Ethiopia has captured our hearts. It's stunning and elaborate landscape and the proud people. In the taxi from our hotel to the Shula market we get the history of the country, spiced up with political comments.

There's nobody like taxi drivers in an African country that can sum up the situation of the county for you in ten minutes. The day we leave he comes running after us with bags of tef flour and berbere, the all-time spice that we used in all our foods for about six months after we left.


It's a long, winding road going around and around and up and down mountains. Finally arrived, we tumble out of the car, over-heated and cramped. The children know by now where the fun is and run directly to the covered work shop where all the men are working, sitting with the wood expanded between their feet. A fresh smell of wood and the rhythmic thug of the small axes they use. How can an axe create such perfection, we've often wondered.


Hot hot hot, a summer day in the glass blowers workshop. Skinny man, soaked from sitting in front of the pit. From lumps of nothingness, like a magician, he drags beautiful shapes of glittering glass. The glass moving and dancing on the end of the iron tube.


The wet fingers moving through the soft clay reminds me of something I want to eat. There's something profound fulfilling in watching a craft maker do his craft. "The practised movement without thought".


Its more about people than anything else. In the meeting you never know what can be born. One idea can become many. One random though can be someone else's religion.



How I adore the henna coloured nails on the brown hand. The long slender fingers, one is flattening the fabric, another drags gently the needle through. The silk is smooth on the surface. Every stitch is going through these olive oiled soft hands. On every stitch a tiny drop of the oil rubs of and the shine left on the silk is magnificent. All the while we gossip, about our children, the neighbours and the other women. Whenever another woman enters the room a the chatter is quickly replaced by silence.


It's just fitting this remarkable place perfectly. The black man with the white dust all around him. The simplicity, the colours and how it all makes sense. I cant believe how flawlessly aesthetic it is. Siwa and Salt


All time Amin, late nights and black toe nails in worn slippers. Thinking with his eyes fastened on the side wall. Wood stamps as big as tables, metal balls shaping lamps and vases in a cloud of sparks. Noise and a blue sags flames in the entrance. We are drinking tea and coffee mix, the tray places on a battered wooden chair.


Siwa is beautiful, but also painstakingly ugly, it is purity and dirt, bless and distress all at the same time. Its a mix match of people, colours and traditions set in a green oasis amidst the great Saharan sand sea. You drive on the crowded loud streets of the 'souk', then you take a road out of town, and no matter which one you take, the result is the same in the end. Dunes, sand, white, silver and golden.


The Danish family leaves Vesterbro, Copenhagen behind and embarks on an unknown future on the African continent.
With adventure running through the veins and a 'larger than Denmark' attitude we settled on the coast of South Sinai, on a very special place called 'Ras El Shitaan', Head of the Devil's beach.