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The Swede Life

(mis)adventures abroad in Sweden

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Survivor: international airport edition

Thursday, December 30th, 2010

Adversity. The unknown. You know, that feeling you get every time Beck releases yet another “best of” compilation.

It can be frustrating. It can be terrifying. But when you’re studying abroad, it is inevitable.

For months, my parents had been planning on me returning for the holidays, spending my 22nd Christmas in a row with them. Flying to Portland, Ore. from Copenhagen, I was bent on spending Christmas Eve in a semi-conscious coma, sleeping off the jet lag resulting from a nine-hour time difference and more than 10,000 kilometers (6,000 miles) of flying.

Instead, I spent my Christmas Eve at the Toronto-Pearson International Airport Holiday Inn.

I had a feeling, while watching the Swedish countryside go by on a 6 a.m. train from Växjö, that the heavy snowfall might cause some delays in Copenhagen, as it had in paralyzing pretty much the rest of Western Europe (a breakdown only equaled by a certain unpronounceable Icelandic volcano this past summer) . But, I clung to the hope that the Danes, like Swedes, were used to large amounts of frozen precipitation, and that everything would work out. Boy, was I wrong.

How I managed to keep my cool –after sitting on the tarmac for three hours – is beyond me, as was refraining from launching the airline representative into the stratosphere upon learning I would miss my connecting flight from Toronto. But at least some good came of the situation.

Not only was I given a free hotel room (which actually wasn’t too shabby as far as hotel rooms go, considering there was a sauna), but I received three free meals which – with no price limit – allowed me to splurge: I ate crab cakes for dinner, indulged in a smorgasbord for breakfast, and feasted on a roast turkey and brie baguette with green salad for lunch. Good thing there’s a black hole where my stomach should be.

Eventually, I did make it home in time for Christmas, but the lesson had been learned: adversity happens. Really, the whole episode was eerily symbolic of my entire first semester in Växjö.

Dealing with adversity is perhaps one of the most important things about studying abroad. Things are ever-changing, fluidic, and never, ever go exactly according to plan. You have to learn to deal with this, adapt, “go with the flow.”

There’s a reason studying abroad looks great on any resume: employers love to see it, as it shows you’ve dealt with, and overcome, more adverse situations than Derek Jeter has pitchers. In other words, you can adapt to almost anything.

Otherwise, I suggest buying a pet rock. Not a lot of adversity to deal with there.

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Collapsing in on myself

Tuesday, December 21st, 2010

Something is dying inside me.

No, I’m not trying to sound like some overly angst-ridden emo band featuring five guys that haven’t showered in three weeks. And no, I’m not experiencing a crisis relating to the retirement of Larry King or the breakup of The Ark.

The “old me” is dying, collapsing in on itself, being replaced by newfound beliefs that have been molded by my time in Sweden.

In the past four months, I’ve changed in ways I could never have possibly imagined, and experienced things beyond my wildest dreams. I have seen the very best in humanity (strangers giving me a ride back to my dorm when I was lost) and the very worst (terrorist attacks in Stockholm). There have been times, admittedly, when I wished I had never come to Sweden at all, where all I really wanted was to be back home in the familiarity of the American Northwest.

But like a girl you end up spending a prolonged period of time with, I’ve fallen in love with Sweden. The people, the lifestyle and, yes, even the climate. And like a girl, the more time I’ve spent here, the more comfortable I’ve become with the culture and language; I’ve even come to prefer some Swedish cultural aspects more than American ones (like forming queues in banks and other public places, or bagging your own groceries).

Talking to friends and family who’ve been to a country you will be studying in may be useful, but you can never be totally prepared for what will happen. You have to simply take the plunge, as pretty much every resort on the planet proclaims in advertisements. And so far, I haven’t drowned.

Swedish professor Jonas Stier states that studying abroad is “not merely a physical journey – but also an academic, cultural, intellectual and emotional journey.”  Now that I’ve been abroad, I agree. This journey – the first time I have ever even been outside the United States – has altered literally every fiber of my existence, changing not only how I perceive the world but how I perceive myself . In other words, it has been intensely personal.

My journey is halfway through. One semester down, one to go. I’ve made new friends, tried new things, and read probably every book ever written about Pippi Longstocking. And I still haven’t frozen to death.

Thank God for coffee…

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Want to spread Christmas cheer? Burn a goat

Wednesday, December 15th, 2010

 

If you could only know one thing about Sweden, know this: Christmas is a big deal. A really big deal. Bigger than the Red Sox winning the World Series, or even the wedding of a certain Crown Princess this past summer.

To the casual observer, the Swedish concept of Christmas seems pretty similar to the American one: religiously, it’s still about the birth of Jesus, but mercifully absent of any little drummer boys. Radio stations play the same five songs for more than a month, and practically every grocery store has a Christmas tree lot in front of it. On Christmas Eve, stockings are often hung by the chimney with care, and Santa Claus is always making a list and checking it twice. Even Rudolph is a beloved icon.

But not everywhere in Sweden is ”Jul” so standardized. North of Stockholm, people in Gävle prefer to celebrate by burning a giant straw goat every year.

Technically, the incineration of the four-legged farm animal is illegal, but residents of the city of 70,000 usually take matters into their own hands. In 2009, the 43-foot-high goat was set aflame early in the morning before fire crews could respond.

This is nothing new in Gävle. The goat, a giant version of the traditional Jul Goat, has burned 24 times since it was first erected in 1966.

Back then, Gävle advertising consultant Stig Gavlén came up with the idea of putting a giant straw goat in the city’s Slottstorget (Castle Square). The three-ton goat, designed by Gavlén’s brother Jesper (who was also the city’s fire chief), was erected on Dec. 1. But by New Year’s Eve it was set ablaze by an unknown individual.

Since then, the goat has survived the holiday season only 10 times. In addition to its nearly annual flameout, the goat also has been smashed to pieces, run over by a car, and tossed into a river.

City officials have tried to discourage vandalism of the goat over the years, posting guards and setting up video surveillance, but their efforts frequently have gone for naught. One year, guards on a very cold night thought it might be safe to step into a nearby restaurant to warm up for a bit. They were barely inside the front door when the goat was in flames.

Sometimes, the goat doesn’t survive anywhere close to Christmas. In 1970, it was lit only six hours after it was set up. And in 1979, it burned to the ground before it was even finished.

Rather than bored teenagers, a decidedly bizarre cast of characters has written itself into the lore of what is undoubtedly one of the world’s largest effigies. In 2005, two men dressed as Santa Claus and the Gingerbread Man were responsible for the goat’s destruction. In 2001, it was a tourist from Cleveland, one of the few culprits who has ever actually been apprehended. He spent 18 days in jail.

Today, the goat’s fame has gone worldwide. Since 1988, English bookies – in yet another example of how the English seem to bet on everything –  have taken wagers on how long the goat will last. And, people can witness the goat’s likely demise through the goat’s official blog.

“Terrible night!” the goat wrote last year after burning to the ground. “Slept so well under my beautiful snow blanket, when it suddenly became awfully hot. It was fire!”

And I thought my family tradition of eating lasagna on Christmas Eve was strange.

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In Oslo, an ultramodern makeover

Tuesday, December 7th, 2010

BENJAMIN MACK/THE LOCAL - The Oslo Opera House is a 1,100-room complex built at the head of the Oslofjord. Opened in 2008, construction cost an estimated 4.4 billion Norwegian Kroner (approx. $880 million).

“You know, there is more construction here than anywhere in all of Scandinavia,” said Tore Valkeapää, the old Sami shopkeeper running a store out of a massive tent in the middle of central Oslo’s bustling waterfront district.

I smiled approvingly. Somehow, the elderly man’s words seemed right. Everywhere I turned in this ultra-modern city, construction cranes rose like monuments in the soft November sky. Oil revenue is fast turning Norway’s once-quaint capital into the Dubai of Northern Europe, and the evidence is everywhere.

To the casual visitor, the most obvious example of Oslo’s modern resurgence is the Oslo Opera House, a 1,100-room complex built at the head of the Oslofjord, one of the largest of Norway’s famed fjords. Opened in April 2008, it was constructed at a cost of 4.4 billion Norwegian Kroner (approximately $880 million), and is the largest cultural building built in the country since the Nidarosdomen was completed around 1300.

“It’s definitely attracts a lot of visitors,” said Valkeapää, whose store sits less than 300 meters away. He’s not kidding: in its first year alone, more than 1.3 million people passed through the Opera’s doors, with many more simply taking photos outside of its low sloping roof, which literally rises out of the ice-cold water. The expressionist-style building has also received considerable international attention from the architectural community, winning both the World Architecture Award in October 2008 and the 2009 Mies van der Rohe Award, the European Union prize for contemporary architecture.

Indeed, the “Tiger City” seems to have adopted a new slogan: bigger, taller, glitzier. Out with the old, in with the new. Already a “young” city by European standards, Oslo has been turning back the clock even more. No better confirmation exists than the under-construction Edvard Munch museum, dubbed “Lambda” by architect Juan Herreros. When completed in 2013, the 14-story museum will replace the current space dedicated to the world-renowned Norwegian painter, which itself first opened in 1963. With promises of sustainable construction and visitor-friendly design, the project has generated virtually no controversy among locals.

I was surprised, to be sure, of just how modern Oslo is becoming. I had decided to spend a day in the city with a couple of friends of mine, and our expectations were decidedly mediocre. Others I’d talked to had described the city as little more than a retail-oriented port with a reputation for being one of the most expensive cities in the world (indeed, it holds the top stop according to The Economist’s 2010 rankings), or worse, a drab capital lost among tourists to the more popular and slightly less expensive Kristiansand and Bergen.

To be sure, when we first entered the Oslo metropolitan area in the early morning via bus, there wasn’t much to see: Asker looked like a typical bedroom community, and Drammen was a riverside industrial burg. But when we finally reached Oslo, I was awed by a spectacle of high-rise glam and construction that for a moment convinced me that I was looking at a much larger northern city like Berlin or Moscow.

The first thing we did was take a walk. Even at this early hour, the streets were crowded with business people on their way to work and chipper travelers conversing in half a dozen languages. Everything was clean, bright and functional.

There were little white candles flickering everywhere – even in the cozy cafe where we lingered over a lavish breakfast smorgasbord. According to our preferences, we fortified ourselves with hard-boiled eggs and shrimp salad, with mackerel in tomato sauce and muesli. We refilled our plates and sipped our tea and coffee, reluctant to go out into the winter cold. Candles in silver-stemmed goblets and smoked glass boxes burned on every table, like a promise to hold onto the light right through the frosty autumn morning and the rest of the day.

While my companions endeavored to visit the cultural sites of Oslo, from the National Gallery that houses such Munch masterpieces as “The Scream” (recently put back on display after being stolen in 2004) to the Stortinget (the seat of the Norwegian parliament) and the Royal Palace, I was determined to discover just exactly what Oslonians thought of the immense changes taking place in their city.

BENJAMIN MACK/THE LOCAL - Wood and marble meld seamlessly together in the main lobby of the Oslo Opera House. Since opening, it has become a symbol of Oslo's renaissance.

“It’s hard to imagine, but when I first opened [my store] there were only a couple of T-bane (subway) stops,” said Per Hermansson, owner of Shadowland Records. “Now they’re everywhere.”

Hermansson has lived in Oslo since emigrating from Sweden in 1992. He opened Shadowland Records in 1998, specializing in gothic and electronic music. Located on Storgata, one of Oslo’s busiest shopping streets, the store is in an easy-to-miss alley next to a shopping mall. I came upon it by chance, having become lost after grabbing a bite to eat at a 1950s-themed American deli, and knew instantly that I’d found something unique: stores devoted to this type of music – a genre with admittedly few fans – are rare, and usually only found exclusively in much larger cities like New York or London. Its mere existence was a sign of Oslo’s evolution.

“It’s the oil,” Hermansson told me. “Everything goes back to oil.” Hermansson first came to work in the lucrative oil fields of Arctic Norway, and decided to settle in the country for good.

Largely unaffected by the worldwide economic recession, Norway has been banking on energy for decades. First, it was timber. Later, hydropower. Now it’s oil.

In August, Norway’s daily oil production was more than 2.3 million barrels per day, placing it ninth worldwide, just behind Iraq and above other oil-rich nations such as Nigeria and Venezuela. Most of it comes from offshore wells in the North Sea, where there are an estimated 6.7 billion barrels in reserves.

In 2007, the state-controlled Norwegian energy companies Statoil and Norsk Hydro merged to form Statoil ASA, which today is the largest offshore oil and gas company in the world. With operations in 21 countries, it is ranked by Fortune as the 36th-largest company on earth, and the biggest in Scandinavia. Employing more than 29,000 people, the Stavanger-based company pours more than $3.5 billion into the Norwegian economic machine every year.

Hermansson decided to leave the oil fields because he wasn’t completely happy. “I’d seen a couple of accidents, and didn’t want to spend the rest of my life on a rig,” he said. “I just wanted to make some money and start my business.”

The first few years were difficult for Hermansson and Shadowland. With rent along Storgata being among the highest in the Nordic countries, business simply wasn’t brisk enough in the small, low-ceilinged store. But around 2004, things began to change.

“More and more people started coming in,” Hermansson told me. “It was strange, because most stores of this kind were closing [due to online downloading instead]. But they kept coming in somehow. I was able to start putting on shows [by bringing bands to local clubs] and last year was one of my best years ever [for business].”

According to Hermansson, there are only a few dozen record stores worldwide that he knows of that sell gothic music, and his is the only one in Scandinavia. Shadowland’s growth, he believes, is directly related to Oslo’s emergence as a destination for cultural digestion, including exposure to various subcultures.

“When I first came here, there really wasn’t a subcultural element to Oslo,” explained Hermansson, his Swedish accent virtually indiscernible from lifelong residents. “As the city has grown, the scene here has grown as well. Now we’re one of the biggest in Europe.”

Turid Melhus, 24, has lived in Oslo her entire life. “There’s definitely been a lot of change here,” she said, her English easier to understand than almost any New Yorker.

Melhus is a bartender at 34 SkyBar, a posh bar located on the 34th floor of the Radisson Blu Plaza Hotel. At 117 meters, the building is the tallest in Norway, and the third-tallest in Scandinavia. Inside, its sleek, futuristic design is a microcosm of Oslo’s aspirations.

“When I was a little girl, there were very high taxes,” Melhus told me as I sipped an Irish coffee over the glass-topped bar. The crowd, mostly middle-aged foreigners, was elegantly subdued, the legato crooning of Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York” wafting over glass tables and plush red chairs. “But the taxes helped pay for many things that have been built here, and now business is taking over and paying for it,” Melhus added. “None of this existed when I was young. It almost seems like it sprouted overnight.”

To the uninformed, it may seem that way indeed. As night descended on the city, the temperature outside was beginning to dip. Little snowflakes fluttered by the floor-to-ceiling windows like flecks of dust that had been disturbed, and suddenly I realized the symbolism of the moment.

“There may be a furious storm outside,” Melhus told me as I nursed my coffee, “but when you come here you know you are in heaven.”

I smiled. So that’s what Oslo aspires to be: heaven. With the annual Nobel Peace Prize Award Ceremony taking place Dec. 10, and the FIS Nordic World Ski Championships taking place in 2011 (an event which has unsurprisingly sparked a construction boom of its own), the world may begin to see the results of the makeover.

“The changes have been unbelievable,” Melhus said. “In another 20 years, I probably won’t recognize the way it is now.”

If Oslo’s transformation continues at its current pace, she may be right.

BENJAMIN MACK/THE LOCAL - Tourists and locals alike mingle on Storgata, one of the busiest shopping streets in Oslo. Largely unaffected by the worldwide economic recession, the Norwegian capital is ranked by The Economist as the most expensive city in the world.

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It’s not easy being blue and orange

Wednesday, December 1st, 2010

It’s not easy being a college football fan in Sweden. First of all, hardly anyone understands the finer points of the game, and secondly, many Swedes don’t even realize that people in college actually play sports. Oh, and did I mention that there’s the other football to compete with? You know, the one that’s played by roughly six billion people.

Anyway, it can be difficult. As a die-hard fan of my home university, I am unabashed in my support of Boise State. Though I’m about 6,000 miles (10,000 kilometers) away, I see no problem with wearing our  famous blue and orange school colors on game day, or any other day of the “vecka” (“week”).

And speaking of game day, I find nothing unusual about staying up to watch games that don’t start until 2 a.m. Sweden time. After all, that’s partially what college is all about: doing things that 25 years in the future will seem unquestionably bizarre, but at the time make perfect sense.

But ask a Swede, and almost every one of them will think that such devotion borders on unhealthy. That’s because, in Sweden, there’s no such thing as university-sponsored sports teams. None. Zip. Nadda.

No athletic budgets to worry about. No fretting over TV contracts or recruiting. And most certainly no battling against the Evil Empire, otherwise known as the BCS.

So what on earth do Swedes spend their time doing? And how do they survive without their school selling new T-shirt designs each time their president has a sip of coffee? Believe it or not, they have devotions, too. And one seems to eclipse all the others.

Though Swedish students have a smorgasbord of recreational opportunities to choose from, much of their time is revolves around the “s word.” No, it’s not snow: it’s studying.

In Sweden, college grades are often based entirely on a final exam. No homework or quizzes, but fail the exam and you fail the course. Want credit for participation? Try studying somewhere else.

Because of this ungodly level of importance for just one exam, many Swedes study more than Pete Rose gambled. One guy I talked to, Anders Lindqvist, said that for one final, he spent more than 100 hours studying. And he wasn’t exaggerating: he showed me not one, not two, but three whole books of notes.

“It was important [to study],” said Lindqvist. “Since your grade is the final, you want to be as prepared as possible for it.”

Maybe my dedication isn’t so weird. I agree with Shakespeare: a rose may very well be a rose by any other name. Besides, the last time I checked ABBA still had a fan club.

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Match night madness: the sequel

Wednesday, November 24th, 2010

There’s something funny about movie sequels. They’re always bigger, longer, and more action-packed than their predecessor, turning something like a high-speed chase scene into a 15-minute spectacle crossing at least three state lines and featuring more than a dozen large explosions. The same can be said about my most recent experience attending a Swedish soccer match.

Everything about this match was bigger than what I’d previously experienced. The stadium (Ullevi) is the biggest in Scandinavia, the city (Gothenburg) is the second-largest in Sweden, and the teams (Sweden and Germany) were the national teams: you know, the ones you see on TV in the World Cup.

I’d been to matches before in Växjö, but that was nothing compared to this. If 2000 crazy Swedes had been wild, then 22,000 was pure madness. I saw more faces painted yellow and blue than I did the typical pale skin tone of most sun-starved Swedes, and Viking hats were easily the preferred choice of headwear; seriously, these people made all but the most loyal Boise State football fans look like pretenders by comparison.

While past experiences prepared me slightly for the euphoric atmosphere, I was still dumbstruck when virtually the entire stadium booed during the German national anthem. The frenzied, predominantly blonde crowd was whipped up further when the Swedish team took the field to the earth-shaking booming of techno music and fireballs that shot high into the air. It was all too much for one man, who decided to run onto the field without any clothes.

Great. Fireworks, streakers, and mentally unstable fans that looked like Smurfs: this was officially a three-ring circus.

As before, I was swept up in the madness. I eagerly joined in the various chants, shouting “kommer igen Sverige!” (“come on, Sweden!”) until my throat was so sore it hurt to even swallow.  I’m not proud of it, but if everyone had decided to lynch a German player, I probably would’ve been a willing participant.

Emotions rose even higher throughout the match. For 90 minutes I waited for the world to explode, for all 21,699 in attendance to die of overstimulation after a goal but, alas, it never came. Nor did any mass hangings occur, as the powerhouse German offense – fresh off finishing third in the World Cup – was held scoreless also.

Seriously, a 0-0 tie? If this had been a Major League Baseball game, the fat lady would’ve been shot before she even opened her mouth. I was surprised how accepting most people seemed of the fact, especially given their decidedly un-stereotypically Swedish antics.

Still, between the creative Swedish cheers (usually having to do with Germans’ love of beer and things about the players’ mothers that can’t be printed), lively atmosphere, and the beauty of simply living in the moment, it was definitely worth the freezing temperatures and lack of scoring. After all, blondes usually have more fun anyway.

And for the rest of us, it sometimes rubs off on you.

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The valley of the (Swedish) dolls

Tuesday, November 16th, 2010

BENJAMIN MACK/THE LOCAL - Astrid Lindgren, best known for "Pippi Longstocking," is the most famous Swedish author of the twentieth century. "Pippi Longstocking" has sold millions of copies worldwide, and has been translated into more than 40 languages.

Right now, somewhere in America, a 13-year-old boy is dreaming of this: being in a class with only girls. For me it’s no dream, but a daily reality – and no, I’m not taking any courses on feminist thought.

In short, Astrid Lindgren’s Works is a study of Astrid Lindgren, the famous Swedish children’s author who wrote such books as “Pippi Longstocking” and lived near Växjö in a region called Småland.

September 15 was a dull, grey day, and I was running late for the first meeting of the class. I stepped into the small, unadorned classroom confidently, however, with my excuse for being late painstakingly memorized (translated as “I just finished my riding lesson at Theleborgs Ryttarsällskap* and I had to groom my horse before coming here, but then I got lost trying to find the classroom, since I’m still learning Swedish”). Instantly, more than 20 mostly blonde heads snapped in my direction; none of them were male.

Rather than thinking I’d somehow died and gone to Heaven, fear blossomed within me. This wasn’t the right class: this was some sort of theories of feminism seminar, otherwise known as Hell.

“Du är Ben Mack (you are Ben Mack)?” the professor asked.

Uh-oh. The Devil already knew my name. This wasn’t a good sign.

“Ja (yes),” I replied, trying to figure out exactly where in my life I went wrong to earn eternal damnation.

“Välkommen till Astrid Lindgren’s Works (welcome to Astrid Lindgren’s Works)!”

Phew. I was in the right place after all. Apparently the professor wasn’t the Devil – although since I’m not a fashion expert, I couldn’t tell if she was wearing Prada.

Honestly, I don’t think being the only guy in a class is that big of a deal. In fact, it’s rather enlightening: not only am I able to learn about Swedish culture, but I can experience its famous gender equality firsthand. Even Ryan Seacrest would agree with that.

*Yes, there really is an equestrian center on campus. Feel free to act jealous.

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The ______ Life

Monday, November 15th, 2010

BENJAMIN MACK/THE LOCAL - The Porta Nigra ("Black Gate") is a gate that was originally built by the Romans around 400 AD in Trier, Germany to keep out the Barbarians. Constructed without using any mortar, today it is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Ever think about what songs would play if your life had a soundtrack? I’ll admit that I’m not necessarily a complete music geek, but I have given the subject some thought.

Pretty much anything by Nine Inch Nails would describe the angst-ridden confusion of my high school years, while Death Cab for Cutie’s “Soul Meets Body” would cover my first couple of years at Boise State. And, of course, my time so far in Sweden would be something by ABBA.

But when it comes to my recent trip to Germany, the only obvious choice is Gloria Gayner’s “I Will Survive” – in all of its outrageous glory.

I had travelled to the land of beer and bratwurst to visit some old friends, thinking it would be nice, relaxing weekend visit. Boy, was I wrong.

Among the highlights of my first visit to a country not named Sweden or Denmark:

  • Experienced quite possibly the first delay in the history of German train transportation. It only lasted about 15 minutes, but the result was a near-riot. I didn’t understand what the man on the PA system said when the train stopped, but as soon as people grasped their cell phones like weapons and began screaming, I got the general idea.

 

  • Saw my first UNESCO World Heritage Site in the western city of Trier. The Porta Nigra (“Black Gate”) is giant gate built by the Romans around 400 A.D. to keep out the Barbarians. Constructed without any mortar whatsoever, I was just as surprised there wasn’t anyone around hawking T-shirts or commemorative coffee mugs.

 

  • Flirted with what is surely a world record for most sausages consumed in one meal. I don’t know exactly what the Germans put in those things, but seriously the more of them you eat, the hungrier you get.

 

  • Slept in an art museum (actually my friend Katrin’s house, but judging by the size and the décor, it might as well have been a museum). Even the laundry was covered from floor to ceiling in art.

All humor aside, Germany rally was a fantastic place. The similarities to Sweden I found to be particularly fascinating, especially when it came to the language. Swedish originally “evolved” from German, and it was easy to hear the influence.

Many Swedish and German words are either similar or exactly the same. “Ja” means “yes” in both languages, while the Swedish word for “come” is “kommer,” and in German it’s “kommen.”

I found the languages to be so similar, in fact, that although I didn’t know a word of German when I first arrived, I left only three days later with a basic conversational understanding.

So not only did I survive my journey to the land of my ancestors, but I learned a little something about interconnectivity. Bearing this in mind, I predict the soundtrack  for the coming months might be something a little bit more multicultural. I’m thinking The Ark (at least until someone comes up with Swedish mariachi music).

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Ignominy, thy name is ferret

Saturday, November 13th, 2010

I’m thinking of the most evil thing earth:

  • It’s a small animal about a foot long, and has the texture and appearance of a moldy hot dog.
  • It smells worse than a garbage dump, rotten eggs, and the Crazy Cat Lady put together.
  • It has a temper shorter than French soccer players.

Almost every college anywhere, no matter how large the football booster club may or may not be, has its fair share of campus myths. At the University of Oregon, Sasquatch can supposedly sometimes be seen along the edge of campus. At Boise State, an albino peacock is rumored to sometimes show itself, while the Communications Building is said to be haunted by the ghost of a former student. And at Linnaeus University in Växjö, a wild ferret is believed to lurk in the surrounding forest, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting students and visitors.    

I personally can attest to the existence of said ferret. But how, you may ask? Simple: because I’ve been attacked by it. Twice.    

Honestly, the first time it happened, I might have deserved it. I was walking with a friend in the woods around Teleborgs Slott, the castle located on Linnaeus’ campus, when I noticed what looked like a bird’s nest just off the paved path. Curious, I went over to investigate.    

Wham!    

Something shot out from nowhere and bit my shoe. I kicked out, and my assailant was flung into the bushes, where it quickly scampered away.    

PHOTO BY CRAIG M. GROSHEK - The Mustela Putorius Furo, or ferret, can have a short temper. They are a cousin of the weasel family.

But if the first time was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, then the second time definitely qualifies as malicious intent. I was jogging near the same area about a week later, and this time it honed in on me like a dart, snapping at my ankle from behind without any provocation whatsoever. I cried out, shocked that I’d just had a once-in-a-lifetime experience for the second time in less than two weeks, and kicked the pint-sized terror off of me. As it hopped away (really, that’s the only way one can accurately describe how a ferret moves), its foul stench lingered in the frosty morning air, mocking me like Kobe Bryant after beating my beloved Portland Trail Blazers with a game-winning three-pointer.    

Really, I don’t know what I did to get on its bad side, but for some reason the thing seems to have taken a genuine disliking to me. Up until now, I haven’t really dealt with any anti-American sentiment, but I swear this bizarre cousin of the weasel family has something against me.    

Really, having a ferret as your apparent arch-nemesis can be rather frightening. You never know when it might attack, and with their small size, they can fit just about anywhere. Yeah, I know: it would suck to get assaulted by Mustela Putorius Furo while in the shower.    

I’d call a truce, try to end this whole situation with as much pride remaining as possible, but I have a feeling my furry friend recognized by the state of California as a “menace to civil society” would object. Unfortunately, both Oprah and Dr. Phil are booked, so I guess I’m on my own in finding a way to coexist peacefully.    

Thank you, Mother Nature. Do you accept returns?

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Snowy with a chance of meatballs

Friday, November 12th, 2010

I’ve come to a conclusion: Swedes like to talk about the weather. A lot. More than Prince likes to thoroughly confuse every man, woman, and child on earth, and even more than Joe Biden likes to disappear for long stretches of time.

Spend any time in Sweden and you’ll quickly realize why the weather is such a popular topic: it changes constantly. It really can’t ever make up its mind, like an indie filmmaker trying to order coffee at Starbucks. Think it’s raining too hard? Wait ten minutes and it’ll be blue sky. Planning a picnic? Bring an umbrella, because if it’s clear now it’ll be pouring later.

As a child, one of my favorite books was “Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.” It seemed impossible at the time that food would fall from the sky, but after what I’ve seen here thus far, I wouldn’t rule it out.

But rather than complain constantly about the weather’s decidedly bipolar behavior, Swedes have a saying: “there is no bad weather, only bad clothes.” Somehow they seem to always be prepared for whatever Mother Nature throws at them, while foreigners such as myself are left soaked, shivering, and/or sorely vexed.

The evening of Oct. 20 was cold and clear, the kind of clear that lets you see what is surely almost every star in the Milky Way. I went to sleep expecting a chilly, but otherwise clear morning. Yet when I woke up, everything was blanketed in a white, flaky substance that glistened like vanilla ice cream.

Snow. It was snow. In October. For me, it was as much of a shock as when LeBron James announced he was joining the Miami Heat.

Back in Oregon, it snows rarely, if ever. In all my 21 years, I can only remember a dozen or so times it has actually snowed, and I can count on one hand the number of times it stayed for more than a day.

Granted, I knew it was going to snow in Sweden eventually, but such an early onset caught me completely off-guard.

If I were Swedish, I’d be impeccably dressed for any adverse conditions, but the truth of the matter is I’ve never been known to dress appropriately for anything (see: wearing pajamas to class). Hopefully I’ll learn; otherwise, it’s going to be a long, cold winter.

Hennes & Mauritz, I’m looking to you for guidance.

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Blog Update: Snuggling With the Enemy

19 June 19:39

Kentucky’s Bourbon Royalty Visits Sweden »

"He's not a celebrity in Sweden, but everyone in Kentucky knows the name Fred Noe. Even more people know the name of his great-grandfather, Jim Beam." READ »

Highlights
Elodie Pradet/The Local Elodie Pradet WikiCommons Private/Scanpix Scanpix fastighetsbyrån.se Elodie Pradet/The Local File photo: AP File photo: Scanpix Private Göran Höglund/Flickr Finest.se Scanpix Ann Törnkvist Stefan Larsson Private DoToday Scanpix, C More The Local Finest.se Facebook The Local Scanpix Ann Törnkvist/The Local Henrik Montgomery/Scanpix CDC/Wikipedia (File) kristja/sxc.hu (File) Fastighetsbyrån Swedish expats use book club to survive London Finest.se Sergei Grits Silence/WikiCommons Oliver Gee Oliver Gee Scanpix veidekke/Flickr Eddie Gee David V. Hughes
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