Arriving around 8pm at night, we boogied to some 80s tracks at a random happy-hour event we stumbled into at the hotel before getting out of Palermo the very next day. This trip certainly wasn’t about museums, sightseeing, hitting Sicily’s famous beaches, or gluttonously gorging on pizza. It also wasn’t about getting off the “beaten path” so to say with an itinerary of activities in hand.

Considering tickets were purchased and hotel reservations made barely a week before departure, we knew we had to go with the flow to avoid unnecessary stress during our 13 days in Sicily and Malta. And so, it really was about hopping into a rental Peugeot hatchback, armed with our own GPS unit (thankfully), and going where Sicily chose to take us…despite the GPS unit.

And boy, did she take us deep into her interior. Through the Madonie Mountains along harrowing cliff-side roads to the relatively remote village of Gratteri. There, we would unplug and hide out for three days; wandering empty narrow streets, hearing the occasional middle-aged lady yell in Sicilian Italian across a clothes-strewn balcony to her neighbor’s. Most of Gratteri’s 1000 inhabitants were away and so we had the farming village to ourselves…along with old men and their walking canes who gathered every evening at their watering hole – Bar La Villa – to eat gelato, drink coffee, and chat boisterously.

They never tired for gist on a daily basis as we greeted them Buongiorno. I always wondered what they chatted about. What they’ve been chatting about for decades. The same stories, I reckon, from different angles.

We did gorge on pizza topped with the freshest Gorgonzola cheese and salty prosciutto in Gratteri. Because here in our off-the-travelers-track find, a small car winds through narrow roads to home-deliver bread, the vegetable guy rolls his truck through town every couple days, the main square consists of 4 gelato kiosks that moonlight as bars and a post office, and we can’t order pizza off the menu until the pizza guy comes.

We continued along Sicily’s touristy coastline hitting Cefalù, Milazzo, Taormina, Giardina, constantly missing Gratteri the rest of the trip. Ditching our car for two days, we ferried over to the Aeolian Islands to see Stromboli occasionally spurt lava. The islands rewarded us with 7 shooting stars in a single starry night. Eyes locked, we beamed shyly, falling in love all over again. Barely three days later, after leaving Lipari, a 4.5 magnitude earthquake would injure a handful of people and cause several rock slides, bringing us back to earth once more.

Gradually making our way down to Siracusa with its heavy Greek influence stamped across sprawling countryside, we would dig into whole squid, fresh fish, and fist-sized prawns in Ortygia before going in search of more baroque in Noto and Ragusa. Deep within Siracusa’s hilly province, snaking across mountainous switchbacks as the only car for kilometers, gaping silently in reverence at 22-km long stonewalls, listening to the sounds of cow bells, is where we would find a softer side of Sicily.

Away from suntanned barely-clad crowds, distracting technology, and constant ambient noise, we remained fully aware of each other and are much closer for it.

View Photo Gallery from Sicily, Italy

Photo shot with Nikon D300. Vignetting added in Lightroom.

“Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom”….Kierkegaard

I read those self-diagnosing words in a recent article over at Brave new Traveler. Having telecommuted the last 3-4 years, I finally dove headfirst into full-time freelancing last year. Since then, I’ve been lapping up the absolute flexibility and freedom that comes with a lifestyle filled with possibilities.

Everyone seems to be craving a location independent lifestyle. Trying to break free of the suffocating choke of a cubicle. But no one ever tells you about that sneaky anxiety that begins to set in.

I’m not talking about uncertainty that comes with getting constant gigs, but rather, a restlessness that comes with setting one’s own schedule. I’m also not talking about passive income that comes with sitting back while SEO-based advertising and blog revenues roll in, but rather, those of us who love sharing art – be it poetry, visual arts, creative writing…

As with most creative individuals, there’s always a constant need to produce and keep producing. We tend to love deadlines because it temporarily caps creativity, otherwise we’d work ourselves to death.

Before diving into freelancing, I often wrote code late at night. At odd hours because my business day was usually spent assisting everyone else via meetings, peer code reviews, and troubleshooting. So actual tasks were often accomplished late afternoon/evening. Plus, I enjoyed it because I was continually creating, designing, and building… in essence, working all day long.

[ How I plan to deal ]

The problem with constantly being “on” is that one begins to work harder and not necessarily smarter. Working hours spill into offline hours. Discipline and routine begin to waver. So my recent trip to Sicily and Malta (more later) couldn’t come soon enough. In addition to getting away with the man, it was an opportunity to take inventory once more. To make sure I was still on my own path.

Refreshed, I’ve come back with four action items to aid the “working smarter” initiative:

(1) Remain choosy – Those who know me know I’m far from being a snob. That said, I just don’t have enough hours in the day to write 50 blog posts for $10 each.

(2) Limit distractions – Fully understand and accept that I can’t follow every thread, blog, and tweet, and frankly, don’t want to. The world doesn’t need to know every juicy detail of your life. Plus people have started googling “lola akinmade husband” to get to this blog which is kinda scary so I definitely will be limiting personal information too.

(3) Stay grateful – For this, I’ll continually tap into the prolific Philippians 4:6 – “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer, and by supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto God.”

(4) Do nothing sometimes – My husband has perfected this. This will definitely be a challenge, but I’m willing to try.

Have you recently stepped back to take stock of where your energies are currently being dispensed? You’d be quite surprised.

Photo shot with Nikon D300 in Norrtälje Kommun on assignment with the Red Cross.

Currently traveling around Sicily, the Aeolian Islands, and Malta. Will be back with updates, pictures, latest news, and more the week of August 23.

Have a great summer!

Shot in the tiny mountainside village of Gratteri; the most pleasant surprise on the trip thus far.

I’ve started volunteering with the Swedish Red Cross as a photojournalist in between writing/photography gigs, and will be sharing highlights from various projects and assignments once in a while. Tasks include documenting field projects, covering specific events, and writing up some project summaries in English for the International Red Cross.

“Where is everyone?” Inez asks the bespectacled old man standing at the makeshift entrance…a wooden table with a plastic container for tickets and another for money.

He laughs dryly. I understand why.

Besides the dark rain clouds that have been hanging over Luleå all morning, it seems something else has driven everyone indoors and glued to their television sets.

An event most Swedes have been waiting 30 years for…a certain royal wedding.

Every mid June, residents of the UNESCO World Heritage site, Gammelstad and surrounding towns gather to enjoy its annual Spelmansstämman – a Fiddlers’ meet up. Amidst 19th century wooden cottages where local actors dressed in native Laplander period pieces stoke fires and make thin bread from scratch, fiddlers tap boot-clad feet and play old Swedish and Finnish songs.

Maidens in long striped frocks with colorful flowery scarves wrapped around their shoulders dance and twirl with gentlemen in baggy black pants, worn-out camel brown boots, and shocking red tops.

The Spelmansstämman usually draws thousands to the historic site who come to sing along to old tunes, and take horse-drawn buggy rides through fields of grazing sheep.

Barely two hundred make it out today.

The heavy clouds break for a few minutes and sun rays spill brightly out. The folk dancers hop back onto the wooden stage and spin, skip, and clap, entertaining a dozen drenched onlookers.

They take their bow to scanty applause and as if on cue, the heavens open up once more and rain falls.

—-

This post has been entered into the Grantourismo and HomeAway Holiday-Rentals travel blogging competition.

Neatly plowed green fields roll past us. I’ve always wondered what shade of green those fields are. The artist in me always does; wondering how much burnt sienna to mix in with yellow ochre and aquamarine blue to come up with that exact green hue. A task I know is impossible to accomplish yet a mental exercise I enjoy nonetheless.

I casually glance over my left shoulder at the back seat. Those same green fields are rolling over my mom’s black sunshades, her head gently resting backwards on the car seat. Thin white wires run from her ears down to the iPod hidden beneath her scarf. She is listening to her own African soundtrack personalized for the undulating Swedish countryside; a mix of strong drum beats with the occasional synthesized voice singing in Pidgin English as we pass Falu red cottage after barn after cottage strewn across the landscape.

Dad is sitting to her right, glancing out the right back window. His brows are furrowed with concern, his cellphone at his ear, listening as another excuse is being made over the line. An international phone call from Nigeria; it seems another contractor or employee or family member hasn’t delivered on their promise as his brows have been furrowed for the last 100 or so kilometers.

I turn back to Urban who is driving; his eyes never leaving the road.

“This is crazy,” I say. “They’re in Norrbotten.”

Highlights

The last few days have been spent crisscrossing Northern Sweden with my parents. In town visiting from Nigeria, we decided to take them on a 13-14 hour road trip up along the Gulf of Bothnia and Höga Kusten (High Coast) to visit in-laws up north. With 37 pages of roughly scribbled notes and observations in my little journal (which will go into personal essays), it’s safe to say we had some amazing experiences.

Here are just a few:

• Finally taking my parents to the Arctic circle where mom uttered the most memorable words of the entire trip…”So where is it?” she asked, glancing around and looking for some “arctic circle.”

• Taking a moose farm detour and proudly watching dad conquer his fear while mom refused to get closer for fear of being eaten by a moose.

• Visiting the summer stuga (cottage) of my extended family, riding in a small dinghy boat around the lake, and fishing out baby sea bass and random seaweed.

• Sampling all what Norrbotten had to offer food-wise including reindeer meat, trying all forms of lax (salmon) and daring to eat surströmming once again.

• Hiking around and checking out Storforsen where the geologist in my dad emerged once more.

• Finishing off the last evening of our trip on a floating Falu red cottage amidst a pristine lake; the only sound for miles being our collective breathing.

Photo Gallery

I took close to a 1000+ photographs in just 5 days, so I’ve selected 89 shots to share:

• View Northern Sweden Gallery (89 photos).

Shot with my Nikon D300 and two new favorite lenses – Nikkor 16-85mm and 35mm

Returned today from Northern Sweden with my parents where we took what I’m now dubbing our “Arctic Road Trip”. Activities enjoyed included jumping at the Arctic circle, taking a moose farm detour, visiting the summer stuga (cottage), digging into reindeer meat, riding in a dinghy, fishing, eating surströmming, hiking, checking out Storforsen, trying all forms of lax (salmon), floating (yes!) in a Falu red cottage in the middle of a pristine lake, and lots more all in 3 days.

So I’m currently backlogged sorting through photos and stories while still entertaining the parents here in Stockholm.

Wanted to share my latest BBC essay in the meantime.

The backstory behind the photographs is pretty sweet. I was hanging with fishermen and fishmongers at Ebute Lekki (also online at BBC) when I saw a couple of  kids dressed in yellow and green uniforms walking towards the shore.

Curiosity piqued, I asked one of them, Musili, a 13-year teenager who was holding a wooden paddle where he was going.

“Home,” he replied. Across the lagoon to his village.

So I grabbed my camera and started snapping away as dozens of children loaded into wooden canoes and began their daily commute.

The raw feelings that wash over me at the sight of a newborn baby are indescribable. While cliché words like “innocent” and “precious” immediately pop into mind, when I see a newborn, I see man at his/her purest.

In essence, at the very best moment of ourselves when we didn’t know much and didn’t need to.

Plus, newborns are cute too…

Picture of friend’s baby shot with a Nikon D300 and new 35mm fixed lens.

From rounding up spicy foods and yummy cupcakes for Fodors and Forbes Traveler, to decoding Swedish fika culture for Guardian UK’s Been There and National Geographic Traveler’s Intelligent Travel and many more…

About two months ago, I reached out to one of my favorite people, editor of  Heart & Soul, looking for any last minute assignments she needed, and thus, the incredible edible eggplant feature piece was born – You can read the article here in the June-July issue.

But even more interesting was the issue question posed to a couple contributors (see contributors’ page with yours truly):

What does sexy mean to you?

Here’s my answer:

Sexy to me means confidence. Simple as that. An understated confidence in yourself and what you know well without being arrogant or feeling the need to constantly verbalize.

I feel sexiest when I’m actively taking care of and nurturing all aspects of me – mind, body, spirit – at the same time.

From a brute hockey player with tousled brown hair to a “gentleman” with gelled and sleeked-back brown hair, the country watched a personal trainer from supposedly nowhere transform from a spontaneous guy to a primped up robot-like prince-in-waiting.

Not a wrong word was uttered over the last few years. Emotions were kept in check as well as personal opinions and views. For years, he’d been preparing for his new role.

He is prepared…until the doors open up and in walks, not a crown princess, but the girl he’d fallen in love with at a gym and he cries unabashedly…

—

With the extravagant church ceremony over, the new couple stands on the steps of the church, waving to fans and other country folk. A few minutes later, they stop waving and wait….and wait…and wait awkwardly. After over a year of preparing for the country’s biggest event in decades, the royal horses, horse-drawn carriage, and horsemen were at least 5 minutes late.

—

Then the horse-drawn carriage procession begins, taking the new royal couple through Stockholm’s people-lined streets. Four Swedish Secret Service guys (including one gal) dressed in black suits begin their slow jog alongside the carriage. They’d practiced this before. Their jog is slow and steady…until the horses change their minds. The horses up their pace, and the secret service guys move from a slow jog to a run…a full-on run they weren’t anticipating.

And thus began a mini-5K race for the four of them through the entire city. Had they not been fit and physically prepared, they would have fallen behind and left the new couple vulnerable to attack.
—

Stories abound of people who were at “the right place at the right time”, which turned into an unbelievable change of lifestyle for them…from random authors appearing on Oprah, receiving six-figure dollar grants to hobby photographers winning prestigious awards for one-time shots.

These lifetime opportunities, it seems, usually come knocking on unlikely doors of unprepared owners.

For me, these stories actually reinforce the fact that they were prepared and, as defined by the Encarta dictionary, “ready to deal with something: in a suitable physical or mental state to be able to cope with something, often something hard or bad.”

They were mentally prepared to fully recognize when opportunities came knocking and didn’t let self-doubt or a poor assessment of their skills get in the way.

Yes, Daniel cried, not very “kingly”, at the sight of his princess, but that didn’t mean his years of preparation went out the window.

The royal horsemen were at the wrong place at the right time, rolling in late to pick up their most famous of passengers. This makes them no less well prepared horsemen confident in their skills.

And those Secret Service guys got in their exercise for the day by being physically prepared.

Preparedness means being in a holistic “state of readiness for action“…whatever it may be.