Ethiopian gold

I'm on a plane. If all goes well, and that is a big if, I'll meet up with my girlfriend in Ethiopia in about 24 hours. I'm going to the middle of Africa to spend a weekend with Netflix in a hotel room. If all goes well.

She's in South Sudan. It's not place one simply goes to. A month back I looked into to it at length. Even if one should manage to get a ticket and a visa, and all the clearances and vaccinations, actually landing is no piece of cake. The airport in Juba got closed yesterday due to political turmoil. It's never open during weekends. A majority of the planes that flies there are forbidden to enter European airspace due to the high risk of accidents. And if all that would work out, the country is a serious danger zone. The tribal wars isn't exactly a game of Elves vs. Goblins. Travelling in the country without soldiers looked like a bad idea. And I probably needed to to learn how to bribe.

So if I was going, I wanted to get gold. No insurance company I found would help me if I went to South Sudan willingly, so I had to make my own insurance. Gold is an universal panic button. If you have gold, you could get a ride to some sort of embassy if shit hits the fan. Or hopefully buy yourself out of unexpected situations with the military.

I got my hands on a Krugerrand from my dad in Gothenburg. Both he and mom vehemently suggested that this was a bad idea. I've done a few questionable things in the past, but this one just seemed like reckless abandon. They still helped me out with info and some research, but reached the same conclusion; South Sudan is not a country one simply goes to.

But I had my Gold. The metal in the coin was valued at $1,200 so it would be a solid get-out-of-jail-free card. This was in the end of November. December first I moved yet again, this time from the Oslo BarCode to the more bohemian Fredensborg, a place where the historically socially different east and west of Oslo collide. My new neighbours are both hipster foodies and stoned squatters. It's a good place to live if you want to get to know the town better. Rather than putting the gold straight in a moving box, I placed it safely in a wallet I rarely use.

...

If we manage to have enough income to keep the bottom layers of the Maslow pyramid happy, we are to face the necessity that begin where necessity ends. Luxury. All the money I've spent on 93/94, I perceive as money lost. It has never been about investing for me. It's more like drinking a rare beer or buying new shoes, once you've spent the money, you wont get it back. You got an experience or something you'll enjoy having. If I need a panic button, I have one in my cards, but I hope to never have to use it. Just as I hoped to never use the Gold.

But cards got different once I started to indulge in greed and sloth. Virtues in decadence, but vices in my collecting. I'm not a collector for the sake of collecting. When I got access to more cards than I really used, the atmosphere around them changed. There was no real joy in getting my last Taigas. They were means to an end, to complete some sort of achievement of having 40 duals. I had no deck for them. Rather than exciting me as new cards, they reminded me of what cards I didn't have; that Tropical Island, those Sylvan Libraries, that set of Savannahs. By themselves they did nothing for me.

I got my first Taiga in late 1995. Went home to an acquaintance who wanted to sell his cards to spend the money on whatever a cool 13-year old kid rather spends money on. Cigarettes I guess. I'm sure we haggled for an hour. I wanted to pay $7 for it, but he wanted $8. In the end I was defeated; he was a year older than me and I was the needy kid in the equation. That Taiga I had a relationship with. Showed it off and played a lot with with it before I traded it and another dual for an Italian Hellfire in 1996. Red/Green was never really my colors, and that Hellfire was fucking Magic. My last Taiga was more of a commodity.

What's my point? This could be one:

Matt Shields' Deadguy Ale (located in Hudson, USA)

Game drink.

That is an awesome pile of cards. They come with stories. Scrublands have been traded one-for-one for revised Tundras and hard-earned money was spent on the Thunder Spirits in the picture. Other priorities and formats were set aside to build this deck. In another year, it might look different. If Matt gets a Juzam to replace one of the Su-Chis at some point, that Juzam will be fucking Magic. Probably much more so than a Juzam bought for a binder or one to resell. They are still awesome, but they are commodities. My first Juzam from three years ago was fucking Magic. My third foiled Mind Sculptor was sweet, but not nearly the same. The Mind Sculptor has since been traded away.

The weekend before Christmas, I went to Gothenburg for a family Christmas dinner. I met up with Honka and Rafiki the evening before to grab a few beers and catch up on anecdotes. For this story, we should note that I don't use a wallet in Norway. There's really no need for cash as all payments are made with plastic. I do have one for when I'm in Sweden though. One of my favorite pubs in Sweden only accept cash, and I need some additional cards for public transport and such, so the cell phone case don't cover it.

The three of us and a friend of Rafiki spent a long evening at Brewer's Beer Bar, had our laughs and our whining, and didn't leave before closing time. Rafiki and Honka had some plans of going deeper into the night, but it was time to call quits for me. It had been a long day of travelling and I yearned for the embrace of sleep. When I walked down the foggy streets of Gothenburg in search for a transport, a trio of beggars approached me. It was a rare event for me to actually carry a little bit of cash, so I gave the first a small bill. I had a small bill for the second as well, but when the third came up I was out. Rather than giving nothing I emptied whatever was in the coin compartment into her dirty paper cup. A few crowns at least. It was dark.

It wasn't until two days later when I was back in Norway that I realized I had lost the Gold. First I panicked. It wasn't even mine to lose, and it had a price of the nominal GDP per capita of South Sudan. It was three months rent in my old apartment in Gothenburg. I slept pretty badly, but when I woke up I could only laugh. I could always budget to buy one to replace it. So I won't drink a few micro-brewed beers, go to a fancy restaurant, travel down in Europe to play Magic or increase my collection of duals this month. I have to pull back on the luxury for a while, or use some money from my savings. Big deal. The beggar would use it much better than I ever could. Maybe she gets to try some rare luxury for a month or two instead, or help her family. And the coin had already filled the purpose I got it for; it had now become a simple commodity. I knew I wouldn't get into South Sudan at this point. I couldn't get a visa. It looked like Øyann could get out of the country for a few days though, so we were to try and meet up in a neighbouring country. Ethiopia was the best option, so now I'm going to Ethiopia. I'm still not sure if she can make it here. I'll know in a few hours. It has been a roller coaster, but it's a point of no return now. Hopefully I'll see her soon.