that english girl

Misfortunes, mirth & mischief of an english girl living in Sweden….
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Archive for December, 2009

Mind your p’s and q’s

Thursday, December 10th, 2009

My Parents always taught me to mind my p’s and q’s when I was a child.  I had to make sure I always said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ copious amounts of times to aging relatives and the like who at Christmas and birthdays, proffered gawdy hand knitted items of clothing and selection boxes of various well know chocolate bars such as Mars, Twix and Marathon.  Such was the type of Christmas gift in my day!  What a luxury it was to have 6 different types of chocolate bar to choose from and gorge on.  Imagine a child of today getting a Crunchie and a Bounty for Christmas….and being happy about it!

As a product of my Britishness I fall over myself to be pleasant and polite and always mind my p’s and q’s: excuse me, pardon me, forgive me, please may I have, please can you help me, I would be ever so grateful if, thank you so very much, I am eternally thankful, appreciative, indebted, beholden, and so on….One side of our language in Britain is entirely dedicated to being thankful, courteous, considerate, polite and of course sorry.  We are absolutely sorry to have disturbed anyone or anything for anything or anyone.  Upon disturbing someone…maybe as an example, to buy a pot of tea in a teashop we might say  ‘So sorry to disturb you’ and then morph into gratitude itself where no amount of thank you very much indeed for helping to quench our thirst, is considered too few.

We are sorry when we bump into someone in a crowded place, sorry if we fail to hold a door open for someone, sorry if we get served before someone else at the bar, sorry when we stand on someones foot and EVEN sorry when somebody stands on OUR OWN foot.  Ridiculous, but it is the first thing that pops out of a Brits mouth…Opps SORRY! I didn’t see you there…No I am SORRY my foot was in the way!

Swedes though on the other hand, or to be fair I should probably say Scandinavians, do not have this burning need to be so polite all the time.  That is not to say that they are rude, it’s just that the language is more direct and without so many frills as English.  Swedish does not even have a direct word for ‘please’, in the form we use it when we ask for something.  They of course just cut straight to the thanks (Ett kopp te, Tack).

My family visited me this weekend and following a number of restaurant dinners and shopping expeditions they came to the shocking conclusion that waitresses and shop assistants were being quite rude to them!  Having lived in Sweden for quite a few years now I didn’t feel that at all, people were ‘normal’ as far as I was concerned.  But thinking back…I did remember feeling exactly the same thing when I first moved to Sweden.  I explained to my family that it was not so much Swedes were rude more that they weren’t overly polite like we in England.  We ordered an apple juice and the waitress said ‘NO, we don’t have apple juice’.  To my brothers delicate English ears that appeared rude because of course she forgot the obligatory magic words…No I am SORRY but we don’t have apple juice, but PLEASE can I offer you Orange juice instead? yes ok. THANKYOU’

The language in Sweden is more direct, more efficient you might say, certainly without apology and at times lacking helpful suggestions or alternatives, but does that qualify someone as rude?

I must have been here far too long because I think not.  It’s just a matter of adaption for the Brit to get over the inborn desire to be sorry, polite and then thankful in everything we do.  Maybe realising that the rest of the world is not so bloody sorry about anything that is not personally their fault. But maybe the Scandinavians with their excellent English abilities and kind natures can also help international relations and remember to mind their p’s and q’s when faced with manner obsessed Brits…In the words of Caroline af Ugglas… snälla, snälla!

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Booty call

Thursday, December 3rd, 2009

Swedish advent has arrived and the onset of the countdown to Christmas can mean only 2 things to Swedish boys and girls: One, it’s time to put up your advent lights (7 candles arranged like an arrow) in your windows and two, it’s time to hit the Border Shop!

Most of you in living outside planet Sweden probably don’t know this but, alcohol in Sweden is sold only through a state operated monopoly called ‘Systembologet’.  So as you can imagine, any self respecting treasurer is not going to do tax payers any favours buy offering any attractive buy one get one free deals or ‘BOGOF’ as we have lovingly come to know them in UK.  Under the guise of protecting our health the Swedish government keep the prices of favourite tipples at a premium in a bid to keep consumption low and presumably ease the strain on the liver transplant waiting list!

With Germany less that 3 hours away by car it didn’t take long for the savvy Germans to spot an opportunity or two and soon open up massive floating hypermarkets at the ports that service ferries between Denmark and Sweden with Germany.  Welcome to Border Shop phenomenon where Swedes and Danes alike fill their boots with boozy booty, blatantly ignoring their governments attempts on liver preservation.  What’s that theory now….something about forbidden fruit was it…

My Swedish boy asked me if I fancied a little jaunt across the waters, stock up on some Xmas booty and take in a night in Lubeck famous for its marzipan (another favourite at this time of year). ABSOLUT! I replied.  I love the way that Swedes answer questions affirmatively whilst simultaneously demanding shots of their own branded vodka!  I think this gives further evidence too, to the fact that alcohol starved Swedes have booze on the brain.  It doesn’t matter where you are or what you are doing, you are guaranteed to hear at least 10 ABSOLUTS a day. And that’s before they have even started on the snaps.

You see, this restriction on alcohol just doesn’t seem to work, does it?…the intentions are good…but…it’s basic economics, supply and demand…restrict the supply and the demand shoots through the roof.  Still the Germans don’t mind at all and it makes a nice day out.

So off we went, short drive across Denmark…2 hours…short ferry crossing…45 minutes…and Voila! You are in Germany, oh wait a minute that’s French…well never mind that now, we have got other things on our mind.

Lubeck is a charming town bursting with Gothic churches surrounded by calming waters and in December the center is home to bustling stalls selling all things Christmassy. It’s quite wonderful.  We was really looking forward a truly GERMAN experience but everywhere the quaint roads twisted and turned,  all we could hear were lots and lots of, um, Swedes!!  ABSOLUT! they all seemed to be exclaiming simultaneously. It appeared we weren’t the only ones with booty on our minds this weekend.

Feeling right at home we got stuck in to the German/Swedish Christmas market experience, gulping down hot gluwein laced with Ameretto from mugs emblazoned with snow scenes and santas and munching massive foot long bratwursts that were accompanied with the smallest piece of bread I have ever been served.  Next we headed to one of the famous marzipan shops and joined the throng of people all clambering to get there hands on the sugary booty shaped like any kind of animal, fruit, vegetable, object or effigy that you could possibly imagine .  It was like the end of the war and rationing had finally been abolished and the shops had just got their first delivery, such was the apparent panic buying and surge of people in the shop.  As I am partial to the taste of marzipan and this is supposed to be special stuff, there was no alternative but to join the heaving mass of Swedes and try to snatch up my own box of goodies and make it to the checkout in one piece.

Things were more civilised at the Border shop, probably because we chose to go there on a Saturday eve, when everyone is out in the bars drinking the stuff not shopping for it.  We stocked up for Christmas and probably Easter too.  Every now and then the floor seemed to sway a touch making me wonder about how much Ameretto was in those mugs of hot gluwein.  Had I totally lost count of the number of tiny sample cups of box wine I had tried….It wasn’t until we came out again that I realised that the Border Shop is actually a boat! A huge booze boat! You gotta hand it to the Germans, genius.

So laden up with stocks of red, white (& no blue) wine, beers, salami, cheese, tea, marzipan, cakes and goodness knows what other booty Germans are renown for providing, we hot footed it back home again with the rest of the Swedes.  Happy, fed, watered and ready to begin the advent to our Christmas. :)

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