Travelling like a Slow Cooker: Mexican Edition.

I flew accross the ocean to Mexico… and spent the whole two weeks in the small fishermen town, 25.6 km away from the airport.



But that’s me – a Slow Cooker Traveller.

Oh of course, I still always expect, plan and prepare for a Drive-Through and Go-Gurt sort of travelling. I deliberately pack my backpack for numerous stops and goes, research the top things to see and do, design the itenerary across the country,¬† and even take the Lonely Planet travel guide with me….

All of this, just to finally end up staying in one random, tiny, off-track place until I need to leave the country.


I can’t help it – I need tiiiiimeeee to soak up the juices of the place and people . And , for me, nothing brings out the flavor more than staying still.

It’s true – I didn’t see the Mayan pyramids… but it’s because I stuck around that I got to take part in the authenic soul healing ceremony with real Mayan shamans.

IMG_20190207_103632.jpgInstead of chasing the dolphins, I chose to chase the local witch in the jungle and study the magic of healing.


I also skipped the tour to the famous cenotes – and as a result stumbled accross the authentic dark and sweaty temazcal ceremony that has been used for healing and purification since the ancient times.



And for every hundred “where are you from” exchange with the passer-by’er, I only got to hear one story. But a real one.

About a high school sweethearts, who have been living in their van, on the road, for years, listening to the same Adele’s CD, that is stuck, plays on the loop and drives them nuts.

About a four year old girl who almost chocked to death and a stranger who jumped to help without a clue what to do. Terrifyed that she has died in his arms, he has never prayed this hard in his life.

Or the one about a Mayan Shaman who can turn your sickness into a crystal, and was chosen to heal people and evict demons, but would much rather do something that would give him weekends off and pay the bills ūüôā


Slow-cooker-like travelling meant I got to say “Buenos d√≠as!” to the same fishermen every morning when I went to see the sunrise.

It meant that the local tourist vendors stop trying to sell me stuff.

It meant that I can bike to the local market to get me some fresh fruit and veggies, and wink to the Taco Wagon owner declaring his love for every passing lady, and discover the hidden nude beaches…

It meant slow travelling. slow breathing. slow being.


IMG_20190204_101139.jpgLike the acient Mexican witch proverb states:







What should have been a travel guide to Budapest

I travelled to Budapest. Which was obviously great. But it is actually the return to [insert the current city of residence here] that intrigues me the most.


No, not even the return… It’s that alternate persona that takes over while I travel, and lingers on for a while after I’m back.

This traveller persona¬† — let’s call her Maggy — is one of my favourites #SplitPersonalityTOP10.


She sits at a dive bar sipping Bloody Mary at 2pm,  climbs the rooftops in search of the bee hives, and talks to every stranger on the street as if she is a Mormon missionary.

You must know that delicious curiousity-slash-alertness-slash-up-for-anythingness I am talking about. And oh¬†how blissfully chill Maggy is… stresslessly surrendering to whatever is happening. Well…most of the time.


The best thing is that this alter-Maggy-perosona sticks around for awhile after I come back from travels. Riding the momentum, she keeps dragging me to all the meet-ups, and events, and monuments marked on the TripAdviser…


Also, whilst on the road, Maggy is on the continuous digital detox. So even when we are back home, she insists we stay unplugged from tech, which is basically the same as…


A few carpe-diem days pass by… until I wake up one morning and realise – Maggy has left. Suddenly the thought of exploring the sights sounds exhausting, ordering tomato juice with alcohol – disgusting, and being social – utterly painful.


I¬† know Maggy will be back next time I am on the road. But just to make sure she doesn’t wander off too far, I will go book the next trip tickets now.


F*** you, Cold. I have s*** to do.

No school, extra love and attention, all-day-marathons of Cartoon Network… back in the days catching a cold¬†used to be sooooo d o p e.

And “Chosen People” was the term we used to describe those kids who spread the virus.


Things have changed since then.


As an adult, you quickly realise that no one is nearly as eager to make you chicken soup or rub your feet, the way your mom was. Well, except for George.


What’s more, the money that you would have spent on the after work margaritas is now wasted on the cough syrup¬† … which, o f¬† c o u r s e, doesn’t taste nearly as delicious as the purple¬†one you had then you were eight.

The worst thing is that the work will still need to get done once you are back in the office, so you are even tempted to power through without taking a sick leave.


I was blessed to grow up in the BG era – that is Before Google. Remember what life was like before you were able to google your symptoms?
when-you-google-symptoms-of-your-cold-and-it-tells-4097561 (2).jpg

The next thing you know, you are staring at your screen with watering eyes, shivering,¬† sipping your cold syrup, and questioning yourself and your life choices: maybe I should find a less stressful job…? or warmer shoes…? or finally quit my¬†Cosmic People of Light Powers’ group and its alien leader¬†Ashtar Sheran…?


You would keep wondering, but fortunately the natural remedies (aka Whiskey) are kicking in. So you drift to sleep… which thankfully remains just as pleasurable as it was a few decades ago.

We’re all born naked, and the rest is drag

It might be the¬†BlacKkKlansman movie I’ve recently watched… It might be “This is not natural” response to my boiling “Do you have anything against gaaaaays?”… Or it might just be these painful blisters on my feet from the new shoes I bought, that are one size smaller, but since it was the last pair, and on sale, basically half the regular price,¬† I thought….

Okey, what I am trying to say is that I am so-very-really-much fed up with the social exclusion and marginalisation.


Seriously though…We’re all born naked, and the rest is draaaaaag.

So Me Too Have A Dream.

I hope everyone will wake up one sunny Sunday¬†morning, eat their gluten-free-cereal-with-non-dairy-milk-from-zero-waste-store, go outside… and fall madly in love with someone completely radically different from themselves (and I mean eyes-popping-out-of-head-tongue-drooling-kind-of-thing).

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And then he will be like: “Listen, Suzie… I never seen such a beautiful green skin… And oh how galmourously you are wearing these crocs… The moment I saw your toothless smile I immediately knew you are the one.”

And Suzie be like: “I’m so flattered, Julius Caesar. But doesn’t it bother you, that I am into both – men and goats? Won’t your family reject me because I am such a devoted worshiper of GOD –¬†Google¬†Oriented¬†Development?”

And Julius would just accept Suzie the Weirdo (by no means this is an insult – that’s her last name) just the way she is. In fact, nothing sounded more appealing to him than making half green, half Roman babies, farming goats, and SEOing for Google on the cold winter nights.



I am not saying mixed babies are the answer. But they are.

As the Ancient Wisdom (that’s also the name by the way) proclaims: “Make love-that-sees-past-boundaries and mixed babies, not war”.


I hope this will teach you… that buying small shoes, even on sale, it’s not a great idea.

Meet my alter ego Olga (VIDEO)

Have you met Olga?

So Olga is my alter ego. She is bold, she has a strong Russian accent and seemingly shady past.

I can’t really control when or how she shows up. But I have noticed that she particularly likes to make an appearance around the booze. And who can blame her.

She has been around for a while now, but I still don’t know her that well. To be honest, she doesn’t like to reveal a lot about herself.

I know I know…¬† she can come off as rough. It’s because she is. Except when she is talking about her two cows, a goat and four chicken.

While domesticated, Olga has big entrepreneurial ambitions and questionable business plans.

I love how courageous and direct she is. I admire that she says things that I would never dare to. She doesn’t mean to offend anyone. Most of the time. Sometimes she does.

Sometimes I am a bit scared of her. But what can I do – it’s not like I can change my alter ego… or can I? OOOOoohhh something new to discuss with my therapist on Monday.

For more Olga’s adventures, follow @_hippie_in_black_ on Instagram.

This is (not) about Tinder

When I found out I had two weeks to quit my apartment … I really totally completely kept my cool.

At least house hunting is fun, and packing is fun, and moving is fun, right?


And running low on time, makes the process that much more exciting.


Obviously, the almighty internet is where the apartment search began. And that’s when it dawned upon me how much house hunting resembles Tinder.

Some houses have a more elaborate profiles, naming everything included in the package. Others just barely show the location. And then there are those… that just shouldn’t be there to begin with.


Exhausted from all the swipping and texting, you finally manage to “arrange a viewing” — which, by the way, is exactly how the first Tinder date should be called.

And then you get there…but wait? Whaaaaat? It doesn’t look anything like the pictures?

tenor (1)

I thought I was good at “only expect unexpected”… until I walked in the room with a hundred (seriously, a hundred) penguin soft toys creepily displayed in the corner . #TrueStorygiphy (2)

You know what they say – if you can convince them, confuse them.

So you sit there smiling, nodding, asking the same questions, pretending to listen, …but all you really wanna know is WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS? Spill the beans, show the skeletons, take the shirt off… Sorry where was I?

Oh yeah… Eventually, you decide to settle for a compromise: maybe the distance is a bit too big, maybe the ceiling is not as high as you imagined, maybe it looks a bit too old, too hipster, too hairy, or not hairy enough.

I mean, what else can you do, but follow your gut, risk it for a biscuit and hope for the best.

And that’s how, kids, I ended up with this Walrus suit.


What did I learn in the past 27 years?#BirthdayEdition

Having just turned 27, I would like to proclaim that I’m wiser now than I’ve ever been. Not sure I can. But here are a few things that I stand by…. as for today.


  1. Alcohol doesn’t solve problems. But neither does milk.
  2. Everyone is a little bit of an a$$hole. Try to be the tiniest one possible.atsisiŇ≥sti (1).png
  3. There is no angry way to say “bubbles”.
  4. Superheroes are real. They’re called moms.giphy (1).gif
  5. Literally, no one cares. So you might as well do you. I-saw-a-guy-at-Starbucks-today-No-iPhone-no-tablet.jpg
  6. Unless it’s a gut feeling, I’d say, go ahead and question it.3yYH.gif
  7. Karma is not a bitch.¬† If anything, it’s more like 69 #YouGetWhatYouGivebirthday giphy (1)
  8. Our¬†hair¬†was put on our heads to¬†remind us, that we can’t control everything.¬†anigif_enhanced-buzz-28034-1391550625-4.gif
  9. If life gets¬†Britney-in-2007-kinda-overwhelming, take a nap…or fake your own death, move to Mexico, and live off Tacos and Tequilla.¬†I mean… it’s your call.
  10. Everything is energy. Nothing is real. All is well.



Left-over cake, anyone?