On a happier note...

Stockholm is great. I am now living with yet another set of relatives on Södermalm, Stockholm's Southernmost island. These are the same relatives I stayed with for a month in 2009, so it's déjà-vu all over the place. It's strange; I've noticed more and more that Sweden has a very particular smell. I think everybody must use the same soap or something because every time I use a bathroom here it's like I'm transported back in time. So weird.

Around Södermalm

Anyways, it's been an eventful couple of days. Yesterday was basically filled with talking, catching up with my wonderful, hilarious family. Today, after a nice run around the island, I met with (drumroll please) Peter Erikson, former leader of Miljöpartiet, the Green Party in Sweden's Parliament. He happens to be an old childhood friend of my dad's, so we decided to grab lunch. Funny how life unfolds.

We met outside of Riksdagen (aka Parliament). Little did I know we would be eating lunch inside the Riksdag building. God Almighty. It was a beautiful, curved dining area just for those with special access. Knowing me, you can imagine how badly I wanted to take a few pictures (naturally, I restrained myself). I had to smile as I looked around at all of the important people seated around us, eating their potatoes like everybody else in Sweden.

Riksdagen

So lunch was pretty cool. He's a nice guy and we talked about a lot of things, from the American political system (messy) to what I'll be studying (undecided). I'm glad we made the connection.

After lunch I spent several hours walking around, peeking in the Dance Museum, shopping at H&M, grabbing a kanelbulle. It's so easy to get from island to island in Stockholm, even if it means sore feet after a while of trekking on the cobblestone streets. I felt very much at home, once again. And I think my Swedish is improving? I'm certainly treated like a local (although the blond hair doesn't hurt). I'm often asked for directions, to get something off the shelf for a woman in the supermarket, or just simply spoken to by strangers in Swedish. Hopefully I'm responding adequately.

Fika: greatest verb ever.

Sweden has definitely given me exactly what I needed: time to breathe. For your viewing pleasure I include a smattering of pictures involving the Swedish archipelago, taken by my aunt. Enjoy.

Out on the boat near Värmdö

Read it.

This morning I woke up at 3am and couldn't go back to sleep. The Swedish sun has a habit of persistence. So I wrote some poetry. Went on Facebook. Ate breakfast at 5am. And then I stumbled across this:

http://www.yaledailynews.com/news/2012/may/27/keegan-opposite-loneliness/?cross-campus

It has nothing to do with my travels, or maybe it has everything to do with them, but either way it touched me. The reminder we all need.

The simple life.

Yesterday I spent with Irene, my dad's sister. We had a lovely day in around Varmdö, the same island Eva-Mi and Henrik live on. After having the exact same lunch we'd had when I spent a day with her three years ago - shrimp omelet with asparagus and knackebröd on the side - we walked down to the water and I found a nice little alcove on a rock, sheltered from the wind, to sit and read. I've been reading "The Girl Who Fell From the Sky"and yesterday, in utter silence apart from the lapping of waves on the shore, I finished the book. (I highly recommend it.) Then, after chatting some more, we ate dinner at the same restaurant we ate at in 2009. Flashbacks abound.

Förratt (appetizer): salmon with avocado, mango and cashews. Very grown-up.

Main course: Swedish pancakes off the kid's menu. Hehe.

Last night was the finale of Eurovision, the European song contest, and Sweden's Loreen won with her song, "Euphoria." We could hear the neighbors singing it outside after the winner had been declared. Apparently Eurovision's kind of a big deal? Who knew?

Maybe it's because of the strong memories I have here, maybe it's because of the low-key lifestyle, or maybe I just need to let myself be a little immature before I go off to France on my own, but I have found myself thinking like a child in Sweden.

On the boat, the hours disappear, and I let my imagination wander. I wonder what all of those people in all of those red houses are doing. I imagine that the world is upside-down and we are sailing in the wave-filled sky. I imagine that I am a frog, hopping from island to island. I fantasize about the future.

At this point in my life, I maybe should be more concerned about what I'm going to do with my life. Yet I have never been one to worry about that kind of thing, but rather sort of expect that all will work out. Naïve, perhaps, but true. I have the rest of my life to be practical and only so much time where I am solely responsible for myself and beholden to no one. I can afford to be idealistic. I order off the kid's menu. I read books that are pleasurable. I let my hands touch the soft leaves of plants as I walk by, embracing the light as it streaks through the trees onto the pine-needle-littered forest floor. Call it my way of stopping to smell the roses.

Am I ready to grow up? Perhaps. But I still cling to the scraps of childhood that have been such an integral ingredient in my optimistic outlook. It puts things into perspective. If you can't appreciate the small things, how can you make the big things matter?

Off to do yoga on a rock. Until we meet again.

Cabin fever.

I wish it were possible to explain the feeling of being on the water in Sweden. It isn't. But I will do my best.

First of all, Swedes have very loose standards of what it means to be an "island." Many are no more than oversized boulders, poking their heads out of the sea, cluttered by birch trees and a handful of cabins. These cabins themselves are a national treasure. There are more or less only two different possible paint colors: either a rusty red or a sort of butter yellow. Picturesque as gingerbread houses with their white trim and shingled roofs, they look to hold no more than half a bedroom each. Beside each of these sommarstugas - or, at the very least, on each island - is a Swedish flag. Somehow the humble blue and yellow seems less obnoxious than "patriotism" in the States. The feeling of driving between all of these islands - what feels like thousands of them - is indescribable. I wish there were an extra-wide angle lens on my camera, but even that wouldn't capture the ultimate bliss I feel, sitting on the stern with the sun on my back as we glide (albeit at a snail's pace and with the faint smell of diesel in the background) through the water without a care in the world.

[Cue montage of cabin photos:]

[even this could be considered an island]

Of course, this is a slight exaggeration. There are certainly "mega-cabins," especially closer in to Stockholm, and there is the occasional blue house interspersed between the red and yellow. Yet I so admire the "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" mentality of the Swedes. Why mess with perfection? There is a verb in Swedish, räcker, which means literally to be sufficient. Such a word does not exist in English because such a concept does not exist in our culture. Is enough ever enough? Isn't bigger always better? The Swedes don't seem to think so.

Today we went on the boat and rode all the way into Gamlastan (the "old town" island of Stockholm). It took about 2.5 hours each way, but we couldn't be bothered to go any faster. We had time. [Another vocabulary lesson: orkar means "to be bothered to" in not so many words, hinner means "to have time." Such an efficient language.] We stopped halfway there to have lunch, where I had a fantastic shrimp salad. Then we braved the big waves made by the wakes of the giant tour boats to go into the city. Except that we didn't leave the water. We just rode around in the 25º C (77º F) weather, looked up at the bustling city, and turned around. There'll be time for that another day.

Dinner tonight was the same as it has been for three nights in a row now: cheese platter and wine. Nothing wrong with that. Followed by ice cream, of course. This may not be good for my waistline. But at least I'll be tan.

I could get used to this.

So life is pretty good right now.

Yesterday, after walking along the edge of the island a bit, I took the bus into town to see an old friend. I met her three years ago (but what feels like yesterday) through a friend of my aunt's (obscure connection) and we've been in intermittent contact since. We walked from T-Centralen along Strandvägen and all the way to Djurgåden and Gröna Lund, stopping along the way to sit and chat while we dangled our feet over the edge of the harbor. It was a beautiful day, and I actually got a touch sunburned. Hard to do in Sweden.

Hannah eating a typical Swedish korv

Strange how much can happen in three years. Of course my friend and I still get along well, but it's different now that I've met people at school that feel like family, in addition to my friends at home. My standards for friendship have been raised, perhaps unreasonably so. But I realize that all people have a time and place in your life. These two weeks in Sweden are not the life-changing experience that my month in 2009 was for me. I know my family. I know the city. I know Swedish. Of course, you learn more about yourself and the world every day, but I feel that Paris will be the real time for me to grow.

Speaking of which, I got my host family! Their names are Sophie and Vincent and they have offered to bring me to an art installation where I can meet all of their friends. Ça sera fantastique, je pense. My only reservation is that I'm going to be more Swedish than Parisian when I get there... My hair has lightened in the sun, and my brain is more used to "Ja" than "Oui." Yikes. I've warned my family that there may be some linguistic interbreeding the first couple of days, but I'm sure I'll assimilate soon enough.

I definitely felt Swedish last night. Eva-Mi and Henrik both had meetings to go to, so I watched Hannah while they were away. Can you guess which movies we watched? Pippi Långstrump and Emil, till och med. Now that brought back childhood memories, seeing Pippi lift her spotted horse above her head. I'm glad my dad was so good about me having a typical Swedish childhood.

This really is a beautiful country. Off to soak it up again today.

And still...

I can't get over it.

Went for another båttur today. Almost cried from sheer beauty/thinking about how lucky we are. Zahhhh.

Their house on the hill

At the Porcelain Museum today

Naturally, I sign off with a picture of food. Fika hela dagen. 

Oh, come on.

Look at this. Just look at this. I won't rant too much about the day, as it's getting late and I still have yet to send my host family a letter (oops), but know that we took the most incredible boat ride today. Sweden's just the most beautiful place in the world. That's all there is to it. Enjoy.

The view from their back porch...

Hallå, hallå!

Why am I showing you a picture of a breakfast, you may ask? Good question.

1. As anyone who knows me well can tell you, breakfast is my favorite meal, so naturally breakfast in a foreign country is extra exciting.

2. Breakfast in Sweden is an immediate flashback to childhood, as well as the last time I was here, making smorgås and having filmjölk like my life depended on it.

3. It is representative of the late start I got off to today. Having no alarm clock this whole time, I was of the mindset that I would “get up when the sun came up.” Utterly false. Today I woke up at 11:20. Embarrassing, that is.  I came downstairs in my aunt and uncle’s house to have a quiet meal alone, the rest of the family having gone off to work or dagis (daycare, without the same connotations in Sweden). I realized that the only reason I got up at a reasonable hour the last two days was because I heard the kids downstairs.

Anyways, it was probably necessary for me to (finally) get over this cold I’ve had for the past few weeks. Sleep cures everything.

The past few days have been such a nice reminder of how very fortunate I am. Away from Harvard, with the family I love and in a place that feels like an old T-shirt, I’m able to get a broader perspective on my time here.

Yes, I am in Sweden. I can now speak Swedish without any hesitation, which would have been unfathomable a few years ago. I am immersed in a lifestyle that I wish to carry over later on in life. I am extremely happy here.

Yesterday Ulrika (my aunt) and I went into Skansen with the kids, Alvin and Elsa. Elsa is six and Alvin is three, which means that (hopefully) they’ll remember me after I leave here. Skansen is the Swedish equivalent of an attraction for families, except that it’s way more low-key than noisy American, tourist-filled jungle gyms. It’s basically a park with a lot of historic buildings (i.e. cottages), where one can see animals and women baking tunbröd right before your very eyes. (We ate some of said bread; it was delicious.)

The day before that we stayed around the house, baking muffins to fika later, walking out into the woods for a little picnic, and playing “follow the leader” in the backyard. I forget how exhausting it is to entertain kids – flying like an airplane and walking on all four hands and feet like a bear takes serious energy. The two of them are so unbelievably adorable. Alvin is probably the easiest child ever, cracking up at all of his own jokes and running around with a perpetual smile on his face. Today we sat in the backyard and just laughed at nothing. Literally nothing. We just looked at each other and couldn't stop laughing. Elsa is beautiful and very sweet. She is a lot more understanding than she was as a three-year-old, the last time I was here, simply accepting things instead of always asking, “Värför det?” Both are such funny, smart kids, and I can see that Sven and Ulrika raised them really well.

Sven was gone the whole weekend on an Aikido tournament, which was actually okay because it meant that Ulrika and I got to spend some time together.

I’ve had time to notice some key differences between Swedes and American/English people. Swedes are very quiet. It makes me wonder where I got my chatty gene… Although actually, that’s mostly just in Annenberg. I’m often perfectly content with sitting in silence during meals, which has happened often here. I understand a lot of where my dad and I got our tendency to reserve comments for ones that truly add to a conversation. This quieter demeanor leads to a quieter country. Walking through the streets, I was caught by how silent it was. Maybe because I was exploring on a Monday afternoon, but it was still a huge change from London or even Cambridge.

Swedes also love their desert, and will basically eat like birds the rest of the day to save room for ice cream, although they won't tell you that. There are a lot of blondes here, but it's more racially diverse than I had anticipated. There seems to be an "edgy" trend among young people; those between 16 and 25 often have shaved or slicked-back hair, piercings or a tattoo. What a shame, in a country with such fantastic natural beauty.

Today (after some confusion getting directions… hehe) I rode the train into the city to explore by myself. There are few things I like more than walking through cities, especially if it involves café hopping or, better yet, museum hopping. Although I didn't museum hop, I spent the afternoon basically just taking photos. I had an (overpriced) ice cream in the middle of Gamlastan, where I let the early summer sun warm my smiling face. This I could get used to.

Also, my apologies for talking about food all the time. I can't help it.

[A side note: my decision to take a break from my vegetarianism this summer is one of the better ones I've made recently. I've had three salmon dinners, pork pie, salami, and a number of other things that would have been a shame to miss out on. At least, that's how I'm justifying it until I come back to dining hall food.]

I'm not sure what the next couple of weeks will bring. It's weird to be here only three years later, when I already remember so much of the city. I have no routine here, so am a little purposeless, floating between relatives. But I won't complain about that. 

Vad bra det känns att vara hemma!

I'M HOME. And it feels like I never left.

I flew on Norwegian Airlines from London to Stockholm, so naturally I was surrounded by a slew of other Scandinavians. Listening to the other passengers speaking Swedish, paying in kronor for my coffee (seriously? paying for coffee on the plane?), saying, "Tack" as I got off the plane -- I honestly could not stop grinning. THIS is what I've been waiting for.

Don't get me wrong, London was wonderful, but it was all new to me. I feel so comfortable in Stockholm. Even the smell, ascending the marble staircase up to my grandma's apartment, brought me back to family vacations in years past. I went for a run down St:Eriksgatan today, and seeing the advertisements with familiar words and even brands of ice cream gave me such strange flashbacks.

And yet... a lot has changed since I was last here. I was 15, going on 16, and so naïve. Riding the subway by myself felt like a huge feat, which is hilarious to me now, having ridden the subway in Boston, London, New York, and shortly Paris. I brought wayyy too much luggage. My Swedish was fairly terrible when I arrived. I hadn't even thought about where I'd like to go to school yet.

I stayed with my Farmor (dad's mom) last night, am staying with my aunt and uncle tonight, and will be shoved around wherever is convenient for my family here. Which is fine by me. Tomorrow will be a day with my cousins -- the most Nordic-looking children you've ever seen in your entire life -- and then we'll see what the next couple of weeks will bring.

With a head full of foreign words,
Anneli xx

Farewell then, old chap.

[Note: this is a bit delayed, but better late than never.]

I’m writing this in the Gatwick airport, although there isn’t any Wi-Fi so it’ll be a few hours before I can post it. It’s 7:45am and I’m wide-awake, despite a fitful night of sleep, anticipation of the next leg of my journey causing me to count hours rather than sheep.

London was a whirlwind. We definitely took it quite easy, all things considered, having woken up at noon yesterday (oops). Lilli and her dad were so flexible and accommodating, it’s not as if I felt harried trying to see the sights. I put a lot more emphasis on spending time with them and familiarizing myself with London than I did trying to cram in every tourist hotspot. It just wouldn’t have been feasible during my short time here. Still, it’s exhausting to be in a new city, constantly exposed to new stimuli.

On Tuesday Lilli and I left in the early afternoon to go to the Tate Modern. We walked through the drizzle from her house in the Southwestern part of town to the Eastern bit, feeling like true natives as we wielded our umbrella against the rain. The Tate Modern was lovely –- as to be expected –- and naturally very different from the National Gallery, the Victoria and Albert Museum or the National Portrait Gallery. There I added an incredible Dalí to the collection of Van Goghs, Matisses, Toulouse-Lautrecs and Freuds I’ve seen thus far. Especially after Paris, I’m going to come back quite spoiled, art-wise…

View from the Tate Modern

I mean, I’ve been spoiled in many ways. Especially in terms of food… Goodness, I’ve eaten so well here. Lots of crumpets, lots of tea, but also things like, ‘mushy peas and chips’ for dinner last night (you know you’re English if you can understand what that means). I swear I’m going to eat my way through Europe (and out of my wardrobe).

Anyways, Tuesday night we went clubbing in Central London, which felt oh-so-cosmopolitan. Lilli’s friend is a club promoter, so we got in for free. They almost didn’t let me in because I didn’t meet their dress code of high heels, but luckily I think I was tall enough to pass for a pump wearing bitty. We got in late after a very fun night -- one of the reasons why we didn’t wake up until late yesterday.

Yesterday afternoon we met up with Adam, a friend from Harvard who now lives in London. The three of us had tea at this crazy tearoom called, “Sketch,” a place so kitsch it’s considered haute.  In addition to light fixtures made of toy construction vehicles, portraits of nude women with the heads of birds and sequin-studded “loos,” they offered us some delicious pastries and tea. We then walked through town and a hung out a bit in Hyde Park before visiting one of Lilli’s friends from high school. It was really great to see Adam, even if only for a short while. It did feel a little surreal, however… all three of us hanging out like usual, except this time in a city thousands of miles away from Cambridge.

Hyde Park

So last night we had mushy peas and chips, and today I’ll be having lunch with my Swedish grandmother. Crazy as it may be, not bad for a span of 24 hours. 

London, dahling.

Well it's been a lovely couple of days. But rather than droning on about all the things we've seen (or tasted), I'll focus on showing you through pictures. Much more interesting.

WARNING: The pictures you're about to witness may instill a sense of food envy, resulting in hunger, drooling or dissatisfaction with dining hall food.

A tasty morsel of fish 'n' chips at Thomas Cubitt's 

Breakfast at The Wolseley

Salami and gruyere, earl grey, and the Victoria and Albert Museum (the interior garden)

The café of the V&A

At the National Gallery

Such great art...

A couple of famous people at the National Portrait Gallery

Fried courgettes (zucchinis)

Westminster Abbey

Last night we had a great spread of Indian food (often called England's national dish) after having taken a driving tour of the greater London area. We'll be off to the Tate Modern today, maybe to stop by St. Paul's Cathedral and the South Bank. Still hard to believe I'm here...