Swedish Test

My Swedish test kicked my butt and left me whimpering. I'm still recovering.

But, I was able to wear the really cute Halloween socks and stickers Michael sent me, so life is good.

Happy Halloween to everyone!

Grrrr

I have a Swedish test tomorrow, and I'm studying my butt off. Seriously. If I wasn't so busy keeping myself studying I would be flipping out. A LOT. I have this program, BYKI (before you know it) that does flashcards. Today I found out you can change the hand that holds the flashcards. I changed it to the one that has pink painted fingernails with butterflies on them, and a big pink ring.

Small things make me happy. Isn't it great?

In other news, I got a package today from a certain... someone *grins* and it says I can't open it until tomorrow. This is driving me more than a little up the wall. Det är stå på matt, driving me crazy. (See? I'm praticing my Swedish! that means, there it stands, on the mat. I think. If I got it right.) But it's standing there mocking me. Telling me to open it. Like that plant that says "feed me!" in Little Shop of Horrors. 'Cept the box is saying,

Open me! Nobody will know! And I might have some wonderful distractions in me. Think of how you can procrastinate!

Or I might just be going crazy.

Well, back to studying! Now what was the name for butter...

Oh! Smor!

*mutters to self*

Strange Men and Time Changes

I swear, I have a sign that hovers over my head that indicates to old men that they should talk to me. I went to the bank to cash my food subsidy check. Now, here in Sweden it's fairly common when you go into a bank (or any place where you normally have to wait in a line in America) for there to be a little ticket-issuing machine that gives you a ticket, and then you wait for your ticket to be called. So, like any good Swede, I hit the button, take my ticket, read it, take not of where they are in the numbers (ten people ahead of me) and go sit down. There's one seat available. It is by an old man.

I sit down, open up my book, start reading.

The old man shifts.

I hold my book closer to my face, ignore him, and pray to god that he won't talk to me.

No luck.

He says something in Swedish, I reply back that I don't speak Swedish.

He then proceeds to use lots of pantomime, and wears a big smile as he talks to me. For emphasis, he touches my arm.

After struggling to be polite for five to eight minutes (during which the line only moves about three) I finally tell him that I need to read the book for my class. Then I turn my back on him and BURY my face in the book.

WHY ME? I DO NOTHING TO ENCOURAGE THEM. WHY?

The world may never know. This brings the strange man incident count up to four. The Italian guy, the bug guy, the crochet guy, and now the bank guy. *Fumes*

AND THEN, so make things oh so much better (can you sense the sarcasm here?) the bank won't let me cash the check, even though I had ID up the wazoo and I went to a bank that was the same type as where the check was issued. Apparently I have to have a Swedish person with a Swedish ID to verify that I'm who I say I am. ARRAGH! So I don't have my food subsidy money, which is a bother, but not a hugely big deal. But still, frustrating.


In other news, the European equivalent of Daylight Savings time started today, and we rolled our clocks back an hour, which meant that around 3:30/4 pm-ish, it started getting dark. By 4:45 pm, it was pitch black. See the stars black. This is greatly un-nerving. It's getting to be hardball time.

My Field Trip to City Hall, Video Version, Part 3

So now we go to the Gold room, which was created by a young artist. He wasn't really that famous before he did the Gold room, and in Sweden he wasn't very famous afterward either. This is because the old artist who was going to do the room died before he could start. The new guy was found, and he was very promising... but he first estimated that the room could be done in seven years, only to be told he had two years to do the work. So there's a few mistakes. Like St. George the Dragonslayer's head is chopped off.

Now, the Gold room is rather controversial because the artist did it in a style not typically thought of as "Swedish" Or even classical, in keeping with the rest of the building. Rather, this room is rather foreign in flavor, more in keeping with Roman or some other mosaics. However, all the motifs are Swedish.

The best thing about this room though is the woman who dominates the artwork. She's susposed to the the spirit of the lake that joins up with the sea (Where Stockholm Lies) and the artist thought her quite beautiful. After all, she is a protector, so she is a little more muscular than most people think a woman should be, but the artist thought she was quite beautiful. Conventional Swedes disagree. Plus, she holds Stockholm in her lap, and seems to stand at the center of the world- see, there's the Eastern countries on one side, and there's the Western countries (including, yes, the statue of liberty and an American flag) on the right side. And she is in the center of the constellations also.

And Finally, I have some other random footage of the blue room and other stuff. But I'm tired and want to go to bed, so you're going to have to figure out what the rest of the stuff is without my help. Here we go:

(oh, and the stairs in the blue room are exspecially designed for females walking down in heels and doing it gracefully. The architect and his wife (in heels) spent THREE WEEKS STRAIGHT walking up and down the staircase together trying out different models.)

ahhh! The video quality is SO BAD

Really, I'm looking at what I've posted thus far and I"m thinking that youtube has the worst video quality ever. I swear my videos are better than this. But I will persist, because I know of no other way of doing it.

My Field Trip to City Hall, Video Version, Part 2

This is the room where congress meets. The dais is there not because of any sense of grandeur (heaven forbid Swedes raise someone up higher than all the others and perhaps imply that he or she is better than all the others) but because of acoustics... because the room is so high.



The beams. Originally the beams were supposed to be covered, but the architect decided he liked the effect, so he left the concrete beams in, covered them with wood, and had them painted. The motifs in the "sky" are supposed to invoke the Vikings, who held their meetings under overturned boats in the winter. Apparently the Vikings made very quick decisions because nobody wanted to be out in the cold that long, and this was the architect's way of trying to tell the governing body to keep things brisk and efficient here. To one of the sides there is seating for people to watch. What's funny is often the members of the council will bring their children with them for their meetings, because most of the people who meet there have day jobs, and when they meet they want to spend time with their children, so they bring them along. Of course, Swedish children are much better behaved than many other cultures children, so it isn't that big of problem (that wasn't me saying that, that's what the tour guide said, and I have to agree with her. Swedish children ARE really well behaved.

6

A glockenspiel, I think is what our tour guide called it. It shows the Swedes beating the Danes. Of course, the tower in the Stockholm City hall is just one meter taller than the Danes one, because Swedes are better than the Danes. *wink*

7

The only really old things in the building which are really old. The room was designed for the tapestries, and it's where on Saturdays people can come get married for free, regardless of nationality or gender. The longer ceremony takes three minutes, and you're married by one of the council members. There's a 5 month waiting list.

8

More tapestries.

9

My Field Trip to the City Hall

So today the whole of the Swedish Program got up really early to go see Stockholm's City Hall- the place where the Nobel Prizes are awarded. It's coming up soon, and already people are starting to get excited and talk about it.

This first video is of the courtyard. The City Hall is actually only just over 80 years old, even though it looks older. They made it to look and fit in with the other historical buildings in the city. And while they succeeded in some areas, they did not in others (some of the rooms are quite modern looking, or quite... other country looking. You'll see what I mean, later)



*EDIT: MY ORIGONAL POST HAD THE "COURTYARD" AS MY DINNER FROM LAST NIGHT. IT HAS BEEN CHANGED. MY APOLOGIES. I hope you have been amused.

This is of the view of Gamla Stan and the sorrounding area that can be seen from the City Hall. The Bridge goes over the island that was once the prison, and is now a Youth Hostel.



This the the Blue Room- which was supposed to be blue, but the architect decided at the last moment that he liked the natural brick better. Originally this room was supposed to represent the sea- with the green-blue tiles being the sea bottom, the walls being the sea, and the open ceiling being the sky. It was also supposed to be like a courtyard, but because of heating problems, the roof got changed from glass to a solid ceiling.



This is the view of the organ. Ideally Organs should be place 3/4 to 2/3 of the way up on a wall to get the right resonance. Here however they have been placed at the top- which means when there are a lot of people in the room and it gets warm, the organ sounds funny. Another interesting fact- when changes had to be made a while back, the keyboard had to be removed, and was changed to a remote system, where the organist is on the floor. This results in a HALF SECOND delay between what the organist plays and what comes out. (For those who don't sing- that's a noticeable difference- it's got to be confusing as heck.)

Video of my dinner

Just in case you needed proof.

Small things make me happy

Like getting to sleep late in the morning.

Or wandering around until noon in your pj's.

Or getting almost my whole proposal done (except for part of the thesis, which I'm stuck at but not totally helpless on)

Getting my laundry done (which I have to take out of the washer- remember that Jen before you go to bed!)

Making dinner tonight (real dinner, not just boiled eggs for myself) for myself and Gabe... and having it be edible! And rather tasty too! I made stir fry, (with fake chicken and lots of veggies) and put it over grits (because I wanted to be adventurous and prove to Gabe that I could at least cook SOMETHING)

Just as proof, I took a video of it, but I'll have to put it up at a later point.

My connection is shaky right now.

I'm feeling rather off, and I had a grand intention of writing a witty and funny post, but now I'm just feeling tired.

Later

my last day of International Relations

So get this: my International Relations course was only half a semester long (same amount of course hours though because it was twice as long as the rest of my classes... and added to that he often ran 45 minutes over- and the class was supposed to end at six- so sometimes I wasn't getting home to 8:15). And today was the last day. Now don't get me wrong, the class wasn't that bad... I just think that there was a cultural difference between how American teachers teach and how Swedish Teachers teach. It meant that at times there were crossed wires and miss communications. And well, the subject matter could have been presented in a more interesting way. But the class itself was informative, and the evaluations were papers, so I'm pretty happy, because that's my preferred method of learning.

Anyway, with the exception of a final paper, the class is done, which means I now only have three classes, that happen mostly in the mornings. It's actually quite exciting, because I'll have my afternoons entirely FREE! *dreams of going to museums dance in my head* And my course load is going to drop considerably now. It was really hard to keep up with all the reading with the class moving at double pace, but now that it's done I'm quite happy. It also means I'll be able to take advantage of the sunlight more often!

I had a particular Swedish observation I wanted to point out... AH!

So big news in one of the local papers today... a new cafe opened in Södermalm (I think that's how it's spelled), or near there. It has entirely white walls, and it's really bright in there. Apparently the lights are special ones that simulate sunlight. See, many Swedes go to have light therapy during the winter to counteract seasonal depression, 'cause it gets dark here (the sun's been going down just after five now... or somewhere close to there). Well, this guy had it really bad, and decided to invest in his own lights. Well, then he thought of how nice it would be if people could go to a place where they normally spent time to get the doses of light, without having to spend time out of their day going and just sitting in the light.

Thus, this cafe is born.

I think even if I have to pay a cover charge it might be worth it to go once a week. I'm starting to get really nervous about this whole dark thing. Although, I think the Swedish version of Daylight Savings Time is starting to come up, so I'm looking forward to that a bit.

In other news, Halloween is coming up in the US, and it is greatly saddening to me that I'm not there for it, because it's one of my favorite holidays. I know the precise costume I would use though... involving hot glue guns, feathers and leaves. *evil grin* I'm debating if I want to do that here, or just pay a smaller tribute to Halloween in Sweden. The Swedes might not take my attempt at American Pride in stride, and I'm afraid there's not as many crazy harmless people as there seem to be in other cities. I would actually attract attention dressing wired, where in other American cities it would just be like, eh!

My last and final thing- I've noticed wandering around the city occasionally these knit or crochet... objects wrapped around lamp posts or other places. Finally, I took a close look at one, realized there was a tag that went to a blog. This neat a frivolous (yet in a serious way) site is about knit graffiti. I have to say, I might be in love. Check it out: Masquerade.

For your Viewer Entertainment

On impulse, because I had the camera with me the other day in Swedish when we were working in the language lab, I decided to take some video of me Singing in Swedish, just so you could see how far I've come!

So, with no further ado, I bring to you, JEN Singing in Swedish! (also, take note that I've only had barely two months of Swedish so my pronunciation is TERRIBLE. If your a Swede, please don't get offended.)

The song is about the days of the week, and how the person doesn't do anything on any of the days because of various reasons.


And yes, there is a second song, as if the first wasn't embarrassing enough... It's a love song, but a lighthearted one. The lines proceed something like this, Do you like me? Yes, I do. (another question) (another affirmative) It's cute, and it's an ear-worm.


In other news, I FINALLY managed to send the package off. Now, you might think this isn't that hard of thing to do, but consider this: In Sweden there are no post offices. You're local grocery store or novelty shop could be part of the postal service. Now, this is great because there are better hours and it's more efficient now that the government isn't funding it, but it also means for us Ignorant Americans who can't read Swedish, Finding these places is rather difficult, seeing as the indication that they are a post office is normally a small sign which I CAN'T READ. So I go into different places asking for directions to the local post office. And well... me and directions... let's just say that it made the whole thing an adventure.



PS: Just got finished looking at my blog counter, and yesterday was a record-breaking day with 28 Views by 17 individual computers. That breaks the day we had 20 views with 15 individual computers. *does dance* How cool is that?

Also, just a reminder, if you feel any type of urge, go ahead and comment in the comments section. I fixed it to people can actually comment now.

Of all the things I miss...

Now, being in Sweden there are a bunch of things I miss. Oh, don't get me wrong, I miss people (my family, boyfriend, friends and bestfriends) and I miss places (my bed, the library, Davidson, Davidson College, my "study spots")

But there are things I miss. And one of those things is my books.

I read a post on a blog I follow here, and the author of the post noted how her mother says she doesn't need to meditate because she has her books. And I have to agree. Whatever Anita seems to get from meditating (the calm, the stopping and just relaxing, the moment to herself) I can get from reading.

I love reading. At home I often average two or three books per week. These exclude the reading I do for classes or on the internet. I read about 450 pages of text a week. Just for pleasure. Now, granted, I often read books more than once, and I am reading brain candy- mostly romances, paranormals, and murder mysteries, but despite that, I read A LOT. It's my way of decompressing.

Here in Sweden? Don't read so much. Not many books in English, and the ones that are in English tend to be classics or more intellectual novels, because the smart people are the people who are Swedish and reading books in English, and if their reading in English it probably isn't for escapist purposes.

So, yes. I miss my giant hot chocolate mug, my collection of crocheting needles and yarn (Yeah, I miss that a lot) my drop spindle and carders. I miss my plants and my comforter and my pillow (even though the ones here are just as good). I miss my familiar smelling deodorant and shampoo (although I've been finding some nice-smelling alternatives).

But books?(In English?) I miss them a heck of a lot. I'm going to have to do a lot of making up reading when I get home.

Feeling like a fish in a fishbowl

So today in International Relations we were debating World Poverty, and our obligations as moral citizens on what we have to do about it. We were looking at two arguments, and one of them argued that we should give as much time and money as we can give, and keep on giving, until we come to a moral consequence that is of equal or greater value to the moral consequence of world hunger. Aka: give until it adversely affects your life.

This argument is oversimplified, but for the purposes of this post it works.

Anyway, we started talking about moral obligation, and somehow we got into Slavery and reparations. The funny thing is, we have one black guy (we're all from the US, by the way) and he was against Slavery reparations, yet there were several whites who were for it. And well, the discussion got heated, with one of the people saying "What, are you calling me a slave driver?" *Blinks* To be fair, he stopped after he said it he stopped and said, "That came out totally wrong." And the whole class laughed.

But the whole time our teacher just watched us, and he had a slightly quizzical expression on his face, as if he didn't quite "get" us Americans (he's Swedish). Now this happens more often than I'm always comfortable with. There are times I swear he just sets us up for these discussions just so he can see how those "crazy ignorant Americans" act. Now, I'm sure that isn't entirely true, but it felt that way.

In other news, both of my papers are in. Now I must begin Studying for my Swedish test coming up soon, and back to working on my proposal.

A breath of fresh (Swedish!) Country air

So I got my essay in on Friday, and then took the rest of the day to work on Project Michael, which I am glad to report is almost done. It just needs to be sent off tomorrow… perhaps the day after when I have a bit more time.

This weekend we took at train out of Stockholm to go to a suburb (well really more a suburb of a suburb) where some of Anita’s family friends live. They had invited us to come to their house to celebrate Anita’s friends’ birthday and to help bring in the last of the harvest- carrots and some white tuber that is strangely sweet and I have no clue what the name of it is.

The house is very beautiful. Raymond, the father, is a politician for the Green Party, and a fascinating man to talk to. His wife (whose name escapes me now) is very nice to talk to also.

I’ve been having a lot of fun. Raymond being part of the green party, the house is very environment-friendly, and being Swedes, they manage to mix efficiency with a sparse beauty. The house is all clean lines and soothing colors and wood, and the countryside around it is very beautiful. Yesterday we went for a walk, guided by Nangini, and she introduced us to all her neighbor’s horses and showed us around the area. The forests here are different from the ones back home. The ones back home has lots of leafy trees, but here most of the trees are different types of pine. Lichen, moss and little shrubs abound on the rocky surface. There’s a very different feel to the forest, and it’s much more open. It was so peaceful walking in the chilly air- 6 degrees Celsius, with our breath puffing into clouds and Nangini trying to teach me Swedish words- the names of trees, colors, clothing, and body parts.

So after our walk and dinner (12 around a small table- Raymond’s children, Charlene’s children, a neighbor and then the five of us) we went and had a Sauna. I’m finding that the more I do the Sauna (this is now my fourth) the easier and easier it gets to wander around naked with people of all ages. It’s one of those cultural things which I’m coming to love about Swedes- how comfortable people are with their bodies. It’s not a thing to be ashamed about, it just IS. And it really isn’t sexual either. If there’s one thing I’m happy I’m bringing home with me, it’s that acceptance.

After the Sauna I was just… boneless. Relaxed for the first time in the last week. We deiced to play some party games, Gabe's 'Tarzan,' and some swedish variations on some camp games I've played before. It was a time just filled with laughter, and during that time I got to know Raymond's two older children better- one of them my age and one just a bit younger. The boy, who's my age, makes his living playing online poker, and makes about as much as his father does right now. (Kind of intimidated me a little, here I am spending on this money on an education, while this guy gets good at probability and makes heaps of money). Both of them were really nice, and Anton (the poker player) was really good about speaking in English so I could understand. A boon, because by that time of the day I had been surrounded by people speaking Swedish and me not understanding a word because they talk so fast, and I was feeling just a little left out. Not sad or angry, but I was getting a little bored, not being able to follow the conversation. But the games were pretty universal, and so I had fun with that. Still, I found myself struggling to keep my eyes open, and when Anton and the neighbor decided to leave (because they both live nearby) I took that as an excuse to go to bed.

So, I went to bed shortly afterward, and slept from around nine pm to three am. I woke to go to the bathroom, and when I came back to my bed I found I had a visitor- one of the VERY affectionate cats that lives at their house. Well how could I kick the cat out? He was purring and well, the white noise was actually quite welcome. So I had a “stuffed animal” with me the rest of the night.

Today we spent in the garden. Charlene and Raymond have quite a sizable garden, and they invited to have our help in bringing in the harvest. I got assigned to the carrots (amazing fun!)- pulling them out, sorting them into big and small, and pulling off the green tops. And eating all the really small ones, or the funny looking ones. Then, it was time to go in for lunch and pumpkin soup (made entirely from the garden) and apple crisp for desert.

But the best thing about the weekend? No computer or cell phone on. I did some reading for my classes (and I’m going to be working my butt off the rest of tonight), but I’m really glad I went and had fun.

Representing America... wait, ME?!?

So yesterday I went to speak to Magnus’s class about being an American. *rolls eyes* As if I actually know something about being an American. One of the major things that makes me apprehensive about being in Sweden is I'm worried that someone is going to assume that I'm a "typical American." It’s interesting, because I don’t particularly consider myself representative of what an American is, although since I’ve come to Sweden I’ve noticed that in values and in ways of looking at the world, I’m more American than I thought.

But anyway, I opened with a brief geographical lesson, and a little bit about where I live and what my family’s like, and then I began answering questions. Magnus had the students write out at least one question on a piece of paper so that I wouldn’t be functioning in a vacuum- as like most high school students it took most of the class for them to warm up enough to start asking questions.

I think the experience went well, and I tried to keep the conversation from straying too much to politics, just because on so much I’m not quite sure of where I stand or how to defend it. Also, since our ways of looking a the world are so different, they gave me very strange looks when I told them that you vote not only on a politician’s stand, but also on how you perceive them morally… for instance, evaluating if you think they will actually try to do what they promise to do, or do they have a hidden agenda that is different from what the politician is saying.

We talked about food, how Swedish pancakes are strange because they are flat, and sports. One of they guys asked me if ice hockey is really as violent as it seemed on TV. I said yes, or at least, my perception of it was the same as his. Another one of the people asked me if I would prefer to raise my children in America or Sweden, and I truly had to think on that question, because I’m not quite as sure as I would have been before I came here.

They asked about my perceptions of Swedes, the differences in schools in America and Sweden, and dress codes. I explained to them that it’s not always the adults that promote dress codes, and in some schools the demand for dress codes comes from the students. I then confided that personally I could see the merit of uniforms, even if I didn’t particularly want them myself.

It was an interesting experience. As a closeout, I gave them all my blog address, so that if they were interested they could take a look at it. I also gave them the web address for The Swedish Program, so that if they ever wanted to host a study abroad student, they had the information. Some of the people seemed genuinely interested.

Magnus thought the whole thing had went well, and I’m inclined to agree with him.

And now, I must get working on my essay, which is due at noon tomorrow and which I don’t have very much ready to hand in yet.

Some really neat stuff

Yesterday I went to go see Magnus, my host family father, sing. It was really neat because the choir sang in an art gallery, and I loved the pictures one of the featured artists had up on the wall. They were these bright scenes that invoked the universe, and out of the painting came these sculptures of big cats- lions, panthers and the like. Some of them hug out of the picture frame, some of them batted at a "planet." They were bright and happy and quite lovely. I really really lusted after one of them, and I played out a brief fantasy in my mind where I was a rich woman who could buy one of them. It was good that I had this quite entertaining fantasy to engage me, because after Magnus's group sang, another group of people came onstage (stage being a loose term here, seeing as they were singing in what could be termed a "found space")

Now don't get me wrong. I enjoy opera in the right setting. But they explained the plot line in Swedish (which I didn't follow) and the actual opera was in Italian (which I only caught one word of, which was Amore). And I still might have enjoyed it, except they were singing in an opera voice, when the space was quite small (you really didn't need to project) and I was in the front row and got blasted. Also, one of the men was sweating profusely, and when he turned his head too quickly, drops of sweat would come off of his hair.

So instead I daydreamed that I was someone who could accidentally make statues come to life if I let my emotions get out of my control, and thought about how it would be if the tigers and leopards and panthers could step out of the paintings, keeping the bright colors of the paintings on their bodies, so their bodies were made up of celestial bodies. I imagined how the opera singers would react and the big cats jumped out of the frames and leisurely stretched, digging their nails into the hardwood floor and leaving pale scares in their wake. One of them would knock over the wine bottle left over from the perception, and then would start lapping the red stain off the floor, looking like it was lapping up the blood of a recent kill. And the man with the big booming base voice would shriek like a little schoolgirl, and the noise would break the rest of the people from their paralysis, as they fled from the gallery into the rain.

And there I/the character (because by the end of the thing we've become two separate entities in my mind, with me sitting in the back of her mind like a full out sensory movie) and she would look at the cats, and would go to pet one, and wet paint would come away on her hand as the more time the cats spent outside the paintings the more real they became. And she would say, quite distinctly in German (and I don't know quite why other than German sounds more threatening than Swedish yet still near enough to English to not be quite so exotic) several choice curse words.

Hey, it got me through the singing.

In other news, I took my normal workout time today and instead of going to the gym decided to walk around the city a bit. (I consoled myself with the knowlege that I will have time to do a bigger workout tomorrow and also the fact that it's getting darker each day and it was beautiful out and the sun was shining). I went to Slussen, and from there made my way around a part of Gamla Stan (I think). I went to a really high point in the city, and got a great view of the area. And then I found this really great spiral staircase on the side of a building, and went up on that, even though I probably shouldn't have went up there since I think it was a fire escape.

But it was so much fun, my heart was beating because of the height and the view, and the sun was warm even if the air was cool, and the sounds of the city were curiously distant. And in a moment of clarity I understood why the Swedish have so much green space. These pockets of solitude keep them sane. Their like butterflies were you least expect them, you turn a corner and there's a bit of green, just enough for you to sit, take a look at the view, and find your balance. It doesn't have to be on the scale of Grand Central Park. I can just be a bit of green, a small jewel set in the concrete and stone ring. A promise and a highlight.

Mixing Cultures... and Pancakes

So the apartment was empty last night when I came home- the boys were off celebrating their father's birthday, Anita is on a weekend spiritual retreat, and Magnus was helping with his friends put the sailboat up on land. I actually got quite a bit of work done last night- I decided to go home early and just sat and read and wrote and worked. It was nice 'cause I could blast music out of my computer without worrying about bothering anyone. Just very chill. AND I even went to bed at a decent time!!!

Today it was just Magnus and I in the apartment, and I was kind of worried because of all the people in the family, sometimes I feel a bit of disconnect with Magnus. The funny thing is, I think it's because of his height. I just haven't ever really gotten to know someone that well that was that tall, and it unnerves me to look up to him while I'm talking all the time.

But today was nice. He had grading to do, and I had reading, so we shared the living room and both worked. Then Magnus went out for a run, I took a shower, and then when he came back he suggested that we make pancakes and try out the Maple Syrup that my mom had brought as a gift when she came to see the family. I was all for it. I've been eying the bottle all week, really wanting to have some but thinking it would be bad manners to be the first to sample. Maple syrup and I are good friends, and along with apples they are the two foods I probably miss most when I'm at college. The Maple Syrup you can buy at Davidson just doesn't taste the same.

But this was real, Massachusetts boiled and made MAPLE SYRUP. (which, I will admit, even tastes better than the Maple Syrup you can buy in NY) So Magnus is like, why don't you make the pankake batter while I go take a shower (because he's just come in from his run). And I'm like, "Sure." Because I sure as heck wasn't going to be like, "There's a reason I haven't offered to cook for you guys thus far, and it isn't because I don't want to, it's because I have no clue how to bake anything using the metric system and I feel too silly trying to because I still haven't figured out where everything is in your kitchen, even if I do snoop through your cupboards when nobody's home and try to read the spices on your cabinet even though EVERYTHING IS IN SWEDISH AND I CAN'T UNDERSTAND ANY OF IT."

But some of the panic must have shown in my face, because Magnus pauses and is like, "Ah, but you wouldn't know how to use the metric system. Here, let me get a recipe out." And, THANK GOD, he not only gets out the recipe out, but even gets out the measuring cups I need, because everything is done in deci-liters, yet depending on the recipe they still use teaspoons and tablespoons (or also the metric system), yet the teaspoons and tablespoons use the Swedish version of abbreviation instead of the American.

And then he leaves me.

Well, there was one tense moment where there were these strange lumps in the batter, and another moment where I was like, did I add three or four cup- I mean deciliters yet, and another moment where I was like, surely the batter is too thin, this looks nothing like the batter my mom makes for pancakes and I added just a tad more flour, but overall they seemed to turn out well. Swedish pancakes, I've found out, are very flat (almost like crepes), less cake-y and more just... solid. They also, in my opinion are a bit more bland. When you eat them you roll them up, and then cut them, or at least that is what Magnus did.

I've decided that I'm going to be brave, get my mom's buttermilk pancake recipe, convert it to metrics, and make them blueberry or raspberry or chocolate chip pancakes, because apparently Magnus and the rest have never had that type.

But the good news is, the Maple Syrup was GREAT on them (even though they didn't seep into the pancakes like they do with American ones)- but then there's no wrong way to eat Maple Syrup, I don't think. Unless you try to do it through your nose. Or some other extreme thing.

And the other good thing is, Magnus and I had some bonding time. We talked about mannerisms and I told him some of my funny stories about when I first came to Davidson and had a crash course in Southern Manners (or how to be on the receiving side of Southern Manners). We talked about how different cultures have different ways of speaking and subtle unspoken communication differences.

It was fun.

Tonight I'm meeting up with a friend I made at dancing, and we're going to go have a fika (a Swedish meeting to have coffee or some other hot beverage, though most normally coffee), and then I'll probably come home, get some more work done, and go to bed. But for now I need to head out.

Until later!

The Swedish Propensity to wear Scarves

At the risk of generalizing too much (which if your really think about it, is a large part of this blog, because really, I'm drawing conclusions about the Swedish Culture from my very limited experiences) I would like to point out a quirk I have noticed on the subway.

Now let me just note here that I love the Stockholm Subway and public transportation system in general. And the trains I've went on since coming here? They were wonderful too. Not only do I love the T-banna (as it's called in Sweden) because it's convenient, but also because it is like a morning and evening dose of looking into a fishbowl. Everyone in Sweden uses the subway unless you are the extremely rich or the extremely poor. And most of the Extremely poor use the subway anyway, because the security is fairly lax.

But the subway is kind of like a random sampling of Stockholm. You've got the working mothers and fathers with the strollers taking their young babies to daycare. You got a variety of people from different classes: the business types, the tourist types, the "waste removal workers" (garbagemen- who don't even smell), the manual workers, the self employed, the girlfriend and boyfriend that aren't even aware of the rest of the world, the Husband with his pregnant wife who makes sure she doesn't fall over because there aren't enough seats and they're standing, the blatantly gay sambol (legally living together- like my host family parents are doing- Anita and Magnus) couple trying to entertain their three year old girl who is whiny because she didn't get enough sleep last night. And you've got people of all ages and shapes bringing their dogs (and the occasional cat and rabbit) on leashes on the subway.

You have a variety of nationalities represented: the Korean tourists with their three children and a map spread out between the two of them, the German Foreign exchange students engaged in a heated debate, the Finnish commuters who alternate between Swedish and Finnish as they unknowingly demonstrate their fluency in both, the French guy touring the world in his retirement harmlessly flirting with a girl that could be his grand-daughter, the Japanese businessman that is working on a merger with Erikson telephones who can't get of his Samsung phone long enough to realize that it might be a bad idea to be using the competition's phone when going into the meetings, the flock of Muslim women in full brightly-colored and patterned burkas (or whatever those full-length robes are called) chattering in Swedish and flitting between each other- separate (by choice or unwillingly I don't know) from the rest of the people on the subway-standing out from the dark greys, blacks and browns that most Stockholmers wear, the robes winging out behind them as they exit the doors.

I love looking into the other trains when we pass by each other, and seeing the other people in another train, reading, staring out the window bored, putting on makeup, adjusting their hat, talking, and staggering as the train shifts.

And you know what I've noticed since it's starting to get cold? EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM HAS A SCARF. Now, I will admit, scarves are fairly common in the US, but some people have hoods on their coats, and some people just pull their cap down low. Not in Stockholm, at least. EVERYONE has a scarf. Male, female, old, young, the only ones that don't seem to have them are the tourists.

It fascinates me.

I find this outrageously funny, and I know it isn't

Question: Far, får får får?
Answer: Nej, får får inte får, får får lamm.

*dies laughing* I will explain.

In Swedish, får means both get and sheep. Get meaning not only get a thing, but also get children, much like we have the word beget. So understanding that...

Translation literal (with the make sense translation in parenthesis):

Question: Father, get sheep sheep? (Father, do sheep have baby sheep?)
Answer: No, sheep get not sheep, sheep get lambs. (No sheep don't have baby sheep, sheep have lambs.)

This is now my favorite swedish dirty joke, right up there with the white and black horse joke.

PS: Another interesting linguistic quirk... gift (pronounced yift in swedish) means both to get married, and posion.

*runs off laughing*



EDIT: As I was informed just a few minutes ago, I had my settings put on the comments so that only members could comment. This made some people sad. I can only blame it on the fact that Blogger registers me as a swedish speaking person, because I'm in sweden, and so I can't read any of the buttons. I've had to painstakingly translate each one and memorize what it does. Now, I'm sure there is a way to switch to english somewhere, but I haven't found it yet, seeing as everything is in swedish. But I have fixed it now so that you can comment. So please, if you feel the urge to write something in response, do so. I can promise that I, at least, will greatly appreciate it.

Getting back to Routine

As much as it was fun to have a week off and sightseeing around Sweden with my mom and my grandmas, it is nice to get back to routine (as much as I have one). I realized that last week with my mom and grandmas being here, I lost track of days, and as a result totally forgot about choir on Thursday. *ashamed look* So I'm going to have to make my apologies for that tomorrow. My laundry is also in a state, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to have another bout with the downstairs washers to see if I can improve on my last attempt. (Wrinkled clothes, here I come...)

But for the most part things have returned to normal, and I'm happy to be spending time with my host family again, and working on my studies, and preparing for the two tests I have this week (both of them essay ones, and both of them really glorified papers)

Magnus has asked me to come talk to his class next week on Thursday, and I'm quite excited, even if I have no clue what I'm going to say to them. He tells me that he wants me to go in with something to say as a starting point, and then they'll have questions to ask me. If any of you have ideas on what I should say, leave a note in the comments. I mean, how do you possibly represent the culture you've grown up with? Especially when I don't consider myself very typical, for good or ill. (mostly good, I'd think though).

I'm thinking my presentation will go something like this:
Hello, my name is Jennifer Crowley and I live in New York State. This is different from New York City. Yes, NYS and NYC are different things. I live near Albany, which is the capital of NYS. Why is Albany the capital yet not named after the state? Because having our capital in that Economic bustle would not be a good thing. On a good day I just am amazed that NYC even functions with all the people they have packed into it. Interesting fact: Albany, NY is one of three in the country. The other two are in Albany, Georgia (where they say the name the wrong way) and Albany, Oregon (where I don't know how they say it, because who goes there anyway?)

But seriously, what do you say when you're representing a country to Highschoolers? I'm afraid I'll have trouble just keeping their attention. The only thing I know for sure is I'm going to wear my American flag socks. And a white shirt. And bluejeans. And a red ribbon in my hair. Looking patriotic I can at least handle.

And that is an interesting thing. Americans wear their flag on their clotes all the time. The only time I've seen the Swedish flag being worn is on tourist clothing. I asked Magnus about it, and he says that you're normally seen as a nationalist if you wear the Swedish flag. And he said nationalist as if it was a bad thing, the same way as some of us say the word racist. Interesting. I must ask more about this.

Swedish Sauna

Yesterday I took my first Swedish Sauna (pronounced saow-na, emphasis on the second syllable). It was a singular experience, and I have to admit, despite running a gamut of emotions, I enjoyed it... a lot.

My first impression of the Sauna? Lots of naked people. The Saunas themselves were separated by gender, with the Males in one and the Females in the other. The swimming area was co-ed, though there seemed to be an unspoken division between where each of the genders went into the lake.

But it was interesting. In the US there would be embarrassment, or the young boys who were there would giggle because people were... naked. Here it was just... that's how it was done. Nothing out of the normal. It was rather comforting, actually. I ended up deciding to "fit in" by not wearing a bathing suit, and I have to admit I liked the experience.

On another note, the water was COLD. But it was strange. You went in, and it was freezing, but then you would get out into the chilly air, and after a moment, you would be warm. Anita said it has something to do with the pores being open from the heat, and then when you hit the cold water they retract and get tight, so the heat stays trapped in your body, but either way, it was strange.

And it was also cool because each time I went into the cold water, when I got out I had this urge to giggle uncontrollably. Kind of the same giggle we get at camp from the people in the showers when the hot water suddenly runs out. Shrieks, and then giggles.

It left me with all these fun natural chemicals swimming around in my body, adrenaline, and happy chemicals.

And with a new impression of Swedish Habits and society. I like the fact that here nudity in certain situations... Saunas, locker rooms and certain pools or swimming areas, is ok. It's normal to see young children swim without clothes, and I have to say the whole pratice is rather convenient.

On the other side of the lake 3

Then, it was five o’clock, and mom was like, “WE HAVE A HALF HOUR.” Underneath her words, she was like, I’m doing this because you want to, but we aren’t going to find anything because when I look I don’t find anything unless I spend a minimum or three day on it.

So, after convincing the Liberian that we knew what we were doing with microfiche, even though SHE didn’t… she left us in the room, looking dubiously at the crazy Americans.

We were methodical in our search. Mom got the first microfiche, I chose one at random. We knew his name Anders Erik, and we knew his birthdate, and there was 80 pages per slide. We knew the father’s name was Erik, because Anders Erik’s last name was Eriksson, and in Sweden at that time, patronymics(sp?) was in practice. And we were off.

Mom found the first reference, two microfiche later. But we couldn’t read everything on that one, but we got the Parish name and the Farm name from the entry, and the first letters of his parents.

Then, I just happened to have the next time bracket’s household surveys, and was looking at that farm when my mom came across her reference. Some searching with Grandma Edna looking over my shoulder, and WE FOUND HIM AGAIN… now with more brothers and sisters listed and the parent’s names clearer. We now knew that Erik Andersson and Majsa Svensdotter (sp?) were the parents of Anders Erik Eriksson, who had three brothers. We have enough information to continue our search, after being STUCK for several years. *Does victory dance*

Well, during all that searching we found out the library didn’t close until seven, so at six fifteen we left the library, and started our mad dash back to the Vargön, where the hotel was. Our reservation was at eight.

But I really really wanted to stop at some standing stones we had seen on our way to Visnums-Kil, so we stopped, took some quick pictures, and made it back to the hotel for twenty minutes until our reservation. Success! We had just enough time to change into some nice clothes and then we went to have our dinner. It was a five course meal… and really really yummy. The first course was Tomato Themed. There was a Tomato Salad, Tomato Sherbet and Tomato Soup. Normally I don’t like tomato soup, but this was quite good. The next course was a fish type thing in a dressing on a toast. It was… all right. Not as good as the soup. Then, there was a palette cleanser made of a type of icy serbet… but not quite. It was called “Orange Duet” (I liked the musical names the cook gave the different foods). We found out later from the chef it was shaved orange juice ice and shaved blood orange juice ice… specially prepared so that it wasn’t too sugary and didn’t freeze right.

The next thing was the main dish. It was duck, served over a Parmesan cheese, carrots, cabbage, risotto and yellow beets mix. *licks lips* It was the first time I’d had duck and liked it. It was really really really really really good. Very natural and just… tender and sweet and the contrast between the sweet duck and whatever it was glazed in (some type of fruity gaze), and the cheese… IT WAS GREAT.

(just conferred with my mom… found out the fish I ate was raw. Not bad for undercooked, I mean, uncooked meat)

Last, we had the ‘chocolate trio.’ There was a truffle infused with whiskey, and quite good- smooth and nice, and you couldn’t taste the whiskey at all. There was a chocolate mousse and a chocolate bar with nuts in it. The chocolate mousse had a white chocolate foam over it, and the bubbles were preserved by a protein. We found this out later when my mother got into a long discussion with the cook, who was also the owner of the restaurant. It’s funny, sometimes I forget how smart my mother is until she does something like this, and I’m reminded that in her own way, she’s just as valuable and educated as a doctor is.

By far my favorite part of the meal though was my grandmother’s antics. I’m fortunate that my grandmothers both get along quite well, and are really good friends. Actually, they give new meaning to the phrase “thick as thieves.” Well, at this formal restaurant, much to my mother’s mortification (well, not really, but she pretended like she was embarrassed) my grandmothers got into a giggle fit. It was great.

On the other side of the lake 2

From Visnums-Kil, we decided to go to Trosö, because there was a really cool bridge there, and also a café my mother remembered and liked. The café was closed, but the bridge was beautiful, and there was a neat standing stone marking the bridge. The stone was much older than the bridge, but still both were cool.
At Trosö we went to Trosö Kyrka, where we knew that Hanna’s father, Anders Erik Eriksson was born. The problem was, we didn’t know his parents, because we couldn’t read the first Parish Register we obtained online of his birth. We were hoping to find a gravestone or some type of… something to help us get his parents names and/or find out where he worked before he got married and moved. Aka… the farm he worked on, or something like that.

While Mom and the Grandma’s were wandering the farm, I decided to go in the other direction because I was cold and the sun was shining on that side of the church. There I met a very nice Swedish woman who only spoke Swedish, and the gardener. In my broken Swedish I tried to tell them who we were looking for, and what we were doing there. Meanwhile, Mom and co. were off wandering around. Finally, they made it to me, and the gardener (who had been listening and silent) showed that he could speak a little English, and offered to let us in the church so we could look at it. We accepted gratefully. (I have pictures of all the different churches… postcards too)

Well, on the way out we encountered a daughter and her mother who were going to visit graves, and they gave us some helpful information. If we went to Mariestad Biblotek (Library) there were records of the parish books. They told us we might be able to look at the microfiche if we got there before six. It was then around three, and we had eaten breakfast at seven-thrity and a measly half cup of icecream at eleven. We were all DYING of hunger, and quite dizzy when we stepped out of the car in Mariestad. So we FINALLY got something to eat… but not TOO much, because we were having dinner at a nice restaurant at eight. There was a really really good raspberry crumb tort… it reminded me of the topping you put on apple crisp. They served the raspberry crumb tort warmed with vanilla sauce… it was similar to a vanilla pudding or custard, but like all Swedish candy, it wasn’t very sweet. It was yummy though.

On the other side of the lake

Today we went to the other side of the lake, where relatives from the other side of my Grandmother’s family lived. Hanah Maria Eriksson, Grandma’s mother’s mother. She was the one that emigrated to Proctor, Vermont with her three children. And a year after (14 months) after she arrived, she died. She was buried in Proctor, Vermont, in the cemetery by the house I first lived in when I was born. (How creepy is that... the house was built on the site of the hospital, and when we moved to the area before I was born, my parents had no CLUE that she even came to that town. Mom didn’t start doing Genealogy for our Swedish family until later) Creepy creepy creepy.

So we went to Visnums-Kil Kyrka (church), which was the place my mother re-established three gravestones the last time she was here in Sweden, 2002. The graves where Hanah’s Mother and Father and Brother. (Emma Christina Carlsdotter; Anders Erik Eriksson; Otto Eriksson) It’s sad because when Otto, the baby of the family, went to America to go see his sister’s grave, and on the way back got sick and died, leaving his young family behind. Visnums-Kil was quite neat… They had some 13th and 14th century artifacts there that we could look at and read about, which was quite neat.

From there it was just a short drive past the new school and the old school (about a mile) to the Homestead Museum. We went to the Homestead, where we suspected that there was some information or buildings about Hanna’s mother, Emma. Emma stayed behind in Sweden even when all her family had emigrated to America, staying… somewhere. We suspect the house on the Homestead property, which was converted into a home for the old people, is where Emma spent her last days growing old. The couple there was very nice. We also got to see a bakery that had been moved from Kilsby Farm, where we know the family worked. On that farm, in Kilsby, is where Hanna was born in 1869.

After that we went to the Old Schoolhouse, where we know that all the children from Kilsby farm went to school. We know that Emma and her daughter Hannah both went to the school. The school was built in 1840.

From the schoolhouse we drove out to Kilsby and drove through the farm. There were a lot of little houses, all in various states of disrepair, but the timber was still there, so we could get an impression of what the farm had been like, if we could imagine away the forest.

On the way out of Visnums-Kil we stopped and took photos of someone who was raising (instead of cattle, goats or sheep)… deer. Or if not deer, then some type of reindeer. They had big racks (antlers) and were quite beautiful. I took pictures. Then we grabbed some icecream to hold us over because we were starving, but wanted to keep going. Besides, the food at the rest stop was rather… sketchy. My mother used the word… questionable. (generational differences in semantics)

Family History 2

So the next place we went was Mildred’s old house, which is being fixed up by Håkan’s brother Rowland (who apparently is very well off and owns 5 houses all over the world). There we had fika, a wonderful Swedish tradition similar to teatime in Europe, except that it happens with coffee and it can happen both in the morning and at night… kind of a glorified coffee break. There we got to look at some really old pictures of some of our relatives (which I have on video and in pictures, since we weren’t able to copy the originals).

After having fika, we went to visit the farm that Zacharias was born on. As I said, the area was beautiful, and Håkan picked me a really unique flower that was purple with little dots on the underbelly and shaped like a trumpet or bell. I took pictures of it, but the camera didn’t want to focus on the flower *pouts* I want to find out what type of flower it was… it was simply beautiful.

Marion had arranged for a really neat craft museum to be open for us, where a couple had taken it upon themselves to preserve some of the handicrafts that were being done in the area. Marion had donated a sampler to the place (see picture), so she was able to get the owners to open it up and give us a tour. There was a loom, some really neat crocheting and lacework, and possibly my favorite thing, snow chains for bicycles. Yes, only in Sweden would the people be mad enough to ride their bikes in snowy icy weather that would call for bicycle snow chains.

After the craft museum we went to lunch… a welcome break because I was getting low on blood sugar and nearly falling asleep on Håkan as he drove us there. Next we went to a really neat place… Haverud, which is the only place in the world were there is both a road, train and water bridge all in one place. It was SO COOL. I got a postcard of it, in addition to video. Real Swedish innovation, along with being really creative and quite picturesque.

Then, off to a craft store that sold some really neat local crafts. At this point I was getting pretty tired, but I had just enough energy to peruse all four levels of the store and pick out some postcards and knickknacks to take back with me.

Finally, finally we went back to Håkan’s house, where we had a large fika or small meal, and then, Håkan surprised us with something he doesn’t show many people… the footage to his 50th anniversary. Then, we had to say goodbye to Håkan and Marion, for we won’t see them tomorrow, our last full day. I nearly cried, because it was so wonderful to meet such great relatives that were not only so kind and welcoming but so willing to work with me on my Swedish. They had great sense of humors, and even though by the end of the day I was feeling Swedish-Languaged out, they were just unflagging in their delight that I was learning their language. It was very heartening and humbling at the same time.

Family History

Today was a day that focused on family and legacy. We met up with Håkan and Marion, our Swedish relatives that were showing us the side of the family that they had researched and known about. We got to see the foundation of the house my great-great-grandfather Zacharias was born in Färgelanda, which is north of Vänersborg, where Marion lives, and we are staying. It was situated between the two ends of a snaking lake, called Vrångsjön. I could easily imagine how at one point there were no trees, and the house looked over the whole of the lake (the entirety we could not see because of all the relatively new trees that were blocking the view). We found a wall, the original foundation, and some stairs that lead up to the house. The area that would have been inside the house was covered with a soft, cushy moss, and Marion said that most likely the thatched roof had fallen in, and the moss was covering it, since it needed relatively loose soil to grow.

But I get ahead of myself. We woke up early to get breakfast and head off to pick up Marion, who led us to where Håkan lived. Håkan raised horses for most of his life, and while he only had two now, at the biggest time he had 18… one of which was a horse which was the oldest in Sweden, at 37 years old (most horses only live until 25, apparently). Then, Marion, the grandmas and my mother got in one car, and Håkan and I went into the other. I was kind of nervous, because I hadn’t spoken to Håkan much the day before, but he was really enthusiastic about helping me with my Swedish, and later I found out that his mother (Mildred, who showed Mom and Grandma around before, and is since dead) had charged him with being the guide to show Americans relatives who came over their history.

The first place we went to was a graveyard in Färgelanda, where we took pictures of the different graves, including Joel Jacobson (brother to Zacharias, and Marion’s Grandfather) and his wife, Betty Svensdotter. We also took pictures of Marion’s father and mother, Carl Einar Johnson and Fanny Hansen. The final one, which I took the video of, was Edvard Jakobson and his wife Hulda Jonasdotter, which was the grandfather of Edith Avery (a woman who lives in Albany’s who’s daughter is Diane Kallner, and who’s grandson is TJ Kallner, my cousin who dated a friend of mine {Before we knew we were related}). The last important one is Zacharias’s mother’s grave, Anna Lisa Olson (which was really Olsdotter, married name Larson… as if it doesn’t get confusing enough).

Just a quick note

Today Hokön and Marian showed us around where are family lived... some of the old churches and farmsteads. It was amazing, I have lots of video and photos, but I can't do anything until I get real Internet. Just wanted to say my mother, grandmothers and I are having a great time and living the Swedish life.

More on Wednesday when I get back to Stockholm.