of salt and liquorice

Notable cultural differences thus far:

* 7/11 shops are staffed not by acne-laden Pakistani students, but absolute BABES! They are blonde, tanned, friendly, with big white smiles. They even indulge you when you stammer out your conversational swedish.

You can also buy beer (light), pasta salad, real coffee, surf the internet and collect your train tickets. Going to 7/11s makes me happy in the pants, in stark contrast to their fluorescent germ-fest incarnation in Melbourne.

* Political parties are slick, colourful and accessible. In the city square there are about 7 little sheds painted in different colours, where members of the parties woo you with intellectual discussion and free coffee. Even when they find out that you can't vote, they still give you the low down. Most of them have logos based on plants. The election is later in September. I promised Leah that I'd steal her a candidate poster.

*You have to be 20 to buy alcohol in the shops, but 18 to go out. If you don't know this, the Swedes will laugh at you and you will be humiliated.

* Sweden can do lollies. In almost every shop that sells food, from the newsagency to the tobbaconist to the, well, 7/11, there are ENORMOUS pick and mix lolly bars. You take a bag, you take a shovel, and you go crazy. I'll take some photos soon.

* Swedes don't smoke, they do snus. Like Australia, Sweden has just brought in all these anti smoking laws. Snus is the answer. It's almost pure nicotine - little packages of tobacco that you slide in under your top lip. The nicotine soaks straight into your gums. The people here can do it all in one smooth motion so you have to watch out. I don't know what the legal status is of it in Australia but I can imagine it'd take off, if you can get past the whole fat camel lip look.

Today has been such a bleugh of a day. Big party last night, but in hindsight it probably wasn't worth it - walked for 45 minutes in the rain, was refused pringles by the host and got my umbrella stolen. I have no commitments until Tuesday, so I'm doing what every self respecting Australian would do - GO TO NORWAY!

hurrah, Norway! Last time I thought about Norway was when I was grilled by a horrible Norwegian in Copenhagen about my knowledge of her home country (non existent). A few days ago Dave from down the corridor tried to convince me to come with him the next morning. Unfortunately I am not that spontaneous. But I've had a few days to mull it over and here we go! Phoned him up and we're going to meet in a costal town called Bergen. I might see Penny and Dougal somewhere as well, might run into them on a glacier somewhere, but I don't want them to get the impression that, like, I've come 1000km because i MISS them or something...

So now I'm trekking back into town to buy my ticket. It's 8 hours to Oslo through beautiful Swedish countryside, leaving at 9.00am tomorrow. I'll learn me some verbs on the train.

Remember to Bring Your ID and Letter of Acceptance!

Just back from my very first fika with my new friends Max from Germany and Frances from California. A fika is when you get some peeps together, hide away in a cafe and drink coffees and talk for the afternoon. It requires stamina and high caffine tolerance, but by gosh it makes you feel good. This was despite the fact our conversation was mostly about the ways our respective countries have fucked up their citizens...Australia and its indigenous population, Germany and the Third Reich, and the US for, well, just being the US. And electing Arnold Schwarzenegger into a position of power.

These Swedes are onto something. There's nothing like a good yarn to raise your spirits and make you feel happy vis-a-vis the world. And it seems like I'm not the only one feeling kind of listless at the moment. The volume and intensity of Sweden so far is like being a first-year student at college again. But although the parties are legendary and the people are fun, we're kind of ready to start doing something. Learning, having commitments, etc. Basically we need some routine, and something to bitch about again.

Last night there was a massive crayfish party at Helsingkrona, a student nation. Penny and I got ambushed by some Church of Jesus Missionaries or some such nonsense on the way. We had a great chinwag about Sweden before we realised what was going on. When we said that the only way to get Swedes to truly open up was to buy them a drink, they firmly disagreed. We have a card and their address for their church ("a lot of young people come!") in case we feel like being saved any time soon.

You can see some pictures of the Crayfish party here. If you want to see half my face, click here.

Memorable highlights include:
- singing rousing Swedish songs
- teaching people how to eat crayfish by using your fingernails and molars in ways previously unknown to them. Crayfish are a lot like yabbies, FYI, but more red.
- Being covered in attractive crayfish scent - it has remarkable staying power.
- Skolling snaps with 150 other peeps.
- Coming face to face with the girl/pathalogical fibber who, for an entire evening, had me convinced that she was from Bhutan when she was actually from Germany, like everyone else. (she is ok though).
- Playing this wacked 'singstar' game. It's a competitive version of karaoke, and you have to hit the right notes to win. Having 20 people screaming into a microphone the words to 'Take On Me' in any kind of random melody has made this my favourite game so far.

My besties (if you can even use such a term after knowing people for one and a half weeks) Dougal and Penny have buggered off to Norway to go walking across a glacier. They had a few days left on their Europass and thought it'd be a good way to use it. I will miss them dearly, but it gives me the chance stop hanging out with australians who both lived within 2km of me, unbeknownst to me at the time.

My bike is such a piece of crap. The pedals don't work, and the people who sold it to me have skipped town. I am almost seriously contemplating paying someone to steal it so that I can claim it back on travel insurance. Maybe someone will steal it without my encouragement. I don't know. I feel like kicking it. We'll see what pans out.

Here is some serious blogging: So I was sitting in the famous felafel kitchen this morning, enjoying a $3 lunch and pondering the Swedish Way. One of the more socially acceptable reasons that I came to Sweden was that I admired the social equality and the ideals that Sweden bases its politics and policies on. But already in my time here I have realised that the reality is far from the golden view that is commonly held in Australia. Many people are upset and frustrated by the Swedish government. The high taxes are one very sore point. Because of this, people feel they can't really become 'rich'. I get the feeling that well-to-do Swedes (or young Swedes planning their life ahead) are getting sick of the burden of the rest of society. They also feel that the economy is a bit stagnant. The election is coming up in September and I think that, like the rest of the world, the population will elect a more right-wing group, or at least a centre group.

But these are just my observations on Sweden so far, based on very sketchy conversations (one might have been with a homeless guy on a disability pension - that is not to say it's any less valid, mind). I find it very fascinating. So if you're a politics nut, say 'aye' and visit back in the months to come for some more relevations.

no accents on the keyboards

When I heard that the Yeah Yeah Yeahs were playing at Malmö, the third biggest city in Sweden, I jumped at the chance to go see em. It had been three years since I first watched the enigmatic Karen O jerk across the stage, arms and legs akimbo. That was at Livid 2003. Now she was here! And now I was here, too! So like most of the other international students living in Lund, I packed up my troubles in my old backpack and caught the Påtatåg to Malmö with my friend Dougal (rhymes with Google, FYI).

Since we got there a few hours early, we decided to hit up some op-shops. Turns out they're not so easy to find and that even the locals don't know where to find them. After many pointless conversations (all beginning with 'do you speak English?' because what exactly IS 'second hand shop' på svenska?) we asked this dreadlocked hippy couple. They took us to it.

A couple hours and a few off-the-wall purchases later, we decided to have dinner. We kicked back in the Stortoget with our Chinese take away and surreptitiously drinking vodka and mango juice. Then it was to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs tent. My Swedish teacher had warned me about pickpockets in Malmö. I didn't understand what she was saying, but the hand gestures were informative enough. So I cloaked my bag, keys, phone, money, ID, raincoat and cardigan. We went and watched the bands. We went and chatted up some random Swedish youths. We spent all my money on beer. All in all, a very wholesome evening.

Little did I know it was all to change. We returned back to the cloak room to find it shut and padlocked. Some kindly Swedes translated the sign taped to the window - it shut at 11.00 and would reopen at 5pm the next day. We were 15 minutes late. Although at the time it didn't really soak in, it certainly did begin to a few minutes later when the heavens opened up and down came a torrential shower.

Get it, soak in? tee hee hee.

Anyway, it was a 20 minute walk through slush and mud back to the station in the rain, a 30 minute train ride back to Lund jammed into a carriage with other steaming party animals, then a 15 min bike ride back to Dougal's. It was about then when I was cruising through the deserted streets of Lund that I realised I had no bed, no clothes, no money and no phone to take me through the next day.

I'll spare some of the gory details but suffice to say, top-to-tailing it in Dougal's bed was not my preferred way of spending a night, nor was turning up shamefaced at my friend Penny's room the next morning dressed entirely in his clothes. Or having to wear my pensioner glasses, or spending another arvo on the Påtatåg. But I was back again at the cloakroom in Malmö today at 5pm, again soaked through to my underwear, clutching my ticket and trying to summon up every last bit of optimism that might be able to change a horrid half day into what I could term 'life experience'.

We've just had a mini party in the kitchen here in Floor E, Sparta. A Belgium bloke's cousin got pregnant so he brought out the imported champagne. It was interesting to note that in Australia an event like this for people our age wouldn't be as vigorously celebrated!
Listening to ABBA.
Bashing the US.
Kicking around a football.
Drinking pear cider, which we reckon is the equivalent of UDLs.
Someone had some weed, which is extremely rare in Sweden but more common among the international students.
Confessions of love.
Stupid photos.
Slurring along to Queen.

student i lund

I love australian to Europe adapters! I borrowed one from a fellow aussie down the hall and I'll be dammned if he gets it back before sundown...

I left for Lund from Malmo on Wednesday morning. I did find some students at the Malmo Youth Hostel just like I had hoped, an Irishman and an American. They became my travelling buddies. Eight hours, a handful of kroners and five ghastly queues later, I have officially become an International Student. I have my own room in a Soviet housing commission inspired student mega-dorm 'Sparta' next to a carpark and a supermarket. I walk around everywhere with a map.

As expected, I have met some amazingly cool peeps from the world over. Everyone is so friendly and warm. It's so easy to make friends but then again, it's hard to tell now who I'm going to stay in touch with as the semester goes on and we all go our different ways. It's also naturally easier to make friends with native-English speakers. Most people speak english extremely well (some actually came to Lund to learn to speak english better).

I am living in an international studentkorridor - its like a little global village with Singaporeans in the bathroom and Spanish in the hall! There have been parties every night at the Nations (more on them later, when I actually get my head around what they are) Last night we had the official welcoming party for the international students. Tickets were sold out but I managed to wrangle one from an American. Suffice to say it went off - in the way that only 800 international students, thousands of miles from home, drunk on cider, dancing to ABBA like it was their last night on earth - could. Lund is quiet as a ghost today, everyone nursing hangovers.

One of the reasons I decided Lund University above all the rest in the world is because of a photo in their promotional booklet. It was of a woman riding a bike down one of Lund's many cobblestone lanes. The evening light was falling softly, she had some books in her basket, her hair streaming out behind. I can be very susceptible to nice photos.

Now I have too become that person. On Friday I bought a bike for 700 krona (about AU$140). It's a heap of crap, and no, one, not even the bloke who sold it for me, pretends otherwise. But bikes are hot property in a mostly student town, and massively inflated prices are the norm for psuedo-cycles held together in some parts with duct tape. When it isn't thudding along it sails like a dream. Helmets aren't mandatory, and no-one wears them. It feels illicit (sorry Dad, maybe i'm still going though that teenage rebellion stage).

Swedish is going well, if a little shakily. I'm keeping to my goal to use swedish as much as I can, even if the residual Australian accent mangles it. For the next week and a half the only commitment we international students have is language class, 3 hours a day. I'm in the intermediate class. The first day I received a dressing down, completely in Swedish, IN FRONT of a whole class of smirking Germans, for turning up late. Things have been looking up though. It makes my head hurt but its good to be studying again.

so that's it for the time being, from now on I will be a bit more regular with my rambling posts. The next time it's sunny i'll pull out the ole digital camera and go for a saunter around Lund so you can see what a fully beautiful place it is.

over and out!

Copy

I can now say that I have well and truly 'done Copenhagen' much in the same way that Debbie did Dallas (obvious differences aside). I have climbed the 400 steps of the spire of Our Saviors Church. I have crusied down the canals of Chrisitanhaven and Nyhavn. I have been underawed by The Little Mermaid (or 'Little Little Mermaid' as the Youth Hostel Crew wittily call her). I have ridden the ultra´-futuristic Metro and have become slightly claustropobic when it got stuck, driverless and all, far below the city streets. I have drank Carls in the evening light. I have bought hotdogs from the stands in Kygons Nytorv and I have collapsed in Nørrebro's beautiful parks, cursing and rubbing my blisters. I've taken 300 photos. I have bought a Princess Mary, Prince Frederick and the Ugly Baby postcard for my family. I bought tins of Makarel from a Danish 'hypermart' and was sad when it turned out they were only sardines. And now I am killing time before my train to Malmø.

Copy (yes, I actually may have invented this shortened version - blame my Australian upbringing) is an amazing town. I have already decided that I will live here - or at least have my summer residence here. My loves- the cycling culture, the colours, the history, vibe, the gorgeous Danes. Not too hot on - the taste of the water, the cost, the fact I am staying next to a massive carpark, the crazy weather, it's like melbourne on crack.

Now travelling solo is a curious beast. This hostel is quite big, so it's hard to socialise. It's also tricky because most people aren't speaking english, and I feel pretty presumptuous to just jump into their conversations. I am alone but I have not gotten lonely yet. I've met some very nice people (and have been chatted up a few times). I just can't wait to get to Malmø tonight and hopefully meet some exchange students, and maybe hit the turps if everything works out right. My first day at Uni is tomorrow.

I have been conversing in English somewhat apologetically, aware of how monolingual I am. I have made a pledge though - when I cross the border to Sweden, I will attempt to speak Swedish at every opportunity. My brain has been running at 100 miles an hour when i've been sightseeing around Copenhagen: forming sentences in Swedish, trying to remember past tenses, pronouns, etc all to the disturbing background music of California Dreaming by the Mamas and the Papas.

As soon as i get some internet connection i'm not paying about 5 dollars an hour for, i will upload my photos to Flickr. My computer is working again. And I am looking forward to being on the road again. Onward!

boomtown baby!

Not to bring out the cliches so early, but it feels like a lifetime since I was standing outside the international departures gate in Tulla with my family and my wonderful boy Abdulla. Over the last 2 months the speed of my life had been increasing exponentially (if I remember my year 12 graphs correctly)to that point. All the rushing and hurrying around, trying to do everything and say goodbye to everyone, tying up all the loose ends. Then suddenly there I was, giving everyone the last hugs for 6 months.

So, so sad. As I walked towards the gate Leah and Georgia bade me farewell with the traditional Ginnivan Sisters Farewell Ceremonial Dance (basically a native-american influenced ringa rosie, complete with hollering). Then it was through the passport checkpoint with a trembling lip, and straight into the airside toilets where I locked the cubicle door and bawled my sweet eyes out.

Once I pulled myself back together again it was a rush to the Austrian Airlines plane. They had just started boarding. The rest of the flight I won't bother describing, because basically it was pretty uneventful (fortunately). I made my first friends. A big Greek papa with a mouth full of scary gold teeth sat next to me. The security guards at Singapore-Changi airport made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and I started worrying whether anything i bought could be classed as some type of death-worthy drug.

Stopover of death at Vienna, Austria, a place I personally know fuck-all about. I gleaned from the merchandise shop that it's the birthplace of Mozart and Gustav Klimt. Not that I went into the merch shops - i know they are a salve for the weak, so I spent the majority of my 8 hr stopover (count it) curled up like a bum on various benches. I was shouted a coffee by a friendly aussie.

Then FINALLY the flight to Copenhagen. I sat next to a bloke called Mang(y)us, a typical Danish glow-from-the-inside post doctorate smartass. He told me that the Danes don't use umbrellas because there is so much wind and they are pointless. I blindly followed his advice (because he was just so Danish) which brings me to where i am now, Boomtown internet cafe, sopping Chucks and wet jeans and the appearance of a drowned rat.

So far the culture shock has been minimal. Of course there's the crazy things, like the kiddies speaking in a different language, the driving on the wrong side of the road, the coins with the holes in the middle, the amount of Kevin Rudd lookalikes (you were right leah!) I got over jetlag very quickly - fell asleep at 7.30 last night after a delusional hours' walk around a Chadstone-esque carpark muttering in Swedish and cussing in English.

I am a bit worried that I really don't know much about Copenhagen. I feel a bit American in my level of ignorance. But I have been asking peeps at the youth hostel what to do and i've got some leads. Right now the hunger is biting me so I am going to go find a hot dog. Apparently the food of choice for us young things.

also thanks for your text messages during the last few days, and soz i couldn't reply. They made me happy in the pantals.

Laterz punks!

the fallout

Dawn broke over the remains of my Going Away Party like a rotten, extremely smelly egg. Luckily we were still all asleep. It took another 5 hours before our hangovers and hunger got the better of us and myself, abdulla my boyf, leah my sister and Dan her boyf tumbling out of the house and hiding out in a pie shop until we felt brave enough to return.

In an attempt to get back my $1000 bond (which will essentially cover my drinking money for the Swedish equivalent of O-Week, very important) we rolled up our sleeves and Got. To. It. There were toasted marshmallows thermally binded with the carpet. The kitchen wall strangely resembled a pincushion. And all the non-alcoholic drinks we'd thoughtfully bought were still in the fridge.

When all was said and done we dragged the couches outside onto the footpath and finished off the rest of the soft drink. A perfect day. As the infamous Brunswick Demented Italian Birdman ranted away to a speechless Leah and Dan (serves you right for taking your lounge suite onto the footpath, i guess) I started to get all sentimental-like. Times like this you probably couldn't get in any other country.

Trans-state back to Indigo Valley to see the family in their natural habitat. Spent a couple of relaxing days going to the annual McGowan family wattle picnic, where my travel-worn aunts and uncles warned me about 'Tullamarine tears' and my grandpa asked me about my sex life.

Then, just like a car I got myself checked out before the big trip, and I went in for the gold service. Firstly, eye checkup at Fraunfelder and Peachy in Albury. The genetic blight which is my shortsightedness is apparently not just a phase i'm going though, so I bought a spare set of glasses 'just in case'. Ever the tightass, I went straight for the cheapest pair - commonly known as the 'pensioner' set, $124 for a hideous lavender-chrome frame. Across to Wodonga for the dental checkup. No sign of wisdom teeth thank the sweet lords above.

Leah and I have just completed the census over a cup of tea. We're feeling like good civic citizens, so now we're moving onto the hard liquor, courtesy of a Swedish-themed bottle of vodka from Alastair. Two days from today. Still so much to do. So little time. But right now i'm going to hit the sack, and hope that some sleep can get rid of my ulcers and crap skin.

my first contact with the other side

10.45pm Tuesday night, calling the International Housing Office at Lund University, Lund, Sweden to confirm they've received my bond:

<>

* ring ring * ring ring *

IHO reception: Hello, how can I help you?

Eliza: uh...oh...um, mitt namm är Eliza, hur må du?

IHO reception: I beg your pardon?

Eliza : um, talar du engelska? uh, jag talar lite-

IHO reception: I'm sorry, I'm having a bit of trouble understanding you. Would it be possible if you-..

Eliza: (pause) Oh! Oh, i'm so sorry, can you hear me now? I must be calling on a bad line.

****

thank goodness i'm a strict, practicing agnostic, otherwise i would have taken this as a VERY SUGGESTIVE OMEN.