Friday, July 31, 2009

Gorki Park

This little Russian café and bar at Weinbergsweg is is a long time trusty friend of mine. I've obsessed over the beautiful coffee cups and managed to buy near like them (though not quite as fine), had lonely white wine evenings there, while the sky is darkening and the Turkish imbiss on the street plays ABBAs "Fly like the eagle" much too loudly.

This time Glenn and I occasionally frequented it on our käse o.d. glück galenskap früshtück tours through town. Cheese and coffee is a dangerous drug for small Northerners, and Berlin knows how to satisfy your every breakfast whim, and more, like a sister of mercy - without the mercy.

What you see is the vegetarian breakfast offer, that in Berlin minds is intended for one person: Blini rolls with spinach, blini rolls with curd, organic scrambled eggs, vegetable spread, fruit salad, curd pancakes, sour cream, jam, honey, butter, breadbasket... all for 6€.

Oh, and isn't it a pretty place? The table tops are all like art work.
I want to take them home and just cherish them.

PS. Love this: Green Porno. How swell!

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Signs of...

Tonight Glenn is DJing at Berghain Kantine. Sticky fun fun fun für alle.

Last day of Berlin

I'm writing this on the last whole day of our Berlin stay,
and the six month anniversary of me and Glenn.

I'm waking up from a night of many great dreams that I wish I had written down, one adventure after the other.
First a fabulous murder-mystery- dream, in black and white and red, red blood. We ran screaming from the palace where the murders
took place and the old people grinned viciously, set in perfect lighting,
clad in glitzy 20's get up's.

Then I competed in an expressive free dance-ish bug contest together with Pirjo from our Nordic tango documentary. We were dressed in black and dancing for our lives.
One dream described the perfect murder that me and my friends committed to some guy - all I know about him is that he had a white t-shirt and black jeans and he had to die. I remember vividly I was changing the bloody sheets on a huge bed in a dusky hotelroom somewhere. Outside it was dark and the waves were breaking
along the shoreline where his empty red car was deserted.
The last one was a jumble of a crowded festival, already eaten mangos, puppys - and cutlery, I think?

PS. It seems that the Germans might prefer Hats of Meat
to Tyskarna från Lund, but then again they might be misunderstood.

Monday, July 20, 2009

I'm off... Berlin!
For a beautiful holiday and fun time with Glenn and the Germans.
I'm a lucky girl indeed. I don't think our Berlin flat has internet,
so bloggin' will be scarce. Don't try and burglar me in my absence,
the hounds are ready set go, believe you me.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

SeinäjoElla 04: The Ghosthouse

During the short walk that Karol and I took through the corner of Turku, we came across a half burnt down ghost house.

I think the address is Koulukatu 7, but I might be wrong.

It was eerie indeed, a beautiful old wooden house that had got a bad vibe.

We stumbled around in the garden, going further and further in.

One corner of the garden had such a bad feel to it.
We both froze and looked at each other.

Suddenly we heard a rustling sound and from nowhere...

...the sky filled with screeching birds.

I felt that someone should move in and take care of this house, make it good again.

But in all likelihood it will just get torn down.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

SeinäjoElla 03: A corner of Turku

We arrived in the evening. Karol and I went for a brief walk through a desolate beautiful slightly mould smelly Turku.

A lot of the houses were beautiful, in photo blog terms Door 16-esque, with beautiful flowery gardens and carpenter joy to spare. I love the little stylized record player funnel decoration on the roof.

Youth Hostel Turku.
(Apparently the first thing to surface if you google "hostel" and "Turku", Glenn has informed me.) A great place.
On the way home it was flooded with Russians, which turned the undressing by the public bathroom door to a near buskis Benny Hill-light drama; the door kept swinging on it's hinges back and forth and tiny wild-eyed Russian women groping their toothbrushes and tiny towels popping up at every unconvenient moment possible.
(They were the Benny Hills, see?)

Behind this wall is the channel and a live jazz paviljonki.
Linnankatu 38, I think. Go there! I'll try.

Different shades of soft.

And a white wall I photographed "for practical reasons".

SeinäjoElla 02: Pirjo ja Veijo

The apples of our eyes, practising on the boat to Finland.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

SeinäjoElla 01: Silja Line

We met up early in the morning, to film people getting on and off the boat, on foot or by wheel.

I love the photo of this bird ridden window greasy island up close.

Photo by Karolina Brobäck.
My feet, both of them. There is something very vulnerable about sleeping bodies.

Silja Line accommodates your every whim, even if its feathery greasy muscly mama's boys. Sweet.

Northern summer.

Northern boy.

This little beast gave me quite a thrill. What is it, does anybody know? I mean, what breed. It was very attached to it's master, who held it in his arms and danced around with it on the dance floor. We had a quiet moment together when it hid under my legs.

Imagine if this feathery dustiness was your entire body.

These are photos from my tiny team (aka Tough Little Crew, Trollvulvan or We're Discreet Small Women) taking the day cruise to Turku, or as we say in Sweden, Åbo. It's the first step of getting to Seinäjoki and the Tangomarkinatt and World Nordic Tango Championship to film the remnants of our documentary.