleaning only once a week, no sharp knives and no bath tube. Tell them!

I: And no chocolate on the pillow.

Fall in love

After resting a week at the very same place we pack our things and drive towards our homeland. Yet the road trip is over. Golden red Autumn leaves take my breath away. But the coldness kills me. We have in mind a trip to a warmer place than Sweden.

It is late evening. Our flight to Palma de Mallorca leaves early next morning. No way we are going to stay in a terribly expensive Airport hotel.

No way.

We are prepared for a long night.

But not for a torture.

Nowhere there are warm welcoming beds. Nowhere to stretch our tired bodies, as if our economy class tour already has began. We give up and lie down on a hard bench that aches as soon as we touch it. After an hour the whole body is hurting, unregarded how often I change position.

After two hours it is nasty cold and the body gets dumb. Hands, fingers, feet shake and tremble.

Miraculously I fall asleep for half an hour or a minute, I can’t tell.

Then there is this voice, so loud as if this someone is inside my own body and tearing it apart. Yet I know it’s not me as I can’t understand a word of this language. Neither can I understand why he is sitting here with a phone when this hall is huge and empty.

  Except from just here.

  I get up to look at him and give him the bad eye.

  I walk around the hall.

  I wash my frozen hands with lukewarm water.

  He is still talking on his stupid phone.

  I am still freezing.

  And worse of all. Time stands by.

  But at two o’clock on the afternoon we enter another world and repress that horror night.

  We sit outside in a lovely restaurant on the North of Mallorca and enjoy a wonderful three course lunch, cold soft drinks and caressing sunshine.

  And we say so many things that I can’t remember.

  But we recall the laughter in slow motion and how lucky and naive and happy we were at that time over how perfect and unspoiled everything was as it was like chapter one page one in our New Outdoor Life.



And then still overwhelmed and lucky once opening the door to our tiny little apartment on the highest floor of the apartment hotel directly on the beach and we stare at the wide view of the blue shining Mediterranean outside our balcony and we are still standing in the doorway but we look at one another with wide eyes and we are speechless.




So we consider no more this tiny one bedroom apartment in which we are bound to spend three months of our lives during the harsh Swedish winter as a claustrophobic experience.

  We go out to the balcony holding hands and staring out at the endless horisont while our bags are still unpacked.

  We don’t see nor hear the hundreds, maybe thousands, of tourists lying tight like ants in anthill in their desperate worship of the sun.

  Yet we are gratefully naive and unspoiled.

  We feel at home and haven’t been disgusted over the body of a mass touristic resort at it’s utmost and naked ugliness.

  Not yet.

  We are too blind to be true to our senses.

  We are too much in love with what we believe is our new reality to be true to our senses. 

PS. Smart as you are you’ve figured out that this blog relates to another period of time, October last year to be exact. 

We fly away

we vanished away in our gray car. Long away from L.

 We travel. Each day is unique.

 One day we hike on a mountain with generous forest and lawns and stay on a little guest house with an elderly caring host couple whom you fall in love with on first sight because they care so genuine and because you know that they are a ceasing generation soon to be replaced by an highly effective hotel with digital check in and out and bonus points for loyal customers.

  Another day we are visiting a little town with a charming old town that surprises with a delicious as well as affordable take away chinese wook. The room is called eco as it is of environment friendly material and runs by solar energy. The bathroom is one of the largest and most well equipped we have ever seen and light flows in from two directions.

  Every day is unique. 

  We travel to a new spot every day.

  After a week we are fed up with the whole thing.

  Sometimes it takes such a long time to plan our day and to execute our plan that we almost experience a nervous breakdown when it is evening and we don’t have the slightest idea where we are going to spend the next night.

  After two weeks we are sick and tired of the whole thing. Our wet dream is to spend one week at the same place.

  We are in the car. It is foggy outside. I have no idea where we are. It is foggy everywhere we look and we don’t know where we are going. We don’t have a room nor loving host waiting on us. Our last host nocks on the car window and wonders what is wrong.


 We fly away. We are engulfed by the fog, still with no plan. Just drive ahead on small roads wondering if we sometime will arrive to our destiny.

  Yet there is a place where we can stay a whole week without ruining our economy this late season. There is one studio left, 100 meter from seaside and with a balcony.

  We head to Kühlungsborn dreaming of sea view and are totally lucky when we arrive late afternoon.

  We are totally lucky even though the linens are subject to extra charge and even though the only view from the balcony is over waste dumps.

  We may stay here for a whole week.

  During this week we don’t approach the car even for a single time. Not even when we need to fill up our new home with groceries.

  Yet we spend lots of time outdoors. Feel the chilly soft sand under our feet, mile after mile of endless beach, surrounded by gulls and walkers and sunbathers, with or without clothes.

  There are piers so full of sun and benches with smiling happy people that you wonder why you keep going and watching.

  Yet we keep going, some time barefooted.

  And some time we take pictures and send digitally to L along with caring words that makes her respond and call us and tell us how much our visit meant to her and how much she would like to meet again.


  We don’t know what we promise, yet we promise.

  Sure, we would love to see you again.

  Yet after a week in this tourist resort we get in the car and turn back to our home country and keep sending sweet messages to L.

We vanish away 

It is morning in our gray car. We are still red eyed after a nearly sleepless night in a student apartment with dishes with smelly leftovers all over and accentuating creepy feeling of having to gasp for fresh air.  

We leave the apartment before sun rise. As L calls we are two hours drive away. She sounds cheerful, or desperate. 

“What about breakfast at my place?”

We are far away. Too far away. Not too far away to hear her disappointment. Too near our planned stop, the university where we met 20 years ago.

We will keep in touch. Virtually. In reality. Somehow.

We vanish away from her life, just vanish away with an aching heart.

The last day with L?

They have taken away one third of L:s brain. The brain tumor has been removed. 

The operation was successful, L survived. But how did she survive? Good or not good? On the phone she did not sound good. Like she was giving up life. Like she lost not only the ability to remember things perfectly, working hard as before or undertaking physical activities.

She was about losing her identity.

She needed support.

Therefore we were on the way to Germany. To support her with our love.

Tomorrow we shall meet her.

We, she, I, had one night for mental preparation of this meeting. Between us there is an ocean of 20 years and a brain tumor operation.

Can we make it?

Can we reach one another?

She invites my wife and me for coffee. No dinner. No stay over night.

It is hard to find an affordable place to stay in the nearby, and it has to be near as we don’t like to drive at dark. At the end we find a room in a bigger apartment and leave our things there.

She has a garden. The gate to the garden opens remote controlled and we walk through a huge and yet neglected garden.

The outside door is widely open.

She is standing in the kitchen with her back towards us.

 Is it trembling?

She hears us; leaves the home made cakes, whipped cream, porcelain cups, coffee as they are and turns to us with her clear blue eyes, short cut medium blond hair and warm smile.

  This coffee table on the backyard, well protected from the sun this late hour of the afternoon is the only ongoing now in our life.

  We talk of nothing.

  Nothing of importance for the future.

  Just all the nasty details of the operation. We may even see pictures if we like.

  We don’t. We eat cakes and drink coffee.

 Is it the same person or merely a ghost representing the symbol of a woman that once used to be our dear and loving friend?

 You can’t tell.

  It is almost sunset. A path outside her garden leads up and further up through a magnificent way that takes the breath out of her. There is wine culture, cropland, farmers on a tractor and exercisers.

  And we nostalgic people that are attached by an invisible, unreasonable, 20 years old band.

 A band that no operation can cut off.

 It happens as the most natural thing on earth.

 The coffee time is over long ago.

 We are a bit sweaty after the walk up the mountain and then down the valley.

  We are together although it is no more coffee time. The sun has gone down.

  It is dark and a bit chilly as we are together on an outdoor restaurant with jazz musicians and simply great food, plain german food that we enjoy while the music flows and people are sitting in endless rows and breathing simultaneously as one friendly warm body.

  And she stands and looks at us outside her garden with her pale overwhelmed newly operated head as I hear myself telling her how much we like her. She stands there with her nearly invisible tears until we and our ordinary gray car vanish away, unknowing when or whether we ever may see one another again.

Just vanish away.


Are you doing things maybe for the last time? Tell me what and why.

Tiny little things are life

Sometimes can tiny little things have a significant impact on major decisions in life. Change the course of life.

Tiny little things like a bedroom with carpets full of smoke. A bedroom where you keep hearing loud voices from caravans with foreign workers until you eventually fall to sleep much too late.

In the morning you wonder if you ever slept that night or just been hunted by endless nightmares.

One night like that can make you sick and tired.

One night like that may kill your enthusiasm to discover your new free outdoor life.

Yet not that night. We are still much too envy to be discouraged.

After a nice breakfast with the lovely landlady we drive away.

We have a mission.

We keep our promise.


The promise was pronounced three months ago.

The decision to start our new outdoor life was already taken and we were operative. Sorting things, what to keep, what to sell, what to donate to Red Cross, what to throw away.

That’s how I found this brown box with my old letters. L was one of my best friends and a diligent penpal. Last time I saw her must be 20 years ago. Since that she hasn’t picked up the phone.

Nor did I.

I don’t have her phone number in my phone book.

I read some of her letters. It brings back the feeling of friendship. Suddenly I find a phone number.

I call.

At first she doesn’t recognize my voice.

Maybe it is not her. A mistake. A mistake to call her after all these years.

Then she remembered. Which is quite an achievement after an operation in which her brain tumor, occupying a third of her brain, was removed.

She was not well. Yet she remembered.

She used to be a brilliant lawyer who won many tough battles without being tough at all. She fought with her golden heart for poor clients against a huge international company.

She won. She won with her golden heart.

But lost a third of her brain.

She was not well at all.

She needed support. That’s exactly what friends are for.

We have not met for 20 years. But we were friends. This is something you feel.

We were friends, and she needed support.

At that moment I promised to come and support her where she lives.

In Germany.

That was three months ago. Now we have been purified. We are ready for our new outdoor life. Yet I have a promise to keep.

I keep my promise. We are in Germany. We are on our way to L.

Welcome wonderful life

Bye bye boring life indoors. Welcome wonderful life outdoors with fresh air and sun!

  It is late afternoon. We have been driving for hours throughout Denmark and reached a town in the north of Germany. Lots of trees, lawn and small houses are on sight as we follow the gps out of town centre towards our one night rental room somewhere on the outskirts of the town. Many nice houses.

  This is the moment one wishes this ride with top speed near zero to end.

  Every bone is tired after the nonstop hours in the car. No grandiose wishes. Just to arrive to our destination, take a short walk to get some fresh air and a healthy exercise. Then something hot to eat, a shower and a clean bed.

  Our first wish is fulfilled almost immediately.

  We arrive to a two floored house which walls and windows are on an immediate need of colour. The nearest building is an oil refinery, and it is ongoing, and smelling.

 Have our gps gone bananas?

 No human beings are on sight, just an oil refinery and an old scary house that could be a perfect match for a filming of an Edgar Allan Poe’s horror story.

  Lies the torture chamber in the cellar?

  The middle aged woman that comes out of the house is irresistible. A person one likes and trust on first sight.

  Not only because of her generous heart that seems to care about us. She helps us with the luggage.

  She doesn’t seem to care about a career. She just live.

  She smokes, mainly outdoors.

  With an open door so her cat may come and go anytime.

  The smoke is everywhere. On the carpets in our room upstairs, in the kitchen, in the garden where she sits and chain smokes.

  We place ourselves where the air is least contaminated.

  In the garden with our landlady sharing the same green table with plenty of Santa Claus in various colours and forms.

   This into the night conversation made us forget the smoke from the oil refinery as well as the one from her.

  She has quite a few existential problems, but only one wish: Write about me.



Possible external influence: Just unspoiled human kindness.


   14 months later is D-day.  Our home is totally empty, and totally clean. I am standing on all four and mop the entry floor so the detergent smell is an undivided part of me.

  I am so grateful. I live. I see.

  By the time I arrived to the hospital I could see, on both eyes. The neurologist have examined me thoroughly without being able to come into any conclusion.

  Yet I was able, and came into several conclusions.

  I see. I live. I am so grateful.

  We will do what we want. We will find out what we want.

  And do it.

14 months later is our D-day.   

Even inside our gray ordinary car it now smells detergent. But there is no time to take a shower, and there is no shower to take. We have sold not only most of our belongings but also our home.

  We have sold our townhouse with a lovely garden, and we rush to the meeting with the buyer and estate agent to get the money.

  Afterwards it feels unreal. Euphoria in slow motion.

We have solved so many problems by selling our house and stuff.

Yet so many obstacles left.

We smile. Maybe even laugh as we were in love for the very first time. We know what we like to do in life. And we are going to do it. We are going to live our life.

  Bye bye boring 8 to 5 life indoors. Welcome wonderful life outdoors with fresh air, sun and fun!

Potential external influence: Great coffee and bakeries in our favourite coffee shop. Everything tastes special that day.

She: No influence from the estate agent who was bragging about his risky investments in Hong Kong.