from salty sea to city pee

Took a month off in paradise.

Paradise, somewhere on the Baltic Sea, is off the grid. No electricity, no running water. The Internet connection is so slow on my tiny smartphone screen that I avoid it at all costs.

BUT a private beach on a quiet bay, birdsong, a hot sun and cool waters.

So I spent the month wild-haired, tanned and barefoot. Swimming in impossibly clear water, reading thrillers in the shade, going to the local grocery shop to ask nicely if I could refill water canisters. I was slowly weaned off my addiction to social media, hot showers, city streets and any entertainment that wasn't locally sourced (such as squirrel babies and dramatic volleyball with nephews).

The days stretched out into infinity. I lived on sun and beauty.

Yesterday, it was time to return to the city. Time to air out the flat, gasp in horror when I looked in a mirror for the first time in weeks (tan looked nice but WHAT WAS I WEARING and was it time to get reacquainted with mascara perhaps?) and eat some real, processed food instead of pure potatoes and grilled meat.

The first sight that greeted me when I looked out the window was the epitome of Saturday night in the city: a bunch of wasted guys spilling out of a car with beer cans in every hand, staggering around to find a piece of wall to pee against, accompanied by rock music from the car speakers.

Home, sweet city home.