“PNR?! What the hell does PNR mean?” I grab the scribble paper that has been left on my desk. I make a quick estimation of questions that could be wrong. If I submit now, that’ll be a 70-75% grade. Dammit, I wanted to do better this time. Still, if I submit now, provided I’m not oblivious to other questions I answered wrong, that should be enough to pass. Barely though…More
Although I’ve been to France many times over the past 10 years, I’ve actually never been to Paris. Yet when the chance presented itself to remedy this, joining Rogier and Fabian to spend two nights there on their way back to Holland, I reclined the offer. To most traveller’s horror I assume.
The last couple of days, the hashtag I used as a title has been uttered more than once. It started as a little joke by Fabian to get some likes on his Instagram, and has since slowly taken over as a running joke during this trip.
By the time the shutter closed for the second time, a broad-shouldered officer from the Dutch military police stood squarely in front of my camera. “Good morning sir, what are you photographing?” He didn’t surprise me. I was actually a bit surprised I managed to take two shots before he got out of his vehicle.
Lately it feels like every time I turn a corner, expecting to see the home stretch, all I see is another corner. For instance the guy who bought my house, who found out he can’t actually pay for it. Which means I have to keep paying a mortgage for a house I don’t use anymore. And really wanted to get rid of by now.
As mentioned before, I spend many days of my childhood in the warm embrace of the Swiss mountains. Half of my immediate family lives here, and according to my grandfather I always drive the winding mountain roads as if I’ve been living here for years. I always remind myself that he thinks most people here drive like crazy bastards, but I take it as a compliment none the less.
The wind is beating us, carrying a mechanical voice with it, coming from the beach, but we can’t make out what he is saying.More