A couple of days ago I returned from a most epic adventure–four days of madness at Tomorrowland in Belgium. It’s difficult to describe all that I experienced in words. But the organized and amazing chaos that is created through the spirit of dance and music is just love and life.
“I stand on the corner and just greet people and let them know that life is sweet. Life is beautiful. No matter what happens in life it’s always sweet to be alive. Enjoy the sunshine, the flowers and the birds–be happy.”
Once again I find myself failing to update and then all of a sudden one, two–three months have drifted by. I’ve left Riyadh and returned back to spend the so called summer in Sweden. The Swedish summer is gray, wet and uninspiring. I spent the first couple of weeks working for a newspaper in town, now the writing and working lingers. I spend my days waiting for changes to come. I do the sun-dance, drink wine and wake up with paint all over my body. Memories from LA came and visited in the form of Marie and in the morning haze we hiked up a wet slanted field and rolled down again. The more things change the more they stay the same. I’m still here, albeit the idea of where here actually is I have yet to determine.
For sure this is the video of the day or perhaps even the week. The topic without doubt highly related to the mishaps within intra-cultural communication.
And so it felt as I had conquered the world as a trampled around the roman ruins of Balbeek. “This shall be your temple,” ghosts that never existed whispered in my ear.
Saudis can’t go here. They say it’s because of the djinn. The evil spirits haunting the place. I read about djinns in my newly bought catch–the Hakawati–the storyteller. The djinns seems like facinating creatures, out of this world but still so much a part of it. In the book the djinn steals Fatima’s hand and she has to climb into the underworld and become his lover to retrieved it. The djinn’s make for good entertainment. In Mada’in Saleh however, they seemed all long gone. Left was the smell of cold death in the gravechambers of the Nabateans, the same people that built Petra in Jordan, came here to reside and then to bury their dead. Lavish ornaments and chambers carved into the soft, now eroding, sandstone. Nothing other than a breathtaking beauty slowly vanishing. Perhaps the only thing that will remain is the memory of the djinn. But then again, the day before we arrived one of the two hotels in the city next to the site was burned to the ground and we all know that the Djinn lives in fire.
Spent a couple of days outside the sandbox. Been to busy with life and work to blog. To much to capture in words. Helena came to visit and spent two weeks frolicking in Saudi culture. We reminisced about lost times and planned future adventures. Her itinerary included an awesome desert party and campout and exploring Riyadh life. Anyway, Helena left a gaping hole that I’ve filled with traveling. Hence the last couple of days were spent in Beirut with the other lovely scandinavians. It was all very “ashwai”(=no system, random). We sang karaoke, dined fabulously with Saudis friends we unexpectedly ran into, were harassed by taxi-drivers, explored nature–Balbeek, Byblos, Harissa, were driven along the coast in a convertible car–wind tussling unruly hair, drank and eat and drank and eat some more. Decadent and fun.
Red Sands. Sunset.
At Jenadriyah Festival.
Formations.
Irina Bernebring Journiette 