The Writing Piece*

Wandering around in cobblestone streets. Listening to people speaking a language you understand, but with an unusual accent. Smells and sounds that are strange. Music, a warm breeze, the sun high in the sky. Square houses along wide streets, with street art covering the wall all the way up to the top of the roof. Coffee shops on every street corner. Fascinating, wonderful strange people everywhere.


Everything I saw around me was new and exciting. Still, there was something about the landscape thousands of miles away from my hometown that still reminded me of where I grew up. We drove past cliffs, big waves rolling on the surface of the sea, and mountains covered in deep green trees. I gazed out of the car window and said to my friend who sat beside me: ‘it looks a bit like driving around Northern Norway, doesn’t it?’

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