Tag: food

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DisIntegration Experiences: 4

I convey my journey in countries and societies, based on my perspective and only my own experiences. I encourage you to contribute, ask questions and offer your own views. This platform is not complete without your contribution. Posting extracts from my upcoming book.

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Don’t get me wrong; I am very fond of my friends in Finland. The most trustworthy, pragmatic and genuine people this side of Sahara.  But would I want to live in Finland? Would I want to raise my kids in Finland? Would I want to marry a Finnish woman and stay there? I tell you what: In winter, you'll freeze – that's assuming no one shoots you, or you don't shoot yourself.

Among a not only one source, Finland ranks third in global gun ownership behind only America and Yemen; has the highest murder rate in western Europe, double that of the UK; and by far the highest suicide rate in the Nordic countries...

 

Photo by David Grandmougin
Posted on

DisIntegration Experiences: 3

I convey my journey in countries and societies, based on my perspective and only my own experiences. I encourage you to contribute, ask questions and offer your own views. This platform is not complete without your contribution. Posting extracts from my upcoming book.

--

PROLOGUE (THE FOREIGNER)

With hindsight it was pretty far from the best moment to arrive at the main airport in France that Friday night in November 2005.

It was pouring with rain, and by Saturday 4th, the ninth of unrest and protest, there had been 259 arrests, a dozen men and women had been injured and more than 2,141 vehicles burnt. The suburbs of Paris were ablaze and the fever had spread uncontrollably to Lyon, Strasbourg and Rouen - political mismanagement fueling the rage of the most impoverished of France's citizens. Cars had been torched and buildings smashed. Riot police moved in, firing rubber bullets and tear gas. Fighting escalated. The rioters grew in number to 400. The Sunday before word spread that a tear-gas canister of the kind used by the police had been thrown on to the doorstep of the Bilal mosque up in northern Paris...

 

Photo by Norbu Gyachung
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Grabbing Lisbon with My Grubby Mitts

To call Lisbon a great place is to insult the beauty of this marvellous sunny city almost to an libellous degree. As soon as I arrived here, I knew that it was here that I was going to fulfill my God-given mission. Not only was it free from that punishing northern darkness that had been numbing my mind for so long-the city was close to the beaches where Europe's best waves for surfing splashed ashore.

I felt alive for the first time in along time. All my senses that had been numbed by the monotony of a grey city existence life burst violently into life.
I was blind, but now I could see. I felt reborn.

The next month was one the happiest of my life. Life was simple and life was great. Occasionally, I'd have another beer, and order some wonderful seafood with crabs, or have a surf in those cold wawes.

Why for God's sake was I and everyone else in Northern-Europe putting up with another hideous winter rabbiting about unimportant shit and getting stressed?

We spend our lives working in jobs that we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. No more of that.