Low hanging sun drops long shadows on the streets of Akureyri as I say goodbye to yet another friend leaving from the local airport. I walk through the freezing morning of a small town waking up to a lazy Saturday. It’s been seven months now. Seven months of living in Iceland and experiencing the whole range of emotion paralleled to the everchanging environment.
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When I was a little boy I fell in love with Japan. I don’t know why and I don’t know how. Somehow it happened and my thirteen-year-old me tried to learn Japanese hiragana, learn how to use chopsticks eating noodle soup and would buy green tea to make his own ceremonies. There was something attractive about it and I was convinced that one day I’ll visit the country. My family watched me thinking: “Dream on, boy, dream on.” Because for them it was obviously just a fantasy. Continue reading...