WAKING UP AT HOME VILDE VALLAND AARSETH
WAKING UP AT HOME BY VILDE VALLAND AARSETH
2017
Place 1
The sun street I grew up on a mountain. Hundreds of metres above the sea in a grey timber house. A family of ive humans and one cat, with a deep, thriving forest climbing up the mountain behind our house and a view overlooking the city of Bergen and its seven mountains. On the sunny days, we could even see the ocean.
We were curious children, constantly exploring and adventuring our surroundings. Only our imagination could stop us from having fun – and to be fair it didn’t stand a chance. We went searching for trolls in the dark, built treehouses and picked endless amounts of wild raspberries and blueberries. We learned how to separate the mushrooms that would kill you from the ones that would taste great with some salt and pepper.
When the snow inally fell and turned dark into light, we were unstoppable. Playing in the white wonderland was the only thing that mattered and we would stay outside in the freezing cold until our lips were blue and ingers unmovable.
My father called me Den Lyttende Hjort because he would always either ind me running outside or when the evening came he would ind me being completely still, listening to the conversations around me. Without a single word, I soaked in every word I could. I listened and I listened. Someone once said that “the smarter you are, the less you speak”.
I choose to believe that now.
60°22’10.3”N 5°22’20.0”E Kilometres from birth place: 0
Place 2
Foz do Lizandro Is it even possible to boil 50 eggs at the same time and end up with the perfect moist – but not too moist –yolk on each one of the eggs? How do you cut up three watermelons, four pineapples, nine kiwis and ifteen oranges in the shortest amount of time? How many cucumbers and tomatoes do we really need? How many slices of bread does a grown-up man eat compared to a young girl? All these questions are running through my head as I stand in the kitchen this morning. The clock is about to hit 5.30 AM. Yes, AM. I have exactly half an hour until breakfast for 65 should be ready. Malin, my colleague and closest friend, is working with great focus and dedication on the cofee brewing. The bakery is late with the bread delivery. Again.
I yawn. And I work. I yawn. And I work.
Two hours later there is no hungry mouths left to ill. Our work is done and with the speed of light we ind ourselves dressed in wetsuits carrying tiny surfboards. We cross the street, make our way down the steep, slippery clif, wait for the big set to inish and then; when the time has come I inhale deeply. Close my eyes for a second.
Then I jump.
Mother ocean says welcome with open arms. Soaked in saltwater and sunshine, freedom hits me and I smile.
38°56’53.2”N 9°24’54.1”W Kilometres from birth place: 2,594.98 km
Place 2
Daisy + Sunlower It is so hot. It is steaming.
I am drowning in soft, beautiful linen. My eyes are still closed. I do not want to wake up just yet. I am in the perfect place. To be honest, I wouldn’t swap it for anywhere in the whole universe. Not a single place. Nowhere.
Carefully, carefully I open my eyes and I see N’aia, the most magical silver angel on earth. She is sleeping in my arms, as content and safe as I have ever seen a dog in my life.
Carefully, carefully I turn my head towards the left. Stefan has already woken up. He looks at my sleepy face and he giggles. He puts his arms around me and pulls me closer. Puts my head is on his chest and I listen.
His heart skips a beat. Maybe even two.
I would not want to be anywhere else in the whole universe. I close my eyes and I fall asleep again, as content and safe as I have ever been.
28°39’48.0”S 153°36’55.3”E Kilometres from birth place: 15,766.13 km
Place 6
Fosslid A hundred years ago my great great grandfather was 36 years old. He had six children and he had built the house I live in right now. Sadly, my great great grandmother Anna died a hundred and three years ago.
A hundred years ago my great great grandfather was alone with six children.
With creativity running in his blood he spent his days painting and drawing at his beautiful property. My great great grandfather got married three more times after he was married to Anna. With a restless soul and an urge to explore the unknown he spent a decade in New York, travelled to places far and wide around the globe – meeting strangers that would become friends, tasting spices from unfamiliar plants and seeing what was yet unseen. He painted the President of the United States and he painted indigenous people from places I don’t know.
An early Christmas morning not too long ago I discovered a little treasure. With the kettle boiling water for morning tea, candles lit and the ireplace slowly warming up the house I was looking through some old books that my great great grandfather had collected. I found a book of his called “Yoga – And its importance to Europe”. This book was illed with words from the Rig Veda and texts about the physical, mental, and spiritual practices and disciplines of yoga, that were just as meaningful to me that day as it would have been to him then.
I read the whole book that Christmas morning and I felt a connection to both yoga and to my great great grandfather that I had never felt before.
60°20’59.9”N 6°10’01.7”E Kilometres from birth place: 43.81 km
Place 4
إذا تم العقل نقص الكلام As the dawn breaks, the bells of the morning-fajr is ringing loudly. A rooster is singing along, well accompanied by the many barking street dogs. I ind peace in my morning yoga routine on the balcony. The neighbours’ goat did somehow not get sacriiced at Eid Al Adha, and is now happily watching me from his balcony.
A herd of camels is crossing the street.
I ind myself in the middle of a vibrant ishing village in Morocco. I am a tiny piece in a puzzle of amazingly organized chaos. This mixed-up village never sleeps. The constant stimulation of the senses leaves me triggered to challenge the fearless within me, to go aout and explore the sand dunes of north Africa, the cuisine of the old ladies in the Atlas Mountains and the insanity of trading goods at a Moroccan souk.
Once this place was a little famous for its hippies and tasty calamari, now it is a scrufy and dry roadside village that you somehow fall in love with. It is something special about drinking your mint tea knowing that a while ago Mick Jagger and Jimi Hendrix used to enjoy their own cup of tea in the exact same café a while ago, creating magical tunes and planning their trip to Paradise Valley...
30°32’42.9”N 9°42’32.2”W Kilometres from birth place: 3,499.58 km
Place 5
Hati-hati, angsa Selamat pagi, angsa. It’s a blissfull morning on Jalan Tanah Barak. All the early-birds (and I) are deep into the routine of Surya Namaskar. We are all welcoming the sun through our yoga, sweaty and out of sync. We are trying our best. Inhale, exhale. The day starts in a bamboo bungalow surrounded by palm trees, the smell of lowers and tranquillity. The serenity and peacefulness gives you the greatest possible start to the day, you are ready to embrace the hours that awaits you with whatever challenges it might bring. And that is good. Because even though Canggu used to be a peaceful, sleepy area on the absolute tropical dream island, reality is a little bit diferent now. Don’t get me wrong, it is a great place. It is fun… Hati-hati. But it is not what you might expect. The stretch of land between Kerobokan and Brawa is rapidly changing. It is shape shifting and morphing, adapting to the vibe of its residents. It’s a revolution of graiti, casual cafes, hipsters, surfers, skaters and skinny jeans. Custom bikes and yoga enthusiasts. Women in high-cut one-piece swimsuits, nose-rings and a free low of tattoos. Not a single shaved man face in sight. The “shortcut” through the rice ields is a chaotic traic jam and what was a green lush ield last week is suddenly a new villa. The kids order gluten- and dairy free regardless of any actual intolerances, looking more stylish then I ever will. It is easy to feel lost here. The people you met last week, will probably not be here next week, what used to be green becomes grey overnight and new roads leads you to new places. Our yoga-guru, Octavio (yes, he has a beard, custom bike and skinny jeans), helps us ind balance in the Tree Pose. Our bodies sway free, like a tree does in the wind, but our foot stays rooted into the ground. Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu Om Shanti Shanti Shantihi
8°39’02.9”S 115°07’53.0”E Kilometres from birth place: 11,990.80 km
Tempus incognitum Have you ever been completely cut of from the rest of the world? For days? Weeks? Months? If you have, I would love to hear your story. If you haven’t, I would really recommend Hoddevik to be your irst.
Picture a narrow, green bay protected by overwhelming, steep mountains. With a huge white beach and the cold, dark Nordic sea. Only a couple of wooden houses, no shops and no restaurants. No phone reception. One windy road. It is an untouched paradise – pure and real. It is the place where you will lose track of time no matter what. You will practise the act of being present without even trying. You will wake up when you have rested enough. Not when the alarm tells you that it is time. Once my little bay-family and I were snowed in here for weeks. Lost in a white fairy tale landscape we had the time of our lives. We would wake up with the light and seize the day. Usually that would include boots, gloves, a hoodie and the thickest wetsuit you have ever seen. As little baby penguins, we walked carrying our surfboards, through the snow to the frozen beach and day after day we were greeted by incredible waves. It was us and the ocean. Solitude on a level we had never experienced before and it was great. Slowly running out of food we had to be creative chefs and consumers, slowly running out of things to do, we started new projects and inished old ones. With no distractions at all, our minds were as clear as they had ever been.
62°07’33.8”N 5°09’45.9”E Kilometres from birth place: 195.82 km
Fjell & hav I walk and I walk. Not a human in sight. I listen. Eyes wide open. I breathe. Crispy, fresh air. I see. An eagle lying up high. I connect. The ground beneath my feet. I exist. Don’t we all? I swim and I swim. Mother ocean is strong. I am. So very, very small. I listen. My mind is quiet. I feel. Is this home?
Kilometres from birth place: Unknown
Painting by my great great grandfather, Mons Breidvik.
Copyright Š 2017 Vilde Valland Aarseth No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever without written permission from the author exept in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Printed and bound by Blurb. Illustrations, photography, text and design by Vilde Valland Aarseth. Byron Bay, Australia. www.vildevalland.com