sat night in the laundromat

Fancy some background toons while you read my latest post? Check outTriple J's Swedish Mixtape! BLISS!


After three slightly boring but otherwise quite productive days of staring at the space where my laptop used to be, it has been returned to me! My poor baby/prodigal son! All that trauma and grieving for nothing. The upside is that I got extensions on both my essays, both for Scandinavian Culture and Society and the one on Swedish Film directors. And I get to upload more skanky photos onto flickr. And I also get to learn some basic phrases in Russian (PO-ZHA-LU-EES-TA, anyone?).

Sohani from New Zealand and I had our oral presentation on Friday. I'd be lying if I didn't say that being some of the few native english speakers in our class imbued us with a slight advantage. We drew a stick figure picture of a Non-Traditional Scandinavian family on the whiteboard and went from there. I think I spoke too quickly and we weren't as impressive as some others who went the whole hog and had their fancy schmanzy powerpoint presentations and images. But the lecturer seemed to dig it. That was the last lecture we had in that subject. My weekly classes have been reduced from 12 to 8 hours, and I've got Wednesday and Friday off. Hurrah!

If this wasn't enough - there are rockstars in the basement! So this is how it went: On Tuesday night the linoleum beneath our feet at Sparta started shaking, rattling and rolling. This made study completely impossible, so my corridor collectively put down their pens or cigarettes (the french) and we went for an explore. There sure as hell was some kind of band (glam rock, if heard the baseline correctly) in the basement, but what were they doing? Sparta was deserted. The only song we recognised was an impassioned rendition of "The Final Countdown". It all finished at about 10pm so we thought it was all over. How wrong we were...

The next evening I was on my way home from uni and I rounded the corner to find a surprising amount of emo-punks and washed-up babyboomers milling around the entrance to Sparta. Now if you know this area, it's not exactly where anyone would be seen 'hanging around'. But then it clicked. They were coming to see the band! So I went upstairs to tell Brad from Oregeon that the band we heard rehearsing last night would be doing it all again tonight so he could just forget about trying to finish that assignment. And he looked at me with dread in his eyes and said "yeah, i know - and i did some research, check this out" -


Swedish mega band Europe were the source of the semi-pleasurable rhythms vibrating up through our floor! If you're still lost, their song "The Final Countdown" featured on an ad for Toyota or Hyandai in Australia a few years ago. Expressions such as "washed up" and "scraping bottom of barrel" sprung to mind. But we went down and hung around, nicked some beers that someone irresponsible had left around. It was aaall good.

Now i'm just doing my washing and about to head around to Penny's for movies and hopefully lollies. I had to book the washing machine five days in advance, which makes it probably the most important commitment in my week. These next few pre-russia days are going to be pretty low key: i'm going to the Kalmar/Wermlands choir (yes, choir! MORE Swedish music!) on Monday, class, etc. My train to Stockholm leaves Tuesday morning, 8.28. I have a whole 6 hrs in the nation's capital before my ferry leaves to Finland, and then to Russia. Stay tuned, some crazy old school USSR shit is coming up...

ladders, broken mirrors and black cats

It appears that my faithful Dell laptop, the one I bought in my first year of uni with the money I got from the Australian Student's Prize, has finally given up the ghost. Its timing couldn't be worse. Inside its be-stickered interior are not only all my photos (the ones that are too saucy and blackmailworthy to publish on flickr) and basically everything that I have written in the last 2 years, BUT TWO ALMOST COMPLETED ESSAYS DUE THIS WEEK. I have been steadily researching these essays for the last two weeks and a half. Gone, gone, gone.

It all happened yesterday. As soon as it started acting weird on me yesterday i felt a chill of foreboding run up my spine. It eventually stopped working all together. I took it to the tech shop in town and sat with my queueing ticket in hand, knowing the news would not be good. And i was not surprised. I was told by a tekkie with quite handsome bicep tats (Sweden: a land of exploded stereotypes) that the hard drive was damaged, and for them to even look at it would cost about 450kr (aud 90) just to work out what exattly had happened with it, and quite possibly up to 3000kr (aud 600) to retrieve the data from it. I weakly agreed to a temporary limit of 1500 kr repair. Minimun five business days before I find out anything. It was not long before I had found my friends and over a coffee and 'consolation muffin' thoughtfully provided by Dougal that I was planning my second faked insurance claim.

It's strange - instead of feeling sadness at this, or rage, or a sense of the brutal unfairness of the world, i'm kind of indifferent. My brain just keeps on receiting these catch-phrases for these types of situations: it's no use crying over spilt milk, everything changes, shit happens, etc. Maybe it's because I haven't tried to start writing the essays again yet. No, i lie: I did sit down last night, pen in hand, blank piece of paper in front of me - i wrote the word 'introduction' but then was overcome by such a sudden wave of anger that i threw the pen across the room, scrunched up the paper and went to the pub instead.

so now i write this from the fashion parade coffee addict central that is the Språk och Literaturcentrum library, surrounded by well groomed swedes. This will probably be where i will be writing my posts from now on. I really miss my computer already. Not only was it my window to the world, it was my sound system, my phone, my research library, my cinema, my ideal procrastination tool, EVERYTHING. and these dicky swedish keyboards have ä, å and ö keys in weird places too. WAAAAAAH!

anyway i don't want this whole post to be a whinge. Life in other respects is nice. The sun is out today. I am wearing my reindeer jumper. it rained last night and everything is fresh - reminds me a little of melbourne in autumn. And i really should get started on my essay again, so this is all from me for the time being.

in the waiting line

i feel like i've been asleep for two days. I had a week's grace between my last cold and this one, and bang, i'm the latest victim to this round of illness that circulates through my corridor and my friends with the speed and contagiousness of the Black Plague (except without, of course, the attendant mortality rate). My concentration span is shot to shit and I've got all the motivation of a slug on a damp bed of moss. All i can do is make myself endless cups of tea, swallow the vitamin tablets provided by Nikki and Sohani, snuggle up in bed with Ingmar Bergman's autobiography and wallow in self-pity.

Today I was meant to be going on an excursion with my Introduction to Scandinavian Culture and Society class all around the Oresound region. My poor Intro class, it's always that one that suffers when i decide to pike. It would have been good and i'm semi kicking myself that I didn't go, since it would have been pretty awesome and i would have learnt a lot and travelled to Denmark and to copenhagen, gone on a ferry, seen some fully sick museums, etc, all for $40. But I have my two first serious assignments due next week and if I keep up this level of despondency I will be turning in 15 pages of plagerism. Anyway, je ne regrette rien, as that french bird sings. Plus, I'm going to Russia. That's right, RUSSIA. (please bear with me as I try and justify myself to myself)

Two fantastic terms have been coined in the last few days which are very applicable to my life:
Spartafterparty: the act of having an afterparty of massive proportions at the student residence Sparta.
Kannelbulleism: the wanton and reckless consumption of Kannelbulles, the moreish Swedish cinnamon and sugar scrolls.

Life proceeds as normal - well, as normal as it can get - and i am finding bits of joy in the small things in life. The percolator in the kitchen and the way it distills two cups of lifegiving coffee for me every morning. Having a hot shower every morning. Learning Swedish by watching Friends and reading the subtitles. Riding my new bike through the falling autumn leaves. Riding my bike on the left side of the path and fucking with the order-loving collective consciousness of the Swedish people who can't understand what's going on.

Last night in Swedish Film class we watched Ingmar Bergman's "Fanny and Alexander". I am having a bit of a headcrush on the old Ingmar at the moment, and he would be quite a romantic possibility if he wasn't pushing 80, a manslut and lived on a deserted island with only sheep and his custom-built cinema to keep him company. Fanny and Alexander is apparently one of the best movies ever made. My personal problem was that it went for five hours. After about the 3rd hour I got restless, and by the end i was convinced that it was just an epic piece of self-indulgence. I haven't done anything for 5 hours at a stretch recently that wasn't sleeping, so maybe that was partially the reason for my frustration.

I am also attempting to write an article on "The Swedish Sin". It's part of a competition for the international students, the winner receiving not only fame/glory but also two pizzas from the local pizzeria. This has stroked my competitive side which has laid dormant for so long. I am trying to work out what the Swedish Sin is. There's a bit of literature saying that it's the lax attitude the Swedes have towards sex/sexuality. I reckon there's more to it though. We'll see how it gets along. If i do end up writing it, i'll put it up here.

I feel a cup of tea calling. Peace out lovelies.

ruskies

well my faithful audience, it's late and I really should be in bed so I won't make this post too long. I've just uploaded some rather wholesome (i.e. does not involve alcohol in any way) photos up on my flickr website.

So, dot points, my dear old friend:

- I'm going to Russia in two weeks. Yes, Russia, where they drink vodka before 10am and wear colourful headscarves and speak a language that looks like a crossword puzzle half rubbed out (c'mon, use your imagination!). I've got the registration meeting at 8am tomorrow. I'm trying to get through some books on Russia so i have some type of clue about what's going on there but I always lose concentration and I start hearing that Russian singing song in my head. Yes that one.

- I went to my friend Susa's dinner party on saturday night. She is from Austria and she cooked heaps of native foodstuffs for us all to eat. That part was cool. Unfortunately the whole party was made up of German speakers who, to my australian ways, didn't appear to have a sense of humour and steadfastly stuck to the conversational Four e.g. What's Your Name, Where're You From, Where Do You Live, What Are You Studying? But the food was good. I focused on that.

- I have a new bike! After deciding that there was no way I could find a second hand bike in Lund that didn't cost like 1000kr+ and consequentially spending an entire day in Malmö with Brad practically begging indifferent and SOMETIMES HOSTILE cycle shop owners begging to sell us something, I scored it at the Lund flea market. It was only 350 kr - a steal, although still complete extortion in Australia. It's a heap of crap: the handlebars are wobbly, the chain's all rusted and i can't mount it without looking like i've had some kind of unfortunate stroke. BUT IT'S A BIKE.

- A friend of mine - who shall remain nameless - got drunk, climbed up 30 meters of scaffolding and unsurprisingly, fell off. After spending the night unconscious in the bottom of a building site, he was discovered by the police. He now has a neck brace, a broken arm and a swathe of stitches on his head. He's apparently only alive because of all the scaffolding he hit on the way down. CRAZY SHIT.

- Scandinavian music rocks my socks! on the pod at the moment: Husky Rescue, The Knife, Jose Gonzales, Peter Bjorn and John. My last Introduction to Scandinavian Culture and Society class was 2 hours worth of listening to music, padded with random facts about historical violins and hurdy-gurdy techniques. That's what I call "education"!

3am in room 305

I found the most wonderful present in my mailbox this morning - a pair of handknitted woollen socks from my dearest Mother. It was perfect timing. Autumn is settling into Lund. The nights are crisp and the wind seeps into all the cracks in your clothes. Not only are the leaves falling, but the chestnuts too. There's nothing like the gunshot crack of a chestnut falling onto the roof of a car to get your heart started in the morning.

I'm just back from having dinner with Penny and her parents. Ahhh, parents are great, aren't they? Especially when they come halfway around the world and they still try their damndest to embarrass you in front of your friends by telling them all your nicknames and sing songs in your honour to the rest of the diners. Penny's folks are great people and they shouted me my very first "eating out" experience in Lund, beautiful Thai food. It was hot, spicy, yum goodness. I FELT ALIVE AGAIN!

Penny had her 22nd birthday yesterday in her flat in Ulrikedal. I went around beforehand to have some of Dougal's superb veggie curry. About 5 of her Melbourne friends AND her mum and dad were there and the air was thick with the twang of the ole australian accent. Frankly, as an accent I don't think it rates too highly on the world scale. Depending on the company, sometimes I tone it down or try to lose it altogether (Treason! Blasphemy! i hear your cry). But last night I could let it run young and free.

It was a good, honest, ho-down party and several things of import happened. We launched the "Department of Intercultural Relations, Lund Sweden : Essential Swedish Phrases for the Intrepid Exchange Student" factsheet, complete with legal disclaimer at the bottom absolving us of any responsibility should damage occur as a result of its use.

I also got talking to Penny's Swedish flame Ludvig (I should probably say ex-flame: she quite decisively deleted his number from her phone last night). He's a member of Projekt Sex, which is a student organisation for the promotion of safe sex and an open minded attitude to sex, relations and sexuality among students. I've decided I'm going to join. Don't look at me that way. I'm trying to get involved, to give something back to the community, and this sure as hell beats pulling pints for eight hours at one of the nations. It's a cultural experience. I get to meet more Swedes. I'll learn to talk about sex without giggling and affecting a girlish blush. Pro, pro, pro.

To top it all off last night, Dup, Mikko, Sarah and I hijacked Penny's guitar and played to each other on the balcony under the fresh Nordic sky. It couldn't have gotten better.

I tried to make Berlin to be a bit of a turning point, a time where I could kind of reorganise my life and get shit together. And, in spite the crapness that was last week, it's happened anyway. I've found the motivation to study and plough on through the monstrous texts, planning out essay structures, brainstorming, etc. It's all coming back to me.

I've got two essays on the go. One's really floating my boat, so to speak. I got to choose the topic, and i'm looking into Jantelagen and the Swedish Royal Family. Jantelagen is this kind of Scandinavian social convention that can be summed up by the sentence "don't think you're anyone special or that you're better than us". It's kind of like the tall poppy syndrome in Australia and it's pretty pervasive all throughout the Scandinavian identity. I just don't understand how the Swedish Royal Family - a lavishly decorated, plushly furnished quintet of late 19th centuryesque monarchs - can still exist in such an egalitarian society. But give me two weeks and my deadline I'll let you know.

the not-so-good week

My head hurts. My heart hurts. It's been kicked around a bit. My thighs hurt from too many squats in Gympa. my bank balance is in pain - it can't take much more of this treatment. my bike is gone. It's been stolen. I can't concentrate enough to find my camera cord. My room's a mess. My teeth are furry. My ipod is broken. I'm surrounded by dirty dishes and empty coffee cups. I have the caffeine shakes. I have a lot of catching up to do with my studies. I can't shake this little bit of nausea lodged somewhere in my stomach. I can't shake this apathy. And the worst thing is, it's a brilliant, beautiful sunny day outside.

another brick in the (berlin) wall

"Germany is a RUDE and VIOLENT country!"
- Frances (after having her internet cafe receipt spat out in her face)

Berlin was awesome, thanx for asking. I went with two slamming young ladies, Nikki from Brighton, Melbourne and Frances from Santa Cruz, California, and I couldn't have asked for better travelling companions. In their company I feel like I'm 16 again - laughing uncontrollably, being innappropriate, being silly.

Frances and I caught the lovingly dubbed "Snafflebussen" from Malmo to Berlin on Friday afternoon. The trip took 7 and a half hours. Our European geography is so dodgy that we were very surprised to discover that there was a sea between Denmark and Germany, and that we'd be taking a ferry across it (European map, FYI).

Our first glimpse of the German people were the 50 or so truckies in the bar of the ferry who smoked out the side of their mouths, ran their hands over their shaved heads and stared at us like we were pieces of bratwurst. Ahh, the objectifying male gaze, how i miss you in Sweden! We arrived at the Berlin ZOB am Funkturm at a moment to midnight, knowing we had a bed somewhere in the city but not having the faintest idea where it was. I left this part up to Frances. We eventually found an internet cafe and worked out where Chloe lived. Aided by some bottled beer and a crumpled U-barn map, we navigated our way across the tangle of public transport and arrived, finally, at around 2am. Nikki arrived early the next morning, and so our weekend began.

Berlin is too big to do in one weekend, but we gave it a damn good shot. On the first day Chloe took us to an amazing flea market, where I bought a sexy black hat and clip on earrings. Nikki and I had the most amazing midafternoon sleep in the park. Then we went walking all around centre Berlin, past the building where Michael Jackson dangled his baby from a few years back - see our re-enactment here! Past canals, the parliament, the Jewish Museum, the memorial to the murdered jews of Europe (absolutely amazing) all the other beautiful sights that I won't be specific about because, ah, I don't know how to spell them.

I've heard a lot about the Berlin nightlife and we got the chance to experience both ends of the spectrum. On Saturday night we went to a glitzy nightclub in an office building, 12 floors above inner Berlin. It was quite crap, actually: a combination of sleep deprivation, the company of three loud Americans, boring techno and an 8 euro entry fee kind of spoiled the mood. On Sunday we ventured out again to Oranienberger and the eclectic inner suburb of Mitte. Much more my scene. We sat in a streetside cafe and shared a joint with the owner and his guests. Then Chloe took us to this amazing artist's residence, a whole block of flats plastered with graffiti, boho types sitting on couches, a grungy bar playing The Flaming Lips balanced on the top floor.

Despite all the bustle, the craziness, the vitality of Berlin, it seemed to me to be a city of ghosts. Heavy stuff went down in that city not too long ago. The fact that we were walking through these places that i've only seen in pictures in textbooks, alongside columns of fine print on the atrocities of the Nazis and the horror of the second world war - it was the weirdest sensation. It was strange seeing old people and knowing it was quite possible that they probably lived through the Nazi occupation there. I'm fascinated with how the people of Germany are dealing with such a dark past. What do they think now?

My spoils from the trip now include -

*four more words to my German vocabulary, bringing the grand total up to 6;
*six bottles of spirits and one of an Australian shiraz. To all those concerned, stocking up on alcohol in Germany is a Swedish tradition - everything costs half as much.
*A grateful appreciation of Swedish fashion - in Germany it's non-existent. People MUST dress in the dark there.